“Mine is the one with the colored glass on it,” Ivy said, watching the road with half her attention. “I should have a plastic one in there, somewhere. The disinfectant is probably still good. Dad would kill her if he knew she threw them in the snow. They cost as much as her summer camp last year in the Andes.”

“Oh.” My three summers spent at Kalamack’s Make-A-Wish camp for dying children suddenly looked pale. Shifting past a small container that looked like an elaborately decorated pillbox was a thumb-sized white vial. I unscrewed the top to find it full of a bluish liquid.

“That’s the one,” Ivy said, and I dropped them in. They floated, and when I went to stick my pinky in to sink them, she added, “Just put the top on and give it a shake. They’ll sink.”

I did just that, dropping the vial into her purse and setting it beside her.

“Thanks,” Ivy said. “The time I ‘lost’ mine, he grounded me for a month.”

I gave her a weak smile, thinking it was kind of like losing your glasses or retainer…or maybe your diaphragm. Oh God. Did I really want to know all this?

“You still wear caps?” I said, curiosity getting the better of me. She didn’t seem to be embarrassed about it. Maybe I should just go with it.

Ivy shook her head, signaling an instant before she crossed two lanes of traffic to get to the expressway’s onramp. “No,” she said as I clutched the door handle. “Not since I was seventeen. But I keep them in case—” She cut her words off. “Just in case.”

Just in case what? I wondered, then decided I didn’t want to know. “Uh, Ivy?” I questioned as I tried not to figure out where she was going to force herself into traffic. I held my breath while we merged and, from behind us, horns blew. “What the heck does bunny ears and ‘kiss, kiss’ mean?”

She stared at me, and I made a peace sign and crooked my fingers twice in quick succession. An odd smile quirked the corners of her mouth. “Those aren’t bunny ears,” she said. “Those are fangs.”

I thought about that, then flushed. “Oh.”

Ivy chuckled. I eyed her for a moment, then deciding there would be no better time, I took a slow breath. “Um, about Skimmer…”

Her good mood vanished. She shot me a look, then put her eyes back on the road. “We were roommates.” A faint flush came over her, telling me it was more than that. “We were very close roommates,” she added carefully, as if I hadn’t already figured it out. Ivy hit the brakes hard to avoid a black BMW that wanted to pen her in behind a minivan. Accelerating quickly, she darted around to the right, leaving him behind.