Unspeakable Things(53)

I’d had the worst dreams in my closet afterward, all haunted woods and grabbing hands. I couldn’t stand another night of that and set my alarm so I’d be up today same time as her. I stood outside the bathroom, hands on hips, my voice low because Mom and Dad were still asleep. I heard water running, and then the sound of her spitting.

“What?” she finally said.

“How’s summer school?”

She yanked open the door. Her face was bulgy with sleep. “I told you yesterday. It’s fine.”

“I’m biking with Frank today. Maybe we can stop by the school and say hi to you.”

She tossed a shoulder. “Whatever.”

I reached toward her but stopped short of touching her. “Where did you go the night of Dad’s party?”

There it was, finally said out loud. Her eyes slid sideways. I didn’t know what I saw in them. Guilt? Fear? She walked toward the bathroom mirror, and I followed. “I went to bed.”

“No, you didn’t. I checked there. Then I walked all the trails.”

She pulled a brush through her long hair, watching herself in the mirror. Her lips appeared swollen, the bags under her eyes dark as bruises. “Did you come back to my room after you walked the trails?”

“No.”

The shutters dropped from her face, and she was suddenly my Sephie again. “Then you just missed me, silly! I was on the trails myself, checking for garbage, and then I went to bed.”

I searched her argument for a hole but couldn’t find one. That didn’t change the fact that she was straight-up lying. “I think one of the farm cats had a litter. Want to help me look for them later?”

“Sure. Maybe.” She began closing the door on me. “I need some privacy, Cass. I have to get ready.”

I stood at the closed door for a full minute, staring at the painted wood, wondering where my sister had gone. She still hadn’t even asked about my bandaged hand. A little solid part of me broke loose.



“I don’t think your dad likes me,” I said.

Frank was puffing up a hill on his Hutch BMX, the prettiest bike I’d ever seen. If a dragon-slaying knight rode a no-speed, it’d be a Hutch with that sparkling chrome frame, the jack of spades wedged through the spokes making it sound like a roulette wheel as he biked. He told me his parents had bought it so he didn’t feel so bad about moving out to the boondocks. I thought that was a fair deal, even though the bike wasn’t made for the monster hill you had to labor up to enter Lilydale, no matter which direction you were coming from.

“He acts like that with everyone,” Frank said, standing to pedal, the last resort of the person about to walk their bike.

“Your mom seemed happy to see me.”

Frank dismounted and steered his bike to the side of the tar, his face flushed by the early-afternoon sun. I’d caught him and his dad on a lunch break from working in the field. His dad hadn’t wanted Frank to leave with me, but his mom had insisted. She’d doubled down when I explained I needed help selling popcorn for next year’s band trip.

“You sure care a lot about what other people think of you,” Frank said, panting.

I hopped off my own bike and walked behind him. I was careful to protect my hand, though thanks to the magic salve, the punctures had already scabbed over. I addressed the storm of cowlicks on the back of Frank’s head. “Why won’t your parents let you out at night?”

He stopped and turned to look at me square. “You can’t be serious.”

We’d almost made it to the top of the hill. Stearns County was spread out like a quilt on each side of us, farmhouses and barns planted in the middle of square patches of corn and soybeans, Lake Corona in the distance, sloughs and creeks curving through the fabric. There’s about a hundred shades of green in a Minnesota summer, light like celery, deep like emeralds. You wouldn’t think one color could have so many different flavors.

I puffed up defensively. “If you mean the boys who were attacked, you don’t need to worry. They’re part of some Hollow hazing gone wrong.” I realized I was mimicking Sergeant Bauer’s words. I didn’t like that, so I tried again. “Or they’re not, and you and me can find out what’s happening. Like the A-Team would.”

“Hollow hazing?”

I sped up so I could walk alongside him. The flowery smell of blooming trees tickled my nose. “The Hollow is the neighborhood on the other side of the train tracks. It’s where the—” I stopped myself from saying “bad kids,” just. “It’s where some of the rougher boys hang out.”

Frank shrugged and stepped closer to me as a car zoomed past, kicking up gravel from the opposite shoulder. “Whatever it is, my mom doesn’t want any part of it. She read in the paper that kids aren’t supposed to be out at night. And anyhow, boys are weird in your town.”

“It’s your town now, too.” A surge of heat rushed my chest. The deerflies we’d been outrunning caught up to us, hovering near our heads. “What do you mean, ‘weird’?”

“Some of them remind me of werewolves. Like they got bit, and now they’re turning.” He threw his head back and howled.

“Stop it!” I said, but I was laughing. “Hey, wasn’t it the same in your town? With boys being taken?”