Her car.

Her father called it a “classic.”

She wasn’t quite so kind in her description of the small 1988 Honda Civic, with its original factory paint that was fading after years of being battered by the rainy Washington weather.

She called it dilapidated.

Reliable, her father would argue back. And Violet couldn’t entirely disagree. So far, despite its morning protests and groans-so much like her own-her Honda had never been the cause of one of her (many) late slips.

Today was no different. The car coughed and spewed when she turned the ignition, but the engine caught on the first attempt and, after a few coaxing moments, the sound turned to something closer to its usual not-so-quiet grumbling.

Violet had just one stop to make on her way to school, the same stop she’d made every day since getting her license six months earlier. To pick up her best friend, Jay Heaton.

Best friend. The expression seemed so foreign now, like an old, comfortable sneaker that once practically molded to your foot but now strained against each step you took because it no longer fit.

The summer had changed things…too many things for Violet’s liking.

She and Jay had been best friends since they were six years old, when in the first grade Jay had moved to Buckley. It was the day that Violet dared him to kiss Chelsea Morrison at recess, telling him she’d be his best friend if he did. Of course Chelsea had pushed him down for doing it, which Violet had known would happen, and all three of them were hauled into the principal’s office for a discussion about “personal boundaries.”

But Violet was true to her word, and she and Jay had been inseparable ever since.

In the first grade, they’d played tag on the playground, always ganging up on the other kids to make someone else “it” in order to avoid playing against each other. In second grade, they moved on to the jungle gym, choosing teams and using the tunnels as makeshift forts to defend against their enemies. By third grade, they’d learned to play four square and wall ball. Fourth, tetherball. And fifth was the year they discovered the giant boulder at the edge of the playing field, behind which the recess teacher couldn’t see what was happening.

It was the year of their first kiss-or kisses, rather-their one and only foray into romance with each other. They tried it once with their lips closed tightly, a small quick peck, and then again, they tried it by touching their tongues together. The sensation was slippery, supple, and foreign. They both immediately agreed that it was gross and swore they would never do it again.

By middle school, their parents, who had become something like chauffeurs, ferrying the two of them almost daily across the mile-long distance that separated their homes, had resigned, maintaining that if Violet and Jay really wanted to see each other, then the exercise would do them good.

But neither of them minded the walk. They had spent years of their childhoods combing through the forested areas that surrounded both of their homes, as they explored and built clubhouses out of old timber. They had mapped and named entire sections of the woods, several of them after themselves or unusual arrangements of their combined names. Things like “Jaylet Stream”…“Amberton Woods”…“Hebrose Trail.”

They also named the makeshift graveyard behind Violet’s house, using neither of their names, simply calling it Shady Acres.

They were ten at the time, and the name sounded ominous and dark…which was exactly what they were going for. They would dare one another to go out there, to see who could wait alone, until well after darkness had fallen, telling each other tales of the strange occurrences they were sure must be happening out there…especially at night.

Violet always won, and Jay never complained that she did. He seemed to understand that she wasn’t afraid, even when she pretended to be.

He understood a lot of things. He was the only person, besides her parents, and her aunt and uncle, who knew about her strange penchant for seeking out ravaged animals, and her need to rebury them within the safe chicken-wire enclosure of Shady Acres. It had been an adventure that they’d shared together, combing through fern groves and blackberry thickets in search of the lost bodies. He’d even helped her build little crosses and headstones to mark the tiny graves.

Before they were buried, before they were properly laid to rest, those animals left behind would call out to Violet. They would emit an energy-a sensory echo-in the wake of their murder, like a beacon that only she could find, letting her know where they’d been discarded. It could be anything…a smell, a burst of color, a taste in the back of her mouth, or a combination of several sensations at once.

She didn’t know how…or why…It just happened.

But what she did know, what she’d learned early on, was that once she placed them in her graveyard, they no longer called out to her. She still felt them, but it was different. She was able to filter them out, until they became nothing more than the comforting static of white noise.

Jay also understood the need to keep Violet’s secret, even though he’d never been told to. He seemed to sense, even from an early age, that he needed to keep that secret close to him, like a treasure he protected, saving it just for the two of them. He’d always made Violet feel safe and secure…and even normal.

So why, then, had everything changed so suddenly?

Already, as her car sputtered down his driveway, with gravel crunching beneath the tires, her heart rate was racing within the suddenly too-confined space of her chest.

This is ridiculous, she chided herself. He’s your best friend!

She saw the front door opening even before she slowed to a complete stop. Jay was yanking his hooded sweatshirt over his head, dragging his backpack in his wake. He yelled something into the house, probably telling his mom that he was leaving for school, and he pulled the door shut behind him.

It was the same thing every day. There was nothing different from yesterday and the day before that. Nothing different from every single day since they’d met.

Except that now her stomach climbed into her throat as he grinned his stupid sideways grin at her and slid into the car.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

She smiled back, willing her reckless pulse to slow down. “Ready?”

“No, but do we have a choice?” His voice, which had gotten deeper over the summer, was still so well-known to her, so comfortable, that she immediately relaxed.

“Not if you don’t want a tardy.” She backed out of the driveway, barely glancing in her rearview mirror to watch where she was going. His driveway was almost as familiar to her as her own.

She hated these new, unknown feelings that seemed to assault her whenever he was around, and sometimes even when he was only in her thoughts. She felt like she was no longer in control of her own body, and her traitorous reactions were only slightly more embarrassing than her treacherous thoughts.

She was starting to feel like he was toxic to her.

That, or she was seriously losing her mind, because that was the only way she could possibly explain the ridiculous butterflies she got whenever Jay was close to her. And what really irritated Violet was that he seemed to be completely oblivious of these new, and completely insane, reactions she was having to him. Obviously, whatever she had wasn’t contagious.

Except that it was. She wasn’t the only one that seemed to be noticing him. She almost dreaded the moment they’d step out from the relative peace of her noisy old Honda in the school’s overcrowded parking lot. Because that’s when the real games began.

Day three of school, but as of day one, girls had begun to wait for them to arrive in the morning.

No, not for them…for him.