Page 65 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
Her hands brushing a windowpane. Our feet dancing together on a cracked sidewalk. Close-ups of us eating ice cream. Her laugh in slow motion.
I’d done most of the filming and editing. She’d storyboarded the scenes.
It had been fun. I’d loved creating it.
My throat tightened as the memory veered toward what happened afterward, and I banished it just as quickly as it came.
Curation was better, I decided, as I hit the gas a little harder, like I could outrun the past. Curation meant I didn’t have to feel.
And I was justfinewith that.
DOVE
Tip #10: You’re allowed to be two people. The one who smiles for photos and the one who shakes after.
It was just after 10:30 a.m. when we arrived in St. Louis, and no one was yelling, bleeding, or dying, so I considered that a success in itself. Also, it kind of felt like Ellis and I were getting along, which was another win, but who knew how long that would last. She switched moods like I switched underwear—which was frequently, thanks—and she’d likely return to loathing me soon enough.
Liv remained quiet in the back seat, and at this point, I was feeling unnerved. Nothing about Liv was quiet or tame, so the influx of silence filled me with more stress than her usual noise and disruption ever did.
“Okay,” Ellis murmured through a yawn. “Like I said, three hours max. First stop, Ted Drewes Custard.”
“Well,” Liv began heavily from the back seat, “we do love organized fun, don’t we?”
Ellis rolled her eyes and muttered, “She says it like it’s a bad thing.”
We got out of the car, and I turned on my heel, squinting into the sunlight as I looked up at the white building in front of us. Ted Drewes looked like exactly like the pictures. Big red letters confirmed we were in the right spot, along with an illuminated sign buzzing faintly in the daylight.
“This better be as good as the reviews said it was,” Ellis muttered, glancing back toward the Mustang. “Is she coming or what? This wasliterallyon her list.”
I blinked and sighed, realizing Ellis was in no way going to ask Liv herself.
“Liv?” I called, tapping on the back window while glancing around discreetly. “Are you coming with us?”
“No.”
“Oh my God,” Ellis groaned, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Why are we even stopping here then? These stops are forher. I’m certainly not here for the damn scenic route. Let’s go.”
“Wait!” I called, and Ellis paused, her hand on the door handle. “Listen, I kind ofamhere for the scenic route. Also, you know, being some sort of magical conduit and, you know, scattering my grandmother’s ashes, but I’m enjoying it as we go. Come on. Let’s get some custard.”
There was only a short line as we approached the window. Ellis immediately began scanning the menu the second it came into view, lips pursed in thatEllisway. Her black aviators were perched low on her nose, arms crossed like she was offended by joy.
“What are you going to get?” I asked lightly, desperate to shake off prickly Ellis and rediscover whatever version of her I’d found in the car earlier.
She squinted and wrinkled her nose. “Something that won’t put me into a sugar coma.”
“There are worse kinds of comas,” I said with a grin.
She gave me a sidelong look, but I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips, gone as quickly as it appeared.
“What can I get you, love?” asked the woman at the window, smiling from beneath a pale blue visor.
Ellis settled on the Caramel Apple, which was basically apple pie topped with custard, caramel, and almonds, though she asked them to hold the caramel. I tried not to cringe before going all in on the Muddy Mississippi, a sundae packed with chocolate chips, peanut butter, and cone pieces.
We walked over to the side of the building and leaned against the wall. Ellis took the tiniest bite imaginable, and I frowned at her.
“I can feel my blood sugar rising already,” she murmured, though she eyed the cup with more interest this time.
“That’s not the custard,” I said, sucking the peanut butter off my spoon. “That’s the Dove Marley effect. Stick around me long enough and you’ll be needing insulin therapy.”
