GREY

2177—

The freshly painted golden numerals glinted in the sunshine, winking back at me a number I'd long since learned by heart.

Feeling the whisper of goosebumps in the January air, I clopped up the steps in my winter boots and reached out to ring the bell to the Hartley home, hoping it wouldn't take Dash long to make it to the door as the wind nipped at my ears.

Knew I should've brought my skullcap.

The frantic rustle of the shrubs scratched out behind me.

Huh? I turned to the susurrating greenery. Is that...?

"GOTCHA!"

I yelped as two arms locked around me, sliding under my pits and wrapping my head, forcing me to my knees. "Hey! What the—mmm!" Fiber cloth stuffed into my mouth, muffling my screams.

"Say uncle, dude!"

Scowling as I recognized the voice, I yacked the white towel from between my teeth. "Cody! What're you—?" I struggled against his grip. "Let me go!"

He chuckled. "Not until you say uncle!"

"...Fine," I sighed. "Uncle."

He pulled back, let my arms fall free as my face bent into a bitter scowl.

"I swear—you're a psycho, dude." I shook my head, Cody chuckling all the while. "You really scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, bro," he grinned, bending down to retrieve the towel I'd spat out. "You gotta admit it was pretty funny though." He scrunched the towel back inside his athletic bag, a shiver scraping through me as he zipped it shut. 

"Whatever," I growled, turning to ring Dash's doorbell again.

This time, the plodding of footsteps pattered from inside; I gave a low exhale, angling to face Cody again, my eyes falling almost instantly to his athletic bag. That's...the same one from.... I shuddered to think of it—and to think of what Cody'd hidden inside the bag he now held.

Dash answered the door a few seconds later. "Hey, guys." He turned to me as Cody slid a taunting hand onto my shoulder. "Everything alright, Grey?"

I grunted, shrugging off Cody's palm as I trudged inside. "I'm fine—Cody's just being a dick, as usual."

"Aw, come on, Grey," Cody sniggered. "Not my fault you've got the reflexes of a cone snail in sea salt."

Dash shot Cody a look as he followed me in, shutting the door behind us.

"So," Dash said as we sauntered into the living room, fireplace embers crackling despite the daylight, "Either of you guys checked out the new English assignment yet?"

I groaned. "What? I thought school was closed the rest of this week. Didn't the principal send out an e-mail last night after the cops...you know?"

"Yeah," Dash said, fishing out his phone and pointing the screen at me. "And Mrs. Cabot sent one right after."

I rolled my eyes as I read aloud:

"Dearest of Students,

"I hope you're keeping well and keeping safe. I understand that you're likely feeling now the terror and fragility that so often accompanies us as we traverse the world. But I am here to offer what solace and encouragement I can. Do not lose heart, and do not allow fear to imprison you minds as our neighboring community of Browning Heights works through this horrific tragedy.

"With an eye toward compassion, I will be extending the due date for your next essay. I had originally planned to set this coming Friday as a deadline; but in light of recent events, I thought it more reasonable to assign it for next Wednesday instead. This will give you more space to process and to polish—and this time, rather than an untold story, to write an unheard story. Something that requires listening, something that listening requires, and something that would require more of us...if we would only listen.

"I trust your drafts will be strong, better than the last, the products of dutiful revision and detailed rumination. And I trust that you will care for yourselves, that you will not forget in this human journey that one of the greatest gifts we have is each other. Be well, my dears."

Cody sniggered again. "Wow, bro—you really read the whole thing." He lightened his voice. "Be well, my dears!"

"Shut up, man." I nudged him. "Seriously though. This blows."

Dash sighed. "Can't argue with you there. I'd heard the upperclassmen complain before, but I didn't know Honors Lit would be this intense. Two essays in the first week is way too much."

"Hard disagree, bro," Cody said, plopping an arm on Dash's shoulder this time. "That class is gonna be a breeze." He fished through his athletic bag, retrieved his graded printout of Monday's essay. "'Specially if she keeps grading this easy. I literally pulled this thing outta my butt crack an hour before it was due."

Wow, I thought, an A-minus. Why am I not surprised? I couldn't help laughing a little. "You're built different, dude. That essay took me hours, and I still couldn't crack a B."

Cody chuckled, his arm moving from Dash's shoulder to encircle mine instead. "Better luck next time, I guess. What'd you get, anyway?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay, okay, let me guess...D-plus?"

"Cody," Dash ordered. "Ease up, man." He let out a low chuckle. "Not like we can compete with the next T.S. Eliot anyway."

Cody grinned. "You know, I actually am part English."

I smirked. "Yeah, and I'm part Martian."

"No, dude, seriously. Check this out." He swiped at his phone screen and held up a color-blocked readout.

"Uh, what's that supposed to be?"

"It's my ancestry profile," Cody beamed. "I sent in a swab to that new company, Descendants Match—it just opened, and they're offering free profiles all the way until June."

"Nice plug," Dash snickered. "You sponsored, dude?"

Cody shoved Dash, simpering as he wiggled his phone. "See, look at the bottom. Thirty-four percent English."

"And what percent cocky prick that loves to show off?" I asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"Who," Cody corrected. "Cocky prick who loves to show off."

I snorted. "So you're admitting it's true?"

"Wha...hey!" Red flushed over Cody's cheeks. "No, that's not what I—"

DING!

Dash and I turned in unison to the front door. "Must be Brayden," Dash chuckled, plodding off to the door to open it.

"'Sup, guys!" Brayden called as he strolled inside, carrying twin brown bags that bore the Boardport Market logo.

"Wow, dude. Shopping spree much?"

"Guess you could say that," Brayden offered with an eager grin as he meandered through the living room toward the kitchen, dumping the bags onto a rustic terrazzo countertop that adjoined the stainless stove.

Getting a closer look, I lifted an eyebrow—pure cane sugar, gourmet vanilla extract, golden brown eggs, a pint of crémed whole milk, and...huh? "Is that an entire loaf of bread?"

"Sure is," Brayden beamed. "Brioche bread, to be exact, fresh baked and unsliced. Thought since we're planning on trucking away at this English essay, I'd make us some French toast. Time to carbo load, boys."

"Heck yeah, dude," Dash piped. "Fire it up!"

Brayden grinned, turning to the taupe cupboards to retrieve a pair of ash-steeled pans before twisting the knobs to ignite the stovetop.

Dash's phone blipped twice, its flitting chirp making me shiver despite my closeness to the flame...I knew that sound.

The group chat.

I gulped and turned to Dash, his eyes suddenly as grim as mine. "...Who is it?"

Dash sighed, Cody and Brayden also twisting to launch uncertain glances our way. "Looks like Andy's officially quitting," Dash said, his voice somber and filled with gravel.

Cody stuffed both hands in his pocket, eyes plummeting to the oakwood floor; Brayden gave a sigh, reluctantly grabbing a pair of eggs to crack and release.

I shuffled off toward the living room, grabbed my phone from the couch where I'd left it, Dash and Cody both on my heels while Brayden stuck to the stove. "That message...from Andy," I tried. "It reminded me of something." I lifted my phone, aimed the screen at the guys. "I did some digging and looked up that DeWayne dude. They're uh...having a funeral for him tomorrow."

"And what," Cody joked, "you're planning to go?"

I scratched at the side of my neck.

Cody rolled his eyes. "Bro, I was kidding. You're not seriously planning on rolling up to some dead guy's funeral?"

"I...I was just thinking maybe if we all went, it could be a show of support, you know? I bet Jacquarious'll be there, and—"

"Grey," Dash cut in. "That's crossing a line, man. Listen to yourself. The last time we talked to Jacquarious, we were stalking him to a hospital; and now that one of the guys from his old school just got pulled out a freaking gym shower, you want to crash his funeral?"

I looked away, felt blush heating up my face. "Look, I just thought—"

The blare of Cody's phone vibrated through the air, playing out his ringtone as an incoming call flashed on his screen: "I got five on it, messing with that indo weed—"

"It's my sister," Cody gulped, pressing Answer Call to silence the tone. "I'll...be right back, guys." He darted off through the kitchen.

Dash's eyes flickered back to me. "I'm serious, Grey. That funeral's off limits—none of us even knew DeWayne."

I stuffed both hands into my pockets, pulled my gaze from Dash's fervent stare.

"Look, man," he sighed. "DeWayne's parents just lost their son. I get wanting to be there to support the family, especially since his body was found at our school. But they don't even know you, Grey. They don't know any of us..." He hesitated. "And we wouldn't exactly fit in at a Browning Heights funeral anyway."

I finally looked up to meet his eyes, wincing as I clocked the somber reticence that stared back at me.

"The four of us going there is just going to ruffle even more feathers," Dash said. "Especially if we're only showing up out of support for a guy who's been in our English class all of two days."

I gulped. "Well, um...that's not the only reason."

Dash shuffled closer. "What do you mean?"

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. "Cody, dude."

"Cody?"

"I saw something, man."

Dash cocked his head. "Saw something? Something like what?"

"...When we were all getting milkshakes yesterday, I saw inside Cody's bag. There were these...these bloody towels."

Dash's eyes spread wide. "Come again?"

"You heard me. He was carrying a bunch of bloody towels right before he ran off to go meet his sister." I hesitated. "I...I tracked them down—the towels, I mean. Turns out they're an offbrand, and they only sell them at this one store in Browning Heights. Or at least...that's what I found when I Googled it."

"Browning Heights? That's pretty far just to get some towels."

"Well, he probably didn't want to get caught cleaning up blood—"

"Whoa, Grey. Slow down. You seriously think he was cleaning up somebody's blood?"

"Well, how else do you explain the towels? And why would he even have them at all? Something fishy is going on here, and...and if those towels really did come from Browning, maybe somebody at the funeral might recognize Cody if I showed them a photo."

"Dude, what?" Dash almost screamed. "Are you hearing yourself? We're talking about Cody—my best friend. You found some blood on a few towels, and you're seriously planning to go all private-eye at a literal funeral?"

"Come on, Dash. This whole thing is way too freaky to ignore. We can't just waltz around like DeWayne's death doesn't affect us. For crying out loud, it affects the whole team—"

"Dude," Dash groaned, "can you please, for once in your life, just stop sticking your nose into everything?"

Ouch. I sighed, lowering my head as I backed away. Eyes to the floor, I still felt his glare bearing down on me, the weight of disapproval crushing me where I stood. "Yeah...you're right," I breathed. "I guess it is a pretty stupid idea."

Dash let out a low exhale, taking a step closer to me. "Hey, man, I didn't say that."

I shook my head. "I just...I think this is really important."

The clip-clopping patter of footsteps traipsed up behind me. "What's really important?"

I gulped, head shooting upright. Crap—Cody's back. "N-nothing," I tried, turning to him as casually as I could. "Just...this paper for English is really scaring me, dude."

Dash closed the remaining distance between us, bumping my shoulder. "Well, you don't have to get all emo about it, bro. We've got your back." He flashed a confident smile in Cody's direction as I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the rescue. "Right, Cody?"

The next T.S. Eliot chuckled in reply. "'Course, dude." He slid a hand onto my shoulder. "No Grey gets left behind.