Sylvia
Mom
Lucy
Dad
“And what point is that, Sawyer? I don’t understand why you would do this to yourself. Why you would do this to me?”
Senior papers
Swimming
I’m not wrong on pickup
My head pounds
Veronica
School
My hands become clammy
AA meetings
I can’t breathe
“Explain to me exactly what it is you’re trying to prove by deciding to do the project with the weirdest girl at school!”
“Weird?” I repeat.
“Sylvia told Hannah about this girl—how she does weird things and dresses strangely and hangs out with that delinquent Jesse Lachlin and that hippie Nazareth who stopped traffic last week for a cat. They’re losers, Sawyer, crazy even, something I refuse to let you become!”
“That loser is the girl who lives upstairs and is the one who is keeping from her father, your landlord, the fact that your check bounced. She cashed it, and she knows we didn’t have the money and she agreed to give us the extra time. I’d think twice on how you talk about Veronica, because she’s the reason we have a place to live, and how about you check yourself at the door before you walk in yelling at me again.”
I yank my keys out of my pocket, and as I go to walk past Mom she tries to stop me by placing a hand on my arm, but I’m too fast and too strong and I just don’t give a damn.
“Sawyer,” she calls out, following me, but I’m quick to slam the door to my car. I start the engine and my tires squeal as I back up too fast then tear down the driveway.
I take turns too quick
I know what I asked MomI know what I heard
I know I’m not responsible for everything
She’s wrong
I hit eighty at the state road
I’m heading out of town
Toward a jump
Toward a cliff
Toward death
* * *
Down the hallway, near English, Sylvia and I briefly lock eyes. She’s still mad at me and I’m mad at her. I hate it, but I don’t know how to make this standoff end. She’s one of my best friends, but that doesn’t give her permission to be mad at me because I don’t go along with Mom’s plan. I’m grateful we have to sit next to partners in English. That means one less class we have to actively avoid each other in.
“She’s pissed,” Miguel says as he walks up beside me, and Sylvia enters class.
“You think?” Sarcasm in full effect.
“Sylvia feels like you betrayed her.”
Same.
“I should know better than to get involved in this, but don’t you think you two have been friends for too long for this?”
I turn on him. “So I should give? Because, to be honest, I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Miguel moves in front of me, cutting me off from heading into class. “Agreed. You chose a different partner. It doesn’t hurt my feelings, but it did hurt hers. She doesn’t see this as a project, she sees this as you picking Veronica over her as a friend. I don’t understand why Sylvia’s upset, but I will say this—why are you willing to hurt Sylvia over the weird girl? Someone you’ve been friends with since you moved here as compared to the freak who will probably slit your throat in the middle of the night.”
“She’s not weird,” I say as anger leaks into my tone. “And don’t talk like that about her.”
Miguel’s face contorts as he slips to the side, waving me into class. “You lost that portion of the entire argument.”
My head drops as I walk into English. Veronica’s dressed in fairy wings, a torn-up white fairy dress, and there’s fake blood spots all over her outfit, body and face. She texted me last night that today was Halloween, even though it’s September, and told me to dress up. I declined that offer, but accepted the invitation to bring Lucy up for Halloween treats.
Our class is a combination of staring at her, whispering about her and flat-out just talking loud enough about her so she can easily hear. It’s not right, but Veronica makes herself an easy target year after year. I don’t understand why she makes life hard on herself.
Sylvia still watches me like I should have something to say. We’ve been friends since I moved here, but friendship should work both ways. Not just me having to give all the time. At some point, I’d appreciate it if anyone in my life got that.
Sylvia deflates when I walk past her. What she doesn’t understand is that it hurts me, too, but I need Sylvia to side with me for once. Not with Mom.
I collapse into my seat and Veronica assesses me. “No costume?”
“It’s not Halloween.”
“But that’s the magic, it could be. Someone else told you it wasn’t Halloween, and you chose to believe that.”
I stare blankly at her and she looks thoughtfully back.
“What are you supposed to be?” I eventually ask.
“A fairy.”
“Why the blood?”
“I’m a bad fairy.”
I guess that makes sense—at least it does in Veronica’s world. With Sylvia glaring at me, Veronica’s world seems a lot more appealing than mine, so maybe she’s the one living life right.
The bell rings, and Mrs. Garcia hands out papers. She places our thesis plan paper on my desk and points at the red A-plus. Her eyes smile with pride.
I do my best to not react, but as soon as she turns away, I slide the paper closer and my mouth lifts with her encouraging comments. Damn, that feels good—especially in a class like English. I did half the research and half of the writing for this paper.
Veronica peeks at the sheet we turned in on Friday. Since then, we’ve been nervous about whether or not Mrs. Garcia was going to tell us we were now going to be subjected to weekly drug testing. Evidently, Mrs. Garcia has a flare for the unique.
Mrs. Garcia is talking already, going over our lesson for the day, which means we’re supposed to be paying attention, but instead I hand the paper to Veronica. She flat-out beams, and I could sit and watch that pretty little grin all day. Even with the fake blood spots on her face, Veronica is beautiful with that halo of curls, but what I love the most about her is that she zigs when I think she’s going to zag, and I like being kept on my toes.
Earlier this morning, I ran my earbuds through my sweatshirt to hide that I’ve been listening to music while my teachers talk. I put in the left earpiece, and I’m greeted by a text. Having not turned off my text-to-voice app, the text is read to me.
Veronica: You know there’s a no-cell policy at school, right?
I smile and fight the urge to look at her. That may tip off our teacher that we aren’t listening. I place my hand over my mouth and whisper into the microphone. I’m doing research by binge watching Supernatural. Evidently, when we go ghost hunting, we should bring a shovel to dig up a grave. Also a good idea to carry salt and a blowtorch at all times.
Veronica: You’re killing me, Smalls.
Me: Is smart-ass a learned or a genetic trait for you?
From the corner of my eye, I catch her lips turn up. Both.
I whisper into the mic again: I read a USA Today article. Did you know 45 percent of people surveyed believe in ghosts? 18 percent say they’ve been in the presence of a ghost.
Veronica: I believe it. I think the statistic is higher, but people are scared to admit it.
Me: I don’t. I think that’s the 18 percent who cook up meth on a daily basis.
Veronica: Our house is haunted.
Sure it is. I meant to text your dad. I found Bigfoot taking a shower in our bathroom.
Her smile is close to blinding. You’re just flirting with me now.;-)
I wasn’t before, but I am now. You’re a cute girl. Flirting’s going to happen.
Her cheeks turn bright red. Cute?
Me: Would you prefer hot?
Veronica: Only if you mean it.
Me: I mean it.
; Veronica blinks like she doesn’t believe the words on her screen, but I couldn’t be any more serious. She texts again: I’m serious about our house. When you’re courageous enough, meet me at midnight on the stairs.
Nice to know that if I fluster her, she’ll change the subject. Who’s flirting now?
She smiles again. Me. Definitely me.
“Mr. Sutherland,” Mrs. Garcia calls out in that tone that indicates she’s aware I’m not listening and that she’s about to call me to the stand to testify. “What is the answer?”
Homonym, says Veronica through the text-to-voice, and that computerized voice is welcome because I don’t have to look down at my cell to find the answer.
“Homonym,” I say like a man who had been born knowing the answer.
Mrs. Garcia raises an eyebrow because I must be right and she has no idea how that happened, yet she continues with the lecture. I sneak a peek at Veronica and she’s fighting a smile as she stares straight ahead. What is one more amazing thing about this girl is that she can type without looking at her phone: Nice save.
Me: Thanks for giving me the save.
Veronica: No problem. That’s what friends are for.
Friends. I glance over at her again, she winks at me, and that sends me high—almost as high as standing on the edge of a cliff. The sensation is a lot like falling, though not through the air. It’s confusing, but it’s a rush and I like it.
VERONICA
“Veronica,” Sawyer says in a quiet voice, and there’s a light, warm touch on my hand. “We’re here.”
I lift my head off the passenger’s-side window and blink away the drowsiness of the unexpected nap. There’s a pleasurable awareness along my skin as his hand remains on mine. As if him touching me is natural, destined. It fills a cold, black hole I didn’t know was there until I experienced his warmth. Just as I’m starting to comprehend how nice his hand feels, he removes it. I frown, and Sawyer’s eyebrows draw together with my reaction.
It’s late September, and it feels like a lifetime has passed since Sawyer and I received official project approval from Mrs. Garcia. Trying to find time for us to meet between his swim practices, his work as a lifeguard and my work schedule has been tough, but today finally works.
When we left the house earlier, I had a mild headache that had been threatening to become more. I got up early to do research on our paper, and reading on the computer strained my eyes. Then my shift at the Save Mart was long, busy and loud. Once home, I had enough time to eat a granola bar before meeting Sawyer and Lucy on the front porch.
Lucy was nonstop chatter as Sawyer drove her to a friend’s house for a sleepover. I talked along with her, but then we dropped her off, leaving only me and Sawyer. Music was on, but it was low and, after a few pleasantries between us of “how are you” and “I’m good,” we fell into silence. I had meant to talk to him about the research I had done on the bridge, but then I had rested my eyes. It was only supposed to be for a second, but … I obviously fell asleep.
“Sorry for touching you, but you weren’t waking up.”
“It’s okay.” I liked it, and I sort of would like him to do it again. “I can sleep deeply.”
I stretch and my muscles are stiff from the weird sleeping position. I gently search my hair and find my fake sunflower barrette that shifted during my nap. I take it off, clip it to my off-the-shoulder T-shirt then stretch again. “I’m sorry for falling asleep.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gestures with his chin out the windshield. “What do you think?”
There’s an awe that sets in as I realize we’re here—the covered bridge. The narrow wooden bridge looks barely wide enough for one car to fit through, and if a car was brave enough to drive over it, the only thing keeping it from plunging into the water below is several layers of wooden planks. The aging shingles of the bridge have a foreboding feeling as if they’re thunderclouds imprisoning all that’s inside.
“I think it’s brilliant,” I say. “You ready?”
“For lions and tigers and bears? Sure.”
We exit the Lexus Sawyer parked off to the side of the road on a dirt clearing. We’re north of Lexington, and there’s a hint in the west of the fading sunset. A warm breeze carries the scent of the rich forest surrounding us, and the world has a grayish tint as the day gives in to night. Soon, the sky will be deliciously dark. No lights, and ghosts will be hiding in the shadows.
I join Sawyer at the hood of the car and fiddle with the digital recorder in my hand. “Once it’s completely dark, we’ll go to the middle of the bridge and turn on the recorder. We’ll ask a question, give the spirit time to answer and then ask another question.”
The skepticism on his face tells me he thinks I’m batcrap crazy. “Do you know how far that drop is into the river? It’s big, and I’m not sure that bridge is safe.”
“I agree. It’s not safe.” I point to the CAUTION sign behind us then follow along the road to show the curve before the bridge. “A driver lost control of the car, missed the bridge completely due to the curve then went over the edge into the river. The people in the car drowned.”
“Two teens, right? On the way home from a dance?” Sawyer glances over at me with a knowing smirk on his face, and I smile because he’s correct.
“Someone’s been doing their research.”
He shrugs one shoulder and goes for the backseat of the car. Sawyer opens the door, tosses his cell in, pulls out a fancy camera and starts for the river. I refuse to let him off the hook. “What’s the camera for and what else did you find out about the bridge?”
“I have to take pictures for my photography course. As for the bridge, I read about some teen who hung himself in the middle of the bridge and a woman who was walking through the bridge who had a heart attack and died halfway through. There are some sketchier earlier stories about people who would go in the bridge and never came back out, but I couldn’t find too many references to support that.”
“Do you know the ghost stories?”
“I assumed ghosts were your area of expertise.” Sawyer pauses near the steep river bluff, puts the camera to his eye and takes a few snapshots. “I have a hard time believing we’re going to see ghost headlights behind us on the bridge and then headlights shining from the river up into the bridge, nor do I think we’re going to hear people calling from the river for help.”
“Aren’t you optimistic?”
He snaps a picture of me and waggles his eyes. “That’s my nickname.”
Sawyer continues to take pictures, each step taking him closer and closer to the edge of the stone cliff until his toes literally hang off.
“As you mentioned earlier, that’s a big drop,” I warn.
“I know.”
The river below is fast moving, deep, murky and feels evil. As if Satan himself had taken the time to create this place. “I think falling into it would suck.”
“I’ve jumped from higher.”
“I haven’t. I don’t swim, remember?”
“I still don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Easy. If you don’t go into the water, there’s no reason to swim. When you download the pictures onto a computer, we should look through them for spirit orbs.”
“I think you meant dust particles.”
“Someday, you’re going to piss off a ghost and he’s going to rip out your heart.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Not liking the strange dizzy feeling of being near the drop, I sit on a rock by the edge and watch as Sawyer continues to point and click with his fancy camera. I place my cell and recorder on the ground behind me and take in the world.
My eyes tell me that the place is beautiful and that I should be relaxed as I become one with nature, but there’s this sixth sense that tickles the back of my neck. Like a spider landing on my skin. It’s extremely uncomfortable, and it’s hard to stay still and not run back to the car, but I force myself to remain seated.
The wind blows
my curls in front of my face and I take the hair clip from my shirt. My fingers fumble, the clip falls from my hands and I lunge forward in a vain attempt to catch it, but fail. “No.”
It drifts to a rock a few feet below me. Dang it. Mom gave me that barrette. I roll onto my belly and ignore the sickening gravity trying to yank me over the rocks and into the river. I reach and nothing. I crawl forward a little more and pebbles roll and bounce down the embankment. My fingertips barely brush the area of the rock near the barrette. So close.
Just another inch. A few centimeters more and my stomach drops as the ground beneath me gives.
“Watch out!” Sawyer yells.
My heart shoots up to my throat as I scream. My body tumbles forward. Pain as I hit rocks, burning as I slide. I grasp wildly for anything to steady myself, but everything’s moving, everything’s shifting, and there’s a huge boulder ahead. As I try to roll to keep my head from the impact, I’m caught.
A grip on my arm. My body whiplashes as I move up and my feet come around toward the river. I’m drawn into something strong, and when I look up, solid blue eyes bore into mine. “Hang on to me.”
Sawyer has me by my right wrist and snakes his other arm around my waist. I swing my arm around his neck and clutch him. Carrying my weight, Sawyer vertically rolls us against the rock to place me against the ledge with him prone to the edge. His arm, a steel belt, keeps me securely to him. Our bodies are pressed tight, and I’m surrounded by his warmth.
“Are you okay?” Sawyer asks.
Am I? My skin burns from the slide, but the pain is bearable.
“Veronica,” Sawyer says softly, his breath against my ear. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” My eyes widen with how far we fell, and by the knowledge that in order for Sawyer to be here he had to have fallen, too … or jumped after me.
Sawyer releases my wrist, and I flatten myself against the rock wall. All I can see is me falling down another fifteen feet into the dark water. Around us, shadows edge forward as we lose the last of the gray daylight.
Sawyer scans the area and there’s nothing but a rock ledge on either side of us. On the other side of the river, there’s a sloped clearing. Too bad we aren’t over there. I think of the two teens, of their car hurtling down this cliff, and I think of what it must have been like to hit the river, to struggle to breathe, to only take in water and for the last thing they saw to be the murky blackness. I’m not scared of dying, but I don’t want to die this way.
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