“Mitzi! Mitzi, slow down!” I call, pumping my little legs hard against the sloping pavement. It’s hot today, the kind of hot that is static and heavy, pulling the smell out of everything. The sun sinks into a bloodbath, grinning violently as the moon rises in the sky. Mitzi turns to me, her newly dyed, cherry curls bouncing about her white face. Her wide, red lips split her face as she opens her mouth to a toothy smile.

“Hurry up, Sophia,” she shouts from the top of the hill.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” I ask, huffing.

“No,” she laughs, turning down an alley. Her perfume hits me full force. She smells like cigarettes and Chanel No. 5. When I don’t follow her, she turns. “Don’t be such a puss. Luke will be there.” She grins wider, knowing she’s won.

In this light her skin glows pearl and orange, like those little marble faeries you find in gift shops, watering flowers and kissing butterflies. Mitzi never goes out before 7pm in the summer. She says the sun will kill her. Sometimes I believe it.