One Was Lost(35)

“Someone should check the cooler,” Jude says without moving to do it himself.

Lucas’s nostrils flare, the sudden friendliness between them straining. “Were you expecting one of us to play support staff for you?”

“I was just putting it out there,” Jude says, but apparently, he can’t resist either because his smile tightens. “Though support staff is a job title you should get used to.”

I lumber to my feet, feeling shaky. “Don’t start up again. I’ll check the cooler.”

“Sera…” Emily’s cheeks are pale.

She’s afraid of what’s inside, and suddenly, I am too. I catch a glimpse of the black letters on Jude’s arm and think of Ms. Brighton’s detached finger. I really don’t want to find the rest of her in here.

“I can check it,” Lucas offers.

“I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

I press my fingers to the top of the cooler and wait, assessing. I’ve seen coolers like this at garage sales and picnics. It’s older, olive green with a yellowed plastic handle. Nothing special or particularly ominous.

OK. On with it. I pull my chin back even as I push the lid open.

My shoulders relax instantly. “No fingers, so that’s a plus.”

“What’s in it?” Jude asks.

“Cups of grapefruit. Greek yogurt.” My hands shake as I move the tubs aside, then my spine stiffens. “Packets of SunButter and crackers. It’s food.”

“What the hell is SunButter?” Lucas asks.

“Sunflower seed butter,” Jude says. “People with nut allergies use it.”

I stare at the packets, at the little tubs lined up, exactly like the ones in my fridge at home. I tip back a familiar-looking Greek yogurt. Blueberry. I snap the cooler lid closed with a shudder.

Emily shifts on the ground. “You’re allergic to nuts, right, Sera?”

“Yes.” I pick at a cuticle on my thumbnail and feel the weight of three gazes settling on my shoulders like a yoke. The seven letters on my arm feel like the numbers underneath a mugshot. I’m guilty. Guilty because I’m Darling. Which means I’m somehow chosen. Trouble is, I don’t know what I’m chosen for.

“The SunButter is for you,” Emily says softly.

I shrug. “Anyone can eat it.” It sounds pathetic, even to me. This was left for me like an offering. A present. The hunger pangs that have haunted me all day vanish.

“Shit,” Jude says softly.

“Don’t,” Lucas warns. “Sera?”

I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them. I shove to my feet because sitting here isn’t possible now.

“I need to use the restroom.” I say it like we’re in the middle of chemistry class and not lost in Notown, Nowhere, with a psycho stalker cutting off fingers and packing me custom-made lunches.

“Alone?” Emily asks. “It’s dark.”

“It’s not that dark.” My voice cracks. I’m going to cry. I shake my head.

I don’t wait for anyone to answer. I storm off through the trees, even though the shadows are stretching long. I break into a run, which is so stupid. So incredibly stupid because there’s nowhere to go and I might not find my way back. I’m still half-starved and shaky and a little dehydrated, and my best chance, maybe my only chance, is to stay with the group.

I find a small stream, some little offshoot of the river probably, and force myself to stop at the muddy edge, where clouds of gnats hover like patchy fog. The sun has set, but I spot streaks of red and purple through the web of branches that cross the sky like bars. Bark and wood and sap that lock me away from my world.

I only cry a little. I hold the worst of it in, pressing my fist to my mouth and praying silently, though I’m not sure God will listen to a girl with an absentee mother and a D in biology.

“Sera?”

My shoulders hitch in surprise, and they shouldn’t. I knew he would come. I open my eyes and search my pockets for a used tissue, coming up dry.

“Here,” Lucas says, shoving something cool and damp into my hand.

It smells like baby powder, and wiping my nose is suddenly a diary-worthy moment. It’s a diaper wipe. I find a clean corner and wipe my forehead and nose, which have never felt greasier. Then my chin and cheeks. I’m moving down to my neck when I hear him chuckle.

“I have more,” he says, offering a small plastic packet. “I should have thought of it earlier when you cut your ankle.”

I start in on that cut now, but it’s scabbed over and not nearly so tender. “How long have you had these?”

“The whole trip. I kept them tucked down in my sleeping bag,” he says, then he smirks, tapping the bubbly letters and cartoon pacifier at the edge. “I asked Mom to pick up hand wipes from the dollar store, and this is what I got.”

“Real men bring diaper wipes?” I ask.

He laughs. “Real men have pothead mothers who don’t pay attention, I guess.”

I take another wipe instead of trying to figure out what to say. He follows my lead. It isn’t soap and water, but it’s close. And it’s amazing. I scrub my neck, my arms. When Lucas turns his back to me, I use one inside my shirt, swiping my armpits and the valley between my breasts.