I turned onto the cracked pavement of my quiet street, and my eyes automatically went to the driveway. Dad’s truck was still gone. But another car on the road nearby caught my attention. It was black and sleek, so new-looking that it stood out against the dusty street. I didn’t recognize the car; it didn’t look like something anyone in Bone Lake would drive. At first, I thought it was parked across the street from Dad’s, but as I pedaled closer I realized it was actually moving, just very slowly. It rolled inch by inch past our house.
I swerved out of its path, and as soon as I did the car picked up speed, kicking up a pebble that flew into my bike rim with a small pinging noise.
“Hey,” I said angrily, looking up at the car as it moved past me.
I tried to see inside, but the windows were tinted almost black. It had a blue-and-white license plate—definitely from Michigan—but the plate itself was spotless. No rust, no dirt. It looked like it had just been taken through a deep clean. Or just been issued.
The car braked as it turned the corner, and then it was practically gone.
“City jerk,” I muttered after its retreating taillights. The words sprang automatically to my lips, and a half second later I realized with a cringe that they weren’t mine at all—they were my dad’s. That was the expression he’d use whenever someone cut him off in traffic or sped by in a hurry. To him, it wasn’t the “jerk” part that mattered—it was the “city.” The ultimate insult in his eyes. He continued to use it all the time, even though his own daughter had been living in a city for the past four years.
But maybe four years wasn’t long enough, I thought as I put up the kickstand on my bike and started toward the house. After all, I’d been home only a day, and already my dad’s expression was coming out of my mouth as naturally as if it belonged there. It shook me, hearing myself repeating his words like I used to when I was small.
I pictured my bedroom in Chicago, my school, my unfinished college applications. That was who I was now, the real Penny Hardjoy. Bone Lake Penny was just a kid. A kid who believed everything her father ever told her.
Good riddance to that Penny.
But as I unlocked the front door and turned the handle to walk inside, the motion of it felt like second nature, like a muscle memory too deep to extract. No matter how many years had passed or how much I’d changed, my body still knew this was what it felt like to come home.
Six
A COUPLE OF hours later, I was deep into a daytime Law & Order marathon when I heard five sharp raps on the front door. Dex. He had the same manic knocking style he’d had as a kid.
I pushed myself up off the couch with a sigh and opened the door. Dex bounced anxiously a couple of times on the balls of his feet and ran one hand through his hair, which was already sticking straight out from his head in several different directions.
“Okay, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” he said. “And I just wanted to come over and say sorry.”
I sighed and crossed my arms, then uncrossed them. Dex didn’t look like someone ready to pick a fight. He just looked like a stretched-out version of the sweet kid I used to know.
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, opening the door a little wider. “I was angry about my dad bailing on me, and I think I took it out on you.”
Dex shrugged. “That’s okay. You were probably right.”
“Really?” I was surprised by how nonchalant Dex was being, especially after he’d been half-ready to launch a UFO search party the day before.
“Yeah,” he said. “I drove around town and couldn’t find Ike’s truck anywhere. So maybe he did just take off after a lead and forgot what day it was.”
“Figured as much,” I said.
“You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
I shook my head. Dex’s lips pressed together, and for a moment he looked uneasy. But then his expression cleared.
“So . . . Mario Kart and Popsicles?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?”
“Well, I haven’t played that game in, like, five years.”
“Which is your mistake, because I’ve been spending all that time practicing. So now I’ll finally be able to take you down, Princess Peach.”
“In your dreams.”
I held the door wide, motioning for Dex to follow me inside. My dad kept a Wii in the cabinet under the TV, and years ago, Dex and I had spent many, many summer hours trying to beat each other at Mario Kart. When we’d gotten too good at the game, we added the Popsicle challenge, which necessitated either playing one-handed or risking brain freeze (both of which I was way better at handling than Dex). But I hadn’t really touched the Wii since Dex and I stopped hanging out.
Dex turned the system on while I went to get two Popsicles from my dad’s collection in the freezer.
“Grape still your favorite?” I called into the living room.
“You know it!”
Dex and I played while the afternoon wore on, and it was amazing how easy it was to lose myself in the game and forget the events of the day. Dex had gotten much better, and I found I had to concentrate to keep from losing (and from getting melted Popsicle all over the front of my shirt).
Eventually, I leaned back against the couch, spent.
“That was fun,” Dex said, his eyes fixed on the controller in his hand.
“You know I let you win, right?”
“Yeah, and I appreciate it,” Dex said without missing a beat. “Really makes up for all the times I let you win when we were kids.”
“Oh, please,” I said, and tossed my Popsicle stick at him.
Dex just barely dodged it. “Ah, now, this is the Penny I remember. Throwing garbage at me. Just like old times.”
“Yeah, before you went and got all emo on me.”
Dex reached down to get the stick from the floor and laid it carefully on the table. “Hey, I’m not the one who changed. You’re the one who started spending all your time with Reese and her drones.”
“You used to like Reese, if I remember correctly.”
I looked out the window at the darkening sky and the long stretch of lawn beneath it. We were in that same yard when an eleven-year-old Reese had dared Dex to kiss me. Which he did, even though we both knew it was her he wanted to be kissing.
“Not like that,” Dex said, but I could see red creeping up the side of his neck and flashing across his cheeks. “And that was a long time ago. Before . . .” He trailed off.
I knew what it was before. Before Dex’s dad left. After that, he started pulling away from me bit by bit, pouring more time into sci-fi movies and his Tumblr. And I wasn’t exactly beating down his door to keep our friendship intact. I no longer wanted anything to do with make-believe. It made more sense to me to hang out with Reese in the land of the real; even if “real” meant obsessing over who sat where at our lunch table. Reese started making more noise about how weird Dex was getting, and I didn’t fight her on it. I just . . . let him go.
“Well, things are different now,” I said, trying to make my voice lighter. I stood up and started putting away the controllers.
“One more rematch?”
“Tempting. But I have plans.”
“Really? Law & Order marathon?”
I turned my head sharply toward Dex. “How did you know . . . ?”
“I could hear the duh-duhs all the way over at my house.”
“Oh. Well, no more TV for the night. I was invited to a party at Millers’ barn.”
Dex jumped straight off the couch, knocking the coffee table with his knee. He didn’t even seem to notice.
“What? You can’t go there!”
“Why not?”
Dex’s mouth opened and closed a few times. I could see him struggling to choose his words.
“It’s not safe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because the football team gave you a few wedgies in the sixth grade . . .”
Dex waved his hand, i
mpatient. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, those guys are asshats, but Millers’ barn, that’s too close to where your dad—”
“And here I thought we were just having a nice time, not talking about my dad.”
“No, wait. Please, listen,” Dex started. He moved around the coffee table until he was standing in front of me, his hands out like I was a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. “Look, I know I told you I didn’t think your dad was in trouble anymore, but that was just because you got so angry yesterday and I figured you wouldn’t believe me until I found more proof.”
I crossed my arms again and stared at him coldly. “So you lied?”
“Kinda.”
I scoffed. “Of course. You have been hanging out with my dad, after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s a liar. He lies, Dex. All the time. And about really dumb things, too.”
“I don’t think that’s totally fair. Your dad knows the truth about a lot of weird stuff in this town. Even if no one believes him about the Visitors—”
I took a step closer, and Dex inched back, his hands still up between us.
“I’m only going to say this one more time. My dad did not get abducted by aliens. Because there are no aliens in Bone Lake. Aliens. Are. Not. Real,” I said, getting louder on each word.
Dex’s lips pressed tightly together. He exhaled loudly through his nose, as though he was trying to stay calm. Apparently, it didn’t work. Because the next instant, he threw both of his hands up in the air.
“You can’t possibly know that!” he burst out. “No one can know that. Do you have any idea how big the universe is? And how much we still don’t know about it? I was reading this book the other day called The World Unknown, and the author says it’s statistically likely that alien life has found its way to our planet at some point—”
“Oh my God, let me just interrupt you with all the ways I do not care.”
“How can you . . . not care?” Dex looked genuinely confused.
“Because there’s already enough actually going on in our planet without having to make stuff up or think about what might be true! Have you ever read a newspaper? Do you know what’s happening in the Ukraine right now? Or in Mexico City, or in our own freaking town? That’s what’s important, Dex. That’s what I care about.”
I didn’t even realize I was yelling until I stopped and the room fell abruptly silent. I was breathing heavily, and so was Dex. His face was contorted in anger and concentration, like he was trying to decide just the right comeback. His eyes were fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room. I blinked and looked away, then took a step back, crossing my arms.
“Okay, let’s just . . . agree to disagree,” I said. “Sorry I got upset. Again.” How was it possible Dex was able to get under my skin this much in one twenty-four-hour span? I didn’t remember him being this annoying as a kid.
“I’m sorry, too,” Dex said. “I’m just really worried about Ike.”
I nodded. “I guess it is weird he hasn’t called yet. How about this—if my dad doesn’t turn up by tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the police.”
Dex shook his head. “I talked to the sheriff this morning.”
That took me aback. “You did?”
“Yeah. I told him I thought something must have happened to Ike while he was chasing down this story. But he didn’t believe me, either,” Dex said. “I don’t think the sheriff likes your dad very much.”
I choked back a snort. Of course the sheriff would hate my dad, and I couldn’t exactly blame him, either.
“I just need more evidence,” Dex continued. “To convince him, and you. But in the meantime, you can’t go out to that party tonight.”
“And why not?”
“Over by the Millers’ barn is where your dad found that body . . . the hiker.”
The room seemed to dim for a moment. I didn’t know what to say, as I imagined my dad stumbling through the woods with one of his cameras, coming across a shape in the leaves. . . .
“Oh.”
Relief flooded into Dex’s eyes, and I realized he was misinterpreting my reaction.
“I’m still going to the party, Dex.”
He shook his head. “But—”
“It’s horrible that my dad found a body. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be in danger tonight,” I said. “Sometimes, hikers die in the woods. They get lost, they get hurt. . . .”
“That’s not what happened to him. He was murdered.”
“Really?” For a moment, I felt it—a flicker of fear.
“Well . . .” Dex took a deep breath. “The official report was an ‘accidental fire,’ but your dad swears it was more than that.”
I exhaled. “I’m sure he does.”
I reached out to grab my hoodie from its hook by the door. As I did, Dex quickly grabbed hold of my arm. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Please, Penny. If anything happened to you, I’d . . .” Dex’s voice wavered. He was looking into my eyes again, and for a moment, all I could focus on was the heat of his skin against mine, the pressure of his fingers around my arm. I was suddenly very curious to hear how he was going to finish that sentence.
“You’d what?” I asked.
A red flush began to crawl up Dex’s neck. He looked down at his hand and seemed surprised to find it on my arm. He lifted his hand up quickly until it was clear of my skin.
“Your dad would never forgive me if I let you get hurt,” Dex stammered, his eyes now averted from mine. “What would I tell him?”
And just like that, my curiosity vanished. “Tell him that I can make my own decisions. I’ve been doing it for years.”
I pulled open the door and stepped out into the night, glancing back at Dex only long enough to see a look of surprise on his face. It felt satisfying to get in the last word, to get him back for only caring about my dad, to close the door hard between us. I walked quickly to where my bike stood on the lawn. The faster I could get away from that house, the better.
Seven
PARTY SOUNDS FLOATED down the two-lane highway as I pedaled harder and worried about sweating through my hoodie. I heard the rise and fall of the occasional call for more beer, the halfhearted laugh of a girl pretending to like a bad joke, and tinny music pumping through a speaker.
As I crested the hill, I saw the Millers’ barn a few hundred yards away. It was tucked back from the main highway, down a small dirt road and nestled against the woods. Once owned by the Miller family, it’d been empty and crumbling for years. Far down at the other end of the hill was the hulking shadow of the abandoned plastics plant, looming like a distant specter at the edge of the makeshift party.
A fire was already crackling in a circular pit in front of the barn’s faded wooden doors. About twenty-five high school kids surrounded the fire, some of them sitting close by on logs or old lawn chairs. A keg sat on the flatbed of someone’s pickup truck.
I left my bike at the edge of the dirt road and walked closer to the party, nervously wiping my hands on my sweatshirt as I went. Micah was standing on the other side of the flames and talking with a girl with bright blond hair, whose back was to me. Micah said something, and I heard the girl’s trilling laugh. She put her hand on Micah’s arm, and on her finger was a single cherry-red Ring Pop. I sucked in a breath.
Reese had made Ring Pops a part of her signature style way back when we were still friends. At first, she just liked the taste of them. But then she started wearing them to school dances and to parties. When other girls started wearing Ring Pops, too, Reese should have been flattered. But instead she demanded that they stop. They all did.
The candy ring on Reese’s hand was half-gone, and I could only imagine how red, red, red her lips would be when she angrily demanded I leave the party. If she deigned to speak to me at all, that is.
I steered quickly in the other direction, almost walking right into Emily Jennings. She was leaning against the side of the pickup
truck, near the keg, with a phone in one hand and a full-to-the-brim red cup in the other. When she saw me, she grinned and jumped up, her brown bob bouncing around her chin, her drink sloshing over the edge of her cup and spilling to the dusty ground.
I could tell it wasn’t her first drink of the night.
“Oh my God, Penny, is that you? You look so different!”
Emily came over and gave me a hug, and I had to duck a little to the right to avoid her sloshing drink.
“Hey, Emily. How’ve you been?”
“Good! I made senior cheerleading this year. Everyone thought I’d stay on the JV squad, but I’ve really been working on my high kicks—wanna see?”
“That’s okay. I believe you.”
“Also, my dad just fixed up this kick-ass speedboat. We’re gonna take it out on the lake this summer.” As Emily spoke, she moved her arms emphatically, dangerously close to sloshing her entire drink onto both our shoes. Still, I couldn’t help but smile at her. Take away the cup of beer, and she was the exact same Emily Jennings I used to sit next to in the cafeteria in sixth grade.
“You should totally come with us!” Emily continued. “Do you water-ski? If not, it’s okay. You can go tubing, too—”
“Emily,” a sharp voice called out. Emily swung around to face a figure that was moving toward us, silhouetted against the flames. I went still.
“What are you doing?” Reese asked, stepping up to Emily and grabbing her arm.
“I was just saying hi to . . . oh.” Emily’s face fell, and she shot me an apologetic glance. “I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Reese hissed. She wrinkled her nose at the boozy smell coming off Emily’s breath. “Jesus, it’s not even 10:00 p.m. Get it together, Em.”
Emily’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, like a puppy who knows it’s done something wrong. Like I used to do whenever I said something that made Reese angry in middle school.
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