Chapter 14

Rosemary Connell—curls of hair once blonde now closer to brown, lips perpetually curled upwards in a mischievous smile, warm Latinx complexion—had been friends with Charlie since eighth grade, finishing elementary school together and being placed in the same form at the colloquially named Clifford B.

Their story, to hear Rosemary tell the tale in truly grandiose style, was one of two loners joining together to kick against the system, when in truth, their adventures were somewhat more prosaic; an intent to change the world but a lack of actual occasion in which to engender such transformation.

“No,” Charlie answered, still concentrating on the reflection and the eyeliner, “they didn’t ask.”

Rosemary clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

“Parenting 101,” she said dismissively, pulling open the zip of her rucksack’s front pocket and fishing around inside with one hand. “Always ask for the origin point of contraband.”