I’m too busy fighting the memories to answer her. I can’t break. Not here.
“Whatever. I’m going to the office. I’ll see you later.” She storms out, and I know I should follow her. I should apologize for being the way I am, the way I’ve made myself, but I can’t. Instead I walk over to the bench and change clothes as the rest of the girls file into the locker room, hushed whispers echoing off the walls. I lean back against the wall, letting the voices wash over me as a single memory slips through.
Our dads are taking us camping. And because we do everything in fives, Ashley and I agreed to go, because we’d rather be scared out of our minds than ever admit that’s why we wouldn’t.
Boykin Springs is deep within the national forest and within walking distance to the abandoned town of Aldridge. They promised to take us, even though a town in the middle of the woods abandoned for nearly a century sounds about as scary as it gets. Dad brought a bottle of spray paint so we could write our names on the walls, said he and Mom did it years ago too. Sometimes I think he might not really be a preacher. But he’s fun, and he’s my dad, so it doesn’t really matter to me.
We tumble out of the car in a flying mess of legs and arms and run across the clearing where the campsites have been marked by previous tenants, looking for the perfect spot. Dad and Mr. Hutton pop open the back of the Huttons’ SUV and begin hauling out supplies to reach the tents packed beneath.
“We get this spot!” Sam yells, bouncing up and down on a flat area beneath a towering pine.
“Well, we get the spot next to Dad!” Ashley yells back, hovering by her father as he carries the tents out to the clearing.
I kick at the tall grass, head down, following a faint trail that goes around the perimeter and ends near a stack of firewood someone left behind. Reed is standing there, staring down at the pile. “Stop, Leah.”
“What?” I ask, when I run into his outstretched hand.
“Do you see it?”
“See what?” Something in his voice sends fear scuttling across my nerves.
“There’s a snake lying on the wood.” He points to something small and brown curled among the haphazard logs, something I wouldn’t have seen until it was too late. “Go get Dad.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I sprint across the field, waiting until I’m far enough away before screaming, “Snake!”
Both of our dads come running, one with a shovel, the other with a pistol. Ashley grabs my hand and we run after them. Mr. Hutton grabs Reed and pulls him out of the way before Dad points the pistol and fires. The gunshot echoes loudly; we flinch and cover our ears as another round goes off.
“Got it,” Dad says, and the boys cheer. Mr. Hutton scoops the limp body of the copperhead up and carries it out into the woods before tossing it among the trees. “You kids need to watch where you’re walking and playing, okay? We’re a long way from the hospital out here.”
Mr. Hutton walks back and claps Reed on the shoulder. “Good eye, son.”
“Yeah, or Dad’ll have to cut your arm and suck the poison out, right, Dad?” Matt says with a grin.
“That’s gross, Matt,” Ashley says.
“But that’s how they did it in the old days.”
“In the old days, you probably just died,” Sam answers.
“All right, guys. If you want to see the ghost town today, we need to get set up. Come on.” Dad waves us forward.
I catch up to Reed, just as he grabs one end of a cooler. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t see the snake.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.” He smiles.
“You two are going to get married someday,” Ashley says, swinging her skinny arms around the both of us.
“No, we’re not,” I say, embarrassed. Reed looks down at his feet, cheeks as red as mine.
“Yes, you are. That way you can always be my sister.”
“Then you have to marry one of my brothers. It’s only fair. Which one do you want?”
Ashley looks thoughtfully at Matt and Sam, arguing over the tent they’re trying to put up. “I don’t know. How about both?”
“Okay.” I giggle and turn around to grab the other end of the cooler to help Reed.
“See?” Ashley says. “We’ll be together forever.”
There’s an apple sitting on my windowsill when I get home. I lift the window and grab it just to make sure it’s real.
My heart tumbles as my feet fly down the stairs. “Mom, I’ll be outside. I need leaves for art class.”
I don’t elaborate and I don’t stop to wait for her answer as I breeze through the kitchen. “Supper’s in two hours,” she calls out as the door closes behind me.
Amazingly enough, this time I’m not lying.
I comb the backyard in five minutes, ending up with a handful of leaves. I purposefully walk them to the back porch, placing them on the table where Mom can see me. I lay them out, studying them, or at least pretending to. Then I look over my shoulder at the woods.
Mom is watching me when I turn around. I point to my leaves, then at the forest, mouthing the words “I’ll be back.”
She lifts the kitchen window. “I need ten different leaves, Mom. It’s for art tomorrow. Can I go to the woods? I’ll stay at the edge, just until I can get what I need.”
After a moment’s hesitation she nods. “Your father will be here soon. I wouldn’t be out there when he gets home.”
“Okay, thanks.” I wave and head for the forest. I just hope I remember to actually bring back leaves.
I rub my sweaty hands across my jeans and step quietly through the trees, the thick layers of pine needles softening my footsteps. Birds call above me, easing the apprehension that courses through my body. I’m not used to feeling this way in my woods.
Maybe it’s because he’s been raised by top-of-the-food-chain predators, because once again the boy appears behind me, only a whisper of movement announcing his presence. His gaze travels up and down, studying everything from the toes of my boots to the orange ponytail holder in my hair. My heart feels like it’s going to burst under that insatiable heated gaze of his.
“Leah,” he utters perfectly. I wonder how many times he’s practiced saying it.
“Were you waiting for me?”
He nods.
Branches shift in the breeze, revealing a glimpse of the kitchen window through the leaves. I move farther into the shadows, and he follows. “I’m not supposed to be here, so I can’t stay long—”
He reaches for my hand, long fingers encircling my wrist. “Ss . . . stay. Pl—please.”
Great. Like I can say no to that. Sensations start simultaneously in my stomach and hand, where his calloused thumb is creating friction on my skin, spreading out like spiderwebs until they meet in the middle, dangerously close to my heart. “Okay.”
Worry fades from his face, replaced by the faintest of smiles. “Okay.” His voice is coarse like gravel as he glances up at me from beneath his long lashes.
His hand slides down my wrist, his fingers intertwine with mine, and again I get the feeling that we’ve been in this moment before, lifetimes before, and that this is completely rational when I know it’s not. Heat races up my arm, my brain zings, and thoughts scatter. Sanity screams as it sinks beneath the tide of emotions that rushes in as it always does when I’m beneath the shade of these trees. Maybe fear should be one of them, but I’m not afraid. I know the safest place in the world is right next to this boy, and crazy or not, I will follow him.
“Where are we going?”
He points forward, but his eyes keep drifting my way, like he’s seeing me for the first time, taking in every detail, and wants to miss nothing. It’s both flattering and unnerving and has the effect of a drug, leaving me exhilarated and wanting more with every lingering glance.
We follow a game trail I’m familiar with, his bare feet stepping lightly on soft pine needles that coat the ground. Instead of feeling awkward, I fall into place besi
de him, because this forest is my home too.
“How long have you lived . . . here?” I wave to the trees.
After another long glance he shakes his head, and I’m not sure if he’s saying he doesn’t know or doesn’t understand my question. Before I can ask anything else, he lets out a shrill whistle. Nothing answers, and for a moment I’m convinced nothing is there.
Until a large, black head peeks around a tree a few yards ahead of us.
I gasp, pulling away, and he reaches out a hand, his eyes pleading for me to stay. I grab a branch to steady myself. It’s also thin enough that I could break it off and jab something with it if I had to.
The boy waits, standing halfway between me and the young Sasquatch. It’s hiding like I might jump out and eat it or something, not the other way around. Slowly, Baby Bigfoot emerges from its hiding spot. While it looks at him with trust, it watches me with anything but.
He holds out his hand, and it, no . . . she . . . takes it. I can see her clearly now. The fur-covered breasts that swell from her chest were indistinguishable from so far away, and yesterday I was too scared to notice.
I’m trying to decide if that makes her less frightening when he motions to me.
Surely he’s joking.
I shake my head, mutinous.
His eyes narrow.
More head shaking on my part.
He sighs heavily and walks straight for me. I stumble backward, turning to flee, but arms come swiftly around me.
Before I can scream, his hand covers my mouth. I consider biting it, but, really, imagine the germs. I jerk my head back and it connects with his face. He groans in pain, hand sliding away from my mouth to cover his nose. “Let me go!”
His arms tighten as he utters a single syllable. “No.”
I slam my boot heel down hard, but what I thought was his foot is only a root. He exhales loudly, and I can almost hear him say “enough.” He lifts me up like a baby and swings me around to face her. The boy carries me like I’m nothing, and just as quickly deposits me in front of her.
“Are you crazy?” I hiss, pressed against him, terrified. But he’s not letting me go. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I don’t have a choice.
I finally find the nerve to look up at her. Hyperventilating is still a possibility, but whatever. This may be as close as I ever get to one again.
My brain takes in the fur, the build, the smell, and says “animal.” But I see her face, and all thoughts of a simple animal are dismissed. The liquid brown orbs see all of me, and I feel as if every thought, every secret, and every sin is now laid bare before her. And she’s accepting of them as no human ever could be.
She looks me up and down, fascinated by the buttons on my shirt. Her body is motionless, but I’m surprised to see her chest heaving quickly and her nostrils flared.
She’s frightened.
The boy loosens his grip, his arm sliding down my left one and taking my hand. His fingers wrap around mine and squeeze when he finds them shaking. Then he lifts our hands and holds them out.
She watches warily.
I’m about to throw up.
She huffs, frowns, and raises her hand reluctantly.
When her fingertips graze mine, I stop breathing, entranced by the sensation of her skin, soft like warm leather.
God knows how long we stand like that, but she must decide that I’m fairly harmless.
Her next step puts her right in front of me, and both hands go immediately into my hair. My ponytail snaps when her thick fingers encounter the elastic band, and she sniffs and huffs around in the tresses for longer than I think is necessary.
I am going to smell so bad when this is over with.
She touches my shirt, plays with the buttons, and sniffs the fabric. Her jagged fingernails scratch at the fabric of my jeans and catch in the snags. She circles me, touching and feeling as she goes. I’m pretty sure there isn’t an inch of me she hasn’t investigated.
I feel mildly violated.
When she’s done, she stands in front of me again. She’s waiting, but for what, I don’t know. “What is she waiting for?”
He jerks his head in her direction.
“You’re kidding?”
“No.”
“Great.” This should be interesting.
I study her, trying to figure out how to go about this. It feels wrong to pet her like a dog or any other animal, but my fingers itch to feel her. When the boy nudges me, I go for the only thing that seems appropriate.
I gently lay my palm against her cheek. Our eyes meet, hold, then hers droop and finally close. She sighs heavily as I slide my hand down the coarse, dark fur, and they open when my hand drops away.
That’s all I can do. To do any more feels, I don’t know, sacrilegious or something.
The boy steps forward, his chest brushing against my shoulder, and takes my hand again, and hers, and they sort of tangle together—black, white, and brown. My stomach does a strange, twisty flip, and all I can think of is how lucky I am to be here.
I should have realized by now all good things end.
“Leah!”
We freeze for the space of a second. It’s surreal to hear another human voice in the silence of the forest, my forest, in the midst of such a moment.
Ben.
I can see his silhouette in the distance near the edge of the forest. How is he even here? Why? He calls my name again.
When I turn around, I’m alone. They’re gone, the boy and the female Sasquatch, as if they were never here at all.
Maybe they weren’t. Maybe I really am dreaming and none of this is real.
I glance down to see my shirt covered in black fur. I pluck a piece from the fabric and twist it in the sunlight.
As unhappy as I am that Ben ruined this, I can’t help but smile as I walk to meet him.
chapter twelve
I snag a random handful of leaves as I go, hoping none of it is poison ivy.
Ben’s eyes light up when he sees me, his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap on his head. “Hey, you. Your mom said you were out here but I really didn’t believe her.”
“Why?” I stop a few yards away.
“You know . . . Roberts’ rules and all that.”
“I needed leaves for art.”
“Can I help?”
“I think I’ve got enough, but thanks. What are you doing here?”
Ben shrugs. “Dad needed to drop off some stuff to your dad, so I came with him.”
“Oh. Is Dad back?” Because that is kind of important to know.
“No, not yet.” He grins, eyes sparkling with humor. “I thought I’d check on you.”
I try to read his face, to see what he’s not telling me. “Why?”
Ben smiles wider, that cocky one that he wears so well. “Because if you’re breaking the rules, I’d like to watch.”
“It’s a stupid rule.”
He sobers. “Maybe. You’re not afraid to be here?”
“I stopped being afraid a long time ago. It’s just trees; there’s nothing here.”
“That’s very adult of you.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Ouch.” Ben grabs his chest. “She has teeth and knows how to use them.”
“Whatever.” I punch his arm. “I’m not a child. Dad just can’t see that. Living like it was yesterday is like breathing underwater. It’s suffocating.”
Ben kicks at a pinecone, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, Leah. He’s your dad. He’s just worried and overprotective.” He reaches out and touches my nose with a fingertip. “If you were mine, I’d be protective too.”
“Well, I’m not yours.” I swat his hand, but instead of dodging, he grabs it and links his fingers with mine.
“You could be, if you wanted to.” Ben’s eyes hold mine.
“What are you talking about?” I stall, heart in my throat.
“You know.” Ben glances down at my lips as he pulls on my hand,
until I have to take a step toward him or fall against him.
We’re a breath apart, and instead of closing my eyes like any sane girl would do, I’m trying to rationalize this, because this is the boy I’ve wanted, who now wants me, and for some reason, it’s not enough to make me surrender.
The rock comes so close to my face that I feel the wind from its wake. “Ow!” Ben yells. “What the hell?” He spins around until he picks up the rock where it fell by his shoe. It’s barely more than a pebble, but there is a cut across his forehead, just above his eyebrow.
“Who . . . who threw this?” he calls into the forest.
Silence answers him.
I know the forest isn’t empty. I hear the familiar knock on the tree, and another one answers it in the distance. They didn’t leave me after all.
Ben lets out a string of expletives when he wipes blood from his face. At first I think he’s angry, and it’s not until his eyes flash to the trees behind me that I see the worry.
“Did you see that?” he asks.
“Yeah, but there’s no one here, Ben. You don’t think maybe a bird dropped it or something?” I glance up into the trees, mind scrambling for a believable explanation. “Look, a couple of squirrels are running around up there. That’s probably where it came from.”
Ben stares at me, that intense look from the other night at the party, like he’s got something on his mind. “Yeah, maybe, if squirrels can throw a rock like Aaron Fletcher’s fastball.”
I stare, confused.
“You know, the boy on the freshman team,” he clarifies.
“Come on.” I strain to control the quiver of my voice. “I’ve got what I need and you definitely need a Band-Aid.”
We’re quiet as we walk across the pasture. Every few feet Ben glances over his shoulder, and I pretend not to notice.
In the kitchen, Mom’s welcoming smile disappears when she sees Ben’s face.
“What happened?” Ben’s dad says, getting to his feet, his coffee cup rattling on the table.
The Shadows We Know by Heart Page 9
