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It was cold.
Sadie crouched on the pavement beside the Bubble Bubble. She'd been working her fingers for what felt like an hour, partly to stave off the cold and partly to get that hit of calm that came when she let the tension drop from her hands. But as soon as her fingers relaxed, the nervous churning in her stomach would roll right back in, and the cycle continued, nausea and tension and calmness rolling over each other until Sadie's fingers were sore and numb and she felt like she might throw up.
Forget it. This was no way to spend an afternoon. A wave of relief washed over her as she stood up to go home, but of course Baz picked that exact moment to leave the store.
He hadn't changed much at all. He'd cut his hair, maroon curls hanging over his left eye, and the rest shaved short. But he still had the same chaotic dress style — today featuring baggy, multicoloured trousers, mismatched fabric bracelets running up his brown wrists and a flamingo pink scarf thrown over his shoulder. The same disinterested glint to his expression. She also still had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes, which she hated.
She took a step back instead. "Baz."
He stared down at her for a couple of seconds, then pushed roughly past. "Fuck off, Sadie."
She scowled. Asshole. But underneath her annoyance, she felt a bitter sting in her chest. It was the first thing he'd said to her in nearly three years, and it hurt.
For a moment, Sadie considered letting him go. The last time they'd spoken had been a disaster, the kind that razed cities and prompted fundraisers to mitigate the damage. Did she really want to get into all that again?
She shook her head. I just need an address.
So instead of leaving, she took a deep breath in and said the three words she knew would get his attention.
"It's about Etta."
Baz's amble slowed to a stop. His shoulders tensed, but didn't look at her, as if making up his mind whether to answer.
The quiet stretched taut between them, the sound of cars sliding by and a siren in the distance a mute hum in the background.
Without turning, he said, "A bit late for that, isn't it?"
Sadie snapped back a reply before she could think. "As if one extra person looking for her would have changed anything," she said, like their last conversation had never ended at all. "The police and private investigators couldn't even get a lead. What difference would I have made?"
Immediately, she bit her tongue — why was she still so defensive about this?
"They didn't know her like us." Baz spun round to face her. "Anything you might have seen, might have known, would have helped. But you know what would have been completely fucking useless? Getting all nihilistic and suddenly deciding you could care less when your friend was relying on you—"
