The Key to the Golden Firebird by Maureen Johnson Page A

She carefully opened the door, released the front seat, and crawled into the back.
    Even though the seat wasn’t quite big enough for her to stretch all the way out, it was still large enough for her to be comfortable. She looked up at the black convertible top that stretched above her. It wasn’t like before, when she would look up at the stars, but still, things didn’t seem to be closing in as much. She breathed in and out slowly, taking long breaths and holding them in her chest. She ran her fingers along the stitching on the backseats that had always reminded her of the pattern on the front of a catcher’s chest protector. Slowly she started to feel a bit better. She actually started to nod off.
    The next thing she knew, there was a horrible grinding sound above her, causing her to jolt awake midsnore. The garage door was rolling back. Palmer crouched down, but Brooks was obviously going to notice the huge car door that was blocking her path into the house. Sure enough, Palmer heard the footsteps stop, and Brooks leaned down and peered into the back of the car.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Brooks said, smirking.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou’re sleeping in the garage now?”
    Palmer didn’t answer. She would just wait for Brooks to lose interest and go away.
    â€œYou’re getting freaky, Palm,” Brooks said, tripping just a bit as she went up the two steps to the kitchen door.
    When Brooks was gone, Palmer gave up on her idea. She went back into the house and curled back up on the sofa, keeping the television on mute.

4
    At work the next night, Nell approached May as she was restocking the milk-and-sugar counter. May went right on working, stuffed sugar packets into their clear plastic box, even though Nell lurked there for a solid minute or so. She got close enough for May to get a good whiff of her clove shampoo.
    â€œDid you want something?” May finally asked.
    â€œWhat’s your deal with Pete, Ape?”
    â€œMy deal? I don’t have a deal with Pete.”
    â€œYes, you do. You guys seem pretty tight.”
    â€œI’ve just known him for a long time,” May said, pushing way too many napkins into the dispenser. “My dad and his dad were best friends.”
    â€œWere? Did they fight or something?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSo they’re not friends now?”
    â€œThey’re friends,” May said, not wanting to explain. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”
    â€œSo if Pete’s not your boyfriend, why does he always come here?”
    â€œHe gives me rides sometimes. That’s all.”
    â€œSo you don’t have a boyfriend?”
    It was a piercing question.
    â€œNot at the moment,” May said, reaching for another pack of napkins. She wasn’t about to tell Nell that she had never hada boyfriend—but for some reason, she felt like Nell could sense that fact.
    â€œI think that thing is full,” Nell said. The napkin dispenser was now groaning from the pressure of May’s overzealous packing. Nell’s cool hazel eyes said it all: You poor, sexually frustrated mess. Yeah. She knew.
    May stopped filling the napkin dispenser.
    â€œI did this photography project once,” Nell said, looking down at her nails. “It was a study on body markings. You know. Piercing, tattoos, stuff like that. But also natural stuff, like people who have extra skin somewhere or freckles. I like freckles. I liked your friend Pete’s freckles. He would have made a good subject.”
    â€œHe’s got enough of them.”
    â€œYou brought your bike today, didn’t you?”
    Automatically they both turned their glances out the window and focused them on the Brown Hornet, which was bathed dramatically in a pool of parking lot light. It was U-locked to one of the parking signs, and it slumped rather pathetically against the pole.
    â€œSo he’s not coming to get