Free Sidekick Returns by Auralee Wallace

the memory. ‘Once that purebred stud got a taste for the good stuff, he was never the same.’ I shook my head. ‘Actually, I feel kind of bad about that.’
    She kept on smiling before saying, ‘Anyway, I better go before I do something embarrassing like ask you to hang out.’
    It took everything in me just to smile and nod. I really did kind of want to hang out. I mean, as of late, most of the people I met didn’t exactly … like me. And it was so nice to be liked. But I didn’t know this girl, and she now knew me. I had to be smart about this.
    Her smile drooped an insy bit when she realised I wasn’t taking the bait. ‘Well, I hope your break doesn’t last too long.’ She grabbed the stair railing and mounted the first step. ‘The world needs more Bremy St. James.’
    â€˜Thank you.’ I brushed my hair back from my face. ‘I will keep that in mind.’
    She walked up a few more steps, so I could only see her pulled up socks. ‘By the way, your apartment key opens the mailbox.’
    â€˜Yes!’ I lunged for the box. Then I remembered I was being rude. ‘Thank you!’ I shouted, turning back to the stairs, but she was already gone.
    I quickly slid my key into the lock and swung the little door open. I pried the overstuffed contents from their prison and pinned the stack to my chest. Mail! A lot of mail! I had no idea I was so popular. And now, I actually had something to do in my apartment other than dream about Pierce and crime-fighting greatness.
    I hurried up the stairs. I only made it a step or two down my hallway before I heard the death metal blaring. Queenie.
    Neighbour. Misanthrope. Designer of kick-ass outfits. And maybe girlfriend of my one other friend in this city, Bart. At least, I liked to think that Queenie was my friend. But I’d never tell her that. She might hurt me. She was also Korean, but I wasn’t sure anymore if I was supposed to mention that … or think it. Hmm, did Queenie describe me to people as Caucasian? Or maybe, that white girl? And if so, what did that mean to them? Whoa . I gave my head a shake. I never used to ask myself these questions in my old life. I was blowing my own mind. Either way, Queenie was just the person I needed to talk to.
    I marched over to her door, mail still pinned in my arms, and kicked it with the toe of my boot.
    The door swung open.
    â€˜Oh,’ I gasped. ‘Queenie, no.’
    She didn’t move. She just stared back at me with dead eyes. No, really, she was wearing contacts that whited out her irises. I was used to her dressing in frightening mash-up outfits, but tonight she was picking on one of my childhood favourites.
    My eyes roved over her blue and white checked dress with apron overtop. Sure, it was shredded in places and splattered with blood, but with the pigtails … there was no mistaking who she was supposed to be. Then I recognised the lyrics of the song.
    â€˜You can’t be a zombified Dorothy,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘And “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is a happy song.’
    She still said nothing, but she hadn’t slammed the door either. It showed how tight we’d become.
    Suddenly, my hand flew to my mouth, sending a few envelopes fluttering to the floor. ‘You didn’t!’
    Queenie said nothing.
    â€˜That is wrong!’ I pointed at the necklace she was wearing. It was hard to be sure, but it looked like it had a tin, a fur, and a straw ear as charms. Still nothing. ‘Okay, moving on.’ I shuffled my feet. It seemed rude just to come out and ask for a favour, so I started with, ‘How’s it going with Bart?’
    The door came swinging towards me, but I straight-armed it. I knew Queenie’s modus operandi. ‘No! What did he do? I’ll kill him.’ Queenie inhaled … angrily. ‘Do you want me to pick up some food? We can have a girls’ night. You know,