“Does she like you? I mean, could you see something happening?” Lola said.

“Well, she did take me to her secret fishpond and talk to me about death. Maybe, in her brain, that means she’s super into me?”

“Not necessarily. If she is an MPDG, she probably takes everyone there.”

“Grace isn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, okay? If she were, she would wear sundresses and have bangs and ride a Dutch bike with baguettes in the basket and smile a lot. She’s not quirky; she’s straight-up weird. Actually, I think she might be depressed.”

“Okay, lover boy, I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

I didn’t tell La what I was really thinking: that Grace had turned up at school that morning in the same clothes she’d worn last night, her hair a nest piled at the top of her skull, her eyes rimmed red and puffy from a sleepless night. Girls who lied about having family in the city and occasionally slept in the streets hardly seemed capable of fitting the Manic Pixie Dream Girl archetype.

Murray swung his arm over my shoulder. “Look, mate. The most important thing is to not be too hasty. You get one opportunity with this. You balls it up and you’ll be in some strife. Give it time. You only met her a week ago. Just assess the situation. Take note of her body language. Get to know her before you crack onto her, right?”

“That is strangely the wisest thing you’ve ever said,” said Lola.

“As we’d say Down Under, there’s no point pushing shit uphill with a rubber fork on a hot day.”

“Are these real Australian sayings or do you come up with this stuff yourself?” I said.

“It’s genetic,” Muz said, grinning. “We’re born with it already in our blood.”

“And what’s this crap about ‘I go somewhere in the afternoons’?” Lola said. “What does that even mean?”

I shrugged. “No idea. She gets out of the car, wanders down the street, and disappears. Two or three hours later, the car vanishes too. I don’t know if she comes back for it or if someone else drives it away or what.”

“That’s some enigmatic fuckery right there,” Murray said.

“Grace Town is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma,” I said.

“We could solve it. I mean, I know we ain’t no Madison Carlson, but we could give it a red-hot go.”

“We could,” La said slowly. “Follow her. See where she goes. Suss out the sitch.”

“That’s a bit Christian Grey–ish, don’t you think?” I said.

“Dude, you aren’t gonna sniff her hair while she sleeps. We’re just gonna trail her for five minutes to see where she goes. She might be visiting her boyfriend or something.” I could tell by the way Murray enunciated the word boyfriend that he knew the mere mention of a possible lover would be enough for me to agree. He was right.

“Seventeen goddamn years without peer pressure and suddenly I get smacked down with it twice in two days. Fine. Let’s get our creep on.”

Muz clapped his hands. “It’s settled, then. Tomorrow afternoon, after school, we shall be parked and ready in a car outside your house to begin our stealth operation.”

“I’m the only one with a license, though,” I pointed out, “and I very much intend to be hiding on the floor of the backseat. So which one of you cretins, exactly, is going to drive?”

“Don’t worry,” Lola said, unlocking her phone. “I have a brilliant idea.”

• • •

“I. Cannot. Fucking. Believe I let you talk me into this,” Sadie said from the driver’s seat as I scrabbled into the foot well of the backseat of her SUV. Lola and Murray were already strapped in and ready to go. “I’m a twenty-nine-year-old neuroscientist and I’m aiding and abetting my teenage hoodlum brother to stalk his disabled crush. What went so drastically wrong in my life?”

“Dude, what shoes are you wearing, pointed rodeo boots with spurs?” I said to Murray as he pulled the door closed and I tried to get comfortable on his feet, which was difficult, because his shoes were trying to eviscerate my kidneys.

“They’re kicks, bro, calm your tits. Stop being dramatic and sit next to me.”

“Never! I must protect my identity. La, I really wish you’d climb in the back so Grace can’t see you.”

“And miss seeing this train wreck unfold firsthand? Not likely,” Lola said.

I twisted around, unable to find a spot that didn’t feel like I was being filleted. “Ugh, Sadie, just drive!”

“Patience, John Hinckley Jr. 2.0, we’re following a girl who walks with a cane,” said Sadie as she started the car and slowly pulled away from the curb.

I conceded to being uncomfortable for the entire trip and rested my cheek in the dirty foot well. “I swear I’m not going to shoot the president anytime soon.”

“Say what you will, but if you book flights to Washington and start watching a lot of Jodie Foster movies, we will report you to the NSA,” Lola said.

“What’s happening?” I said as the car rolled to a slow stop. “Can you see her?”

“Yeah, she’s right up ahead. Just picked a few flowers from someone’s front garden. Freakin’ MPDGs.” I could practically hear Lola shaking her head. “Don’t worry, I don’t think she’s gonna shake us.”

“I’m more worried about her seeing us than shaking us.”

“If we get busted, we’ll tell the cops that Sadie is obsessed with Grace and made us come along for the ride so she could slaughter us all in some kind of violent Satanic ritual.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Suds said. “I hate you all, bunch of little weirdos.”