Page 5 of The Executioners Three

“A crush that ended in seventh grade!”

“But has now resumed with heart-stopping force.”

Divya emitted a half groan and flopped backward right as Kyle hopped into the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He shot Freddie a nervous glance while he cranked the car into gear.

“I’m… fine?” She was struggling to summon coherent words. It would seem her entire brain had been invaded by white noise. “I… I was just surprised,” she finally squeezed out. “It was a lot of water.”

Divya snorted from the back seat.

And Kyle cringed. It made his forehead pucker in the most adorable way.

“Did you guys see all the crows? There must’ve been thousands of ’em.

They’d totally blocked out the sky.” He motioned vaguely to where the sun was just beginning to peek over the red and gold hills of Berm. No birds flew there now.

“We saw them,” Divya said.

“I thought it was an eclipse at first.” Kyle flicked the turn signal at the only stoplight in Berm.

To their left, the Fortin Park lawn was covered in a fresh smattering of fiery maple leaves.

“But then the darkness kept on moving, and I realized it was birds. And then…” He glanced at Freddie.

“I splashed you. And I’m really sorry about that. ”

Freddie felt her cheeks erupt with pink. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” Divya inhaled, clearly about to launch into a tirade that would likely hurt poor Kyle’s sensitive feelings.

So Freddie jumped in first: “How did you know they were crows? Did you see them up close or something?”

Kyle’s cheeks bunched upward—and Freddie thought her heart would melt. He just oozed with an I-don’t-ever-know-what’s-going-on sort of handsome. “Naw. I just assumed it was like in that poem, you know?”

Freddie and Divya exchanged a glance. “Er,” Freddie said. “Poem?”

“Yeah. Something about bells tolling and crows blocking the sun.”

Freddie’s brows pinched together. There was something vaguely familiar about that, although nothing obvious was churning up in her memory banks.

And beautiful Kyle was still talking: “I don’t really know. I just remember it was in an old book my mom had in the garage, and it gave me nightmares. So she threw it away.”

“Understandable.” Freddie nodded solemnly. “That sounds deeply traumatizing, Kyle.”

Divya rolled her eyes. “Not as traumatizing as Kyle’s driving.”

Freddie and Kyle both ignored this comment as they rolled into the tiny downtown—even more festive than the Village Historique with its twinkling fairy lights strung around tree trunks, with its jack-o’-lanterns and autumnal wreaths, with its fallen leaves that brightened the sidewalks like new pennies.

At a four-way stop, Kyle flashed Freddie a shy smile.

And Freddie wilted. Like, literally wilted .

Sure, she had almost been run over, her sweater was possibly ruined, and her best friend clearly thought her selection in boys was lacking, but as far as Freddie was concerned, none of that really mattered. She was a self-actualized human now, and really: What more could a gal ask for in life?

Thank you, Lance Bass. Oh, thank you, indeed.

The Quick-Bis was the closest thing to fast food in Berm. As such, it was always crowded. No matter that it only served a handful of items, nor that it was perpetually greasy and imparted all entrants with a scent like eau de biscuit . The cuisine was cheap, and as the name implied: it was quick.

It was also 100 percent verboten . Freddie’s mom never let her eat there—not even when the book club sometimes met there instead of the library.

More like Heart-Attack-Bis, Mom would say coldly whenever they drove by—and as much as Freddie always wanted to point out that one biscuit wouldn’t kill her, Freddie’s dad had died of a heart attack. So a general fury toward all things high-cholesterol seemed to be one of Mom’s coping mechanisms.

Which meant in the end, it was just easier to never ask for biscuits than to risk triggering some onslaught of Dad-shaped feelings that Freddie didn’t want her or her mom to have to deal with.

Originally, the Quick-Bis had been called the BisQuick .

Until the actual Bisquick company had quickly swooped in for trademark violation.

So Mr. Bromwell, the owner, had simply rearranged the sign outside, and voilà.

Problem solved. Quick-Bis it was. He even plopped a cement pilgrim out front with a sign that read Even First Settler Allard Fortin Gets His Biscuits Here.

Freddie’s mom hated that pilgrim even more than she hated the cholesterol.

Allard Fortin wasn’t a pilgrim, Mom would always rant, and he wasn’t the first settler in the region—those were the Native Americans who lived fifty miles to the north.

When the Fake Fortin (Mom’s name for him) became a frequent target for drive-by tippings by out-of-towners, she cheered.

When Mr. Bromwell then chained Fake Fortin in place and changed the sign to Even the Ghost of Allard Fortin Gets His Biscuits Here, her scowls and rants resumed.

Freddie liked Fake (Ghost) Fortin. He was kind of cute, even if one nostril had broken in the last tipping.

As the Jeep pulled past him into the crowded parking lot, the rain was really dumping down. It forced Freddie, Divya, and Kyle to bolt at top speed into the buttery building of blue and yellow decor. Not that Freddie noticed the downpour. She was floating too high on Kyle’s smile.

Murder in the woods? Pshaw. Sweater that smelled like a barnyard? Eh. Kyle’s hair looked so good all wet from the rain.

It wasn’t until she reached a booth by the window that Freddie’s euphoria finally cracked. Because sitting before her were the most popular kids from Berm High.

And every one of them was smiling at her.

Luis Mendez, his red letterman jacket almost as bright and gleaming as his smile, sat against the window.

He had one arm slung casually around his girlfriend, Cat Nguyen, whose warmer brown skin contrasted with his paler skin.

Cat’s mustard turtleneck, umber sweater vest, and perfectly matching plaid skirt looked exactly how Freddie wanted to dress (yet could never actually manage).

Across from Cat and Luis sat the crowning queen of them all: Laina Steward, a Black girl with dark, cool-toned skin and long braids.

She wore fishnets and combat boots no matter the weather, carried nunchucks in her backpack (and knew how to use them), was a competition cheerleader and class president, and also listened to punk rock and regularly debated Mr. Grant on the merits of socialism in a democratic state.

Laina was not only the coolest girl at Berm High School, but the coolest girl who had ever lived . This was a widely known fact, and no one who had ever met her could argue otherwise.

“I found them!” Kyle beamed at his fellow nobility and snagged two free chairs from a nearby table.

“Them?” Cat’s smile faltered at the sight of Divya tucked behind Freddie. “It was supposed to be just Gellar.”

“Who else did you bring?” Laina asked. Then her eyes slid past Freddie and her grin widened. “Divya, right?”

Divya choked softly, and Freddie turned, alarmed—only to find her best friend flushing furiously and looking as lost as Freddie had felt with Kyle.

“Yes, Madame Class President,” Freddie inserted. “This is Divya Srivastava.”

“Eep,” Divya agreed.

“That means hello, Madame Class President.”

Laina’s smile widened. “You don’t have to call me that—though I do think it’s funny.”

“President Steward, then.” Freddie smiled back. “Someone with your title deserves at least a little recognition.”

This earned her a full bark of laughter. Laina motioned to the empty booth seat beside her. “Sit, you guys.”

Freddie moved to obey; Divya, however, did not. Which left Freddie with no choice but to grab her best friend’s forearm and shove her into the booth. Then Freddie chose a newly added chair at the end.

Instead of sitting beside her, though, Kyle looked down and asked, “Want a biscuit? I’m gonna grab one.”

Now it was Freddie’s turn to eep and Divya’s turn to take action. “She does. And I do too, thanks.”

With a nod, Kyle ambled off—and Freddie thanked Lance in her pocket. He was really on a roll today.

“Welcome,” Laina said, bracing her elbows on the table. “I’m sure you can guess why you’re here. After all, your record speaks for itself.”

My record? Freddie almost asked—but then it hit her. Of course. It’s a small town, people talk. “You mean the arrests?”

“Hear, hear!” Laina drumrolled the table.

“A stroke of genius,” Luis declared.

And even Cat thawed enough to say, “You knocked out two-thirds of their football team.”

“About that.” Freddie pushed her glasses up her nose. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding— oof. ” Freddie’s shin erupted with pain, and when she glanced Divya’s way, the laser-beam stare was at maximum power.

“A misunderstanding?” Laina’s drumrolling paused.

Another kick. A harder glare, and Freddie was left with no choice but to say, “Erm, yes. You see… it wasn’t my idea alone, but Divya’s too.”

“Heyyyy.” Luis grinned Divya’s way, and Cat finally thawed completely—even offering Divya an approving once-over.

Laina just nodded like she’d known this all along. Divya blushed prettily.

“Should we wait for Kyle?” Cat tugged her purse over and unbuckled the clasp.

“Naw.” Luis waved her on. “Kyle can catch up.”

So Cat withdrew a worn, blue-bound book. In faded script on the spine, it read Official Log .

And in perfect synchrony, everyone dipped in low across the table. Even Freddie and Divya. There was a reverence in the way Cat held the book—and in the way she, Luis, and Laina gazed at its canvas cover.

“This,” Cat said dramatically, “is a log of every prank ever pulled by the Berm High seniors.”