“Rush told you about the Lizzie thing, huh?”
“He did.”
“And you think I’m crazy.”
“Nope,” Connor said.
I looked over at him, surprised.
Connor grinned. “I’d only think you were crazy if you really believed it.”
“I do believe it,” I protested.
“Sure you do, Thorny.”
I rolled my eyes and opened my book. A minute later, when Connor hadn’t left, I closed it again.
“What do you think of Lizzie?” I asked.
“I think she probably got lost.”
“No, not about her vanishing. About Lizzie as a person.”
“I don’t think anything about her,” Connor said.
“You must think something. You were part of that group when you were in high school.”
“Not like Lizzie and Rush were. I played football because I grew up thinking I had to. I didn’t like it much. And I wasn’t very good.”
“You don’t miss it?”
Connor laughed. “Not even a little bit.”
“Rush does.”
“Rush thought football was going to be his life.”
That was true. My brother had thought he’d get into Ohio State on a full football scholarship. They didn’t even want him on the team. Maybe, probably, he could have gone somewhere else and played, but his stupid jock pride wouldn’t let him. Now, he wasn’t playing football anywhere and taking classes at the community college.
“What’s going to be your life?” I asked Connor.
“I’m majoring in electrical engineering. So I guess at the moment, it’s that.”
“Sounds sort of boring.”
“I’m having way more fun than I ever did on the field.”
The whole conversation was weird. Connor had been hanging around my house since I was twelve, but I’d never talked to him so much at once. Rush had always kept his friends separate from me.
“I don’t believe you weren’t in love with Lizzie,” I said after a while. “Everyone was.”
Connor looked at me and seemed genuinely curious. “Why are you so sure of that?”
“She was perfect.”
“She was just a girl. And not really my type. Honestly, she was kind of dull.”
“Then you’re, like, the only person on the planet who thinks so.”
“Don’t confuse being popular with being interesting,” Connor said.
That made me pause for a second, even though I was positive Connor was lying. A girl like Lizzie was everyone’s type, and anyone who said otherwise was making an excuse for why she never chose him.
“I met her boyfriend tonight,” I said. “Enzo. He seemed sad.”
“I’d hope so. His girlfriend disappeared.”
I suddenly desperately wanted to be alone. I wanted to keep reading my book. I wanted to think about everything Enzo had said to me. I stood up.
“I’ll check on Rush in the morning, OK? Thanks for bringing him home.”
“No problem,” Connor said.
I watched him walk down the street to his car and wondered if it was possible he actually meant the part about Lizzie not being his type. Were there people who were immune to her charms? It seemed more unlikely than the existence of werewolves.
Chapter 10
Day Seventeen
The search parties started to lose their enthusiasm. At school, people talked about Lizzie’s disappearance as if it had happened in the distant past. Every once in a while, Lizzie’s mom went on TV, begging anyone who had any information about her daughter to come forward. That was the saddest part. Other people could forget about Lizzie, but not Ms. Lovett. She’d always feel the pain of her daughter’s disappearance and the pain of watching everyone around her slowly stop caring.
I thought about calling Ms. Lovett. I knew how stupid it was, which is why I only thought about it. But I wanted her to know someone still had Lizzie on their mind. And I wanted her to know Lizzie was in a better place, which didn’t mean dead but out in the woods where she belonged. But I couldn’t say that, because people didn’t agree with the notion of werewolves, which had become increasingly awkward for me.
Like when Mychelle Adler came up to my locker and said, “So I hear you think Lizzie Lovett turned into a werewolf.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Is it true?” Her expression said that she really, really wanted it to be true, because then she could make fun of me forever.
School had been bad enough since I’d read my Griffin Mills essay. For years, I’d been mostly ignored for being weird and nerdy. The essay made it different. People started actively making fun of me. It was hard to walk into school every day knowing I was going to be mocked. I didn’t get why everyone was treating what I wrote like it was a huge insult. I didn’t think I was the only one who wished she’d grown up somewhere else.
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you there’s no such thing as werewolves?” Mychelle asked.
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you opinions should be left to people with brains?”
For a second, I thought Mychelle might hit me. It would have been an extremely unexpected addition to my day and slightly fascinating, because I’d never been in a fistfight. But she backed off.
“Watch yourself, Hawthorn Creely.”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously? Watch myself? Are we in the remake of Mean Girls?”
Mychelle gave me one last unamused look and went on her way. The good thing was I didn’t have any classes with her for the rest of the day. The bad thing was Griffin Mills High School was pretty small, and there were plenty of other people I had to avoid.
• • •
“If you didn’t want people making fun of you for thinking Lizzie’s a werewolf, then you shouldn’t have told anyone you think Lizzie’s a werewolf,” Emily said at lunch.
She had a point.
Though I’d only told four people, and I couldn’t imagine Emily or my parents running around town spreading gossip. Rush had really outdone himself.
“I wish you’d just entertain the possibility that I’m right,” I told Emily.
“Hawthorn, you can’t will werewolves into existence because you’re bored.”
I took a bite of my sandwich, which was some sort of avocado concoction I wouldn’t have chosen to eat.
“I wonder if Enzo will come back to the diner.”
“Why?” Emily asked. “Because he’s so desperate to see you? You’re lucky he hasn’t.”
“He’s not a killer.”
“Maybe not. But he’s damaged.”
I was pretty sick of everyone acting like they knew what I needed when no one really knew me at all. I was about to tell that to Emily when the gym door opened and a guy walked out.
“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone came out here,” he said when he saw us. I’d noticed him around school because he wore skinny jeans and had all sorts of piercings, which was not the usual style in the Mills.
“Well, we do,” I said.
“Mind if I smoke? There’s nowhere else to go on campus.”
I shrugged, and he lit a cigarette. Then he nodded at Emily.
“Hey, you’re in my guitar class, right?”
“Yeah,” Emily said. “Sixth period.”
“You’re really good.”
Emily blushed, and I felt embarrassed for her.
“I’m OK. Piano is my instrument. I just took guitar for fun.”
“Maybe you should think about switching instruments. I’m Logan, by the way.”
He held out his hand. They shook. Emily told him her name. I wasn’t addressed at all. I focused on my sandwich as if I was choosing not to be a part of their conversation.
“You’ve been playing guitar for
a long time, haven’t you?” Emily asked.
“I got my first guitar before I could walk.”
I rolled my eyes. Emily smiled at him.
“It shows.”
“I’m actually in a band,” Logan said. “Strength in Numbers? You might have heard of us.”
I couldn’t believe he actually uttered that clichéd line. I looked at Emily to see if she was equally amused, but she was gazing at Logan like he was the first boy she’d ever seen.
“Yeah, I’ve heard some kids mention you guys,” Emily said. “I’ve never heard you play though.”
“You should come to one of our shows. It’s pretty intense. We do this sort of metal-bluegrass fusion. I think you’ll like it.”
I snorted.
“Let me know when you have your next gig,” Emily said.
“Sure thing.” He threw down the cigarette and crushed it with the heel of his Doc Marten. “See you in sixth.”
I gaped at Emily as soon as the door shut. “Metal-bluegrass fusion? What does that even mean? Does he scream obscenities while strumming a banjo?”
“Don’t be so judgmental.”
“Seriously? That guy is clearly inviting judgment on himself.”
“Sort of like someone who believes in werewolves?”
I scowled.
“Besides,” Emily went on, “I’ve heard that his band is actually really good.”
“Heard that from who?”
“People.”
“What people?” I pressed.
“Friends, Hawthorn. My friends. You’re not the only person I talk to.”
I wasn’t?
“Are you going to see his band play?” I asked.
“Maybe. Do you want to come?”
“Maybe.”
I didn’t know why we were arguing over something so stupid. The last thing I wanted to do was fight with Emily. But I was still uncomfortable with her having friends I didn’t know, talking about music things I didn’t get.
How long before Emily’s new friends, the people who shared her interests, stole her away from me? Pretty soon, maybe Emily wouldn’t have any use for me at all. Why would she? She belonged to a world I had no place in.
Chapter 11
In the Woods
I was sitting on a stool at the back of the Sunshine Café, updating the specials on the whiteboard, when Vinny the cook came in from his smoke break and said, “Your boyfriend is here, Creely.”
I knew he meant Enzo and didn’t bother telling Vinny that calling him my boyfriend was not as hilarious as he thought it was. I also didn’t tell him we weren’t in a locker room, so there was no reason to call me by my last name.
I got up and peeked through the window to the dining room. Sure enough, Enzo Calvetti was sitting at the booth by the door, wearing the same ratty sweater as last time I saw him. I grabbed the coffee carafe and made my way out of the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Enzo said.
“Any news on your girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Sorry.”
I finished pouring and stood there, hating myself because I knew I was being awkward, but not wanting to walk away, even though I didn’t really have anything more to say.
“Are you coming here because it makes you feel close to her?” I blurted out.
“I come here because no one bothers me.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, thinking maybe I should take a vow of silence to prevent stupid things from coming out of my mouth.
“Hey, that didn’t come out right,” Enzo said. “I didn’t mean you.”
“No, I’m probably being invasive. Let me know if you need anything else.”
The next thing he said startled me. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Hawthorn Creely.”
“Hawthorne like the writer?”
I usually said yes when people asked that question, though it was a lie. It would have been nice to be named after a writer.
“Hawthorn like the tree,” I said, making a face.
“Your parents named you after a tree?”
“They sure did.”
Enzo smiled. “There’s got to be a story behind that.”
“There is, and it’s one of my least favorite stories ever.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
I sighed. “Apparently, I was conceived under a hawthorn tree.”
Enzo laughed, and I smiled, though I didn’t think there was anything remotely funny about it. I was still angry at my mom for sharing that information with me in the first place.
When Enzo stopped laughing, he looked me in the eye, which made me sort of uncomfortable. I didn’t know if I should stay or go.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.
My surprise must have shown on my face.
“Most people are treating me like a criminal.”
“I’m not like most people,” I said.
“I can tell.”
He didn’t sound put off by it. It was possible he even thought it was a good thing.
“And I know you’re not a criminal,” I said.
“How?” Enzo asked. “You don’t know me. And if I’d killed Lizzie, I’d hardly go around broadcasting it.”
“Are you trying to convince me you are a murderer then?”
Enzo smiled. That was the third time. When he smiled or laughed, it felt like a victory.
“I guess I’m being nice to you because I know how it feels,” I said.
“How what feels?”
“Being an outsider.”
As soon as I spoke, I wished I could take it back. I waited for him to say, “Now that you mention it, you are kind of a loser.” Or maybe, “Please don’t compare me to you.”
Enzo looked at me for a long time. I held his gaze, even though it made me feel completely exposed, even though I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
And then he said, “You want to get out of here?”
It took me a second to process what he was saying, because it was so close to something I would have imagined that I almost thought I was experiencing an auditory hallucination.
“I have an hour before the diner closes.”
“The cook will cover for you. He did it for Lizzie all the time.”
I hesitated.
“I’m not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No. I wasn’t thinking that.” I paused a moment longer, which was just long enough for me to make up my mind. “I’ll get my things.”
• • •
Enzo didn’t have a car.
“I can barely afford a bus pass,” he said.
I shrugged, and we climbed into my Rabbit.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
“Anywhere. Just away from people.”
Mostly, we didn’t talk. I drove around aimlessly, sneaking glances at him from the corner of my eye. Only maybe it wasn’t that aimless, because we ended up near Wolf Creek Road.
“Are you driving to where Lizzie disappeared?” Enzo asked, right about the same time I realized where we were.
“Not on purpose. I swear. I’ll turn around.”
“No, it’s OK. Go there.”
That’s how, not even a month after Lizzie Lovett disappeared, I ended up at her campsite with her boyfriend.
“I haven’t been here since that night,” Enzo told me as we walked around a small clearing. “I haven’t gone out with the search parties.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I kept thinking, what if I was the one who found her? Her body, I mean. I couldn’t deal with seeing her that way.”
I wanted to tell him there wasn’t a body to find. Instead, I made myself busy
looking around the campsite.
The tent was long gone, but the ring of stones where they’d built their fire was still there. What had it been like that night? Did they laugh and talk while roasting marshmallows? What were they talking about right before they went to sleep and Lizzie disappeared?
I wanted to ask Enzo a million questions. But he seemed skittish. If I said too much, he might dart off into the woods and become as lost to me as Lizzie was. So instead, I just watched him and hoped he would share some clues.
He pulled something out of his pocket, and for a moment, I thought it would be a gun or knife. Then, right before he murdered me, I’d have time to reflect on how dumb it was to go off with him, and Emily would tell people, “I told her not to trust Lorenzo Calvetti.”
But a second later, Enzo was rolling a cigarette, which I guess was still dangerous but not a weapon. He walked around the clearing, his shoulders hunched and the tip of the cigarette glowing. I thought maybe, probably, I’d never seen someone look so broken.
“This place seems haunted now,” Enzo said.
“The woods always seem haunted to me.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew smoke at the sky. “Have you heard about that suicide forest in Japan?”
“Um, I don’t think so,” I said, trying not to sound too intrigued, since it was kind of morbid.
“People from all over the world go there to die. It happens so often, they have signs up, you know, encouraging people to think twice. It’s, like, the most fucked-up tourist destination ever.”
“How do you know about it?” I asked.
“Read it somewhere. I wrote a song about it a few years ago.”
“You’re a musician?”
“Not really,” he said. He circled the clearing silently, and I wondered if that would be the end of it, but then he spoke. “I always wondered if a place could be bad. Not what a person did there, but the place itself. Like, if you went to the suicide forest, would you feel that something was wrong as soon as you stepped in?”
It was the most fascinating thing anyone had said to me in a long time.
“Do you feel that way here?” I asked.
He laughed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, I guess. I know it’s in my head though, because I didn’t have that feeling when I was here with Lizzie.”
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 8
