I said, reaching over and plucking the twig out of Ava’s thick black hair. The tiny branch snagged and I yanked harder than I intended to get it out. “Ouch!” “Sorrrrry,” I said with exaggeration. “It’s your own fault for parking your car next to a giant tree-bush thing.” At the next stoplight, Ava checked her hair in the rearview mirror and flattened out the part I pulled loose. “It wasn’t so dangerous in the daylight. And stop frowning,” she said. “You’ve spent the last couple of weeks moping around. We’re 17, it’s summer, my parents are both out of town and we’re going to a party.” “In a warehouse. Downtown. When we end up murdered in some back alley, I’m still blaming this entire thing on you.” “You can’t blame me. I’ll be dead.” “Ugh, you’ll probably haunt me forever, too.”
