“What kind of job?” Indira asked. “Have you thought about what you’d like to do?”
Keme shrugged again.
“What about something you enjoy doing?” Indira asked. “Something you’re passionate about?”
This time, you could barely call it a shrug—it might have been my imagination.
Then Indira looked at me. And Fox looked at me. AndBobbylooked at me.
I opened my mouth to demand something along the lines ofwhy me?Before I could ask, though, Indira’s expression changed to one I’d never seen before—about as close to a nonverbal threat as I’d ever seen before.
I shut my mouth so fast my teeth clicked together. It took me several seconds before I had enough brainpower to say, “What about something with surfing? What about a surf shop? Or a school—giving lessons, that kind of thing?”
The silence dragged out until Bobby said, “You’re a natural on a board.”
That earned us a tiny, one-shouldered shrug.
“Have you ever taken a career aptitude test?” Fox asked. Which was a surprisingly helpful comment, especially considering the source. It was significantly less helpful, though, when they added, “Mine said I should be a dog food taster.”
“There’s no way it said that,” I said. But then I felt compelled to add, “The counselor said I broke mine.”
Keme glanced at Bobby, who said, “Law enforcement.”
And that was it. The boy didn’t sayanything.
We were quickly running out of boardwalk. Ahead of us, the crowd thickened at the edge of the bay, and I knew once we mixed with the crowd, any chance of continuing this conversation would be lost. I said, “A career aptitude test sounds like a great idea. And why don’t you come with me the next time I go to Arcadia? You can sit in on one of my classes, get a feel for what college is like.”
Among other things, Keme had perfected the teenager’s art of giving me a single, excoriating look that informed me he’d rather be dissected by circus clowns than spend a singlemoment, alive or dead, in my company—and also, that I was an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.
“Okay,” I breathed, falling back a step as we reached the crowd. “Good talk.”
With a commiserating look, Bobby squeezed my arm.
The one bright spot was that we’d timed our arrival perfectly. The Paranormal Paddlers were already out on the water, passing in front of us. If you’ve never heard of the Paranormal Paddlers, don’t worry—neither had I. They were a local tradition: people from town dressed up in their Halloween costumes and then paddled around on the bay. Why, you might ask? Who knows. Personally, I didn’t love the idea of getting my costume wet and then trying to balance on a board while I displayed myself for the amusement of strangers (I wondered if maybe I was spending too much time with Fox). But they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. The mummy looked a little bedraggled, and the wizard’s robes were creating some serious drag, but if it bothered them, you couldn’t tell. Besides—the crowdlovedthem.
As another cheer went up (this time, for an Elsa in a wetsuit), I said, “Why aren’t you and Keme out there?”
Bobby opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Keme said, “Because it’s paddleboarding, you donkey, not surfing.”
Offering an apologetic smile, Bobby added, “Neither of us is really into stand-up paddleboarding.”
I almost said something. But then I didn’t. It was enough to smile and know that even Deputy Bobby, who was so genuinely kind and earnest, could be one hundred percent too cool for something.
I was turning my attention back to the water, where a very damp-looking werewolf was trying to fix one of her ears, when a voice broke through the crowd (and also broke the sound barrier).
“THERE YOU ARE!”
Guess who?
Millie wiggled toward us through the crush of bodies. And if everyone hadn’t been cheering because the werewolf had finally fixed her ear, you would have heard my jaw hit the ground.
She was dressed as a witch. But not the green-faced, wart-on-the-nose, baggy-black-robes-that-are-meant-for-comfort-and-not-fashion, garden-variety kind of witch. Millie’s take on a witch involved a strapless, ruffled black dress that barely reached her, um, seat, along with black opera gloves, thigh-high leather boots, and the requisite pointed black hat. She’d gone with smoky eye makeup and intensely red lipstick, and she’d done something with her hair that made it extra…something. I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Keme, but I glimpsed him out of the corner of my eye. Even under that stupid Pennywise costume (and whatever he tells you, I amnotafraid of clowns), he looked like someone had plugged him into a light socket. His mouth was soft and slack. His eyes were shining. I was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end. I wondered if I should ask him if he was smelling toast.
“I’M SORRY I’M LATE!”
The crowdparted. Moses, what? One little boy in a firefighter’s costume actually had his feet go out from under him and fell backward into his wagon.
“WE COULDN’T FIND PARKING ANYWHERE.”
