The Impossible Knife of Memory(23)

out, for the record, that my pants remained zipped and my

belt buckled for the entire evening.”

“Smart move on your part.” I hesitated, because I wanted to kiss him and I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me,

too, but the bike was in front of me, and Finn was several

steps away and then two soldiers came around the side of

the house and started rummaging in the back of one of the

trucks.

“I better go,” I said.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. “I mean, with all

those guys around and everything?”

“You’re the one who should be worried. You just took

out the captain’s daughter without his permission.” Dad was sitting by the bonfire in the backyard with Roy and a bunch of the others. The conversation died when I

stepped into the circle of light.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I said. “Just wanted to tell

you I’m home.”

“How was the game?” Roy asked.

“We lost,” I said. “But the stars were nice.”

“Sleep tight, princess.” Dad’s face was half in shadow,

angular and old-looking. I wanted to sit on the ground next

to him and lean against his knee and have him smooth

my hair back and tell me that everything was going to be

all right, but the awful thing was, I wasn’t sure it could

be. He was sober, still drinking soda, surrounded by guys

who understood everything he’d been through, but his

good mood of the afternoon had vanished. He looked lost

again, haunted.

One of the younger soldiers got up and offered me a

chair, but I muttered a quick g’night, and hurried inside. Michael was parked in front of the television gaming

with a couple of the privates, dribbling chew-stained spit

into a paper cup. I went straight to my room without saying a word. Didn’t bother with a shower or brushing my

teeth. I locked my bedroom door, changed into my pj’s,

and crawled into bed with a book and my phone. Finn texted just as I got comfortable:

am home

you ok?

yep, I texted back.

I waited, staring at the screen. Should I say anything

else? Were we supposed to text all night long?

ttyt? he asked.

sure

I hesitated, then held my breath and typed quickly: flowers were sweet

stars spectacular

thx

He didn’t reply and he didn’t reply and he didn’t reply. I

smacked myself in the forehead. “Anti-date,” what was that

supposed to mean? He thinks I’m a nutcase now, a total crazy

cakes, I said I was going to shove his nose into his brain, who

says crap like that? and then my phone lit up again. nxt to you

i didnt notice any stars

night

I woke to the sound of chain saws rumbling in the living room: soldiers snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. I stretched, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and found my phone buried in the blankets. No new messages. I reread what Finn had sent the night before to make sure he said what I thought he said.

He did.

My stomach went squirmy. I wanted to text Gracie and ask what I was supposed to do next, but what if he didn’t mean it? What if the whole thing was a setup, you know, humiliate the new girl and scar her for life? Plus, if I told Gracie, she’d tell Topher and he liked to exaggerate, so by Monday morning the whole school would think that me and Finn had slept together and Finn would think that I had started the rumor and he’d never talk to me again.

And I’d definitely flunk math.

I read his text a third time. My stomach clenched. I had to find out the truth: Was he messing with me, was I blowing this out of proportion, or . . . or something else?

Deep voices in the hall and the slamming of the bathroom door meant that some of the soldiers were up. If I could get them to stay for the whole weekend, that would distract Dad and give me time to track down Finn and . . .

And what?

Okay, I’d figure that out later. Step One—enlist military babysitters for Captain Andrew Kincain.

The gamers I’d seen the night before had fallen asleep on the couch with the controllers still in their hands. The pause scene looped on the screen, a monster slicing off the head of a green-skinned warrior whose body crumpled to the ground spurting fountains of blood from his neck stump, over and over and over again. I hurried into the kitchen.

“Morning, princess,” Dad said.

He stood in front of the stove, watching four fry pans of sizzling bacon, his face tense. The bags under his eyes were swollen, but it didn’t look like he’d been crying. He probably hadn’t slept at all.

“Morning,” I said.

“Perfect timing!” Roy came in from the garage and headed for the coffeepot. “Help me out, Hayley,” he said, pouring himself a cup. “I’m trying to convince your old man to come with us to the mountains.”

Dad frowned and turned up the heat under the pan. “Knock it off, Roy.”

“Cabin, lake, trees,” Roy said. “Two days, one night. Time of your life.”

Two days and one night? Me with a chance to be on my own, Dad with a chance to get his head straight?