Wild

by Mallory, Alex

  Cade cracked a smile. “Never heard of it.”

  “How?” Dara demanded. “Haven’t you ever been to Bob Evans?”

  “Nope.”

  Last night, she’d lain awake thinking about him. Trying to put all the pieces in the right place. Convinced she could make sense of him, she went over his few details until they blurred together. Right before she’d fallen asleep, she’d composed a mental list of questions. His ignorance of all things buttermilk and fluffy reminded her.

  “Why haven’t you ever seen an escalator?”

  The white bandage on his chest quivered slightly at the edge, giving away his pulse. “We don’t have them where I come from.”

  Dara glanced over her shoulder. Then she lowered her voice. “Do you really live in Daniel Boone National?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Yeah, because that’s its name. It’s a national park.”

  With a frown, Cade nodded. “Yes. I really live there.”

  “You told Sofia your parents are . . . gone.”

  Nostrils flaring slightly, Cade looked out the window again. The tape on his bandage pulsed faster, and his shoulders rose with his breath. “It’s true. Does this matter? Let’s go back to pan cakes.”

  Now Dara was surprised; she pursed her lips. His pronunciation was off; he’d really never heard of them. If he’d been Sofia, she might have reached over to pet him, to reassure him. Instead, she dropped her hands in her lap. He was showing way too much skin. She didn’t trust her hand to land someplace acceptable.

  “They’re yummy, and you should have some.” Braving the space between them, Dara slid closer. “The social worker’s coming today. I don’t know if they’ll let you stay here anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  It was a good question. Dara started to answer a couple of times. It was hard to find the right words. She’d grown up understanding the system, and her parents’ place in it. Disadvantaged kids and group homes and foster care came up on a regular basis. But if Cade really didn’t understand any of it, she didn’t know where to start.

  “It’s complicated,” she finally said. “You’re not old enough to live on your own. Nobody knows where you live. And, um . . . if your parents are gone, then you need somebody to take care of you.”

  Cade dropped his gaze, and his hand. His fingers curled and he brushed his knuckles against her shoulder. “I take care of myself.”

  Toes curling in her sneakers, Dara shivered. “For how long, though?”

  “Three summers.”

  If he was telling the truth, Dara found that terrifying. People didn’t just live in the wilderness. They didn’t leave their kids there alone. When she was thirteen, her mom wouldn’t let her take the bus downtown. Trying to make sense of his facts, Dara asked, “How long were you in the park? The forest, I mean.”

  Cade frowned. He uncurled one finger, idly tracing the seam of her sleeve. His other fingertips flickered, a soft rhythm that danced across her skin. “Always.”

  Before his touch could spread, Dara hauled herself off the couch. The floor felt uncertain beneath her feet, her insides turned upside down. Yes, he was mysterious, and sexy, and half dressed in her basement. But everything she felt, it was just gratitude. That’s all. Nothing else.

  “Okay,” she told him. “I’ll assume that’s the truth.”

  “You should.”

  Dara backed toward the stairs. “Well, I’m going to be honest with you. People are gonna think you’re a liar. Or worse . . . they’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “Why?”

  “There are laws, Cade. I mean, the county takes kids away from parents who don’t have running water and electricity all the time. And they live in actual houses.”

  “I see.”

  “So what’s going to happen is, they’re going to think you’re a runaway. Or wanted for a crime somewhere. Or mentally ill. Because people don’t grow up in national forests. It just doesn’t happen.”

  Curling into himself, Cade pulled his knee to his chest. He perched on the back of the couch effortlessly, and turned to look out the window. Then he looked back at her, shadows caught under his dark brows. “It does.”

  Just then, Lia leaned into the basement door. “I’m telling Dad you’re down here,” she said.

  Dara glared at her. “Why do you have to be evil?”

  “Why do you have to be ugly?”

  A timer went off in the kitchen, their five minute bus warning. Dara turned her back on her sister. One hand on the rail, she anchored herself on the steps. Cade still sat on the back of the couch, coppery skin gleaming, his brows furrowed. Against the lacy curtains and the damask upholstery, he was wildly out of place.

  Clearing her throat, Dara waited until he looked at her. Heat coursed through her when his brown eyes turned her way. No one had ever looked at her like that. So sincerely, so earnestly, like he needed her to believe.

  “I’m not lying to you,” he said firmly.

  “Okay.” Her voice fell to a murmur. “I believe you.”

  Then she fled upstairs.

  The reporter was back.

  He stood on the edge of the school property, right next to the sign that said all visitors needed to register at the office. Dara saw him as the bus pulled in. He held his iPhone up like he was taking pictures, or video. Ugh, maybe both. What a freak.

  Of course, she knew exactly what he wanted. He’d probably listened to the calls roll in from the police radio last night. The only surprise was that he hadn’t turned up at their doorstep. Facing off with the actual sheriff might have been too much. Maybe he was only brave enough to corner the sheriff’s daughter.

  A spidery sense of unease crawled down her back, and Dara slid from her seat. Her sister sat in the back, with a couple of guys from the Spoken Word club. Hurrying to her, Dara leaned over so the whole bus didn’t overhear. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  Lia didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Most days, Lia didn’t appreciate admitting she knew Dara at all. They used to be best friends, back in the days of playing Barbies in the backyard.

  Once they both hit high school, though, Lia couldn’t shed her older sister fast enough. They were both popular in their own groups, but wow. In the Venn diagram of social order, their groups didn’t remotely overlap.

  Oh well, Dara thought. This is more important than sibling rivalry. Leaning past Lia, Dara pointed at the reporter. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. As the bus skimmed past him, he tracked it with his iPhone.

  “See that guy?”

  Reluctantly, Lia looked over. Then she frowned. “Yeah. Freak.”

  “He’s from the newspaper.” Dara tried to balance on the edge of Lia’s seat, but she didn’t make it easy. “Cornered me at Mom’s office yesterday, asking questions about Cade.”

  Scoffing, Lia said, “Freak number two.”

  “Just . . .” Dara trailed off; she wasn’t sure what to say. It’s not like the reporter had threatened her. Seeming skeezy wasn’t against the law, but she wanted Lia to be careful anyway. “Avoid him if you can, okay? I don’t trust him.”

  Lia hauled her bag off the floor and bumped Dara off the seat. “Whatever.”

  Leave it to Lia to be obnoxious about something important. Dara straightened, brushing off her jeans. Through the window, she watched the reporter pace his line. Then, fearlessly, he approached the security guard directing traffic. Somehow, that made Dara more nervous than before.

  The bus driver threw the front doors open, and everyone stood at once. They weren’t in a rush to get off, although Lia was definitely in a rush to blow past her sister. Pulling her bag onto her shoulder, Lia pressed right into Dara as she squeezed into the aisle.

  “By the way,” Lia said smugly. “Mom wants Mowgli out. She told Dad she’ll have a placement for him by noon.”

  “What?!”

  Carelessly rolling her shoulder, Lia said, “Too bad, so sad. No more stray boyfriend in the basement fo
r you.”

  Lia’s friends snickered. Dara pushed herself between them and her sister, half to keep an eye on Lia. And half, Dara had to admit, just to be a bitch. They were sophomores, she was a senior. And there was a social order to uphold.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  TWENTY-ONE

  Enticed by the books, Cade pressed himself close to the shelves to examine them.

  First, by touch. He ran his fingers over the spines. Some of them wore paper sheaths. Others were cloth and leather—he recognized the scent. Brushing his nose against a matching set, he inhaled. Dictionaries smelled wonderful.

  Slipping a slim volume from the shelf, he flicked it open. Poetry, Walt Whitman. Pristine pages crackled as he turned them. The paper was so smooth that the black letters left an impression. Cade skimmed his hand over them, smiling a little. He’d never seen a book so new.

  He tucked it under his arm, then dug into the shelves again. He wondered if Dara would let him keep one if he had to leave. He didn’t like the sound of these laws. These strangers who stole children from their homes. A new story would be nice. Something to remember her by.

  Footsteps echoed on the stairs, and Cade bounded back to the couch. It quavered under his weight, but he found his balance. It was harder with one foot bandaged, and one arm weak.

  But if they tried to take him away, he’d run for home again. It would be harder to get by, but summer was coming. The river would be fat with fish. He’d have apples and honey, soon, plenty of roots to roast. If he stuck to foraging, he’d be fine. He’d be healed by autumn, just in time for hunting season.

  “All right, son,” Sheriff Porter said. He stepped into the room, followed by a brown, mousy man with glasses. Gesturing for the man to sit down, Sheriff Porter put his hands on his hips and stared at Cade for a minute. “This is Branson Swayle. He’s a social worker, he’s here to help you.”

  Cade folded the book against his chest. “I don’t need help.”

  “Just call me Branson. And you know, that’s very admirable,” Branson said. “But everybody needs help sometimes. Can we get to know each other?”

  Sheriff Porter shifted uncomfortably. He looked at Cade, then the couch cushions. It was obvious he was trying not to say something, but the struggle was too much. With a nod, he said, “How about you sit down and give Mr. Swayle ten minutes. I’d say that’s fair.”

  Wary, Cade slid from the back of the couch. He felt pinned in, claustrophobic. If something came from behind, how would he know? Shifting his gaze from Sheriff Porter to Branson, Cade licked his lips and waited. In silence.

  Branson didn’t seem to mind. He flipped open a thin rectangle, and its surface glowed. When he touched it, it chittered like a chipmunk call, or a particularly nervous squirrel. Leaning slightly, Cade tried to get a look at it. The thing was obviously a machine, maybe like the light-up box that played music in Javier’s room.

  “Nifty, huh? I just got it last week,” Branson said. He turned the rectangle toward Cade, then nodded at him. “Go ahead, take a look. I’m still not used to it.”

  Cool and heavy, the rectangle fit neatly in Cade’s hands. There was a picture inside it, two kids with Branson’s nose. Cade knew they weren’t really in there. Still, he touched their faces. They were so clear, so bright. Not like the faded photos he had back home.

  The picture jiggled, and when Cade jerked his fingers back, the image slid away. Rows of boxes replaced it, each with a letter of the alphabet in them.

  Curious, Cade turned the device, and the boxes spun. They landed at the bottom again, so he touched one. He didn’t feel anything move, but the thing ticked anyway. Then suddenly, grey filled the screen.

  “Search web,” Cade mouthed to himself. There was a compass beside the words, but nothing happened when he touched it. So he turned the rectangle, and the screen followed.

  Branson chuckled. “Your first tablet, too, huh?”

  Cade glanced at him. Then he turned his attention to the rectangle—the tablet. If it was like the box in Javier’s room, Cade could make it sing.

  Swiping his fingers back and forth, he made the children’s picture appear again. Little pictures obscured their faces when he turned it over. It took him a moment to realize the small pictures had labels.

  Carefully, he pressed the one that said MUSIC. But all that did was bring up more pictures.

  The tablet taunted him. He turned it, watching the pictures spin. That didn’t help, so he patted at them. Hand swabbing the screen, he muttered to himself. Different images flashed. Bits of the screen leapt around.

  The music had to be in there somewhere. Cade shook the tablet, and just before he slapped the screen, Branson reached over to still him.

  “I feel the same way, sometimes,” he said with a smile. With a gentle hand, he flattened the tablet to lie on Cade’s thighs. Pale fingers swirling, he cleared the screen. Then he touched one of the small pictures, and a white page opened.

  Moving too fast for Cade to follow, Branson wiggled his fingers and opened a page. It had lines, questions on it. The top read Intake Form. “Why don’t you help me with some of this paperwork? Use your finger like a pen, you can write on the screen like this.”

  He demonstrated. Drawing on the screen by the line that read Coordinator, he smiled. His strokes glowed, a firefly flitting across the screen. Then, with a chirp, they turned into text, like the inside of a book.

  “See? Go ahead, put your name and address in there.”

  Cade stilled. Though he didn’t look up, he felt Sheriff Porter watching. He knew how to make block letters; he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Dara’s warning plucked at him. Crazy, Dara said. Or lying. It was a needle beneath his skin, piercing and pulling the movable parts in his arm.

  Sheriff Porter would never let a crazy liar near his daughter.

  His expectant expression fading, Branson considered the screen, then Cade’s face. Radiating warmth, he reached for the tablet. He didn’t just grab and take. He waited for Cade to relinquish it.

  When he did, Branson asked, “Do you know how to read or write, Cade?”

  There was no judgment in his tone, but Cade bristled anyway. Of course he could read and write. During his earliest winters, his mother spent hours teaching him the letters. Dad took turns with him, reading one line of a book, then handing it to Cade to read the next.

  But if he couldn’t, they’d make him stay until he could answer them. All Cade needed was time to get better. Time to sit with Dara, just time. Forcing down his pride, Cade shook his head.

  “That’s very brave of you,” Branson said. He scribbled on the tablet’s screen. “Can you tell me what your last grade of school was?”

  “No.”

  “Did you drop out?”

  Cade felt Sheriff Porter’s eyes boring into him. He refused to be smaller than him, so he looked up. Without wavering, trying to make him look away, Cade said, “I never went.”

  Almost to himself, Branson said, “Going to have to get some testing . . . all right, Cade. I’m going to start at the very beginning, so be patient with me.”

  Slowly straightening his back, Cade held Sheriff Porter’s gaze. He didn’t waver. He wasn’t afraid. There were bigger things in the forest he’d stared down. Greater beasts, far more dangerous. This was just a man, with weaknesses and doubt. Cade told the social worker, “All right.”

  “So tell me your whole name, including the middle name if you have one.”

  Filling the corner of the couch, Cade smiled slightly as he answered. “Only Cade.”

  “What’s your address?”

  “Daniel Boone National Forest,” he said. The words felt unfamiliar on his mouth, but their effect on Sheriff Porter was unmistakable. He narrowed his eyes, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Did he think it was a lie? Because he was sure Sheriff Porter considered him sane.


  Branson wrote it down dutifully, the tablet chirping and beeping. “And how long have you lived there?”

  “Always,” Cade said.

  At that, Sheriff Porter snapped. He looked away, cursing under his breath. When he paced away, his belt jingled. His footsteps echoed, and he turned back abruptly. To Branson, he said, “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” he said.

  Sheriff Porter offered Cade nothing. After losing such a basic challenge, he was embarrassed. It showed in the flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. And he revealed it, when he took another look at Cade before disappearing up the stairs.

  Comfortable as the temporary alpha, Cade turned to Branson. Because he wanted to—because he wanted to stay—he waited for the next question.

  Through the crush in the hallway, Josh made his way to Dara’s locker. There were all kinds of rumors going around. He didn’t appreciate having to tell his boys he didn’t know what was going on with the freak from the woods and his girl.

  Dara’s blonde hair glimmered, falling to her shoulders unrestrained. What happened to her usual messy ponytail? She never wore her hair like that. Something else new and different to put him on guard. Excusing himself, he pressed himself between Dara and the guy at the next locker.

  “Well?”

  He didn’t want to get too specific. That way, anything she felt like she needed to confess would bubble out of her.

  “Hey,” Dara said. She looked trapped. One brow danced up, like it always did when she was trying to figure out the right thing to say. Usually, that happened after they got in a fight. She didn’t believe in apologizing unless she was sure she was wrong, but she hated getting the silent treatment.

  “What’s up?” Josh asked.

  Pulling a couple books from her locker, Dara finally shook her head. “You wouldn’t even believe me.”

  That was bad. Anytime Dara got cagey, it was bad. In spite of his annoyance, Josh took her camera, holding it while she shoved her books into her backpack. “Lia’s telling everybody you’ve got him socked away in your basement.”

  “My dad kept him there. It was that or jail, because he wouldn’t go back to the hospital.”