Page 30 of Stranger Danger

My face might be smiling back, but I can’t tell. It’s gone numb. My ears ring as I fumble the bags into both hands and force my legs to walk, not run.

I hope my best friend’s okay.

The bags stay in my car. They’re not coming in the house with me, not after that shit. I stand here for another minute, fingers pressed into the edge of my trunk, looking at the ten grocery bags. The vintage Halloween bag with my nighttime outfit. It still smells like rancid corn syrup after I spilled the two-liter last year.

Should I keep the mask in here…?

Do they know what it looks like?

No. Of course they don’t.

But what if someone has one of those doorbell cameras?

It’d be on the news already. I’d be rotting in fucking jail, and I—I don’t want to go to jail. I like fresh air and sunlight.

Fuck, if I go to jail—

“Ira?”

I slam the trunk so hard my car creaks and bounces twice on its wheels. Then I spin around.

Beckett’s less than a foot away, his head tilted to the side. Curly, red hair falls over one eye, and I half expect it to catch on his septum ring. That sounds like the world’s most awkward ER trip. Holy shit. Laughter bubbles up in my chest, but I choke it back down.

“Are you good, man?” he asks, adjusting his backpack.

“Y-yeah.” I twist my fingers together. “Hey. Have you noticed like… like cops around here?”

As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I want to bite my tongue off.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. This one keeps stopping me in the parking lot to ask where I’m going. I’m this close to printing out my schedule and hand-delivering it to his patrol car.”

I kick over a pile of snow, and it seeps through the top of my sneaker. Maybe I’m the only one who cares. I kind of hate that I do.

His hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes gently.

“They’re here because of the murders. No one’s going to barge into the house with guns blazing unless one of us starts screaming.”

My hand covers his before I throw myself against his chest. He stumbles back, arms hovering over me. Then he hugs me. Awkwardly. He’s warm and solid, his heart hammering under my cheek.

Suffer, Beckett. I don’t have cooties.

I just need a human being.

“It’s all good,” he mumbles, rubbing my back. “The only thing you’re going to be arrested for is that weird laugh you do sometimes.”

“I like my laugh.”

After a second, I feel his muscles relax, and he hugs me like a real person. I close my eyes and listen to his heart slow, the smell of his vanilla lotion stuck inside my nose.

It’s been… forever since anyone’s touched me like this. My contestants never get the chance. My best friend points and grits his teeth—his hands fucking hurt. I’ve learned to social distance, so I don’t end up with bruises again.

But Beckett’s just Beckett.

“I’m sorry about the thing in October,” I mutter into his hoodie. “We’ve been weird since.”

Something touches the top of my head, and I can’t tell which part of his face it is.

“Asher told me you have a boyfriend,” he says instead of answering.