chapter iv
dustin almost commits autotheft
VAL THOUGHT SHE WAS A GONER. Max dragged her all the way back in front of her trailer, and she was almost positive she was about to be turned into the swarming cops for the murder of Chrissy Cunningham, but out of nowhere Max pulled her into a sharp turn and placed her in front of the door of her own car.
"Get in," she said, moving to the passenger's seat. She tugged on the handle, but Val was in a state of shock and had yet to have unlocked the doors yet. Max pulled the handle over and over to wake Val up, slamming it back against the car to get her attention. "Hello? Goth girl?"
"Right, yeah," Val said, fumbling with the keys to unlock the car. She climbed in with Max. "Where... where am I going?"
"Head towards Elm Street," Max instructed her. She clicked off her Walkman and cranked the volume of Val's car stereo up—the sound of Stevie Nicks' voice began to shake the entire car. Max's nose scrunched in distaste. "Fleetwood Mac? Are you serious? I thought you were supposed to be emo."
Val slapped Max's hand off the knobs, clicking the entire stereo off before Max could make fun of her music taste anymore. She didn't reply to the taunts. They rode the entire way in silence, which Val was fine with—it was a break from her earsplitting car rides with Mason in the mornings.
"We're on Elm," Val said, turning onto the street. She slowed the car down so Max could tell her when to stop. "Should I keep driving?"
Max nodded. "He's at the end of the street. Last house on the right."
"Who, exactly?" Val asked, but considering the fact that Max didn't give her a reply, she figured she could wait two minutes to find out herself. She pulled to a stop in front of the last house on the street and put the car in park. "Listen, I have someone waiting for me, and if I don't get back to him soon, he may think I'm dead."
Max climbed out of the car. "This won't take long."
The last person Val was expecting to see behind the door Max knocked on was a curly-haired, pudgy little freshman. She had been expecting more of a scientist, or even someone with a degree in psychology. But then she remembered who she was with—Max had probably brought her to a friend's house so they could make fun of the 'emo bitch that had gone mental.'
But "I need your help," was all Max said. Then she paused and frowned in thought. "Actually.. she needs your help."
"CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM? YOU'RE SURE?" The new kid—Dustin Henderson—asked Val. He was pacing across his bedroom, a habit of which Val figured he must do often, because he had almost a subconscious footpath—he was able to avoid the small toy robots and things without even looking at the ground. "Like, you're one-hundred-percent positive?"
Val threw her hands in the air. "Jesus Christ, how dense is he?" she asked Max. She rubbed her face in an attempt not to shout at the boy. "I was there. How many more times do I have to say that? I left Eddie's place, but I turned around and went back less than five minutes later. She must have come in just after me."
"Did you tell any of this to the cops?" Dustin asked her, pausing his pacing.
Val scoffed. "Of course not."
Max shook her head. "I didn't, either. But I can't have been the only one who saw you guys together. I mean, you stood out."
"No, we didn't," Val said defensively.
