Page 47 of Death Card

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and rise as the sensation of being watched splashes over me like icy water. I lift my gaze to the crowd surging around us and find a pair of eyes across the way.

Britney’s boyfriend, Tyler, stares directly at me from behind the counter of another stall. The construction on his mom’s new location is nearly finished, but it looks like she’s selling baked goods here in the meantime.

My skin crawls beneath his gaze. He doesn’t break eye contact until another employee hands him a tray of cupcakes. I blink as I realize that I recognize the other employee. It’s Britney! He points in my direction, and a scowl immediately crosses her face.

Gramps is still deep in conversation with potential voters, so I steel myself for a confrontation and meet Britney halfwaybetween the two stalls. She’s dressed unseasonably warm in a long-sleeved shirt with jeans. Dark circles beneath her eyes are visible even with makeup.

“It’s cute that he still thinks he has a chance,” Britney sneers. She glances past me and spots Joelle chatting with Uncle Larry. “Aw, voters would love to know more about Ezekiel’s granddaughter and hergirlfriend. I’m sure it won’t alienate a chunk of his base.”

I bristle at her sarcasm. “This isn’t the fifties. Besides, Gramps wouldn’t want people like that to stand behind him, anyway. Homophobia is more your dad’s scene, isn’t it?”

“Whatever.” Britney brushes her hair out of her eyes and takes a step in my direction. I stand my ground. “Tell him to back out of the race already.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why does it even concern you? This is between your dad and my grandpa. Why don’t we both stay out of it?”

“You really think I’m going to sit back and let your family keep stealing from mine?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“We all know you were just a DEI pick,” Britney says. “There’s no way your GPA was better than mine. I’m not going to let you steal this election, too.”

“I didn’t steal anything—”

“Mikaela, are you okay?” Joelle appears at my side, eyeing Britney with a frown. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Britney glowers at Joelle and begins to back away. “Fine, whatever,” she snaps. “Have it your way.”

We watch her stalk back to the bakery’s booth, and Joelle letsout a low whistle. “She’s intense! Do I even want to know what her problem is?”

“Nope.” I’m over Britney’s petty high school rivalry. I have more pressing concerns than her bigotry.

Joelle tugs me back over to Uncle Larry’s stall. My stomach does somersaults every time she holds my hand. After she orders another plate of mac and cheese, she turns to me and asks, “Would you want to come over to my place?”

I nearly melt into a puddle of pure joy. But then I catch a glimpse of Gramps. He wears a deep scowl as he stares at the back of Joelle’s head. When he catches me watching, he looks away.

“I’d love to,” I say.

No more messing around. I’ve got to find out once and for all what Joelle is planning.

20

We pick updoughnuts on the way over to Joelle’s. I let her plug her phone into the aux, and she babbles the entire drive about her intensely curated playlists. She has a song tied to nearly every occasion in her life. I’m impressed but also way too deep in my thoughts for most of the drive to contribute much.

Instead, I’m thinking about my birthday, only five days away. It could be my last if Joelle follows through with the future foretold in my vision. There has to be a spark to ignite this stick of dynamite. The only question right now is, Where’s the match?

When we get to the house, she hands the box of doughnuts to me before rummaging through her bag for her key. Inside, the apartment is arranged in a simple layout: There’s a dim hallway with rooms branching off the left side. At the end stands the kitchen with updated stainless-steel appliances and a bay window overlooking a tiny patch of brown grass. An essential oil diffuser sits atop the counter, emitting a steady stream of lavender-scented mist.

A cardboard box open on the floor reveals various framed photos and art prints. I pick up the first frame and my heart skips a beat. It’s a painting of two women clutching each other ina meadow filled with wildflowers. Each woman is dressed in white, which accentuates the warm undertones of their umber skin. The brushstrokes are gentle, which gives the painting a slightly hazy appearance. It makes me feel like I’m disturbing a secret moment.

“Wow.”

She peeks over my shoulder. “That’s the only piece of art I didn’t buy in a Marshalls or off Etsy.” She reaches out to touch the gold frame. “I saw it at a festival and immediately fell in love with it. I ended up talking to the artist for so long that another customer got annoyed and stormed off.”

“I don’t blame you,” I say. “This demands your full attention.”

We stare into each other’s eyes for an overly long period of time.

Joelle looks away first, returning her gaze to the painting. “You like girls, too, don’t you?”