Hunting November

by Adriana Mather

  Ash stands next to me, noting the details of the pictures with interest. “I always assumed you were missing something because you weren’t raised like a typical Strategia, but now I’m thinking it’s the exact opposite. It’s me and Layla who lost out.”

  I hear the personal admission in his words, but I’m too focused and we’re under too much pressure to give that opening the attention it deserves.

  “This!” I practically jump in the air as I poke my finger at a collage from when I was thirteen. “He switched these two pictures. I can’t believe I didn’t think to look here before.”

  “What do they mean?” Ash asks.

  “Good question,” I say, and trade my enthusiasm for concentration. “Let me think this one out for a second.” I point to one of the changed pictures. “So this is from the camping trip we went on with Aunt Jo as my middle school graduation present. And this one is Emily and me laughing over the ridiculous things we were thinking of putting in our seventh-grade time capsule.”

  “What’s the—”

  “Hold on,” I say, not to be rude, but because I feel like the message is at the edge of my thoughts. I just need a moment to pluck it out. “Time capsules preserve memories, personal items that have meanings within specific time frames. And this trip was a celebration. We made our own tent. Dad taught me his favorite sword trick….Oh my god, Aunt Jo taught me how to camouflage my camping gear so that it blended with the woods.” I look at Ash, the memories flooding back. “I thought it was the coolest thing at the time. And when I came home, I decided to make a time capsule of my own, a smaller version of these picture collages, in order to commemorate my year. I talked about it for a month.” My voice is faster and more animated. “But I didn’t want to bury it like the time capsule at school where it would eventually decay. Instead, I decided to use what Aunt Jo taught me about camouflage. Dad helped me pick out the tree to hide it in.”

  “And this tree is on your property?” he asks, and I can see the relief in his eyes that we’re making progress.

  “About a five-minute walk into the woods from the edge of my backyard,” I say, and grab my coat off my bed.

  “Wait,” Ash says.

  “Wait for what?” I say. “We need to go find out what’s in that tree. Because if I’m wrong, then we need to start looking elsewhere.”

  “Agreed. But not this moment. Look out your window. We’re about to lose the light—” Ash starts.

  “I can get to the tree before we do, though,” I counter.

  “Of course you can if you waltz right out there. But what if there’s a Lion in those woods waiting for you to emerge in order to attack you? Or maybe waiting for you to find the message from your dad and then attack you?” he says. “Do you really want to fight a well-trained assassin in the woods with no light?”

  I want to argue with him. I need to know what my dad’s message says. But fighting a Strategia sounds awful under any circumstances, much less in the dark. “When are you suggesting we go out there?”

  “Just moments before sunrise. We can move across the yard in the dark, and if we’re lucky no one will be there. But if we’re not and we need to fight, the coming sunrise will at least allow us to see.”

  I exhale audibly and drop my coat back on my bed. I hate that he’s right about this, and as much as I don’t want to, I agree—getting that message and finding my dad are more important than rushing. “Fine. I concede. But then we leave with no delay.”

  “Then we leave,” Ash replies, and I wonder how I’ll ever make it through the night knowing that there might be something from my dad waiting for me in the woods.

  I STARE OUT the window at the pile of white roses on my front porch, careful to stay crouched down and keep my face to the side of the curtain in case my house is being watched. There are little notes attached to the rose stems with purple satin ribbon, and I don’t even attempt to swallow back the lump in my throat.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Emily’s flowers.

  Ash went to bed hours ago and I know that’s where I should be, too. It’s well after midnight and we need all the sleep we can get before our sunrise mission, especially after our previous night of sedatives and travel. But I can’t seem to drag myself away from this window. These past few days I’ve been twisted with worry and fear over where my dad is and what kind of danger he’s in. And all I can think is that Emily has been going through the same distress over me for weeks.

  What if this is the last time I ever see Pembrook—what if this is the last time I ever see her? If I die in Europe, Emily will be left to forever wonder where I went. Her best friend will have just disappeared into thin air.

  “Promise me something,” Emily says, her hair getting caught in her lip gloss in the warm summer breeze.

  “Anything,” I say, perching on the fence separating Ben’s house from his family’s back field, the air thick with humidity and the woods buzzing with crickets.

  “Don’t say ‘anything’ when you don’t know what I’m going to ask,” Emily says, leaning against the fence post.

  “Most people would be delighted by that answer,” I say, flashing her a big grin. “You could make me promise to kiss one of Ben’s cows or streak through the center of town.”

  She gives me a look like I’m the most ridiculous person she’s ever met, a routine we play out so often that the Marco Polo–ness of it is comforting. “By ‘most people,’ you mean you.”

  I swat the back of my neck, where I’m pretty sure a mosquito just bit me. “I most certainly do.”

  “I’m serious,” she says, and gives me a warning look.

  “Okay, tell me,” I say instead of instigating her further, because there is something uncertain in her tone, and Emily’s never uncertain, even when she’s wrong.

  “I saw the UConn brochure in the stack of mail on your table,” she says, and she hesitates. “I just…I just want you to promise me that if you want to go somewhere else you’ll tell me.” Her voice is smaller than it usually is and there’s worry written in the lines of her forehead.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, now unsure myself, and repeat the familiar phrase we’ve said in some version since the beginning of ninth grade. “It’s close enough to come home on the weekends and far enough to escape the watchful eye of the Christopher. Basically perfect.” I study her. We’ve always said we would go to UConn together. Always.

  “No. I know. I mean…” She looks momentarily toward the buzzing woods as though they might help her make her point.

  And suddenly it dawns on me why she might be asking. “Wait…do you want to go somewhere else?” I say, my heart picking up speed, bracing for the possibility that on this lazy mundane summer afternoon, my best friend might tell me she’s leaving.

  “No!” she says, the word exploding from her mouth. “Don’t even think it!”

  “You thought it about me,” I fire back, and it takes me a moment to rebound from the adrenaline rush.

  For a second we’re both quiet, breathing in the soupy air, which smells like grass and cows, our chests rising and falling a little faster.

  “You’re serious,” I say. “You’re not just randomly asking me a question.” I stare at Emily and it’s obvious she is. “Something happened, didn’t it? What happened, Emily?” I say her name with enough emphasis that she huffs.

  “The Christopher,” she says like a deflating balloon.

  I pull back to look at her, even though I don’t need to. “My dad?” I say, my words full of disbelief. “My dad, who always tells us that we’re saving him a lot of money because now he won’t need to fly to California every weekend to check on us? That dad?”

  Emily presses her lips together.

  “You know I’m going to get it out of you one way or another,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my forearm. “You might
as well just tell me.”

  Emily shakes her head, but not like she’s telling me no, like she’s unsure. “I don’t know. It was weird. He saw me looking at the brochure and he asked me if it was actually my first choice. I told him of course it was, but he just stood there with one of his all-knowing stares. Then he asked if I would go there even if you weren’t here.”

  My eyebrows push together. Emily has always been a better student than me, likely the best in our entire school. “You know you could if you wanted to…go to some fancy school,” I say, now uncomfortable that my dad was suggesting she should go somewhere else, that it would be better for her. I’ve only admitted this out loud once, and it’s hard to look at her and know that maybe I’m just being selfish, wanting to keep her here with me. I sheepishly examine the piece of long grass in my hand.

  “No,” Emily says with so much force that I look back up. “Don’t you dare even suggest it, November Adley. I was asking you that question, not the other way around. Now answer me, do you want to go to UConn or not?” she asks, and even though there is fire in her voice, there is relief in her eyes.

  And I’m relieved that she’s relieved. “One hundred million percent,” I say, and we smile at each other, the big goofy kind of smile that makes your eyes squint and your chest feel warm. And just like that the whole conversation drops away, like it never happened in the first place.

  The screen door on Ben’s back porch swings shut. We both turn, watching Ben balance three glasses of iced lemonade and two bags of chips, and make no attempt to help him.

  Did my dad know? Did he know six months ago that I might not be here to go to UConn the way I’d always planned? Questions explode through my mind—questions about Aunt Jo’s murder, about our Strategia relatives, and about his and Mom’s decision to keep me hidden. But then I spot Emily’s loopy handwriting on one of the cards tied to the white roses and my body squeezes tightly around my heart. In this moment, there are so many things outside my control, so many things I don’t understand. But the one thing I do understand is that I’m hurting my best friend—my best friend, who I’m supposed to drink my first glass of wine with, go on my first trip to Europe with, the first person I want to tell when I fall in love.

  I push my fist into my thigh. I can’t do this to Emily. I won’t. And before I even realize it, I’m slipping into my bedroom and putting on my coat, my heart beating a mile a minute. I know this isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I also know that I’ll regret it forever if I don’t try to see her one last time.

  I tiptoe past Ash, who’s sleeping on my couch, and into the bathroom. I close the door slowly and hoist the window up, careful not to let the wood whine. I climb onto the sink counter and then out through the window onto a tree branch.

  Every one of my senses is on high alert, looking for movement in the shadows and listening for the sound of snapping twigs. I make my way slowly and methodically out of the tree and then slink from one tree to another until I’m far enough from my house and from the risk of being detected that I’m willing to move faster.

  I use backyards and patches of trees to stay out of sight as I zigzag my way through the streets that I know as well as my own room. And in my predictably sleepy town, there are only two properties that still have their lights on.

  I pause in Emily’s backyard and check my surroundings to make sure no one followed me. When I’m satisfied that everything is still, I climb up her porch railing and hoist myself onto her roof. I know she doesn’t lock her bedroom window because this definitely isn’t the first time I’ve snuck over here. But I also know that if I make noise and wake her up unexpectedly, she’ll most likely scream.

  I take off my gloves and hold them between my teeth, sliding her window up so slowly that I wonder if the draft will wake her even though I’m being quiet. The moment that the window’s high enough for me to fit, I slide in and push it back down, faster than is cautious.

  Emily stirs in her light blue canopied bed and I take a few fast strides across her carpeted floor. She turns over and her eyelids flutter. At a loss for a better option, I press my hand over her mouth. Her eyes snap open at my touch and for a moment she appears terrified and disoriented.

  “It’s me, Em,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for sneaking up on you like a criminal in the night, but just whatever you do, don’t scream.”

  Recognition appears on her face and her sleepiness instantly melts. I lift my hand off her mouth. For a second she’s perfectly still.

  “Nova?” she says, her voice dripping with disbelief, like I might be a hallucination or a dream.

  I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get a word out she sits up in her plaid pajamas and wraps her arms around my neck so tightly that I can hardly breathe. She immediately starts sobbing into my hair, her shoulders shaking up and down. Her emotion crashes over me like a wave, pulling me under and tumbling me about, reminding me of everything I’ve lost and everything I could lose.

  A month ago I took Em’s love for granted, knew that no matter what happened in the world I would always have the safe escape of my best friend. Everything felt solid then. The simplicity of my life here in Pembrook was something I could lean on, something that grounded me in the world.

  She pulls back and examines me, still clutching my shoulders like I might disappear again. “You’re here. Nova, you came back,” she says.

  The hurt on her face threatens to crush me; I don’t know how I’ll ever tell her that I’m not staying. “I’m here, Em, and I’m so incredibly sorry. I—”

  I don’t get my full apology out because she goes from grief to fury in a split second.

  “You’re sorry? That doesn’t even begin to cover it. How dare you? How dare you do that to me, November Rose Adley!” She practically spits the words at me, her voice shaking. And she pushes me so hard that I have to stand up to avoid falling on the floor.

  She stands, too, and she pushes me again. “I don’t accept your apology. Do you hear me? I will never forgive you for leaving me like that. You’re my best friend. Best friends don’t…” Her words gurgle as she fights back tears.

  I want to reach out to her, wrap my arms around her, and tell her that it’s over. But I just stand there, struggling to speak. “Aunt Jo was killed,” I say. Normally I wouldn’t drop information like that so suddenly. But knowing Emily, she’ll attack me again before I have a chance to get it out gently in the midst of an apology.

  Her tears stop so suddenly that it’s like someone zapped her. She takes a step back, her eyes wide with horror. “What?”

  “She was killed and my dad took me away,” I say, knowing she’s never going to accept such a sparse explanation. “He’s worried it might have something to do with their old jobs, something—”

  “As in their jobs at the CIA?” she says, her eyes round.

  “Yeah,” I lie, careful not to elaborate too much or she will figure out something is off.

  She takes a few pacing steps like she’s struggling to absorb my words. And I get it. Nothing bad ever happens in Pembrook. Even after my dad told me we were in danger and shipped me off to the Academy, I didn’t really believe it until I was face to face with a dead body.

  She turns to look at me, her eyebrows pushed together. “I don’t even know what…No…that’s just…Are you in danger now?”

  “I’m not sure,” I lie again, and follow it up with some truth. “But you know my dad. He’s smart and overly cautious.” I don’t need to sell this; she’s been at my house multiple times a week for the past twelve years and she’s well aware.

  She eyes me, not entirely convinced. “Does he know you’re here right now, climbing through my window in the middle of the night?”

  I take a step toward her, shaking my head. “But I just had to come to see you. I had to let you know I was okay. And, well, I needed to tell you that I won’t be in to
uch for a little while.” My voice is smaller than it was before and it’s hard to look at her. I can only imagine how betrayed she must feel. “But you don’t have to worry; I’m okay and my dad’s okay.” As I hear myself speak, I begin to wonder if I made the right choice in coming here and how much of this was actually for me, because I couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing her.

  She wipes her nose. “And whoever hurt your aunt, your dad thinks they might want to hurt you, too?” she asks.

  “He doesn’t know,” I say. “But he wants to be certain before we return. So, Em, you can’t say anything about me coming here, not to your parents, not to anyone.”

  She nods reluctantly, like even though she understands, she doesn’t like it one bit.

  “I love you, Emily Jane Banks,” I say, and she lifts her chin.

  “Don’t ‘I love you’ me, Nova. This isn’t a goodbye.”

  I nod, desperately trying to collect myself, because all I can think is: This is a goodbye, the hardest one of my life. I’ve imagined seeing her so many times over these past few weeks, but in my imaginary scenario filled with hugs and crying, I didn’t take into consideration how much it would hurt to walk away from her, this time knowing I might never come back.

  There is a light tap on the window and my heart jumps into my throat. I whip around, blinking at the silhouette crouched on the roof.

  “Ash?” I say in a shocked tone as he lifts the window, letting in the cold December air.

  Emily’s eyes are so wide that I wonder if they will ever return to normal. “Who the heck is this?” She points at Ash but looks at me.

  I don’t get a chance to respond because Ash starts talking.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have to go,” he says, and I don’t know if I’m horrified that he followed me without me knowing it or grateful that he showed up and interrupted this conversation before I broke down in front of Emily.

  “Nova?” she says, her hand on her hip, giving me a questioning stare.