The Butterfly Clues by Kate Ellison Read Free Book Online

thanks,” I say. And then, all at once, in a burst: “The worst is that the police don’t really give a shit. They’ve just written the whole thing off. They’re not even investigating. Not really.”
    Flynt says nothing. I’m embarrassed by my outburst, and I bite my lip, turning away from him.
    Silence: seconds like bricks, falling from the sky, forming a wall between us. I wrap my navy blue coat around me tighter.
    “I should probably get home,” I tell Flynt, who nods.
    “Let me walk you to your bus,” Flynt offers, linking his arm with mine, like we’re old friends. I pull away. I’m not used to being touched, not by a boy, anyway. The few times it has happened have been by accident—like when J. R. Miller grabbed me around the waist at the sixth grade dance, confusing me for Grace Hull, or in eighth grade, when Micah Eisenberg put both hands on my lower back and pushed me out of the way so he could make the winning spike in our gym-class volleyball tournament. And that hardly counts.
    Flynt doesn’t try to touch me again but doesn’t seem offended, either. We walk through Neverland’s landscape of uncapped potholes and trash-strewn streets.
    “You should come around sometime. I might just know a really cool guy with fabulous taste in head gear who can show you how great this shit-hole town can be,” Flynt says when we’re almost at the bus stop. He tugs on his bear-ear cap.
    My heart leaps. Someone wants to hang out with me. A boy wants to hang out with me. I examine his face, his eyes, trying to decide if he’s messing with me. But his expression remains the same: dimpled grin, wide, playful green-blue-gold eyes.
    The moment I cast my eyes away from Flynt and to the sky, I see six blackbirds swoon past in a line—like they were put there, right at that moment, to reassure me. It’s almost enough to distract me from my mission, from the images of Sapphire’s murdered body still cycling through my head—an endless revolution, a bloody carousel.
    I decide to play along. “That sounds like it could be all right,” I say cautiously, and Flynt’s smile gets even bigger. “So … how do I find this really cool guy? Does he have a cell phone? A bat symbol? A birdcall?”
    “I wish!” he says. “He wasn’t blessed with the whistling gene, unfortunately. See.” He purses his lips and tries to whistle, releasing a stream of air, a flag of spit, nothing more; we both start laughing. “Doesn’t have any of that other fancy robot stuff, either. I’m pretty sure I’m—I mean, he’s —trying to stay off the grid as much as he can, you know? Just, meet me—I mean, him— in the same spot. I suppose you should give him your number, just in case he ever happens upon a phone booth. And don’t be afraid to just ask around. Someone will know where to find him.” He pauses and corrects himself, for real this time, gazing at me. “Where to find me.”
    The 96 is waiting at the stop when we arrive. I scribble my cell phone number quickly, nervously, in a soft-covered notebook Flynt has been keeping in his pocket. Then I tap tap tap, banana as softly as I can, face burning as I do, hoping he won’t hear me, hoping he won’t notice, board the bus, pay the fare. Through the reflective bus windows, I watch Flynt slip through a different alleyway to who-knows-where, tire slung around his neck, soft-side-down, like a fallen halo.

CHAPTER 5
    Spring starts inching its way into Cleveland, devouring old snow, asserting itself in the parks and tree branches, and consuming the high school world with a kind of madness. Each and every wall of Carver is glutted with flyers when we return from the weekend: PROM! PROM! PROM! ONE MONTH UNTIL PROM! VOTE ON YOUR FAVORITE THEME! MAD JUNGLE DISCO? HIP-HOP-ALICEIN-WONDERLAND-RABBIT-HOLE? OUTER SPACE ?, then small print: TICKETS $25. FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY, SUCKAAAAS. AND: WHO RULES? YOU DECIDE. VOTE FOR YOUR PROM COURT TODAY ! The entire science wing—papered with