Freeks(41)

“Not really. I could use a cup of coffee, though.”

“I already poured you one.” She pointed behind her to a mug sitting on the table beside me, and grabbed two eggs from the fridge. “Why are you sleeping out here? Did something happen last night?”

I gulped down my coffee—bitter, warm, and black, just the way I liked it—before answering. “Nothing happened, exactly, but I did have this really strange dream.”

There was no point in telling her about the thing that Luka and I had chased, because it wasn’t even really a thing. We hadn’t actually seen anything, and in the bright light of morning, it made me realize that it had probably been nothing more than our own paranoia.

Or maybe it was the peculiar power of the Nukoabok Swamp that seemed to be affecting everyone around here. It would make sense that it played tricks with our imagination, and that even explained the bizarre nightmares I’d had since I got here. Zeke claimed he’d been having nightmares too.

“What was it about?” Mom asked.

The old woman flashed in my mind, screaming her string of angry syllables at me—id-hab-bee-in-who-nah. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts of her. “It’s … nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Dreams can be an important way of our spirit telling us things that we need to know…” Mom trailed off and leaned forward so the skull key fell out of her blouse. She liked to wear it under her clothing, close to her heart, but she didn’t even notice it had escaped as she looked out the small window above the stove. “There’s a boy.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“There’s a strange boy in the campsite, and he’s coming over to our motorhome.” Mom looked back at me, like I should understand what was going on.

I set down my coffee and tossed off the quilt. I’d only just gotten up, and by then he was close enough to our screen door that I could see him.

Gabe.

I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. I could only stand, petrified, hoping that he would move on before he saw me or my home.

When he knocked, his fist rapping loudly on the metal door, I nearly screamed. Mom moved to get it, but I rushed past her and answered it before she could. I held the door open, but I didn’t go outside or move so he could come in. The height difference of the trailer meant that I was actually taller than him, looking down at him.

“Hi.” Gabe smiled sheepishly up at me. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I was awake,” I said through lips that felt numb and clumsy.

I was acutely aware of the haggard appearance of everything. The once avocado-green carpet of the motorhome had become a sickly shade of brown, and it was balding in patches. The cupboards behind me were duct-taped to keep them from falling open, and cushions on the dinette were patched with old pieces of my mom’s dresses.

Not to mention how unkempt I looked personally—no makeup and dark circles under my eyes, my black hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and my rumpled pajamas with no bra.

And Gabe stood before me without a hair out of place, designer jeans, and black-and-safari-patterned Nike sneakers that easily cost more than my family made in a month.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, because I couldn’t possibly imagine what he wanted with me, or how he had even known which motorhome was mine.

“I was wondering if we could talk.” His eyes were imploring me, absent of any glint I’d seen in them last night.

I looked past him, to the campsite, where everyone was beginning to wake up and start their day. Damon was standing shirtless outside his trailer, grilling up some type of sausage for breakfast, and Brendon kept giving Gabe the eye as he hauled acrobatic equipment out of his trailer.

Talking to him outside wouldn’t be good, but going into the motorhome, where my mom lurked a few feet away, wouldn’t really be any better.

“Mara, invite your friend in,” Mom commanded with a weary sigh. “I have business to attend to in Gideon’s trailer anyway.”

“Come in,” I said, since I didn’t have a choice. I stepped back to let him in and folded my arms over my chest.

Even though it was first thing in the morning, Mom had already put on a long, flowing dress and adorned herself in jewelry, from earrings to necklaces to half a dozen rings. Her long black hair cascaded around her in waves, and she held her hand out to Gabe.

“I’m Lyanka Beznik, Mara’s mom,” she said as she shook his hand.

“Gabe Alvarado, Mara’s friend.” His eyes flitted to me briefly. “I think.”

“Gabriel?” Mom asked, raising one eyebrow, and I sighed inwardly at my mom’s strange insistence on calling everyone by their full given name.

“Gabriel is my full name.” He glanced at me, looking caught off guard. “Most people call me Gabe, though.”

“Gabriel, then,” she repeated. She smiled thinly, then her gray eyes rested on me. “Be good.”

With that, she left us alone, standing awkwardly in the small, dingy Winnebago. I felt his eyes on me, but I wouldn’t look at him directly.

“I don’t understand.” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel like you’re mad at me, but you’re the one that lied to me.”

I bristled. “I didn’t lie.”