You know those cartoons where a character is contemplating doing something, and a devil appears on one shoulder, trying to tempt him to do the bad thing, and an angel appears on the other, telling him why he should do the right thing? It was totally like that. But this time, Angel-me was telling me I needed to go and pick up Taryn, because I’d promised and it was the right thing to do. And Devil-me said I needed to go straight to the funeral, because something about Taryn was seriously screwing with my future. I went back and forth, gripping the steering wheel and mumbling to myself, until eventually the devil and the angel looked exactly the same.

Finally I just shoved the car into reverse. Gritting my teeth, I headed for the cemetery.

I knew it was a cruddy thing to do, leaving her there. I imagined her sitting on the front stoop, waiting for me. But I could explain it away. I was going to die in a car accident, right? Even though I kind of knew the Buick was safe, she’d be a moron to accept a ride with me.

It was a bright, sunny day. My limited knowledge of funerals from television and movies seemed to suggest that this was wrong; it was supposed to be raining, so much so that we would all huddle tightly around the casket in a dense forest of umbrellas. In the backseat Nan had a massive black thing, almost the size of a beach umbrella, that didn’t fold compactly like new ones did. I’d expected to use it. It would effectively seal me off from the rest of the mourners; nobody would be able to tell who was under it.

Instead, the sun shone like a spotlight pointed right on my head as I stepped out of the car and made my way across the cemetery, to the crowd. I spotted Pedro. I hadn’t seen him since that day on the beach. I didn’t think he’d have the nerve to show up, but he was probably feeling as guilty as I did. “Hey, man,” I said when I’d made my way over to him. “How’s it going?”

He nodded, looking stiff in his suit. Funny how clothes could change a person. There was a sheen of sweat mingling with the pimples on his forehead. Finally, he mumbled, “Rather be anywhere else.”

There was no doubt about it. I seconded Pedro’s emotion.

He sniffed and brought a wadded tissue to his face. Allergies, I guessed. He wasn’t the type to cry. But when he pulled the tissue away, it was covered in blood. When I looked closer, I realized there was blood on the collar of his shirt. He didn’t turn to face me, but I could see a swollen, bluish pocket on his temple and under his eye. One thing about Pedro, he was almost girlish about his appearance; he didn’t get into fights. “Whoa, man. What’s going on?”

A few people turned, saw me, and whispered. I knew it was probably, “There’s the guy who tried to revive her. The crazy one.” One old lady gave me a reproachful look and shook her head.

I’d definitely rather be anywhere else.

We stood in the last row, as far away from the rest of the mourners as possible, but suddenly Pedro faltered, almost like his knees gave out. He staggered backward. “I—can’t,” he whispered, staring at the ground.

I stared at him. For the first time I noticed there wasn’t just blood on his collar. It was all down the front of his shirt, spattering his pale blue tie. Bits of dried grass clung to the knees of his dark pants. “What? Who did that to you, man?”

“I shouldn’t have come,” he hissed. I was aware some people were beginning to turn, but then Pedro just broke into a sprint toward the line of cars. It was like he was being chased by the devil. He even looked back a few times, as if he was expecting to see Satan.

It was over ninety degrees, but I shivered. Wow. What the hell had happened to him?

The priest began to speak about finding comfort in one another. He said, “It is unexpected tragedy that brings us together today.”

“The unexpected in life is often the most difficult to deal with,” I mumbled under my breath, along with the priest. I looked over and saw Mrs. Reese with her head against someone’s shoulder. Mr. Reese, I supposed. When she pulled away, I saw that it was a younger guy. Emma’s brother, the one at Penn State. He stared ahead, unblinking, as Mrs. Reese continued to sob into his suit jacket. Mr. Reese, a white-haired version of his son, stood next to him.

The crowd parted for a split second, and I managed to see the coffin. It was a little one. Too little. I bowed my head and rocked back on my heels and wished for it to be over. In my peripheral vision, I could see two pale feet in black stringy sandals coming up behind me. The toenails were painted red. I knew those feet. Hell, I worshipped those feet.

I cleared my throat. I would not look at her.

She stepped beside me and paused a beat, as if to say, Look at me, I’m here, I came anyway, and then kept right on walking, as if being at a funeral didn’t scare her as much as she’d said. Another girl was with her, the girl with the pixie haircut from track tryouts. The crowd accepted them, made room for them, making me feel like I was the one who had been left behind. After a minute, the boy with Mrs. Reese turned and looked hard, right at Taryn. It was the same look Sphincter had given her. She stared straight ahead, at the casket, but it was clear that there was something between them.

Great. First Sphincter, now this guy. She’s going to drive me to an early grave, I thought, before I realized I probably shouldn’t tempt fate.

After the longest twenty minutes of my life, the funeral ended and the crowd spread out. I kept looking around for some hint as to who had messed with Pedro, wondering if they’d pick me next. I meant not to look at Taryn, but I found myself staring right at her when she spun around to leave. I thought she would give me eye daggers. Instead, she smiled. And not a wicked smile, either; a hey-how-are-you? smile. The kind that’s out of place at a funeral. She made a beeline over to me, her friend following at her heels.

“Did you forget about picking me up?” she asked, still not sounding angry.

“Um. Yeah. Oh.” I tried to play it off as if I had forgotten, but realized too late that I should be apologizing. I mumbled a “sorry,” but I didn’t think she heard it.

“That’s okay. You’ve got stuff on your mind, I understand.”

I nodded. Why the hell was she being so nice?

“Anyway,” she said, “I made it. How are you doing with all this?” She motioned toward the coffin.

“Fine. I was just … leaving …,” I said stiffly. Yeah, I had to leave. Pronto. The You Wills agreed with that.

“Oh.” Pixie grabbed Taryn’s wrist and started to pull her away, but Taryn shook her friend loose, looking annoyed. Then it was as if she regretted it, because she smiled, embarrassed, and made the introduction. “This is Devon.”

Devon and I mumbled hi to each other. She looked about as excited as I was. She stood close enough to Taryn to be her Siamese twin, like she wanted her all to herself.

The only one who seemed interested in conversation was Taryn. But she didn’t notice this. “I had to drag Devon along. Didn’t want to go myself. I hate these things.”

I looked away, feeling like crud. She was too damn cute. I couldn’t take it anymore. “So you got a ride with Devon?” I finally asked.

“No, believe it or not, I have my own car.”

“You drive?”

She nodded. “But I hate it. I know, most people can’t wait to get their licenses, but I have this big fear of driving. I always have this feeling like I am going to die in a horrific car crash.”

I thought about the glass shards spraying in my face. It scared me, too. Another thing we had in common.

“Anyway,” she continued, “my parents wanted me to drive because they’re too busy to cart me around everywhere I need to go. So I got my license a couple of weeks ago. I’m sixteen. Almost seventeen.”

“Really? For some reason I thought you were a freshman.”