Lock and Key(59)

When we came over the hill five minutes later and Jackson came into view—big, sprawling, trailers lined up behind—I felt myself relax. After so many weeks of being out of place, it was nice to finally see something familiar. Olivia pulled up in front, where there was a row of faded plastic benches. Sitting on the last one was a heavyset black girl with short hair and glasses. When she saw us, she slowly got to her feet and began to shuffle in our direction.

“Oh, look at this,” Olivia said loudly, rolling down her window. “Seems like someone should have listened to someone else who said maybe running a mile wasn’t such a smart idea.”

“It’s not because of the running,” the girl grumbled, pulling open the back door and sliding gingerly onto the seat. “I think I have the flu.”

“All the books say you should start slow,” Olivia continued. “But not you. You have to sprint the first day.”

“Just shut up and give me some Advil, would you please?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, then reached across me and popped the glove compartment. She pulled out a bottle of pills, then chucked it over her shoulder. “This is Laney, by the way,” Olivia said, banging the glove compartment shut again. “She thinks she can run a marathon.”

“It’s a five-K,” Laney said. “And some support would be nice.”

“I’m supportive,” Olivia told her, turning around in her seat. “I support you so much that I’m the only one telling you this isn’t a good idea. That maybe, just maybe, you could hurt yourself.”

Laney just looked at her as she downed two Advils, then popped the cap back on. “Pain is part of running,” she said. “That’s why it’s an endurance sport.”

“You don’t know anything about endurance!” Olivia turned to me. “One night she sees that crazy woman Kiki Sparks in one of those infomercials, talking about caterpillars and butterflies and potential and setting fitness goals. Next think you know, she thinks she’s Lance Armstrong.”

“Lance Armstrong is a cyclist,” Laney pointed out, wincing as she shifted her weight. “That’s not even a valid analogy.”

Olivia harrumphed but withheld further comment as we pulled forward out of the turnaround. As she put on her blinker to turn left, I said, “Do you mind going the other way? It’s not far.”

“There’s nothing up there but woods,” she said.

“It’ll only take a minute.”

I saw her glance back at Laney in the rearview, but then she was turning, slowly, the engine chugging as we headed up the hill. The parking lots gave way to more parking lots, which then turned into scrub brush. About half a mile later, I told her to slow down.

“This is good,” I said as we came up on the clearing. Sure enough, there were two cars parked there, and I could see Aaron, Peyton’s ex—a chubby guy with a baby face he tried to counter by dressing in all black and scowling a lot—sitting on one of them, smoking a cigarette. “Thanks for the ride.”

Olivia looked over at them, then back at me. “You want to get out here?”

“Yeah,” I said.

She was clearly skeptical. “How are you planning to get back? ”

“I’ll find a way,” I said. I got out of the car and picked up my bag. She was still watching me, so I added, “Look, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she said. “I don’t even know you.”

Still, she kept her eyes on me while Laney opened the back door and slid out slowly, taking her time as she made her way into the front seat. As she pulled the door shut, Olivia said, “You know, I can take you home, if you want. I mean, I’m missing third by now, anyway, thanks to Laney.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m good. I’ll see you at school, okay? ”

She nodded slowly as I patted the roof of the car, then turned around and headed for the clearing. Aaron squinted at me, then sat up straighter. “Hey, Ruby,” he called out as I approached. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” I said, hopping up on the hood beside him. Olivia had stayed where I left her, watching me from behind the wheel, but now she moved forward, turning around in the dead end, her engine put-putting. The prism hanging from her rearview caught the light for a moment, throwing sparks, and then she was sliding past, over the hill and out of sight. “It’s good to be here.”

I’d actually come looking for Peyton, who had a free second period and often skipped third to boot, spending both at the clearing. But Aaron, whose schedule was flexible due to a recent expulsion, claimed he hadn’t seen her, so I settled in to wait. That had been a couple of hours ago.

“Hey.”

I felt something nudge my foot. Then again, harder. When I opened my eyes, Aaron was holding out a joint, the tip smoldering. I tried to focus on it, but it kept blurring, slightly to one side, then the other. “I’m okay,” I said.

“Oh, yeah,” he said flatly, putting it to his own lips and taking a big drag. In his black shirt and jeans, his white skin seemed so pale, almost glowing. “You’re just fine.”

I leaned back, then felt my head bonk hard against something behind me. Turning slightly, I saw thick treads, sloping metal, and I could smell rubber. It took me another minute, though, to realize I was sitting against a car. There was grass beneath me and trees all around; looking up, I could see a bright blue sky. I was still at the clearing, although how I got on the ground I wasn’t exactly sure.