“Thanks,” I say grudgingly. I’m not quite ready to make eye contact, not since she caught me staring. So I swipe the bottle into my hand and then head to my room. I remove my shirt and apply the stain remover as directed, Juniper’s instructions in the back of my mind as I push the shirt into a sink full of cold water.

And in the shower, I clean my face and my neck several times, first with soap and then with shampoo. But no matter how I scrub, no matter what I use…somehow I can still feel Juniper’s tongue on my skin, staking her claim without even realizing it.

15

IN WHICH AIDEN REMEMBERS

When I emerge from my bedroom a short time later, it’s to find Juniper talking on the phone.

“Yeah,” she’s saying, her face serious. “All I’ve been able to find are a couple news articles about his death. Beyond that I can’t tell what else happened.”

I meander over to the fruit basket, grabbing an apple and polishing it on my new, non-ketchup-stained shirt. Then I lean back against the counter, making myself comfortable as I wait. I take a big bite, my eyes remaining locked on Juniper.

“Yeah,” she says again. “So his name was Thomas Freese.T-H-O-M-A-S,” she spells. “Last name Freese.F-R-E-E-S-E.”

She falls silent as her friend—Matilda, I think she said—says something on the other end. She bites her lip as she listens, her face growing even more serious. Then she sighs.

“Honestly?” she says, playing absently with the bobby pins on the counter. “Someone mentioned that he and my mom might have been involved right around the time I was conceived.”

Another beat of silence as she listens, and then she nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s possible. So that’s why I wanted to see what else I could find. You know I’ve never really stressed too much about finding my father, but…” She shrugs. “I kind of want to follow this and see where it goes.”

After another moment of listening, her body relaxes, tension draining out of her shoulders. “Thank you,” she says, sounding relieved. “I know you’ve got a lot going on. How’s Ned?”

Matilda’s answer to this question is longer than anything she’s said so far; Juniper is quiet for probably two full minutes. I watch with a growing smirk as her attention visibly wanes, until she’s tapping her fingers impatiently on the countertop. When she finally speaks again, though, her voice is warm.

“I’m so glad,” she says. “You guys deserve to be happy. Let me know when you decide between princess cut and oval. And send pictures!”

They exchange goodbyes and then hang up, and Juniper’s body sags slightly. “You know how some people just require a lot of energy? Matilda is sort of like that. And she cares about a lot of things that I don’t care about, but I always feel like I have to pretend. It involves a lot of nodding and smiling.” She turns to me, looking tired. “That’s why we get along better over text and chat than we do in real-time conversations. She’s going to look into Thomas Freese, though. She said she has a few ideas of places she could search.”

“I’ve known a few of those people,” I say. “I think keeping things virtual is fine.”

“Me too,” she admits. Then she brightens. “Enough of that. Are you ready to pick some locks?”

“I guess,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. I’m rethinking this whole plan, to be honest. This always happens to me; I make a commitment and then regret it not ten minutes later. And while I do still understand Juniper’s desire to research firsthand the things she’s going to be writing about, it’s been a long, food-fight-filled day. I want to sit down and read a book or ten.

I also want to force each and every student involved in that food fight to spend a week volunteering at the food bank.

How can I make those kids understand? How can I make them get it? I can’t send an entire cafeteria’s worth of kids to Rodriguez. We don’t need more workers; we need more funding.

“Hey,” Juniper says, waving a hand in front of my face, and I jump.

“Yeah,” I say quickly.

“You’re spacing out,” she says. “There’s no time for that. We’re on a mission.” Then she smiles at me and says, “Let’s use your door.”

“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “No. If you fail horribly and end up breaking a lock, I don’t want it to be mine. And you know what”—Ha! A potential out!—“maybe we should check with my sister to see if she’s okay with you doing this. She might not want to risk damage to the doors.” Yes, that sounds good. Surely Caroline will say no, and then I’ll have a socially acceptable way out of the plans I already regret making.

“Ooh, yes,” Caroline says over speakerphone three minutes later. “Try it. What are you going to use?”

I roll my eyes, rubbing my temples. What is it about my sister and Juniper that gives me a headache?

“Bobby pins,” Juniper says. She’s leaning over the counter, speaking into the phone, her chin propped in one hand. “I’m going to try bobby pins.”

“And this is for a book you’re writing?”

“Mostly, yeah. Although in the interest of full transparency, I do have to admit that part of me is just excited to try it. But if I somehow end up breaking something, I’ll pay for a replacement,” Juniper says quickly. “Is that fair?”

“Yep!” Caroline says. “As long as you’re willing to cover any damages you incur, I think it sounds like fun—oh, hang on.” There’s a shuffling sound on the other end, followed by the sound of my sister bellowing at her children, “Hey! No! Do not put that in your mouth—hey.” She returns to Juniper and I sounding breathless. “I have to go. My kid is eating soap.”