“Yes,” I said.

We stopped at a beverage mart with plate-glass windows, half of them covered in plywood. We bought whiskey, cigarettes, and two Diet Cokes. Audrey guided the car around the building, away from the security lights, and we did a couple more lines. Her eyes glittered. I was aware, looking at her, that I had never been in this particular situation before. That whatever was happening was happening for the first time. She leaned back and stuck her feet out the window. Her legs were slender and tan. She looked like a fantasy of carefree summertime, and I remembered why we were there: Danielle was dead. I guess Audrey was thinking the same thing.

“Last week,” she said, “we were hanging out at Brandon’s looking at magazines. Watching cable. We got some takeout Chinese. She always ordered this slimy eggplant. It’s her favorite. And now she’s—” Audrey took a long breath. “Now she’s nowhere.”

“I know,” I said.

“So where the fuck did she go?” Audrey said.

“It makes no sense,” I said. “Shit like this, it doesn’t just happen. Not to Danielle.”

“It did, though,” she said.

“Who do you think did it?” I said.

Audrey shuddered. “I can’t think about that. I get too freaked out.”

“Aren’t you scared?” I asked her. “Like those girls who weren’t at the service?”

“Those girls hardly knew Danielle. They’re being all dramatic. They’re probably glad she’s dead because she was way hotter than them.”

“You don’t think it could be some stalker who likes your videos?”

“Shit. Now you’re trying to scare me.”

“No,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

We watched a mosquito brushing the windshield.

“It wants to get out,” Audrey said. “It’s tired, it’s not even biting us.” With her thumb she mashed the bug against the glass. “I hate this,” she said. “Let’s drive.”

She took a swig of whiskey and handed me the bottle, then brought her legs in the car and shifted it into gear. Drunkenness rolled over the edges of my body.

Audrey fiddled with the radio. “Come on, where’s a fucking song? I can’t stand how these DJs talk. Why can’t they talk like normal people?”

I took over the dial and found some music. We cranked it loud and floated along the freeway. Smog cushioned the air, cradled us.

“I feel bad,” Audrey said. “I never went in the church. I was going to. I just couldn’t.”

“I don’t think she’d care,” I said. “It wasn’t exactly her style.”

“You’re trying to cheer me up. You’re sweet.”

“I mean it, too, though,” I said. “That was her mom’s deal, completely.”

I thought of all those people—adults with money and suits. I wondered how many of them actually knew Danielle. Then again, maybe I didn’t know her, either. Not really, not anymore.

We exited the freeway and rolled through a neighborhood of quiet houses, clean and well lit, the buildings set close to the street inside high fences. Audrey glanced at me and smiled. Tears had smudged her eyeliner. It made her look more tangible somehow.