Page 16 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“Yes. You let them die.”
“God, why did you waltz back into my life to present me with a stupid trolley problem? That’ssolike you.”
“This is nothing like the trolley problem, and lashing out at me is solike you.” But my plan is working. Her buttons are officially pressed.
I ask, “Are you moving out now?”
“No!”
Margaux can be stubborn when she needs to be. She won’t give me the satisfaction of doing what I want.
Do I reallywanther to move out? I don’t know. She’sright about one thing—she can protect me. I don’t linger on the thought for long.
“What is the process of turning a vampire?” I ask.
“Why? Are you thinking of joining me in my horrid, undead life?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
I’m still thinking of Poppy.
She hesitates. “It involves an exchange of blood, and then we bury the body. The new vampire wakes up underground. If their sire doesn’t return before the moon changes signs in the sky, they’re dead.”
The answer is worse than I was expecting—it’s revolting.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” I mutter, rubbing my temples.
I can’t imagine something more horrid than being buried alive.
“This is what we used to dream about.”
“What?” My hand falls to my lap, and I fix Margaux with a disgruntled stare. “Immortality? Blood exchange? Burying each other?”
It’s nothing I’veeverdreamt about—unless my nightmares count.
“No!” She frowns. “Going off to college together and sharing a dorm. It didn’t pan out—I had to come to Strode, you went to Portland, and Poppy… well, she was always Poppy.”
Poppy didn’t continue her education. She didn’t need to; she was working before either of us, doing freelance art commissions since she was a teen. It sustained her later on, and she didn’t need to go to college.
We lied to ourselves and said it had nothing to do with the fact that, between the three of us, her family struggled the most. She didn’t have the funds for an education or even someone to co-sign her studentloans.
“Poppy had bigger fish to fry,” I say, refusing to dishonor her memory with anything less.
“Don’t talk about frying fish. I’m still dating the mermaid.”
“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose. “Okay—forget that—I don’t have the same dreams I had as a child. Can you say the same?”
“Yes, I can,” she says. “But having you as a friend is still one of those dreams. Is that so fucked up and pathetic?”
No. Of course, it’s not. Wanting friendship is a normal part ofliving. I want friends too—one friend, Poppy, the only person I can’t have.
I could comfort Margaux with the words. We could find common ground. Instead, I lie down, turning my back to her.
Friendship may be a normal part of living, but Margaux isnotalive—and neither is Poppy. I don’t have a friend in this world.
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
Chapter Five
