“Ethan and I discussed breaking into the basement of the chapel to see if we can find evidence of the well.” Faye points to some stairs leading down to a recessed doorway. “He seemed hesitant. Maybe you can convince him.”
“I doubt I can convince him of much right now.” I glance down at my roommate. The part in her hair is crooked, like she’s got one of her runes etched on the top of her head. I scan back, searching for my last glance in my little purse, but there’s no comb. We walk in the shade. No one pays any attention to us. “Have you ever kissed a boy?” I ask, despite my determination to stop thinking about it.
“Several. Why?”
“Have you ever had a bad kiss?”
“My first was a friend of our family. He was Egyptian and very skilled, although not as pleasurable as Mario. He was Italian. But this spring our neighbor John Chin invited me to a dance at his school. He attempted to kiss me on my front stoop. Very 1950’s. Sadly, it was like kissing a dead fish. One with tentacles.” She shivers in her sweater. “Needless to say that was our last interaction other than my father paying him to mow our lawn.”
“Ugh, I’ve had that one too, where it’s just bland and …wet. But no, I’m talking about a bad one. Like the kind that melts your brain.”
She smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It was bad, trust me.” The sound and the spark of light loop in my memory on repeat, and my lips sting in sympathy. “Do you think it means something?”
“I have no idea. I guess it means you shouldn’t kiss that person again.” She points up at the campus gate. “Look!”
The guard in the shack has his feet up on his desk and a newspaper over his face. The snores reach us from thirty yards away. I roll on my toes, to keep my shoes from slapping the sidewalk as we slide by. Faye finally exhales as we round a bend, out of view of the gatehouse. We pick up speed, as much as my shoes allow. My roommate looks up at me from the corner of her eye. “Was Jeremy your bad kiss?”
“No. Jeremy is fine. Really good. Okay, maybe a little too passive. But this happened with, with someone else. Not him. Before. Well, not really.” I feel like I’m trying to lie to my parents. “I was just wondering.”
“So how was it bad?” She is still giving me the side-eye, and I know she can see straight through me.
“It was like a chemical reaction
or something. I saw a bright flash of light and heard this popping sound. You know those old-timey cameras with flash bulbs? Like a crackling in my ears.”
“That’s strange. Did he feel the same thing?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
She stops, looking down at the envelope. “Is this the house?”
We stand in front of a small bungalow, behind a picket fence, nestled deep in overgrown bushes. The paint is a drab green, faded and peeling with age, but droopy potted plants line the porch, making the house seem comical and sad, like a neglected puppy.
“It’s the right number on the mailbox,” I say. Two newspapers lie in the driveway.
“There’s a man watching us.” She’s staring over my left shoulder. A big man with longish hair, graying at the temples with a matching beard, strolls along the opposite sidewalk, the way we’ve come. He wears a blue Carolina Panthers t-shirt, and an old faded baseball hat shades half his face. He’s eating an apple. “Do you think he’s like the neighborhood watch, or something?” she whispers, hopping from one foot to the other. “He looks important. Like he’s the neighborhood mafia Don. Or maybe an undercover policeman?”
“I don’t think he’s going to have us whacked or bust us for trespassing while he’s carrying a bag of groceries.” I wave to him. He nods, a quick lowering of the hat brim. “We’re looking for Sonja William’s house,” I call.
He gestures to the house in front of us with the half eaten apple, nods again, and keeps walking.
Faye breathes an exaggerated sigh. “Should we just walk up?”
“Why not?” I say. “Sonja and I were friends. We emailed and texted some. I think it’s reasonable for me to find out what happened to her this summer. See if she got a better deal somewhere, modeling in France or something fantastic. And if something bad happened, like a death in the family, we should offer condolences, or something, right?” I push the gate open and let Faye pass me. “Besides, we need to give her her mail.”
Together, we walk toward the house.
11.
Excursion
“Where are you going?” Julian asks as I turn to follow the girls. They disappear behind the stone wall surrounding the quad.
“Didn’t you ask me to keep an eye on your sister?”
“Yeah, but—”