Cold Kiss

trial. God, if either of them knew what was really going on, you could probably hear the screams in Siberia. No, in space.
    “Wren.” It’s only my name, but I can hear questions and explanations and apologies in it. I ignore it, though. I’m too angry to worry about her feelings anymore.
    “Don’t, okay?” The lights overhead flicker and buzz, but I ignore them, too. “I didn’t ask him to sit with me. I didn’t ask him to keep talking to me. I don’t know what his deal is, okay? It’s not like I’m looking for a replacement for Danny, so you can tell Jess to back off.”
    “Wren.” This time it’s pained, surprised, almost breathless, and the sound of it is a dart, quick and sharp.
    Don’t go too far , that voice in my head whispers. Hold on. You have to hold on to her, to them.
    “I don’t mean it like that.” I scrub a hand through my hair, and I know it probably looks like demented feathers now, but it doesn’t matter. “It’s just been a really hard time for me. There aren’t rules for this, you know? Do X, Y, and Z and you’ll be over it. It doesn’t work like that, Dar. And I hate that Jess is judging me for something I haven’t even done.”
    It’s a cheap shot and I know it, but it works. Her expression is startled and defensive when she glances up at me, but I can tell the person she wants to defend is me.
    “I can talk to her,” she says too fast. “She misses you, too. And we don’t know what to do, Wren. How to help. And you seemed to want to be alone, so we did that, but … well, we miss you. Jess just gets mad about it.”
    “I know.” And I do. Jess hates to be upset, especially when she feels like she can’t do anything about it. And that makes her mad. She’s been mad at me a lot the last few months.
    “If you could just talk to her…,” Darcia begins, and turns those big green-gold eyes on me. She’s so hopeful, even when everything looks crappy. I think she was supposed to be a Disney princess instead of a normal kid in a middle-class family.
    “I tried that, and she told me to go fuck myself,” I say, but there’s no heat in the words.
    “You didn’t try very hard, if she told the story right.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I sit up a little straighter. Darcia doesn’t get tough very often, and when she does, she’s more pit bull than princess.
    And there’s that bone-deep hum again, vibrating through me, but this time nothing happens except for the way I open my mouth and speak before I can think twice. It’s not magic, it’s pure panic.
    “Come over next Friday night,” I say, and even I can hear the reckless edge to the words. “We’ll have a sleepover, just like we used to, all three of us.”
    Darcia lights up like someone plugged her in, and then it’s too late. She blinks at me and swallows hard, and God, if she starts to cry, I’m going to sink into the floor right here, but she holds it together at the last minute.
    “I’ll help you,” she promises, reaching across the table to touch my hand. “I’ll talk to Jess first, okay? But you have to call her, too.”
    “I will.” I’m nodding, barely listening as she starts planning. All I can see is Danny, sitting alone on his bed, face twisted into confusion and maybe even panic. Friday nights, or some of them anyway, are his, the one night I can stay in the loft with him if I’m creative with the lies I tell Mom.
    Mom, who thinks I’ve been with Darcia and Jess a dozen or more times since Danny died. That’ll be fun, trying to keep them away from her so she doesn’t ask any awkward questions about all the other nights I’ve allegedly been at one of their houses. And then there’s Robin, who’ll jump all over them like a lonely puppy, looking for the kind of attention they used to give her. All I need is for her to open her mouth about the times she’s caught me creeping upstairs late at night when I was supposed to be in bed hours before.
    Panic tastes a lot like metal, too bright and cold, and it freezes me in place, one hand curled around my mug and a weak smile on my face as Darcia chatters on about next week.
    I figure I should probably get used to the feeling.

    Darcia hugs me, one-armed and fierce, on the corner of Elm and Dudley where we always split up to go our own ways home. It’s nearly five now, getting darker earlier and earlier every day, and the wind lifts her hair into a tangle of dark brown corkscrews as she walks away. She’s facing