Page 10 of The Executioners Three
Thank you, Lance Bass. Oh, thank you, indeed.
The Quick-Bis was the closest thing to fast food in Berm. As such, it was always crowded. No matter that it only served a handful of items, nor that it was perpetually greasy and imparted all entrants with a scent likeeau de biscuit. The cuisine was cheap, and as the name implied: it was quick.
It was also 100 percentverboten. Freddie’s mom never let her eat there—not even when the book club sometimes met there instead of the library.
More like Heart-Attack-Bis,Mom would say coldly whenever they drove by—and as much as Freddie always wanted to point out that one biscuit wouldn’t kill her, Freddie’s dadhaddied of a heart attack. So a general fury toward all things high-cholesterol seemed to be one of Mom’s coping mechanisms.
Which meant in the end, it was just easier to never ask for biscuits than to risk triggering some onslaught of Dad-shaped feelings that Freddie didn’t want her or her mom to have to deal with.
Originally, the Quick-Bis had been called theBisQuick. Until the actual Bisquick company had quickly swooped in for trademark violation. So Mr. Bromwell, the owner, had simply rearranged the sign outside, and voilà. Problem solved. Quick-Bis it was. He even plopped a cement pilgrim outfront with a sign that readEven First Settler Allard Fortin Gets His Biscuits Here.
Freddie’s mom hated that pilgrim even more than she hated the cholesterol.Allard Fortin wasn’t a pilgrim,Mom would always rant,and he wasn’t the first settler in the region—those were the Native Americans who lived fifty miles to the north.When the Fake Fortin (Mom’s name for him) became a frequent target for drive-by tippings by out-of-towners, she cheered. When Mr. Bromwell then chained Fake Fortin in place and changed the sign toEven the Ghost of Allard Fortin Gets His Biscuits Here,her scowls and rants resumed.
Freddie liked Fake (Ghost) Fortin. He was kind of cute, even if one nostril had broken in the last tipping.
As the Jeep pulled past him into the crowded parking lot, the rain was really dumping down. It forced Freddie, Divya, and Kyle to bolt at top speed into the buttery building of blue and yellow decor. Not that Freddie noticed the downpour. She was floating too high on Kyle’s smile.
Murder in the woods? Pshaw. Sweater that smelled like a barnyard? Eh. Kyle’s hair lookedso goodall wet from the rain.
It wasn’t until she reached a booth by the window that Freddie’s euphoria finally cracked. Because sitting before her were the most popular kids from Berm High.
And every one of them was smiling at her.
Luis Mendez, his red letterman jacket almost as bright and gleaming as his smile, sat against the window. He had one arm slung casually around his girlfriend, Cat Nguyen, whose warmer brown skin contrasted with his paler skin. Cat’s mustard turtleneck, umber sweater vest, and perfectly matching plaid skirt looked exactly how Freddie wanted to dress (yet could never actually manage).
Across from Cat and Luis sat the crowning queen of them all: Laina Steward, a Black girl with dark, cool-toned skin and long braids. She wore fishnets and combat boots no matter the weather, carried nunchucks in her backpack (and knew how to use them), was a competition cheerleaderandclass president, andalsolistened to punk rock and regularly debated Mr. Grant on the merits of socialism in a democratic state.
Laina was not only the coolest girl at Berm High School, but the coolestgirl who hadever lived. This was a widely known fact, and no one who had ever met her could argue otherwise.
“I found them!” Kyle beamed at his fellow nobility and snagged two free chairs from a nearby table.
“Them?” Cat’s smile faltered at the sight of Divya tucked behind Freddie. “It was supposed to be just Gellar.”
“Who else did you bring?” Laina asked. Then her eyes slid past Freddie and her grin widened. “Divya, right?”
Divya choked softly, and Freddie turned, alarmed—only to find her best friend flushing furiously and looking as lost as Freddie had felt with Kyle.
“Yes, Madame Class President,” Freddie inserted. “This is Divya Srivastava.”
“Eep,” Divya agreed.
“That means hello, Madame Class President.”
Laina’s smile widened. “You don’t have to call me that—though I do think it’s funny.”
“President Steward, then.” Freddie smiled back. “Someone with your title deserves at least a little recognition.”
This earned her a full bark of laughter. Laina motioned to the empty booth seat beside her. “Sit, you guys.”
Freddie moved to obey; Divya, however, did not. Which left Freddie with no choice but to grab her best friend’s forearm and shove her into the booth. Then Freddie chose a newly added chair at the end.
Instead of sitting beside her, though, Kyle looked down and asked, “Want a biscuit? I’m gonna grab one.”
Now it was Freddie’s turn toeepand Divya’s turn to take action. “She does. And I do too, thanks.”
With a nod, Kyle ambled off—and Freddie thanked Lance in her pocket. He was really on a roll today.
“Welcome,” Laina said, bracing her elbows on the table. “I’m sure you can guess why you’re here. After all, your record speaks for itself.”
