“Hi. My name’s Jenny. Jenny Breland.” I motion toward the trucks painted with my last name.
The girl drops the milk carton to her side. She examines me. Her long, skinny legs are tucked underneath her so that she’s sitting on her knees. Dirt smudges her jeans. She’s wearing a red jacket that’s too thin. Her hair is short—about chin length. It was probably once dark, but it’s been bleached blond.
“Ro,” she says. “People call me Ro.” She sits up straighter. The fear is gone, replaced with a hardened shell.
The clatter of construction equipment rings off the walls. Most of the ceiling is open, and the dusty winter sky shines above us.
“This part of the building isn’t safe.” I point to one of the red signs.
Ro scoffs. “Yeah, I can read.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I feel my cheeks heat up. This isn’t going well. If she was outside my room last night, I need to make her my friend. I need to make sure she doesn’t tell.
Ro sinks farther down on the floor in front of the bowl of milk. She glances at the doorway. The kitten’s head peeks around it. When it sees me looking, it dashes off.
“How’d you get in here?” I ask.
“I followed the kitten. There’s a hole in the fence right outside.” She points to my no-longer-secret gap in the wall.
A gust of wind sends a howl through the ruins. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Ro peers around me, looking for the kitten.
“We could get it some treats and some cat food and see if it will come out,” I suggest.
Ro’s eyes dance over my face, like she’s sizing me up. She doesn’t say anything. I can’t quite peg her. Her clothes are old and too thin, but she seems clean. Her hair is brushed. I don’t think she’s homeless, but I also don’t know why she’d be hanging around the motel in the early morning.
“Do you live around here?” I ask.
She waves absently behind her. “Over there in that neighborhood. But I just moved here.”
“Me too.”
“I know. I saw you with all your suitcases.”
So she has been hanging around. Palpable silence fills the space between us. I try to keep my breathing from speeding up.
I suck in a lungful of cold air. There’s one way to find out if she could have seen me last night.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would you?” I fake laugh. “I swore I would quit when I moved, but you know how that goes.”
Ro looks me up and down. My performance wasn’t convincing. We both know it.
She shakes her head. “No. Sorry. I don’t smoke.”
I think I believe her. My whole body relaxes.
“So, um, okay.” I point over my shoulder at nothing. The bulldozer rumbles right outside. I cringe. Now I’m stuck here until it moves.
“You can go that way.” Ro tips her chin at the gap in the wall.
I step past her, but then turn around. “You really shouldn’t stay here.”
She rolls her eyes. I feel a twinge of regret. Having friends in Ohio was hard. There was always a cloud hanging over us—a cloud of smoke. Parents would make excuses for not inviting me to sleepovers. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it hurt.
In my new life, I want to make friends. Friends who know nothing about my past. Ro’s the first person my age I’ve met here—maybe the only one nearby.
“I’ll see you later?” I ask with too much hope in my voice.
She shrugs. Our conversation is done. I slide through the hole in the wall.
* * *
—
When I walk into Henderson’s, the clerk from yesterday smiles. I find kitten chow, treats, and a fluorescent pink mouse toy; then I toss another box of granola bars into my basket. I’m going to keep them in my room, since breakfast doesn’t seem to be working out for me.
The clerk starts to ring up my stuff, but then she pauses and looks at me. I try to smile, but my stomach clenches. There’s a display of colorful plastic lighters on the counter. It wasn’t there yesterday.
“We just adopted a kitten,” the clerk says. She’s about the same age as my mom, but deep lines carve into her face, like she’s had a hard life. She smiles wistfully. “We finally live in a place where we can have one.”
I keep my hands flat on the counter and away from the lighters. The construction equipment growls outside. The clerk glances in its direction. “I hope they’re right about that place. Everyone who comes in here says it’s a bad idea. I think they don’t want outsiders coming to town. But if it brings more jobs…” She shrugs.
Even with my head turned away, I still feel the lighters on the counter.
I swipe my debit card. The clerk hands me my bag. “Have a nice day.”
I take it and bolt outside.
My eyes are glued to the sidewalk. I count the cracks as they pass under my feet. I’m not looking up at the trees. I’m not thinking about how easy it would be to go back into Henderson’s and buy a lighter—or two.
I head for the front gate. I’m not doing anything wrong; I shouldn’t make it seem like I am by sneaking back in.
When I lift my head, a man in a red scarf stands in front of me. He’s thin, with long, greasy hair that falls in clumpy strands around his face. He holds a handmade cardboard sign that says “Breland Construction Kills.”
I jerk back when I see it. The man starts to laugh. Then his laughter turns into a coughing fit. He puts a hand on the fence to support himself.
The gate slides open. Dad comes charging out. He takes my arm and pulls me onto the property. “Go to your room,” he says. “I’ll take care of this.”
I stop halfway across the parking lot and turn around. Dad’s movements are smooth and deliberate, but the tension in his muscles betrays his fury as he faces the man. I cringe and will Dad to keep the gate between them. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.
“Breland Construction kills!” the man yells. Dad leans in and says something I can’t hear. The man backs off. He salutes and steps away from the gate.
Then he sees me watching. “Did you sleep well, pretty girl?”
Dad spins around. I should run to my room and slam the door, lock out everything outside. But my feet are frozen to the asphalt. Dad turns and steps forward until his nose is against the metal of the gate. It’s the only thing holding him back from tearing this man limb from limb.
“Get out of here, Suds,” Dad growls. This is obviously not the first time this man has been at the gate causing trouble.
The man waves to me; then, with another laugh and coughing fit, he turns and walks down the sidewalk, limping slightly on his right leg.
It’s not late, but it’s middle-of-the-night dark outside. Dad tosses our paper plates after dinner and wishes me a good night. We both pretended not to hear Monica sneaking into his room while we were eating and chatting about the next phase of the motel.
I step outside. The construction lights scatter bright dots around the parking lot and buildings—except for the condemned section, which is blacked out.
I’m not tired, and I can’t stand the thought of sitting in my room watching mindless TV until I am.
I go into my room and dig through my suitcase until I find the flashlight that was another part of my adventure kit from Hailey, but contributed by Mom, who doesn’t trust Dad to be able to keep the electricity on.
Outside, I pick my way to the dark section of the complex. I’m being good—just going exploring. No matches, no lighters. I have nothing that creates fire anymore. I’m done.
No matter what my scar thinks.
I jump when I see Ro on the floor of the condemned room. She has a little flashlight of her own. It’s pointed away from her, which gives her the look of a ghost hiding in the shadows. Above her head, she holds a piece of the kitten chow I had left ou
t earlier. The kitten leaps for it, misses, and tries again. The white tip of its tail glows in the dim light.
“I’m teaching him a trick,” Ro says without looking up at me. She gives in and lets the kitten have the food. It gobbles it up and climbs onto her lap for more.
“Do you want to pet him?”
I slide forward and kneel in front of them. My light catches the kitten’s eyes, and they glow green, but it doesn’t run away. I put my hand out, and the kitten sniffs it with disinterest before crunching down on another mouthful of kibble. My fingers brush its soft grayness. Its body rumbles with a purr.
Ro laughs. “I think he likes you.”
“How do you know it’s a boy?” I ask.
Ro shrugs. “He has a boy face.”
I lean in to examine the kitten’s face. He meows.
“Do your parents know that you’re hanging around a crumbling motel in the dark?” I try to laugh and keep my tone light, but it’s a serious question. Does she hang around every night?
Ro looks away. “No parents. Just my aunt. She doesn’t care where I am.”
“Oh,” I say, and wait for more details, but she doesn’t give any. She holds up another piece of food for the kitten.
The deep, throaty scream of a siren sounds and stops my heart. I jump. The kitten startles and runs into the shadows.
“What?” Ro asks.
I leap to the doorway and run out to the parking lot. A fire truck races past.
My body stiffens. My scar burns. My head spins.
I walk toward it.
I’m stopped by the gate. I put my hands against it and grip down hard. The icy metal cuts into my fingers.
The flashing lights congregate at the end of the street on the edge of the trees. Smoke stings my eyes. It takes a second for my brain to click that what I’m smelling isn’t woodsmoke. To my right, in a deep shadow, is the burning end of a cigarette. The smoker shuffles over to me, but my hands won’t release the gate. My feet won’t run away. It is the same man I saw earlier. The one Dad called Suds.
“It’s dry out there,” he says. “A single spark…” He snaps his fingers. Then he laughs, drops the burning cigarette on the ground, clears his throat with a hack and spit, and limps away.
Why did I have to go to the gate last night? What was I thinking? I can’t be seen chasing fire trucks when there’s an arson investigation going on in Ohio. If I give people too many pieces, they’ll start to put them together. Like that man—Suds.
A single spark, he said.
It must have been him. He dropped the burning cigarette on the ground outside my door the night I went out into the woods.
He knows.
It was bad that he saw me. Very bad. But it could have been worse. Even if he spilled everything about me, who would believe him? Maybe that’s why he hasn’t said anything to the police. But he keeps coming back. I’ll have to be extra careful until I know for sure what he wants.
I get dressed, pull on my coat, and slip out the door into the ruins.
Ro isn’t in the condemned room. She probably thinks I’m weird after my sudden departure last night. There wasn’t a fire. It must have been a medical emergency. But I couldn’t pull myself away from the flashing lights illuminating the night. They were hypnotic.
I wanted to make more come.
My coat snags on the spiky metal of my escape route through the fence. I lose my balance trying to free myself and pitch headfirst into the weeds. When I stand up and brush myself off, I think I hear laughter. I snap my head around.
“Hello?” I call. “Ro?” No one answers. If someone’s there, they’re hiding. The thought gives me a chill and sends my heart racing. Is it Suds again? I walk fast out to the road without looking back.
The sky is overcast today. Not with heavy clouds filled with snow, but wispy ones. Another lazy attempt at winter.
As I approach the dirt access road that runs along the trees, I see the colony to the right.
I turn left and stay on the road, keeping the trees in my peripheral vision. Everything is brown. Real winter may be unpleasant because of the darkness and the piles of dirty snow, but this is like everything rolled over and died.
A police SUV is parked up ahead. The officer inside is poking at her computer. When she senses me approach, her head snaps up. I freeze. My hands scramble for my coat pockets. They’re empty. I’m not doing anything wrong.
The officer wrinkles her brow in concern. I pull my hands out of my pockets and smile at her.
I don’t hear the second person until he’s standing behind me.
“At least it’s still cold. But if we don’t get some rain soon, the spring fire season’s gonna be a bitch.” I spin around to face him. He turns red. “Sorry.”
He’s my age or maybe a little younger. His blond hair is parted and combed down. His blue eyes pierce through the dull surroundings. He has a black trash bag in his hand.
“Community service,” he says, holding up the bag.
I must flinch, because his eyes go wide.
“It’s not like that. I’m not in trouble. It’s for my internship with the police department.” He points at the SUV. “I have to do a ton of community service hours to complete the program. Today is trash-pick-up day.”
The officer knocks on the inside of her window.
“Maybe I’ll see you out here again,” he says with a genuine smile. I force a smile onto my face. I hope not.
He gets into the SUV. The officer’s window rolls down.
“Be careful out here by yourself,” she says.
They pull away, and I start to pick my way through the brush toward the bridge. I’m out for a walk. I’m not scouting places with dense, crunchy growth and safe exits. I don’t do that anymore.
My skin suddenly prickles.
I stop and listen to the sounds of the forest around me. A twig snaps, and a chill moves up my spine. Someone is there. Watching from behind a tree. I feel his eyes on the back of my neck.
It isn’t Suds. He couldn’t sneak up on me, not with his cough and limp. This is someone else. Someone whose movements are slow and calculated.
I spin around fast.
I see someone. Face hidden, body mostly concealed by brush.
Only a flash of blue gives him away.
* * *
—
“Where’d you go last night?” Ro asks when I stick my head through the hole in the fence.
I can’t come up with a lie right now, not after what happened in the trees. I have to settle for a half-truth. “To the gate.” My voice shakes. I shiver like I’m freezing. I want to go to my room and lock the door, but Ro stands in my path.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound irritated. She’s still the closest thing I have to a potential friend.
“I was looking for the kitten,” she says. Then she narrows her eyes and examines me. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
I release my grip on my scar. “Nothing.”
She creeps toward me. “Let me see.”
“No.” I pull back, but Ro stands at her full height in front of me. She’s taller than I am, and all limbs. She sucks in her cheeks and tilts her head. It’s a look I haven’t seen since I was seven and everyone was still curious—before Mom and my soon-to-be stepfather announced to the whole town that I was not a museum specimen and I would not be on display.
After a couple of months, other news happened and I drifted back into normal life. But when anyone saw my scar, they would look away and make a comment about the weather.
I strip off my coat and pull my arm out from the bottom of my sweater. The cold brushes my half-bare stomach.
Ro steps forward and leans in to look at my scar. “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head. I can’t tell her about the it
ch.
I push my arm back into the sleeve of my sweater and pull on my coat. Ro stares at me. I sigh. “I was in a fire when I was seven.”
She blinks but doesn’t respond. What I’ve told her isn’t enough. She wants details.
“It was a sleepover at a friend’s house. I was the only one who made it out.”
She looks down. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “It was ten years ago.” Which means nothing. I can still see every detail as if it happened ten minutes ago, but she doesn’t need to know that.
A gust of wind whistles through the ruins. It stings my ears. Ro thinks she hides her reaction, but I see her shiver in her too-thin clothes.
A truck rumbles up outside. It could be Cam’s. He could be sitting in it in his blue coat.
His coat that’s the same shade of blue I saw in the trees.
“Do you want to come to my room?” I don’t want Cam finding me alone.
Ro’s face lights up for the briefest of seconds. Then it’s as if she catches herself and forces a blank expression again. “Okay.”
I stick my head out the doorway. It wasn’t Cam’s truck. His is gone. The construction crew isn’t paying attention. I wave Ro over.
She doesn’t hesitate to go in when I open the door to my room. I pull the duvet up on the bed and toss the decorative fluffy pillows back on it. Now that my stuff is spread out, the room looks less like a luxury hotel room and more like a teenager’s bedroom. A rich teenager.
“Wow,” Ro says. She touches all the surfaces, lifts my things, listens to her laugh echo in the bathroom.
She pauses in front of the open wardrobe. “You go to the bee school?”
When I look confused, she pulls out one of my Riverline uniforms: a yellow-and-black plaid skirt and a bright yellow sweater with an insignia patch on the chest.
Beyond hanging them in the wardrobe when Dad gave them to me, I haven’t looked at them. But she’s right. I’m going to look like a giant preppy bumblebee.
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