One Was Lost

by Natalie D. Richards

  I touch Lucas’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

  “I hear it.” Emily this time. She looks at me, eyes bright and lips quirked. “Voices.”

  That’s exactly what it is—a rambling murmur that pulls up at the end like a question sometimes. Other times, there’s a short sound that might be a laugh. My fingers curve over Lucas’s slightly sticky wrist.

  “There are people,” I say, bubble-light with hope. “I can hear them.”

  “I smell fire,” Jude says. “Am I crazy? Is that crazy?”

  I take a deep breath through my nose, closing my eyes. No, it’s not crazy. It’s there—a faint hint of smoke that makes me think of hot dogs and cheeseburgers, a bratwurst so juicy it bursts, blistering hot against my lip. I barely hold in my groan.

  Lucas inhales deeply, and his face lights up. He readjusts his grip on the sled and nods forward. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Hope gives us strength. Even the forest seems to turn in our favor, the trees thinning and the grade trending downward, the miserable thorns giving way to soft ferns and patches of moss. Soon enough, the smoke is easier to follow than the engine noise. I’m surprised we didn’t notice it before. Maybe they just built it? Maybe it’s time for dinner?

  I don’t care. I don’t care. I just want to get there.

  I don’t know who starts shouting for help again first. We should be close enough now, but they might not be able to hear us over the dirt bikes. Or is it one dirt bike? It sounds the same. And it still doesn’t seem like it’s moving much.

  Emily and I are ahead of the boys now, but I can’t make myself stop. I stumble toward the smoke as fast as my legs will go, shouting out with a voice that sticks in my throat and cracks on my teeth.

  No one answers, but I can hear the voices between the engine more clearly now. They are laughing. Whooping. Happy.

  “Help! Help us please!” I scream it over and over, but they don’t answer. They have to hear us. They have to by now!

  My lungs are burning when I see the first orange glow of the fire. I break into a run anyway, half tripping, half racing. Emily has already seen it, and she’s ahead of me. I’m dizzy again, so dizzy that my vision’s going gray and everything is spinning, but the smoke is right there. The fire.

  We’re here.

  We made it.

  I spin around and around, looking for the dirt bike, the people, for the source of all this noise and laughter and fun. It’s so noisy. Even with my heart still thumping wildly behind my ears, I know we should see them. They have to be right here, so what am I missing?

  Where is everyone?

  Wait—

  The next laugh is like a scream, and when the engine rises, the sound slices through the air and drills into my ears. My hands clamp over them instinctively, head ducking. It’s too loud. It’s far louder than it should be.

  I hear my own breath better with my ears plugged, ragged and fast.

  My eyes drag to the fire, a small, fresh-looking deal with three logs, and a dirty plastic-wrapped box of bottled water behind it. There’s a small green cooler too. It might be dirtier than the water.

  So where are the people?

  I suck in breath after breath until the next laugh comes, a witch’s cackle on a Halloween sound track. I hold my next breath in. That laugh is the same. Exactly the same.

  The engine rises again, and I recognize the same hooting cheer. Next will come the low whoop. And it does. It’s a pattern.

  A squirmy, awful feeling worms through my chest. And then my stomach drops away. This isn’t real. It’s a recording, one track playing over and over. Which means there’s a speaker. Somewhere.

  I try to take a step, but my foot lands all wrong. My knees bend too far or maybe not far enough. I don’t even know. A smooth-barked beech catches my stumble. I right myself on its pale trunk and look around. Emily is sobbing, head covered. Jude’s eyes are wide.

  Lucas finally emerges from the thicker part of the trees, hair damp with sweat and face red. I can see Mr. Walker squirming on the sled behind him, looking bleary. Lucas looks at the fire, the water, me. Whatever he finds in my expression drains the color from his face.

  “We need to find the speaker,” I say, but I don’t know if anyone hears me. I can barely hear myself.

  The speaker isn’t hidden. It’s sitting on a fallen tree maybe twenty feet to the right of the fire, a little black box that scares me more than the letters on my arm.

  I bend forward so I don’t fall over, propping my hands on my knees for a second. I’m the only one who seems able to move, so I force myself to keep going. When I reach it, my hands tremble around the plastic box. Wireless. I turn it this way and that. Find the switch on the back and flip it off. We are plunged into silence.

  My chest curls in tight, a flower closing out the night. The quiet is much worse than the noise. I drop to my butt and listen to my fast breathing and roaring blood. Emily is still sobbing, soft hitches of her shoulders that shake me to the bone.

  I look at the fire like it’s under the spotlight. The rest of the stage is set—the water, the cooler, finally the speaker. Lucas was right. This is a trap, a carefully constructed production. And we played our parts to perfection.

  Chapter 14

  When I was ten, I had a hamster in one of those big cages with the tubes that led to different levels and little play areas. My dad was so proud when he set that thing up. I used to spend hours watching the hamster scamper down the curving slides and up the brightly colored ladders. Mom called it Plastic Alcatraz. Dad and I argued that the hamster wouldn’t survive on its own, but Mom always said dead is better than caged. At least it would be free.

  Mom loved saying freedom almost as much as she loved to say follow your heart. I probably should have had some sort of spidey tingle, some internal alarm when Mr. Walker peppered the word freedom into every speech about this camping trip.

  “Someone should check the cooler,” Jude says without moving to do it himself.

  Lucas’s nostrils flare, the sudden friendliness between them straining. “Were you expecting one of us to play support staff for you?”

  “I was just putting it out there,” Jude says, but apparently, he can’t resist either because his smile tightens. “Though support staff is a job title you should get used to.”

  I lumber to my feet, feeling shaky. “Don’t start up again. I’ll check the cooler.”

  “Sera…” Emily’s cheeks are pale.

  She’s afraid of what’s inside, and suddenly, I am too. I catch a glimpse of the black letters on Jude’s arm and think of Ms. Brighton’s detached finger. I really don’t want to find the rest of her in here.

  “I can check it,” Lucas offers.

  “I’m fine. Just give me a second.”

  I press my fingers to the top of the cooler and wait, assessing. I’ve seen coolers like this at garage sales and picnics. It’s older, olive green with a yellowed plastic handle. Nothing special or particularly ominous.

  OK. On with it. I pull my chin back even as I push the lid open.

  My shoulders relax instantly. “No fingers, so that’s a plus.”

  “What’s in it?” Jude asks.

  “Cups of grapefruit. Greek yogurt.” My hands shake as I move the tubs aside, then my spine stiffens. “Packets of SunButter and crackers. It’s food.”

  “What the hell is SunButter?” Lucas asks.

  “Sunflower seed butter,” Jude says. “People with nut allergies use it.”

  I stare at the packets, at the little tubs lined up, exactly like the ones in my fridge at home. I tip back a familiar-looking Greek yogurt. Blueberry. I snap the cooler lid closed with a shudder.

  Emily shifts on the ground. “You’re allergic to nuts, right, Sera?”

  “Yes.” I pick at a cuticle on my thumbnail and feel the weight of
three gazes settling on my shoulders like a yoke. The seven letters on my arm feel like the numbers underneath a mugshot. I’m guilty. Guilty because I’m Darling. Which means I’m somehow chosen. Trouble is, I don’t know what I’m chosen for.

  “The SunButter is for you,” Emily says softly.

  I shrug. “Anyone can eat it.” It sounds pathetic, even to me. This was left for me like an offering. A present. The hunger pangs that have haunted me all day vanish.

  “Shit,” Jude says softly.

  “Don’t,” Lucas warns. “Sera?”

  I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them. I shove to my feet because sitting here isn’t possible now.

  “I need to use the restroom.” I say it like we’re in the middle of chemistry class and not lost in Notown, Nowhere, with a psycho stalker cutting off fingers and packing me custom-made lunches.

  “Alone?” Emily asks. “It’s dark.”

  “It’s not that dark.” My voice cracks. I’m going to cry. I shake my head.

  I don’t wait for anyone to answer. I storm off through the trees, even though the shadows are stretching long. I break into a run, which is so stupid. So incredibly stupid because there’s nowhere to go and I might not find my way back. I’m still half-starved and shaky and a little dehydrated, and my best chance, maybe my only chance, is to stay with the group.

  I find a small stream, some little offshoot of the river probably, and force myself to stop at the muddy edge, where clouds of gnats hover like patchy fog. The sun has set, but I spot streaks of red and purple through the web of branches that cross the sky like bars. Bark and wood and sap that lock me away from my world.

  I only cry a little. I hold the worst of it in, pressing my fist to my mouth and praying silently, though I’m not sure God will listen to a girl with an absentee mother and a D in biology.

  “Sera?”

  My shoulders hitch in surprise, and they shouldn’t. I knew he would come. I open my eyes and search my pockets for a used tissue, coming up dry.

  “Here,” Lucas says, shoving something cool and damp into my hand.

  It smells like baby powder, and wiping my nose is suddenly a diary-worthy moment. It’s a diaper wipe. I find a clean corner and wipe my forehead and nose, which have never felt greasier. Then my chin and cheeks. I’m moving down to my neck when I hear him chuckle.

  “I have more,” he says, offering a small plastic packet. “I should have thought of it earlier when you cut your ankle.”

  I start in on that cut now, but it’s scabbed over and not nearly so tender. “How long have you had these?”

  “The whole trip. I kept them tucked down in my sleeping bag,” he says, then he smirks, tapping the bubbly letters and cartoon pacifier at the edge. “I asked Mom to pick up hand wipes from the dollar store, and this is what I got.”

  “Real men bring diaper wipes?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Real men have pothead mothers who don’t pay attention, I guess.”

  I take another wipe instead of trying to figure out what to say. He follows my lead. It isn’t soap and water, but it’s close. And it’s amazing. I scrub my neck, my arms. When Lucas turns his back to me, I use one inside my shirt, swiping my armpits and the valley between my breasts.

  It isn’t great, but man, it’s better. So much better.

  I rummage through my pockets for the little toothbrushes, handing one to Lucas. He groans the second he pops it between his teeth, and I couldn’t agree more. It’s even better than the wipes. I brush every single millimeter of my mouth, sucking the minty drop of toothpaste in the center until it’s long gone.

  When we’re done, we have a wad of used things neither of us wants to look at. I can’t believe that much filth came off me. I leave my pile on a rock, figuring I’ll carry it back to…well, to somewhere.

  “So, why’d you freak out?” he asks. “Was it because of the butter stuff?”

  “SunButter.”

  “SunButter. That’s why you took off, right?” he asks.

  I nod, my gaze pulling to the little stream. Water gurgles around rocks and under mossy outcroppings. “It’s not just the SunButter. That cooler could have been packed out of my refrigerator at home. Every single thing in there is something I eat, down to the flavor of the yogurt. Someone picked all my favorites.”

  “Does being away from it help?”

  “Yes. No.” I take a shaky breath and look up at him.

  “It’s cool. Take your time.”

  I chuckle. Take my time? What happened to the guy who was breathing down my neck to keep me moving faster across the river? The snapping, the dirty looks from earlier—they’re gone. I mean, there’s a comment here and there, but mostly, he’s back to the Lucas from months ago. The one I flirted with and kissed…and then totally ignored.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.

  He lowers his eyelids and drops into his dirty tone. “I’m always nice, Sera.”

  “No, you’re not, and that’s not the kind of nice I’m talking about.” His smile disappears, but I force myself to go on. “When we first got out here, you seemed pretty pissed.”

  He toes the mud at the edge of the stream with his boot, his jaw clenched. “Pissed?”

  “You going to deny it?” I ask. “I mean, I get it. I do. But the first couple of days—before everything went to hell—you seemed determined to either pick me apart or load every single conversation with innuendo.”

  His smirk chills his whole face. “I can’t help it if you read sex into everything, can I?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. I’m not complaining about the change, mind you. I guess I just expected…” I don’t know what I expected, so I trail off into weird silence. Did I think he’d confront me? Hate me? Act like we didn’t kiss or I didn’t ignore him after? Not likely. I’ve been fricking awkward as hell in school this year, trying to avoid him.

  He tilts his head, and the shadows on his face turn long. “Did you think I’d pretend it never happened? I mean, you’ve done a nice job of it, right? Walking around like you’re too good to even breathe my air for the past two months.”

  He steps forward, and I take a breath that feels hot and tight. He’s staring down at me, looking even more hollowed out and dangerous than usual in the low light.

  “Don’t.” The word comes out of me soap-opera breathy, and the shame of it warms my cheeks. I sound like a victim, and I’m not.

  “Don’t what?” he asks, tilting his head. Too-long hair slides to cover one gray eye, but the other holds me hostage. “What do you think I’d do?”

  My throat clicks when I swallow, but I don’t respond. Because he wouldn’t do anything I didn’t ask him to do, and I know it. I walked into this conversation with my eyes wide open, just like I walked onto Sophie’s deck this summer. He’s waiting now. He waited then too.

  We’ve been half an inch apart for a year. A century maybe. Lucas chuckles, and I feel it on my lips like electricity.

  “I’m taking forever to do this,” I say, laughing. “Can you do it?”

  “Yeah.” Then his hands are on my jaw, cradling my face like I’m made of something expensive. His voice drops low. “Hell, yeah.”

  Lucas leans in, and I try to do everything my friends talked about, but he isn’t pressing as hard as me or using tongue or doing anything they said. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. It’s not like I have a reference for comparison, but it’s not what I thought kissing would be.

  I ease back and feel him smile against my mouth. And then it’s magic.

  Lucas goes so slow, a brush at my top lip. My bottom. He tilts his head and threads his fingers into my hair, and my hands finally unclench when he grazes both lips at the same time.

  “This OK?” he asks.

  I nod, though OK doesn’t even touch what this is. After a second or a minute or a lif
etime, his mouth shifts. He makes a sound that I will hold in my memory forever. It feels perfect, all of it, and that’s how I know it’s wrong.

  Because when you’re chasing a perfect moment—losing yourself in the perfect guy—before you know it, you’re throwing the rest of your life away.

  His mouth is every bit as pretty as it was that night, but he’s frowning now.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. He knows why.

  “You didn’t say one damn word to me after we kissed.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I nod. I bolted half a minute after, lipstick smeared and knees wobbling. I confessed to Sophie on the drive home, but that wasn’t what I expected either. I didn’t feel giddy; I felt wrecked. No, worse than that. I felt as foolish as my mother.

  I still remember flipping down Sophie’s passenger-seat visor, staring at my smeared, traitorous reflection in the tiny mirror. My hair was shorter, my makeup was lighter, and my acting days were traded in forever. I had changed everything that made me like her.

  It didn’t matter, and it still doesn’t. No matter what I change, when I look in the mirror, I will always see my mother looking back.

  Is that who my father still sees?

  Is that who I really am?

  “What are you thinking?” Lucas asks.

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  Lies are part of the game I play with Lucas, and my heart told the prettiest ones of all. All those weeks that led up to kissing him, I inched my way from one flirtation to the next, convincing myself nothing would come of it. Until it did.

  I guess I lied to him too. I made one silent promise after another, knowing I’d break every one. God, that’s so not fair to him.

  “So what was it, Sera? Get tired of slumming it with the white trash boy from—”

  My heart snags like a hooked fish. “Lucas, no.”

  “Or is that just your act—the virginal, never-been-kissed bullshit.”

  “It wasn’t an act.”

  He steps forward and tilts his chin. My heart is climbing so high and beating so hard, I’m sure it will fly right out of me. God, I hate this feeling. Even the steady pulse of my body—inhale and exhale and over again we go—it’s all affected by him. I can’t think straight, and I want to. I don’t want to follow my heart—I want to be so different from my mother that one day, she disappears from my head. Just like she did from my life.