Mark My Words

92 | Funeral Preparations

 It was another early morning on the coach bus, but the main difference fell along the lines of Joanna Spencer—or rather, lack thereof.

"I'd say you're lucky, but you aren't," Joanna had said the night before the bus ride to the airport.

Rosalie kicked her feet up on the ottoman in Dylan's guest house living room, reclined back on the couch. She had the keys to her mom's car in her pocket and a curfew of eleven PM to abide by, which gave her just one more hour to hang out with Joanna before Nationals.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," Rosalie sighed, passing her fingers through her ponytail. She flicked her curls aside.

She wasn't at all surprised that Joanna hadn't forked over the cash for her own plane ticket and hotel room. The Lieutenant was no longer "along for the ride" since Joanna was staying back, and Rosalie could only imagine just how relieved the Lieutenant was.

"I'd also tell you to punch her in the nipples, but that'd be stupid as hell," Joanna sighedhtubbing a finger along the edge of the carpet. She looked up at Rosalie, brown eyes overshadowed by her lack of sleep. Rosalie reasoned with herself that Joanna's sleep cycle would be even shittier if she hadn't started that food fight at prom.

A moment of silence passed as Rosalie sighed her ascent. Yeah, that would be supremely stupid of her.

Joanna cleared her throat. Rosalie looked up from where her eyes had gone out of focus on her lap. "Could you..." Joanna started, voice dropping, "not talk to her? If you can avoid it."

The name went unsaid, but Rosalie knew exactly who it was. And she had already broken that rule—if Joanna's request included everything prior to that moment.

Rosalie resisted the urge to rub her hand over the indentation of her scar.

"Of course," she promised.

Joanna nodded once, twice, and three times for good measure—or perhaps to reassure herself that Rosalie would, in fact, follow through.

Rosalie, however, could already sense the conversation arising. Arden wouldn't make a bet like that—a bet like getting Joanna to Nationals—and not expect to rub it in Rosalie's face. But so far, nothing became of the bet. They were too close to departure now for Arden to make a move.

Rosalie shifted uncomfortably. A cold shiver crawled up her spine and prompted her to look at every window of the guest house. All of the blinds were drawn, but still, her paranoia was off the charts. She never experienced paranoia like this before. Like Arden had eyes and ears everywhere.

If she did, she would have gotten Joanna to Nationals, Rosalie reasoned, rubbing her fingers over her scar. She didn't do that, so she isn't as all-powerful as we thought. This is good news.

Joanna was staring at her through all of her mental processes. When Rosalie finally noticed this, a bizarre, tense look was on Joanna's face that made her look borderline constipated. "What?" Rosalie said.

"Nothing," Joanna said, but kept looking constipated so Rosalie gave her a dull look in reply. Joanna sighed and admitted, "Fine. I guess I'm just... worried."

"You have every right to be worried," Rosalie said. There wasn't much she could say other than validate Joanna's concerns. It wouldn't help to make Joanna think that her concerns were ridiculous or otherwise. "But Arden's probably thinking that I'm dating Lennie—"

"God, don't remind me," Joanna groaned, slapping her hands over her face. "I fucking hate that rat bastard. I'll gut him the next time I see him."