What Lies Beyond the Veil(Of Flesh & Bone #1)(19)

“Oh yeah,” Bobby says, “it’s when we would group off by age to roast marshmallows and tell stories and do other cool stuff by the fire. I was in a group with two other boys—Marty and Kevin, both third graders like me. They were already friends with each other, but not with me.” Bobby is twirling the rock in his hands as he talks, like the stone can put him back in front of that fire.

“That night, I decided I didn’t want to hang out with these boys that didn’t like me. So when our camp counselor wasn’t looking, I snuck away.”

“Where did you go?” I ask, watching the magic stone spin in his fingers.

“I tried to go back to my cabin, but it was really dark and I got lost. I circled around the wooded campsite for what felt like hours, but I never found my cabin. Instead”—he holds up the rock triumphantly—“I found this!”

I wait for more, cause the way he tells the story, I can’t figure why the rock is so important. Besides the fact that it can be pretty and ugly at the same time, ain’t much special bout the rock.

“Well,” continues Bobby, “it’s actually more like this rock found me. I was wandering around in the dark, looking for my cabin, when I tripped over it. I landed flat on my face, got a bloody nose and everything.” For some reason, Bobby seems happy bout this last part. I half smile, not sure if he wants me to be happy bout it, too.

“I was laying there, nose bleeding, feeling like an idiot,” he continues. “Then I heard some voices getting closer. And when I picked up my head, Kevin and Marty were running my way! I guess they noticed I was gone and came looking for me. Anyway, when I showed them the tiny rock that had my nose bleeding into my camp T-shirt, we laughed and laughed for hours. I was trying to be so big and tough, but I guess this tiny little thing was even tougher.” Bobby smiles at the rock. I smile at Bobby.

“That’s incredible.” I stare hard at the rock and try to imagine something so small doin’ something so big. Like the fireflies, I guess. Tiny, little bugs with lights brighter than the whole sky, even when it’s filled with stars. The fireflies were like Bobby’s rock, in a way. Something small that had the power to bring people together. Bobby and Kevin and Marty. Maybe me and Granddaddy. I heard before in Sunday school that God puts little things along our path for when we need a push in the right direction. I ain’t get it then, but it makes sense now.

“Yeah.” Bobby smiles. “It is pretty incredible.” I smile, tiny, wondering why he’s telling me all this now. He ain’t seem too friendly to me when I first wandered cross the street, when he ain’t even wanna look my way, let alone talk to me. But now he’s being all nice and showing me his special rock collection. I’ve known since first grade that boys can be weird, and this boy ain’t no different.

“Charlotte, you seen his rock collection?” I look her way and hope she might come over, so we can all play together. But she shakes her head soon as I ask.

“I’ve seen that stupid rock collection too many times! Boring!” She holds out the word boring so that it’s more like two words, booooar-innnnng! Then she rolls her eyes and goes back to drawing. I feel bad for Bobby cause Charlotte’s being so mean, but when I look back at him, he don’t seem to care. He’s too busy studying all his rocks, like he ain’t seen ’em before.

“Check out this one,” Bobby exclaims, “isn’t it cool?” He holds a rock faceup in the palm of his hands, which he holds out to me.

I take the rock—smooth and dark and cool—then listen to a story bout Boy Scouts and first grade. Then another—chalky gray with sparkles along the edges—and a story of moving trucks and new schools and fear. For every rock, there’s a story. I sit and listen and my fascination with rocks grows. I still think most of the rocks are ugly, but the stories make up for the flaws. Each story is full of so much life and memory. Just like the rocks, the stories ain’t always perfect. But seems like just having all those memories, good or bad, is special by itself.

“Bobby! Charlotte!” The shrill voice comes from the porch and pops the bubble that we’ve been floating in all this time. Butterflies buzz in my stomach as Charlotte and Bobby’s momma comes walking my way. Hair in a bun, clothes neat and pressed, with a look on her face like she’s planning to yell.

But when she reaches us on the sidewalk, she don’t yell. “It’s time to come inside,” she half whispers to Bobby and Charlotte instead, not once looking my way.

“Mama!” Charlotte yells. “This is our new friend, KB.”

“Time to get washed up for supper,” she replies, like she ain’t hear Charlotte at all. She finally does look in my direction for a second, just long enough to focus on my ashy knees and nappy hair, before looking away. “Let’s go.” She walks back to the house without looking back, like she knows that Charlotte and Bobby will follow.

Charlotte is the first to move. She starts picking up the chalk and gathering it in the bottom of her T-shirt. Each piece of chalk adds a new color to the growing rainbow on her once-white top. I grab a piece of chalk that she missed by the grass and take it over to her.

“Here, you forgot this one.” I wait for her to say something, but she don’t. “I can bring the book over later, if you want.” I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sneak back over here with the book, but for some reason, it feels like it’s important to do.