“I guess so?”
“But you’re more into photographers?”
I follow Izzy’s gaze to a door at the far side of the room, which hides a makeshift darkroom. We’ve hardly seen Noah this afternoon, because he disappeared behind that door almost as soon as the class started. I wonder if he’s developing the photos he took of Scarlett yesterday.
MaybeNoahlikes ethereal.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, brushing off the implication as I move the leftover magazine pages around. This is the second time Izzy’s asked if I like Noah, and I need to nip her enthusiasm in the bud now, because if I don’t, Izzy will have set us up on a date that neither of us knows about until it’s too late. I speak from experience. “You know, my murder board will be kind of like a collage, when I add all my new stuff to it.”
“Oh, so we’rereallynot talking about Noah, then.” Izzy rests her forearms on the desk, leaning her weight on them. “I guessit will. It probably shouldn’t be shared with the general public, though. Anyway.” She levels me with a look and gives me her phone. “I came over to show you this. Looks like they have a suspect in custody for Helen’s murder.”
“Give me that.” I grab it and read the breaking news article. There’s not much in the way of detail, but it reports an unhoused white man in his thirties is in custody. He is being questioned in connection with the murder of local student Helen Coleman, age nineteen. A sense of relief creeps through me. “Do you reallythink it was him?”
“I hope so,” Izzy says, pushing herself to standing. “Plus, it’s the only thing that will convince my mom to let me stay now that we know your dad can’t get home. Right, I better get back to it. Weaving by hand is taking way longer than I remember.” She pauses. “Hey, I’ve just had an idea!”
“Why do I have the feeling this is actually why you came over?” I ask. I know Izzy, and if she’s mentioning an idea now, it means she’s been thinking about it for a while.
“What if we do something on Friday night, while we still have the place to ourselves? Just in case your dad and Kim fly back this weekend.”
“What, like go out?” I think of the outfits I packed. “I don’t think I’m going to get in anywhere around here.”
“No, not go out.” Izzy pauses and starts to bite her bottom lip before remembering she spent ten minutes creating the perfect matte red lip this morning. “I thought we could stay in. Maybe have a few people round…”
“Oh, Iz,” I groan, closing my eyes. “Who have you asked?”
“No one!” she says, but she says it too quickly. I open my eyes and stare her down. “Honestly, no one, just Ford and maybe Scarlett, mainly because she was right there at my bloody elbow. I thought we could ask Noah too, though?”
I close my eyes again, forcing myself to take a deep breath through my nose. Parties, as Izzy well knows, are not my thing. At all. And the mere thought of being in charge of one, in my dad’s flat, no less, especially after what happened at the last event we attended…My palms start to sweat. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
“I’ll help you with your murder collage later,” she coaxes. I crack an eyelid.
“Even though you think all my research is disturbed?”
“Yes.” She shrugs and stuffs her hands into her pockets. “But it makes you feel better, so…” What she doesn’t acknowledge is that it’s weird that I feel more comfortable with a murder collage than I do with a party, but we both know some things are best left unsaid. “Please? You can do that to feel better, but I need some social interaction if I’m going to heal. And what’s a party—no, agathering—if not social interaction?” she says, going for full-on puppy-dog eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But don’t invite too many people. Knowing my luck, Dad will be back Saturday morning and the house will be a wreck.”
“Promise,” she says, before letting out a squeal of delight. “I’ll organize everything, don’t worry. I just need to figure out how to get Ford alone, and then he’s mine, I can feel it.” She starts to leave but pauses as Noah emerges from the darkroom. He squintsover at us as his eyes adjust and holds up one hand in a wave. “Maybe you should be the one to ask Noah? That way he’ll knowyou’rethe one who wants him there.”
“Stop,” I mumble as we wave back, and a warm feeling brushes across my cheeks because I think I want Noah there the way Izzy wants Ford there. Well, notexactlythe way Izzy wants Ford there. Poor guy has no idea what he’s in for. I push the thought away, not quite ready to examine how I feel about a boy who spent his childhood teasing me.
“Ask him.” Izzy nudges me with her hip. “Trust me.”
The words seem to echo as Izzy walks back to her station, and a sinking feeling fills my stomach. That was the worst thing she could have said.
Things always go downhill when the plan ends in Izzy saying “trust me.”
TWENTY
I choose a ready mealfrom the selection in the fridge, stick it in the oven and then set a timer on my phone because I can’t be bothered figuring out the one on the oven. Then I grab my notebook and a glue stick I snagged from the art studio. I’m fully intending to take Izzy up on her offer to help me. I’m hoping that by laying out everything I have so far, I’ll start to see some progress.
“Dinner will be half an hour—green Thai curry with rice.”
“Oh, yummy, thank you,” Izzy says from the bed. I drag the cardboard into the middle of my room and unfold it. “You’re not doing that now, are you?”
“You promised, remember? It’s the only way I’m letting you have people round.”
“Fine.” Izzy sighs and joins me on the bedroom floor. “What do you want me to do?”