Page 63 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
I swallowed uncomfortably.
“Can’t wait,” Dove said with a grin at Liv. “I love custard. Also, these pancakes are putting me in such a good mood. Seriously, I’d come here again. They’re so fluffy, like a cloud of joy and sweetness. You should try some, Ellis.”
She made to scoop a bite toward me, and I hurriedly held up a hand in horror. “No—no. No, I’m good. Thank you.”
“What?” Dove asked, wide-eyed. “You have something against pancakes?”
“I don’tdosugar,” I said with a shrug, ignoring the last sad piece of rye toast on my plate.
“How does someonenot dosugar?” Dove frowned. “That’s like saying, ‘I don’t enjoy life.’”
“She doesn’t do that either,” Liv muttered before perking up, ignoring the glare I threw her.
Sympathy = gone.
“Well, I think every road trip should start with a breakfast that sticks to your soul, not just your stomach,” Liv said, nudging Dove with her elbow. Then her expression turned serious, and she leaned in conspiratorially. “Also, never trust gas station sushi, okay? Just don’t.”
She shivered, as if reliving something traumatic, lips curled, nose wrinkled. Dove nodded solemnly.
I rubbed my face.
Today was going to be alongday.
It was too calm,I decided, an hour into driving.
It felt... unnatural at this point, given the baptism by fire I’d experienced yesterday at the hands of Dove’s detour and Liv’s outrageous behavior at the Gemini Giant. Not to mention the fact that I had been covered in Margaret’s ashes yesterday, but I decided to wipe that experience completely from my memory.
We had gotten gas without any issues, Dove paying this time while I logged it into the trip expense sheet, organized by initials and payment method, of course. Liv had stayed in the car the entire time, quiet. And when Dove returned and we were back on the road ahead of schedule, I felt... suspicious.
No bad jokes or sarcastic remarks came from the back seat, where Liv currently sat as the Mustang rumbled beneath us.She sat with her arms crossed, head pressed against the glass. I knew I should have been grateful, but every now and then I found myself glancing at her in the rearview mirror, waiting for spontaneous combustion, or for her to announce that we’d taken a wrong turn into hell.
Dove had taken it upon herself to transform into an aggressively cheerful DJ.
She scrolled through her phone like she held the keys to our salvation, her voice reverent as she called out artists she’d been adding to the road trip playlist. I hadn’t even known we had one. Her face was lit with excitement.
“So. We have some rules,” she declared, looking at me. “No skipping bangers, and keep your judgy opinions to yourself. Anything by Dehd = amazing. We’ve got Chappell Roan, obviously. G Flip, some RAGEFLOWER, oh, love me some Gracie Abrams... Troye Sivan, Kim Petras, Rebecca Black—yes, I saw that eye roll—some girl in red...”
“I didn’t roll my eyes,” I said, keeping mine fixed firmly on the road.
I had, in fact, rolled my eyes.
“Good,” Dove said, hitting play. “’Cause it’s far too early in the trip for music snobbery.”
She tapped her phone, and the car filled with the pulsing beat of Chappell Roan’s “Red Wine Supernova.” The half-open window next to her let in the rushing wind, and strands of hair that had fallen from her space buns whipped around her face. She tucked one behind her ear, then opened her iPad on her lap and pulled out her pencil.
I kept one eye on the road and the other discreetly on her, noticing she was drawing. She’d been sketching last night, too, when I came out of the bathroom. Her lines moved easily under her hand, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration.
I glanced a little more carefully at the screen, the design naggingly familiar... and then it clicked.
I looked back at the road.
“Is that a tarot card?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
She glanced up, and I could feel her eyes on the side of my face as I kept mine forward. Watching the road seemed like a good excuse.
“Yeah,” she finally said, tapping the screen with her stylus. “I’m actually, um, sketching an entire deck. Creating my own. I—I want to get them printed and sell them. In the shop.”
There was a strange tone in her voice when she said it, like she didn’t quite believe she could.
