One Was Lost(45)

I don’t even think about arguing. My heart is skipping like a scratched record. Jude comes too, claiming his own need for a break. This is way too obvious. Two boys do not accompany a girl to pee behind a tree. He’ll know we’re talking about him.

Or think something entirely different is going on out here.

Jude and I slow at a cluster of river birches, the bark peeling off in sheets and clumps, but Lucas holds up a hand before we can speak. He moves back a few paces toward the camp, shoulders back and wide hands balling into fists over and over. I can’t quit looking at his fingers, thinking of them curved over my waist. Threaded into my hair.

This is so stupid.

“It’s not stupid,” Jude says.

My cheeks burn when I realize I said it out loud. Maybe he won’t get what I’m referring to, but when he shrugs and nods at Lucas, I’m pretty sure he does. Lucas takes a few more steps away from us, and Jude drops his voice to a murmur. “It’s a survival thing, completely physiological. I’ve read about it. Hormones go crazy in life-and-death situations.”

My hands squeeze into fists, and pain stabs through my left palm. It’s starting to look like raw hamburger, and it feels just as raunchy.

“We shouldn’t have left Emily,” I say, looking in the direction of the camp.

“I don’t think he’s after her. Plus, she’ll bolt if he even moves in her direction. He’s definitely too slow to catch her off guard.”

I nod, relieved. “So, what’s going on with you and Emily?”

“Nothing is going on with me and Emily.” His tone is sharp enough to cut.

I look up, shocked at the return of his frosty expression. I hold up my hands. “I just noticed you were getting along better. I wasn’t trying to imply…whatever.”

“Maybe I’m smart enough to play nice with the one person who knows something about first aid,” he says with a sniff.

I don’t buy it, and I’m tired of backing down, so I shake my head. “Are you that desperate to be elusive? So you’re friendly with Emily—what does it matter?”

“What does what matter?” Lucas asks, returning to us.

Jude’s jaw clicks. “She thinks I’m boning Emily because she wants to bone you.”

Heat scorches my cheeks, but Lucas cocks his head. “Wait, I thought we established earlier that you’re gay.”

“No, the only thing we established is that I’m not going to help you find a label for me.”

“Someone already found a label for you,” Lucas says, winking at the Deceptive on Jude’s arm.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Yes, do keep the redneck in check,” Jude says, but it’s different now. Neither one of them seems as riled up. Guess we know who the enemy isn’t at least.

“Well, we’re all labeled,” I say to Jude. “And for the record, I’m sorry if…” I trail off because I can’t put my finger on why I’m sorry, but I feel it, a slow burn in my gut. I am sorry.

Am I sorry because of the assholes who weren’t nice to his dads? Or maybe because I was curious or insensitive or some other thing I can’t figure out? Finally, I sigh. “I’m just sorry for…well, whatever.”

He tsks. “When you figure out what whatever means, you let me know.”

Lucas coughs or laughs—I honestly can’t tell which. “Can we maybe set aside this group therapy moment to discuss whether or not our teacher is trying to kill us?”

“He seemed completely false to me,” I said. “I know he’s sick, but it was like watching a bad understudy botch a lead role.” I rub my temples. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s me.”

Lucas holds the back of his neck. “No, no, I picked up on that. He’s being weird as shit.”

Jude frowns. “He’s always weird. I’m still trying to wrap my head around him being intelligent enough to plan something like this. It’s intricate.”

I nod. “I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would do this. What’s the point?”

“Serial killers do pointless things all the time, right?” Jude asks. “Rituals and trophies or whatnot. I just want to know what he did with my hair.”

A chill runs up my arms. “Your hair?”

“There’s a piece missing. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw Emily’s a bit ago. Check yours,” he says, pulling up some of his wiry curls to tap at the nape of his neck.

I see the small short piece. My fingers worry at the same spot underneath my hair, just below and behind my ear. I freeze when my fingers brush freshly cut strands, making me shudder.

“Well, that’s plenty creepy,” Lucas says, finding his own piece in front of his ears where his bangs are longer. “So the question is, is Mr. Walker the type to do something like this?”

“I think we just need to ask her about the doll,” Jude says, and then they exchange a dark look. They want to ask me something?

My heart thumps too slow and then double-beats to catch up. “What about the doll?”

Lucas frowns. “There is no classy way to ask this.”

“Please. She came back from that river sporting your stubble burn, so I doubt either of you are concerned with classy.” Jude turns to me. “Are you wearing blue panties?”