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Marge is giggling about Rich and how he's maybe, kind of, a little bit cute? as Lilly is searching her mom's medicine cabinet, and even though she knows what they're about to do is terrifying and dangerous, she can't stop the smile on her face. Marge is talking to her like she used to, before everything went wrong. Sure, Lilly is stealing her mom's medicine so they can go into the sewers and fight a monster, but she's also gossiping in the kitchen with her friend. It's like the last year has never happened, and she's settling back into their old friendship like a well-worn jacket.
Her good mood lasts until Marge says, "Will totally has a crush on Ronnie, right?"
Lilly freezes. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, you've seen the way he looks at her." Marge shrugs. "I don't know. I think they'd be cute together. Don't you?"
Lilly likes Will. He's never made fun of her, never called her Loony Lilly, and he helped her and Ronnie try to take that picture even though he didn't need to. He's her friend, but Marge's words make her stomach feel sour. She kind of wants to punch Will, just a little bit.
"We should get going," she says instead, pocketing the Mommy's Little Helpers. She shouldn't worry about Will and Ronnie. There are much scarier things ahead of her.
So she pushes the thought out of her mind, and they go into the sewers, and everything goes wrong.
Ever since her dad died, Lilly doesn't think she's gone through the night without nightmares.
It's not the same nightmare every time; Lilly has quite the collection of fears to choose from. They're mostly about her father. The sound of machinery grinding and flesh tearing and screams. She hasn't eaten a pickle since he died, her mom doesn't buy them anymore, but she sometimes dreams of opening a pickle jar and seeing his hands— the hands that held her as a baby and braided her hair, the hands that helped her with her homework and wrote notes to slip into her lunchbox— his hands, bloodied and mangled.
Lately, she's been dreaming of Matty, too. Of the sinking dread of hearing he'd gone missing, or imaging a newspaper article that declares him dead, his body found somewhere on the side of the road. And then, hearing his voice through the pipes, seeing him that night in the theater.
That night in the theater.
She dreams of that night in the theater a lot.
Everything was a blur while it was happening, but in her memories, everything is crystal clear, the scene playing out in sharp focus. How Matty appeared inside the movie, telling them it was their fault he went missing, and then— and then releasing that mutant-baby-thing.
Lilly remembers the screams, and the blood, and Teddy's body flying through the air. She remembers watching Phil die too, and reaching for Suzie, desperate to save at least one person when… when…
Oh god, poor Suzie.
Every time she wakes up thinking of Suzie's dismembered arm, she has to rush to the bathroom to vomit up her dinner. Then she spends the rest of the night in bed, wide awake, shaking.
The point is, Lilly is very well used to nightmares, and she expects it to be even worse now that they've gone into the sewers and that thing, that clown came after them. The clown that had been wearing Matty's face. God, Lilly had been so hopeful, her heart light when she thought maybe, just maybe, he was okay. But she was wrong, and it blew up in her face and nearly got them all killed.
She's scared to go to sleep, but she knows from experience that being tired only makes her hallucinations worse, and that rule seems to also apply to the visions that clown keeps terrorizing her with. So as much as she dreads the nightmares, she lies down on her bed and buries herself in blankets. Ever since leaving the sewers, she hasn't let go of that black object she found, the one that made the clown go away. Now, she holds it to her chest like a teddy bear as she falls asleep.
And maybe that black object keeps the nightmares at bay, because for the first time in so long, Lilly has good dreams.
She and Ronnie are sitting in her room, talking. Not talking about the clown, or Ronnie's dad, just… talking. Spending time together.
"We should go see a movie sometime," Ronnie suggests, and Lilly feels like she's glowing. "Without that monster after us. Just for fun."
Lilly smiles. "I'd like that. What about West Side Story? You said that was your favorite, right?"
"Yeah! It's a date, then."
Lilly coughs, her face heating up. "Um. Yeah. It— it's a date."
"I can't wait," Ronnie says, and before Lilly can respond, Ronnie leans in and kisses her.
For the first time in a very long time, Lilly wakes up smiling.
Her smile doesn't last long, of course, because that was just a dream and the real Ronnie would never, ever kiss her. She can't tell anyone that she wants to kiss Ronnie, either. Her mom might send her back to Juniper Hill, and it might break the fragile friendship she's rebuilt with Marge, and the Pattycakes would torment her forever if they knew. Ronnie is the one person she'd felt like she could talk to about anything, but… well, not about this.
All through school the next day, Lilly can't look at Ronnie or even think about her without her face heating up so badly she thinks she might burst into flames. Her heart starts pounding, her stomach flipping, her palms sweating. Lilly had always prided herself on being levelheaded around boys, not like Marge and the Pattycakes, who start blushing and stammering when they think a boy is cute. But apparently Lilly isn't immune to acting like a fool when she's sweet on someone. She just isn't sweet on boys. Not Matty, or Phil, or any of Marge's old crushes. No, she's only like this about Ronnie, who she thinks of all through English and then chemistry class.
At lunch, Ronnie gives her a big hug, and Lilly thinks she might explode.
"I'm so glad you're okay," Ronnie whispers.
Lilly thinks she manages a strangled "Um, yeah, you too."
"I was so worried," Ronnie says, stepping back. Lilly looks at the floor automatically; she doesn't think she can look into Ronnie's big brown eyes without getting lost in them.
"That thing was so scary," Lilly agrees. The downside of looking at the floor instead of Ronnie is that now she can't distract herself thinking about how pretty Ronnie is. "Did everyone make it out okay?"
"Yeah," Marge says, before Rich interrupts.
"Well, Will's dad's friend died, which was totally insane, like an action movie— but all of us kids are okay. Even though Will wasn't in school today and he's probably going to be grounded for the next five million years. His dad was so pissed."
"Wow," Lilly says, because sometimes that's the only way to respond to Rich's rapid-fire speech. "Listen, we should meet up at the hideout later. We need to talk more about what happened down there, but I don't want to talk about it at school." The last thing she needs right now is another stay at Juniper Hill.
Her friends nod, and they all get their disgusting cafeteria food and grab a table. They all make a pitiful attempt at normal conversation, but everyone is too on edge from the sewers (and, in Lilly's case, from the realization that she wants to kiss her best friend) to talk about school like everything is fine.
"I hope Will's doing okay," Ronnie says, and Lilly tries to ignore the way her stomach twists. There's no reason to think Ronnie means anything other than concern for a friend, but Marge's voice echoes in her head— Don't you think Will and Ronnie would be cute together?
The thing is, as much as her heart clenches, they would be cute together. Ronnie would be happy with him, far happier than she'd ever be Lilly. She deserves someone like Will; a nice, normal boy, not some crazy girl like Loony Lilly Bainbridge.