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normal names these days. Do you know anyone named Jack or Joe or Bill?”
    I laughed. “No. No, I don’t.”
    â€œYou’ve gone out with this guy a few times,” Dad chimed in. “Why don’t you invite him over sometime?”
    I was pretty much keeping Blade to myself. Not exactly keeping him a secret, but not eager to share him with my parents. “Yeah. Okay,” I said. Always better to agree and not start a controversy.
    Dad changed the subject to how he pulled a muscle racing his bike this morning and how his leg had stiffened up. One of my parents’ best qualities is that they have very short attention spans. They can never stay on a subject for more than a minute or two.
    I gnawed on the chicken leg for a while and forced myself to eat some of the potatoes and coleslaw. Mainly so Mom and Dad wouldn’t start asking more questions. I couldn’t stop thinking about Blade. Wondering what was up with him.
    After dinner, I changed into a long-sleeved top. The weather had turned cool and the sky was heavy with rainclouds. I called goodnight to my parents and hurried out to the car.
    A few raindrops dotted the windshield as I drove to Miranda’s house. She lives on Heather Court in North Hills, the ritzy neighborhood of Shadyside. Her house is big, with a zillion rooms, but very comfortable. Her parents collect very large old movie posters, so there are these great stars like Charlie Chaplin and Humphrey Bogart staring out at you from every wall.
    Miranda is into old movies, too. If Julie and I are hanging out at Miranda’s house, we usually end up watching some old black-and-white flick from the forties or fifties on Netflix. I love seeing the weird old clothes—everyone wearing hats all the time, even indoors—and the funny cars.
    The rain was just a drizzle but I started the wipers. They squeaked as they scraped over the windshield. I turned onto Mission, which curved around to Miranda’s street. I slowed down. There were a lot of cars on Mission. Drivers use it as a shortcut to River Road.
    I pulled through a stop sign—and then let out a soft cry. “Whoa.”
    Was that Blade’s car up ahead? I squinted through the rain-spotted glass.
    Yes. It had to be.
    Actually, it was his dad’s car, but he drove it a lot. A ’95 red Mustang. Not too many of those on the road in Shadyside. Leaning over the wheel, I read the license plate. Yes. Yes. Blade’s car.
    I lowered my foot on the brake. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t want to get too close.
    But … who was that in the car beside him?
    Bright white headlights beamed from an oncoming truck swept over Blade’s car and lit it up as if setting it on fire.
    And I saw her. A girl. Beside Blade. A girl with short white-blonde hair. I just saw the back of her head. I didn’t see her face.
    His car pulled away from a stoplight and roared forward.
    My hands squeezed the wheel. They were suddenly clammy and cold.
    I lowered my foot to the gas. I knew what I had to do.
    I had to follow them.

 
    11.
    My headlights washed over the back of the red Mustang. I slowed down, let more space separate our cars. I had a sudden urge to tromp on the gas and plow right into him. Send that blonde girl flying through the windshield.
    A crazy thought, and I quickly suppressed it. What kind of person would imagine such a violent, evil thing?
    The girl beside Blade had to be a cousin. Or a family member who needed a ride. Or a friend from his old school he hadn’t seen in months. Or … Or …
    Weird how your brain can dance around when you’re upset or anxious.
    The rain stopped. I shut down the scraping windshield wipers. The red Mustang made the turn onto River Road. A few seconds later, I turned, too.
    The road curves along the bank of the Conononka River, a long, winding road that climbs into the hills over Shadyside. It was too dark to see the river. But I slid