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Outside, the phone has gone silent.
“Too late,” Josh says. “We missed him.”
“It wasn’t my boyfriend,” Charlie says.
“Sure,” Josh says, unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”
They sit in silence, Charlie eyeing her scalding hot cup of tea while Josh alternates sips of Coke and coffee. Eventually, Marge emerges from the back of the diner with their food.
“Soup’s on,” she says cheerily, placing their plates in front of them. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
Charlie stares at the plate of French fries, which glisten with grease. The sight of them makes her stomach do a sickly flip. Across from her, Josh tucks his napkin into his shirt collar like he’s a farmerat a picnic. He grabs his utensils—a fork and a surprisingly sharp steak knife—and looks at the food on his plate. A circle of meat smothered with gravy, creamed corn, and a clump of gray stuff that Charlie assumes is supposed to be mashed potatoes. Josh lowers the fork but keeps the knife in hand.
“Something’s been bugging me,” he says. “Outside, when you were on the phone, talking to your friend.”
“Boyfriend,” Charlie says, hoping those three extra letters make a difference. She thinks they might. They mean there’s someone out there who seriously cares about her. Someone who’ll be angry if something should happen to her.
Josh nods. “Boyfriend. Right. When you were talking to him, were you using some sort of code?”
Charlie picks up a French fry and takes a nervous bite. She washes it down with still-too-hot tea. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. ‘Things took a detour’? No one talks that way. In the movies, maybe, but not in real life.”
Charlie should have known how ridiculous she sounded on the phone. Because he’s right. No one talks that way and Josh saw right through it, which is why he now stares at her across the table, a steak knife still gripped in his fist. He holds it with the blade aimed her way, the light glinting off its tip, letting her see how sharp it is, how easy it would be to sink into her flesh.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she says, which is the truth. She’s not sure if Josh wants an explanation, an apology, or simply a reason to shove that knife into her heart.
“You don’t need to say anything. I just think it would be nice to admit it.”
“Admit what?”
Josh reaches across the table, grabs one of her fries, and pops it into his mouth. “That you’re still scared of me.”
Charlie scans the diner, hoping to see Marge or the cook or even a couple of other patrons come inside. But it’s still just her and Josh.
And the knife.
That sharp, glinting extension of his hand.
Josh catches her looking at it and says, “You shouldn’t be scared, is what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not going to hurt you, Charlie. We’re friends, right? Or at least friendly.”
He lowers the knife, as if to prove his friendliness. It doesn’t make Charlie feel any better. Nothing about the situation has changed. They’re still alone, and Josh is still the Campus Killer.
“Listen,” he says. “I think it’s best if we don’t do this anymore. I think that maybe, once I’m done eating, you should stay here.”
Charlie does a little headshake, thinking she misheard him. “What?”
“You should stay here. I get back in the car, drive off, and you find another way to get home.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Josh leans back in the booth, his hands up and palms open, like a magician showing there are no more tricks up his sleeve. “I mean, I don’t like the thought of just ditching you here. But you clearly don’t trust me. And while I’m hurt by that, I also understand that you’ve been through some hard times. Your friend being killed and all that. It would make anyone suspicious. I’m happy to have taken you this far. Now it’s time for us to part ways.”
Charlie sits in utter silence, not moving, not even blinking.
He’s lying.
She can’t help but think that.