“What happened?”
“He jumped all over me after you left, asked what I did.”
“What did you say?”
“That I think I scared you off.”
“What did he say?” Because Matt hasn’t said a word to me about any of this.
“He said not to even look at you again.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Sort of. And he did leave a pretty good bruise.” Ben laughs as he lifts up his shirt to reveal a fist-size purple mark on his chest. A perfect, chiseled chest above abs so cut that I could wash clothes on them.
And now I have to look away so I can speak. “That looks like it hurt.”
“Nah, it was nothing. I take worse at practice. But did you at least have fun Saturday night?”
“Um, yes, I guess. It was a little different than what I expected.”
He grins. “Too wild, or not enough?”
“Not enough, actually. I was told there would be chanting and bonfires and nudity, so I’m a little disappointed.”
For a single moment, he’s surprised, then his laughter fills the hallway. “Well, next time I’ll make sure it meets your expectations.” His eyes crinkle around the edges, and his tan skin is stretched tight to reveal a straight white smile, the kind that lights up his entire face. God, I wish he wasn’t so pretty. “I guess we’ve got to get to class,” he says.
“Yeah, I can’t be late.”
“I know, preacher’s daughter.”
“Don’t.” I pull away from him.
“Don’t what?” Ben’s smile falters.
“Is that all you think I am? A preacher’s daughter?”
“I . . . I don’t mean it like that.”
“I know how you mean it, Ben. It’s almost an insult, the way you say it. It’s all anyone can see, Leah Roberts, the preacher’s daughter, like that’s all there is to me, all I’ll ever be.”
Ben stares, wide-eyed, and I know I’ve completely taken him by surprise again. I kind of feel guilty, jumping on him like that, but I can’t take it anymore. It’s not cute and flirty the way it used to be, when I basked in whatever attention he gave me.
“I’m sorry, Leah.” Ben pulls himself together. “I didn’t know it bothered you. I won’t do it again. Promise.” He smiles, and before I know it, he’s taken my books and moved his hand to my back to guide me down the hall.
“Ben, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he says lightly.
“Then why do you have my books?”
“Can’t I be nice and hold your stuff?”
Words that would send me straight to hell cross my mind. The whole school will think we’re dating by lunchtime. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I’m not, but I think I need my books back.”
“Well, if you insist,” he teases. “I don’t need a matching set of bruises.”
I hold my books up like a shield so I can’t stare at his chest again, but Ben only laughs. “I’ll see you around, Leah.” He stands in the hallway, watching me leave, along with half the student body.
“Can’t wait,” I say numbly, walking into precalculus with a distinct feeling that I won’t be paying attention to a single thing the teacher says. I take my seat, thinking of Ben, this sudden change in him and what it means. But it doesn’t take long for Ben’s face to change, for his dark eyes to fade as another takes his place, warm light and cool shadows surrounding eyes so green that every other color seems to pale in comparison. That is the image that stains my sight, like a watermark covering everything I see, refusing to let me go.
chapter ten
“How was your day?” Mom asks as I slide into the front seat after school.
“Fine.”
Mom eyes me with vague suspicion. I should have practiced saying “fine” without the tone. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Is it something your father is going to hear about?”
“No. It’s just . . . Ben is, I don’t know, talking to me. Like, more than usual.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I thought you liked Ben?”
“I did. I do. It’s just . . .”
“Complicated because he’s Ben?” She smiles.
“Something like that.” I smile back, grateful she’s in a good mood. It’s surprising, given the weekend we’ve had.
“But he is a nice boy. I wouldn’t be against you having a boyfriend, you know.”
“Like Dad’s going to let me.”
“Honestly? I think he’d be okay with Ben Hanson, if that’s what you wanted.”
“Only because Sheriff Hanson is his BFF.”
“Is there another boy?”
Just a wild one who lives in the woods and won’t leave my thoughts. “No, there isn’t.”
“Then maybe you should think about it. You know Ben, probably better than most, as much as he’s over here. I’ll talk to your father if you want.”
“I didn’t know you two were talking.” It slips out before I can get it back.
“Leah,” she says, her voice heavy. “Your father and I do the best we can, but it’s hard some days.”
“Apparently it’s hard all days, because I don’t remember the last time the two of you smiled at each other.” And down the rabbit hole we go.
“We smile,” she argues. “We just . . .”
“Don’t do it around us, I guess? The kids who would like to see you act like you can stand to be in the same room as each other.”
“Leah, you don’t understand—”
“What do I not understand? I’ve been here the past ten years just like you, so I’m pretty sure I understand.”
Mom is silent, her narrowed eyes trained on the road. I stare out the window, wishing I could disappear, until she speaks again, saying something about an apple.
“What?” I must have misunderstood her. Surely she didn’t say that.
“Why did you put an apple on your windowsill?”
I stare at her, uncomprehending, because my mind is trying to accept what she is saying. “Um, in my room?”
She frowns. “Outside of it. Sitting on the edge of the sill. I almost knocked it off the roof trying to get it.”
My heart races as I try to logistically reason why an apple would be on my windowsill. There’s only one, because the apple tree is too far from the house for it to have fallen there.
“Oh. I had my window open this morning and I guess I forgot about it when I closed it.”
“Hmm, well, that’s fine. I just thought I would ask since I didn’t think you liked them.”
“I eat them all the time,” I say without hesitation.
She blinks. “Oh.”
It was an easy lie, but my hands are shaking by the time we pull up into the driveway. I force myself to do all the normal things I do when we get home; grab a drink, get a snack, and put my backpack on the kitchen table.
“You have much work to do?” Mom asks, pulling out ingredients from the pantry.
“Not too much, just a short essay for English and some math. I’ll be right back.”
I swing open the door to my room, hoping to see the apple, but it’s gone. I know she said it was there, but if I can’t see it, I don’t really believe it. Would the boy be so reckless as to leave an apple on my window in the middle of the day? Mom could have seen him, and then what?
But knowing him, even for so short a time, I know the last thing he would do is be seen.
I press my face to the glass, looking all around the roof. I’m not sure how he could have gotten up here, unless he climbed the magnolia and jumped. Which I’m sure he did, being raised by giant apes and all.
“I moved the apple.”
I nearly jump out of my skin and pray she doesn’t notice. “Yeah, I figured you did. Just checking.” Acting casual about it is so hard. I grab a thesaurus from the stack on my desk. “Got it.”
I sit on the edge of my
chair in the kitchen, forcing myself to pick up a pencil and begin my essay. It’s killing me. What if he’s waiting for me? Did he see Mom take the apple instead of me? Mom pulls out pots and pans for supper, and judging from the amount of ingredients sitting on the counter, she’s going to be here just as long as I will.
Her hand moves to the drawer with the flask, then stops. I watch as she closes it into a fist before reaching for a spoon instead.
It’s going to be a long afternoon for both of us, then.
The sun is sinking into the treetops when I sprint across the backyard. Matt’s in his room, Dad in his office, and Mom in her room.
I’m not where anyone thinks I am.
Mr. Watson has moved his cattle into the hay pasture for the winter, and they lift their heads, jaws working and ears flickering as I fly by. It feels reckless to be running out in the open like this, knowing what could be waiting in the woods, but I have to see if the boy’s here. Smoke from Mr. Watson’s burn pile drifts across the pasture, creating a thin layer of cloud above the grass. When I stop at the edge of the trees and look back, I can’t see the house anymore.
A branch snaps.
Fear trickles in.
The sun has gone past the trees, casting the forest in deep shadow, and what light breaks through is blinding, so basically I have no idea what’s standing ten feet from me.
One of the shadows moves. My eyes strain to see past the shadows, until red eyes peer back at me from the hazy forest.
I’m too terrified to turn my back for the second it would take to spin and run, and the harder I stare, the clearer the features become. It’s the smaller one, the one I think of as Baby Bigfoot. It watches me from behind a tree, as still as a statue. It’s so close I could toss an apple if I had one.
I’ve never been this close to one before, and I can’t help but study it just as much as it’s studying me. The face is a mixture of human and ape, with a protruding forehead, large eyes, and a flat, wide nose. It stands well over six feet tall, while the body is covered in coarse black hair, with a barrel-shaped chest and long limbs. I’ve seen silverback gorillas at the zoo, and they’ve got nothing on these creatures.
The light is fading around us. I test the waters, taking a small step backward. The creature tilts its head. I take another breath, another step, and it mirrors me, closing the space between us as it steps forward. This time, one breath, two steps.
It does the same.
We can’t do this across the entire pasture. I’ll die of a heart attack first. Or a cow stampede.
I take another step and my heel catches on the edge of the stump. I go down hard and something cracks in the general region of my tailbone. Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I scramble backward, desperate for oxygen just as much as escape.
The Sasquatch advances. Its steps are hesitant and wary, sliding forward with careful grace.
Suddenly it stops. The red sheen fades from its eyes as it steps out of the darkness. I blink enough tears away to realize it’s not watching me anymore, but something behind me.
It’s the boy, standing so close I could touch him.
Baby Bigfoot watches him as he moves in front of me, its wide, black eyes drifting from me to him and back. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the creature backs away. Neither of us moves until it completely disappears into the shadows.
The boy spins around, and I feel like an idiot, as he must think I am. His eyes burn, the fury and panic in them speaking clearly. I took a dangerous chance.
“I wanted to see you.” I hope I sound unapologetic, because I’m not sorry.
Whether he understands me or not, his eyes soften. He steps forward and holds out his hand.
I take it and lose my breath once again.
My fingers burn as sparks run across my skin. The boy flinches, but he doesn’t let go as he pulls me up. An impatient huff echoes from the woods, but he pulls me closer, until our shoulders brush. Breathing is getting next to impossible.
A door slams in the distance. Mom calls my name, but neither of us moves.
“I have to go.” The words sound hollow even as I speak them. Leaving is the last thing I want to do, because the pull of this mystery overshadows the fear of what I’m risking.
His eyes are unreadable as his hand slides from mine, his fingers slowly brushing across my skin as he pushes me away from the trees. It’s hard not to walk away backward. I trip twice because I can’t stop turning around to see if he’s still watching me.
He never moves.
Once I’m through the fading smoke that covers the pasture and out of his sight, I run to the house. Mom is standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in hand.
“I was worried about you.”
“Oh, I went out to see the cows. Mr. Watson moved them over here today.”
“You didn’t go into the woods?” she asks doubtfully.
“Nope. Just cows.” No eye contact. I walk right by her and up to my room. Inside, I flip on the light and hurry to the window. With my face against the glass, I strain my eyes until I can just make out the boy in the distance, barely visible through the smoke and fading light.
I wave, thinking he probably can’t see me, then realize he’s not alone as a shadow leaves the trees and joins him.
For a moment nothing happens. And then the two figures wave back.
I have a terrible feeling that “complicated” doesn’t even begin to explain what I’ve gotten myself into.
chapter eleven
The sun is warm on our faces as Ashley and I jog around the track. Wind whips across the football field, promising a hint of cold soon to come.
Coach Perry blows the whistle and we slide into a walk along with the rest of the class. Kelsey is ahead of us, gasping with laughter as she protests whatever Lauren Ellis is teasing her about. “No, you’re just making that up.”
“I am not!” Lauren giggles. “Tell her, Abby.”
“She’s right,” Abby Munroe says. “You have to keep all your trash and food locked away in your car, or hang it from a tree, because the animals will come get it. Do you really want a bear in your tent in the middle of the night?”
“Stop it. You two are just scaring me on purpose.” Kelsey laughs.
“Oh, come on, Kelsey, it’s just camping. It’s not like some monster is going to come out of the woods and kill you,” Lauren teases.
Gasps rise from those closest to them, and we all come to a collective halt. Every eye bounces between us and Lauren. Ashley bristles, her hands clenching into fists. I cross my arms and stare at my feet, wishing I was anywhere but here. It’s been so long since anyone slipped up around us.
Lauren looks over her shoulder, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh God . . .”
Kelsey pales immediately. “Oh no. We didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry, Leah, Ashley . . .” She turns away, embarrassed, as the rest of the girls stare like vultures waiting for the kill. I reach for Ashley’s arm, wanting her not to make this into a thing.
She jerks away from my hand. “Why should you be sorry?” Ashley spits. “Your father, brother, and best friend’s brother weren’t killed by a psychopath in the woods. But don’t worry, Kelsey, I’m sure the guy’s long gone by now. Have fun camping this weekend.” Ashley breaks into a run, shoving her way past them and sprinting ahead to where the coaches wait by the gate.
The shuffling of nervous feet echoes the pounding of my heart. Kelsey shakes her head, pleading with me, her eyes luminous and wet. “Leah, I am so sorry. We didn’t realize what we were saying.”
“I didn’t mean anything, I swear,” Lauren whispers. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I can’t look at them anymore, can’t stand the pity and the memories it’s unearthing. “I’ve got to check on Ash.” I navigate out of the group, jogging slowly down the track, as Ashley walks past the coaches toward the gym, kicking a garbage can by the bleacher stairs.
Knowing it won’t do any good, I’m going after her. Thi
s is what I do. It doesn’t matter that she’ll be inconsolable and full of rage and not want anyone near her. I’m the only one who understands. By this time tomorrow, she’ll be back to normal like nothing happened. Except that her hair might be green, or she’ll get another piercing. Worst-case scenario, Lauren has a broken nose and Ashley spends the rest of the week at home.
I lock the feelings away before they carry me with them, like it’s someone else whose seven-year-old brother was murdered. Someone else’s best friend who lost her brother and father. Someone else’s family was ripped apart and never put back together.
Just like that, I flip the switch.
The pain is gone, the memories banished, and my best friend is just having a bad day that I need to help her through.
By the time I get to the locker room, Ashley’s already changed clothes. “Hey, Ash.”
“I’m going home.”
“What? Come on, Ash, they didn’t mean anything. It was just an accident.”
“It doesn’t matter. The whole school will hear about it and I’ll have to suffer through the looks. It’s only two classes anyway.” She shoulders her backpack and brushes past me to the door. “You seem to be fine with it, so you can stay and have the attention all to yourself.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“You never react, Leah, not where others can see. It’s like you don’t want to let them see it get to you, and sometimes I wonder if you even feel it at all.”
Her words are like a slap in the face. “Of course I feel it,” I snap. “Just because I don’t get angry and scream and cry and go home doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. Samuel was my brother. Matt’s twin.” The image of small white caskets in a church overrun with flowers pushes at the corner of my mind. I shove it back with the rest.
“I know who he was!” Ashley shrieks, tears pooling in her eyes. “But I can’t shut it off like you. The first thing I think of every day is Reed, Dad, and Sam. Every day. For God’s sake, Leah, do you know how many drawings I have saved of you putting Reed’s name in little red crayon hearts?” Black tears streak down her face. I reach for a paper towel by the locker room sinks and hand it to her. “It was supposed to be us. We were supposed to be together forever,” she whispers, staring through me.
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