You Can't Catch Me(55)

JJ left a few moments ago to go to the bathroom. Jessie’s inside her tent, shuffling around. I look up at the sky, the stars scattered like snow in a globe. Despite the heat of the day, there’s a frost warning in effect. I can see the beginnings of my breath, or its end.

I should call Liam, check in for the night. But it’s midnight in New York. He’s probably asleep. He texted me while we were planning earlier, but Jessie gave me a look when I glanced at my phone, so I put it down without answering.

I can hear other campers moving around the campground. The slam of a camper door, then a car. A group of kids laughing. Teenagers, by the sound of it, in their loud, self-involved way. It’s so hard to tell the direction of sound, especially at night. The world is both quiet and loud all at once. One of the teenagers barks with laughter, only it’s a cruel sound, angry and mean. The zipper on Jessie’s tent slides down and she pokes her head out.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Just some kids.”

“Sounds like something different. Where’s JJ?”

“She went to the bathroom.”

“That’s where those kids are.”

“How can you tell?”

Jessie puts her hands on the ground and hops out of the tent, landing on her hands and feet. Her shirt rides up her back, revealing her bony back. She’s much thinner than she looks in clothes. She stands up and straightens her sweater.

“How can you not?”

“Not what?”

“Tell where the—”

“You do not want to do that . . .”

I spin my head around. “That was JJ’s voice.”

We both take off running. The bathroom is two hundred yards away, and we’re there in thirty seconds. There’s a small crowd standing in a circle. People in pajama bottoms and puffy jackets, clutching their toilet bags to their chests. I can’t see JJ. I push past someone encased in fleece. JJ’s got a gangly teenager on the ground, her fake hand against his throat.

“Get off,” he says in a squeaky voice. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Please, miss? Please,” a girl with a rash of acne across her forehead says. “You’re hurting him.”

“What’s going on?” I ask. “JJ?”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are dark. “This little shit thought it would be fun to pick on a . . .” She turns back to him. “What was it you said? Go on, say it again.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry, please.”

“Let him up,” Jessie says. Her voice is firm and as dark as JJ’s eyes. “Let him up now.”

“Let’s give it a minute, shall we? Till the lesson sinks in?”

“I think you’ve made enough of an impression.” Jessie emphasizes the last word, making it low and harsh. It gets through to JJ. She’s already called too much attention to us, even in this transitory place.

She springs to her feet in an elegant move and slaps one of her relentlessly positive grins on her face. She extends her hand to the ground.

“Little Timmy here is all right, isn’t he?”

Timmy, or whatever his name is, is probably not all right. But JJ’s grin is infectious, so he reaches out his hand and she pulls him up.

And maybe it’s only me that sees the menace in her smile.





Chapter 25

Game Day

It’s game day.

That’s what I’ve taken to calling it in my head.

I’m seated at a high-top table in the Jackson Hole Airport in the only restaurant in the place. It sells big burgers and salty, thick-cut french fries and looks out over the tarmac, which is the second-best view of the Tetons I’ve seen since I’ve been here. There are several large-screen TVs mounted on the walls, which are all tuned into sports. My fellow patrons look longingly at the view they’ll soon be leaving. It’s a bluebird day. Only, I’m not looking at the TV or the view. Instead, I’ve positioned myself so I can see the departure lounge.

I’ve been here for two hours already. JJ and Jessie are in position in the parking lot.

The airport website says to get to the terminal three hours before your flight during tourist season. The town’s a gateway to Yellowstone, so a million tourists come through it in a good summer. I just hope that Five is one of those people who follows instructions and not one of those last-minute airport people who rush up to the gate right before it’s supposed to close. The kind of person Jessica Two turned me into.

I needn’t have worried. I see her enter the lounge—one large room with plenty of comfy dark-leather chairs and a massive stone fireplace in the middle where the fire is roaring despite the weather—an hour and a half before her flight’s supposed to leave. She looks around for an empty spot. A woman about our age motions that there’s room for her on the couch she’s sitting on. Five walks toward her gratefully. Maybe they know one another? No. They’re not talking to each other like friends. Instead, Five pulls out an iPad and starts to read.

I survey the woman. She’s in her late twenties or early thirties. A nondescript brunette dressed in a plaid shirt with her hair in a messy ponytail. She could be anyone, but in this moment, she looks like she’s searching for an opportunity to engage Five in conversation.