Page 25 of The Death Row Club
I throw my paper in.
As soon as it hits the flames, they explode into crimson. I stumble backward, and Zach catches my elbow, anchoring me. “I know, right?” he whispers. “All veryfor the approval of the Midnight Society.”
“Right on,” Greer says with a cheer that seems forced. “Let’s get this party started.” She turns toward Connor. “I didn’t bring my cell phone, and this clunker”—she slaps her palm against the hood of the car—“is from the seventies. No electronics on board.”
He picks up his tablet anyway, checks the screen for little colored dots, then gives her the thumbs-up; her car’s dot-free. She pops the trunk and hauls out a camping backpack, easing the straps over her shoulders. The others start filing into the lodge, all except for Zach, who’s Velcroed himself to my side. Greer jogs across the clearing but slows when she reaches me. “Hey.”
Dread curdles in my stomach. Even though this was what I wanted, why I came here this weekend, I don’t feel ready.
“We should probably talk.” She leans around me. “How’s it going, Zach?”
“Fine.”
“They’re serving dinner inside.”
“I know.”
“You don’t want to, you know, go check it out?”
“I’m good here.”
A muscle in Greer’s jaw twitches at his unwillingness to take the hint, but his protectiveness, the fact that he’s clearly taken my side over hers, emboldens me. I’m not the one who should be nervous; I’ve done nothing wrong. I turn toward him. “You can head inside.”
“It’s no problem—”
“Really. I’ll catch up.”
“You sure?”
I nod, then redirect my attention to Greer. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I’m—” She cuts herself off, annoyed. “Oh my god, I’m not going to strangle her in the backyard, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Zach’s still hovering by the screen door. She points to the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around the kitchen. “You can watch from in there if you want, but I promise, she’s safe with me.”
He reluctantly pushes the door open.
“Oh, and Zach,” she calls. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry. About your dad.”
“Yeah, well.” He looks back over his shoulder; I’m taken aback by the resentment in his eyes. “Happens to the best of us, right?”
He slams the door behind him. Greer looks like she’s just been slapped. A few months ago, I would’ve asked what was wrong, but now, I simply say, “I tried calling you.”
She shakes her head, pulls herself back to the conversation. “I know.”
“Many, many times.”
“I didn’t have my cell phone.”
Like that matters. “You had my number. It was on the release form.” I’m about to tell her off, the same way I did on all the voicemails she never listened to, when a shout comes from the front porch.
“Greer!”
Connor’s standing by the railing, tablet in hand. “We need you inside.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “Yeah, kind of in the middle of something here.”
“It’s important.”
“So’s this.”
