Page 103 of Dream On, Ramona Riley

Ramona went back inside before anyone saw her—she knew Mrs. Murphy who lived two houses down was a notorious gossip—and closed the door behind her.

“Dylan?” she said one more time, panic lacing her voice, but there was no answer.

Dylan Monroe was not here.

Ramona found her bag on the couch, dug out her phone. She had several missed calls from April, none from Olive. None from Dylan either. She tapped on Dylan’s number and pressed the phone to her ear.

A second later, she heard a vibration in the bedroom. There, on the dresser, was Dylan’s phone. She had no idea how attached Dylan was to her phone—she remembered Dylan mentioning that it got her in trouble a lot, so the fact that she’d left without it might not be all that unusual.

Because Dylan had left.

She’d left Ramona alone in her own house, no note, no text.

Nothing.

Ramona sank down onto the bed, sat there for a good five minutes trying to process what to do or how she felt. Maybe Dylan had gone out to get breakfast for them. Made sense, as she knew Dylan didn’t have much in the house. Ramona nodded to herself and got dressed. Used Dylan’s toothpaste on her finger to scrub her teeth clean. Made Dylan’s bed and picked up Dylan’s own discarded clothes on the bedroom floor, set them in the hamper by the dresser.

Then she settled on the living room couch and read a thriller on her e-book phone app.

She sat there and read four chapters.

Sat there for an hour.

One hour and eleven minutes.

Finally, she slipped her phone into her bag, then stood and left Dylan’s house, leaving the door hanging wide open as she went.

“Wait, wait, wait,”April said, “let me make sure I’ve got this right.”

She sat on her couch, a squashy lavender-gray color with black-and-white throw pillows featuring tragic women’s faces—Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Sylvia Plath. Ramona was tucked into one corner, a cup of coffee in her hands, Sylvia in her lap. One of April’s cats, Bob the Drag Cat—named for one of April’s favorite drag queens—was curled up next to April. Her other cat, a notoriously cranky lynx point Siamese named Bianca del Kitty for another drag queen, glared at Ramona from her perch on the back of the oversized armchair by the fireplace.

Ramona had gone straight to April’s after leaving Dylan’s, knowing April would pepper her with questions, which was what she needed right now. Questions and answers.

“Don’t make me say all of that again,” Ramona said.

“No, no,” April said. She was in a white undershirt-style tank top, which Ramona had never seen her wear before, and a pair of plaid boxers. “I wouldn’t dare. But…mind-blowing sex, right?”

“Check.”

“And no sign of Dylan in her own house?”

“Check, check.”

April frowned. “Let’s go back to the sex.”

Ramona laughed, flopped her head back onto the cushion. Shestared at the ceiling, which was plaster and painted the same light aqua color as the walls, because April was nothing if not unconventional. Framed art covered nearly every inch of the walls too, all different colors, styles, mediums. Some of it was April’s, some not. After Elena left, April had become a plant gay as well, greenery thriving and draped all over her tiny bungalow.

“It was good,” Ramona said.

“Excuse me, I believe you said mind-blowing. Dare I say, DNA-altering?”

“Oh, god,” Ramona said, covering her face. “This is just like Elena, and Dylan is going to pulverize my heart, and I’m totally screwed.”

“Wow, my life has a lovely outlook,” April said flatly.

Ramona groaned into her hands. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

“A bit. But DNA-altering sex will do that. Trust me, I know.”