4
May 1983
Near the end of the year, just when the school had become a sticky, muggy hell hole, things changed. Something went wrong.
The last time we hung out was a Wednesday. We'd gone to the library after school like always, but I'd noticed Evelyn had been particularly quiet. I hadn't wanted to ask what was wrong; if she'd felt like talking about it then she just would've. She'd left early, which rarely happened. We usually left together, sometimes going our separate ways, sometimes going to get food. That day, she'd said she wasn't feeling good and left. I believed her. She looked paler, kind of clammy. She'd been quieter. It would have made sense that she was sick.
The next day, I'd brought a book from the sale shelf—a Stephen King book, she loved those—in for her. I figured that'
