The Box in the Woods (Truly Devious #4)(3)

“Behold!” Eric said, brandishing the bag aloft. “Your milkman cometh!”

He cupped his free hand over his mouth and made the tooting sound of a triumphant horn. He and Sabrina sat down on the other sleeping bag, which had been opened up for them. Eric handed the bag to Diane, who set it down on a stolen dining pavilion tray. She moved the lantern a bit closer and dumped out the contents of the Big Mac box and picked through it expertly.

“And now, we roll,” Eric said, grabbing a handful of chips, “for rolling is a part of the service. First ones are always for us. No one beats Diane. She’s a machine.”

Diane was working smoothly, plucking the buds. In the space of only a few moments, she had rolled the first joint, which she passed to Eric. She kept right on rolling, her movements hypnotic. Eric put the joint between his lips and lit it, then took a long inhale and passed it to Todd. Todd did the same, and then passed it to Diane, who didn’t look up from her efforts as she took her hit. It ended up with Sabrina, who took it and held it. She could hear the gentle sizzle of the paper.





“You don’t have to,” Eric said. “Totally up to you.”


She had asked to come out here. She wanted to try something new, and there was no way she wanted to get to Columbia and be the only person in the entire freshman class who had never smoked a joint. This was the perfect place to try. No one around, with people she knew. She put it to her lips and inhaled—and promptly coughed it all out in a gagging, reflexive manner. She expected them to laugh at her, but no one did.

“Happens to everyone the first time,” Eric said. “Try again. Slower, hold it as long as you can.”

She inhaled once more. The smoke was acrid, and it burned a bit, but she held it for several seconds before coughing it out again, though less violently this time. After a moment, she felt a little change. An easing. Her attention locked on to the music—she suddenly needed it to be different.

“Can we switch the tape?” she asked.

“Sure,” Eric said. “What do you want to hear?”

“Fleetwood Mac.”

“Can we change it?” Eric asked. “Put on Rumours.”

There was a low groan of displeasure from the other couple.

“Come on,” Eric said, smiling. “It’s her first time. Let her pick the music.”

Reluctantly, Diane dug around in the backpack and pulled out a cassette. She stopped the one that was playing and replaced it. The haunting jangle of the guitar and





the heavy, slow beat of the drum echoed between the trees, mingled with the crackle of the fire. Sabrina rested against the log and let the music wash over her. This was her favorite album. She’d listened to it thousands of times, probably. She knew the lyrics back to front, but tonight, they were especially clear.

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

“Eric,” she said.

He leaned over and looked down at her. He had a nice face. A kind face. It loomed over her like the moon.

“How you doing?” he asked.

“Damn your lies . . .”

“You got it.”

Beyond them, out of the range of the glow of the fire—what was that thing moving between the trees? An owl? A raccoon? A witch that rang like a bell in the night, or a ghost, or . . .

No. It was a bit of the potato chip bag, which had caught fire and floated up.

“Excuse us,” Todd said as he and Diane peeled themselves off the ground and pulled their sleeping bag away. They went off toward the trees behind them and vanished into the dark. Sabrina strained to turn around and watch them go, then she looked back to Eric.

“It’s okay,” Eric said. “There’s no pressure like that. We’ll just hang here, eat chips, listen to some music.”





Sabrina eased and tucked herself under Eric’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder.


“My throat is dry,” she said.

Eric leaned up and retrieved a Coke, which he opened and passed to her. It was warm, but welcome, sliding down her throat, sticky and sweet, ungluing her lips. It tasted so good. She downed half the can in one go.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She responded by belching and bursting into laughter.

“There we go,” he said. “That’s what I like to hear. See? Everything’s not so bad.”

Things weren’t so bad; they were inexplicably hilarious. She felt her muscles ease and she settled back into the gentle puffs of the sleeping bag.

“This is . . . stoned?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Take it easy, listen to the music. Nowhere to be, and nothing to do. I’m going to take a leak. Back in a second.”

He pushed himself up off the ground and headed toward the trees. As he walked off, he tripped dramatically over a log and did a staggered almost-fall—it was clearly a fake-out for her amusement, and she burst into laughter again. Then he stepped into the trees.

Sabrina leaned back, her head against the log. She was surrounded by the long shadows, the veil of smoke that oozed along with the music like honey. If she closed her eyes, she knew everything would spin and the world would cease to make sense. It barely made sense as it was.





The bass drumbeat on this song was like a heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.