“Was your friend at that party?”
“Nah, he just heard about it.” Jacob shakes his head. “I think she blocked her profile. I can’t get onto it.”
After last weekend, I bet a lot of girls blocked their profiles. I’m so frustrated, I want to scream. There’s got to be somebody else on Facebook who can see those pictures. Still, I can’t go around asking questions about the party. That would be stupid. And I’m in enough trouble right now.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” says Jacob, closing his Facebook page. “Can you help me get started on that paper?”
Across from us there’s another girl in a pastel dress, sitting at a computer.
Mallory.
“I’m supposed to begin with an introduction,” Jacob says.
“That’s a good place to start,” I say, watching Mallory giggle at something on the computer—her Facebook page.
“Actually, we need to get back to Pinecraft real soon. Or my dad’s going to kill me. He won’t let me drive the truck after dark.”
“Grab some books,” I say, keeping my gaze on Mallory. “I’ll help you write the intro.”
“Awesome.” Jacob marches off to the bookshelves. I get the feeling he’ll be there a while, and that’s fine with me.
I wait until Mallory gets up and heads for the restroom. When she’s finally gone, I move to her computer. She’s got her Facebook page open, but I’m not sure how it works. Who wants to share their diary with the whole world?
At the top of the page is a search box. I type Alice Yoder. Seconds later, a dozen names fill the screen. I didn’t expect to find so many. Alice could be any of those girls. Or she could be gone and the names would still be there.
I scroll down the list. There’s an Alice Yoder in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. And Holmes County, Ohio. In the space next to their names is a picture. I stare at their faces. They’re dressed plain. All of them.
Amish girls.
Why wouldn’t they be on Facebook? I remember what Jacob told me. If you’re not online, you might as well be dead.
The girls are probably on Rumspringa. They’re taking pictures with their cell phones, smiling into bathroom mirrors. They want people to see them. That’s what’s so strange about it.
Mallory’s coming back any minute now. I have to move fast. I switch back to her Facebook page. She’s friends with a lot of people from my old school. It feels kind of awkward, looking at their birthday parties and trips to the beach. Especially because they never invited me.
I keep clicking through the pictures. Ice cream melting in a cup. A bird swooping over a telephone wire. Bare toes dusted with sand. The Youth Ministry playing volleyball on Lido Key. Oak trees draped with Spanish moss.
This picture was taken in Water Tower Park. I’m sure of it. Under the oak trees, a group of Old Order girls are dancing in their long dresses. Alice has to be there. At first, I don’t see anyone that looks like her. Then I spot a girl swaying in the shadows. Short hair and skinny jeans.
She looks so small. Almost like a little kid. And someone’s in the background, watching her behind the trees. A boy in a skeleton T-shirt.
I drag the blinking cursor over his face.
TOBY GRANGER
Is this Alice’s boyfriend?
When I click on his name, a message pops up: Do you know Toby? See what he shares with friends . . .
His profile is locked.
I slide the cursor back to Alice.
Nothing.
I switch over to Google and do a search for “Toby Granger.” There’s a snowboarder from Vermont. A boy who won a hot dog eating contest. Lots of names. This is so much harder than I thought.
Google has this thing called “images.” When I click on it, the screen fills with pictures. So many faces. A guy with a pierced lip. A kid with a puppy slung over his shoulder. None of them are Tobias.
I glance back at the computer desks. Everybody’s playing games or watching YouTube videos. I always look for National Geographic online. That’s how I learned that sharks can see electricity. You could probably find anything on YouTube.
Can I find Tobias?
My hands are shaking as I type his name. At the top of the list is a video called Agora. It’s just a group of boys running through a field. They’re all wearing costumes—long capes and pointy hats. Their strange clothes remind me of another time, like the drawings in Martyrs Mirror, a book about Amish who died hundreds of years ago.
“Can you turn that down, please?”
A librarian drops a pair of headphones on my desk.
“Sorry,” I whisper. When I glance up, I’m surprised. It’s the nice librarian, the one who helped me look for scholarships online.
“Any word yet?” she asks, tucking a strand of purple-streaked hair behind her ear. She’s probably not much older than me.
“Nothing,” I tell her.
“Well, hang in there,” she says, patting my shoulder. She walks back to the front desk, where another girl is waiting in line.
How much longer can I wait? And what if I actually get a scholarship? I’ll have to tell Dad I don’t plan on staying in Pinecraft forever. I’d feel horrible, leaving him all by himself. But he doesn’t understand why I need to study the ocean. When I told him about the hole in the Gulf, he shrugged.
“Not my business,” he said.
He’s wrong.
It’s everybody’s business.
I slide the headphones on. Voices pound my ears, screaming words I don’t understand. It scares me, just listening to those boys. They’re running back and forth with big, wooden sticks. I can’t tell if they’re playing some kind of game or trying to hurt each other.
A girl steps into the frame. The glittery wings strapped to her back remind me of angels. They fell like lightning when the Lord kicked them out of heaven.
When she turns and looks back at the camera, all my blood turns cold.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Alice says.
“So what?” says the voice behind the camera. “Are we playing this frickin’ game at Blackwoods or not?”
That’s when I know.
The boy holding the camera is Tobias.
“But you’re not following the rules,” she says.
“I’ll make up my own rules.”
The video goes black.
I tug off my headphones.
When did Alice’s boyfriend make this video? I study the woods in the background. I’ve never been up north, but Alice told me about the leaves, how they change in the fall. All the trees are speckled gold, like sunlight crackling on the ocean.
Agora.
What does that word mean? I do a quick search. The first link that comes up is something called The Agora Games. There’s a date. Friday. And a location. South Lido Park. What kind of game is this? I need to talk to the other players. Maybe they know Tobias. But Dad’s got me working next weekend. How can I get out of it?
“I saw you.”
Mallory is standing behind my chair.
“You were at that party,” she says.
I quickly get up and move to the other desk. “You were there too?”
“Everybody was there.”
Mallory waits for me to say something. When I don’t, she says, “You’re friends with that Old Order girl. The one who’s missing.”
“Do you know Alice?”
“Not really. I don’t have a lot of Old Order friends.”
I’m not surprised. In Pinecraft, you’re either a snowbird. Or you’re everybody else.
“Those Old Order girls are really weird,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “I can’t imagine living like that. I mean, they’re so stuck in the past. They’re like ghosts or something.”
Ghosts.
“They’re just different,” I say.
“So what happened to Alice?”
“I don’t know.”
“But she’s your friend, right?”
“Alice is my best friend.”
I glance at the stairs near the computer desks. A little girl is sitting on the bottom step. She tries to lift herself up, going backward a level at a time. Then her mom grabs her arm, saying, “That’s not how we do things.”
Mallory leans back in her chair. “No wonder Alice is in trouble,” she says. “I feel sorry for those Old Order girls. They’re so brainwashed.”
“You’re the one who’s brainwashed.”
I shove past Mallory. I can’t listen to her anymore. She doesn’t know anything about the Old Order. In her mind, they’re outsiders. They don’t go to our church. Or sit with us for Sunday picnics in the park. They dress as if they’re from another time. Almost like ghosts.
“You’re so lucky,” Alice used to tell me.
She thought everything was perfect in Florida. I’ve got electricity in my house instead of candlelight. But I hang my clothes on the line, just like she does. I wash dishes by hand. Dad thinks it’s better that way. “Keeps you grounded,” he says.
When Alice stepped off the bus this time, it was pretty obvious things had changed. She gets to have Rumspringa. I don’t. All of a sudden, Alice was the one with all the freedom. Yeah, I was jealous of her clothes. Her fancy cell phone. The fact that she had a boyfriend. She left me behind. That’s what I thought.
“Lucy?” Jacob calls out. He’s got a stack of books in his arms and a confused look on his face. But I can’t deal with him. Not now.
I slam my weight against the library door and head outside. I can’t stop thinking about what I saw online. The boys running through the field with their sticks. Alice. The wings strapped to her back. She never told me about this game. Maybe she didn’t want her mom to find out. But why couldn’t she tell me? I remember what Mrs. Yoder said the morning Alice disappeared. It wasn’t the first time she ran away. Was she sneaking off to play this secret game in the woods?
The longer you hold a secret, the deeper it grows, like the poison bleeding into the Gulf.
I know exactly how that feels.
chapter eleven
pearls
When I get home, it’s almost dark. The gazebo planks are spread out on the lawn in a circle, ready to dry. They remind me of whale bones. The ribs inside me, too. All the secret parts that hold us together, keeping our hearts safe.
Dad doesn’t know I’m back yet. If I move fast, I can get to Pinecraft Park before the sun goes down. I need to talk to the Rumspringa boys. Maybe they know Tobias. I bet they were at the party last weekend.
Everybody was there.
They probably aren’t going to talk to me, but I have to find out if they’ve seen Alice’s boyfriend. There’s something about him that doesn’t make sense. When I saw Tobias in that video online, playing that game in the woods, it scared me, the way he shouted at Alice. It was like he thought the game was real, not make-believe. I remember the boys, their strange clothes, their fists waving those sticks, as if they wanted to hurt the whole world.
Pinecraft Park is quiet at sundown. Usually, I’ll see the Rumspringa boys playing basketball behind the chainlink fence. Or the Amish girls in their bonnets, gathered at the picnic table, lifting their voices in a gospel song. Once in a while a girl will stand outside the fence, as if wishing she could play too. Then look away, like she’s gone too far, just thinking about it.
As I walk through the tall grass, I don’t see anybody at the picnic table. The basketball court is empty, the ragged net swaying in the breeze. I’m about to turn around and go home when I hear a burst of laughter. It’s coming from the edge of the park, where cattails bend like heads lowered in prayer.
A couple of boys are smoking near the canal. The smell of their cigarettes drifts across the water. They’re both in T-shirts and jeans, but I can tell it’s new for them. They always pick the brightest colors, letting everybody know they’re a big deal.
The blue in their store-bought denim hasn’t faded and their shirts are too baggy, as if they belong to somebody else.
“Hello?” I call out.
The skinny one glances over his shoulder at me. He’s small, but his arms are tight with muscle, like most Old Order boys who grew up on a farm.
“You looking for something?” he says.
“Maybe it’s someone she’s looking for,” says his friend, blowing out a stream of smoke.
I need to get these Rumspringa boys to trust me. But how? I don’t know what’s going to make it harder—the fact that I’m not Old Order Amish. Or the fact that I’m a girl.
“I’m friends with Alice Yoder,” I tell him.
“What’s she got to do with us?”
Okay. Now he thinks I’m blaming him. It feels like everything I say is wrong. How can I get these boys to talk to me?
“Did you go to that party last weekend?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did. What about you, Markus?” he says, turning to his friend. “Tell me. What’s a Beachy Amish girl doing in Water Tower Park?”
He smirks. “Same thing we’re doing.”
When I hear that stupid, high-pitched laugh, I cringe. This is the same boy I saw drinking in the woods that night. He’s not wearing a baseball cap, but I remember the anger on his face when he pushed that beer at me.
“Did you see Alice Yoder at that party?”
He shrugs. “That girl was so wasted. Last I saw, she was passed out in the grass.”
“And you didn’t try to help her?”
“What do you think I am? Her boyfriend?”
The way he’s talking so mean, it’s like he doesn’t care if Alice made it home. Or if she’s even alive.
“Sounds like you saw a lot of things that night,” I say carefully.
They’re both quiet for a minute.
“Alice was walking down Bradenton Road,” says Markus, tossing his cigarette in the canal. “Everybody was heading out to Lido Key, right? And she was going in the other direction.”
So Alice tried to walk home after the party. What was she thinking? It’s a long way to Pinecraft. Maybe six miles. Not to mention, it’s all roads and highways. Why didn’t she get a ride with somebody?
Maybe she did.
“What about her boyfriend?”
“Which one?”
When I see him grinning like he’s better than everybody else, I want to knock the teeth out of his face.
“Alice had a lot of boyfriends back home,” says Markus. “I used to see her mom walking up the hill and calling for her in the morning. Snow, rain. Didn’t matter. She’d be knocking on doors, looking for that girl.”
“You mean the widow?”
“She ain’t no widow. That’s just what Alice tells everybody. Her dad’s still alive. He went missing too. Long time ago.”
“Alice said her dad got hurt in some accident.”
“And you believe that?”
Is he telling the truth? It doesn’t make any sense. Alice lost her dad when she was little. Why would she lie about it? Or did she keep it a secret like those pictures I saw online, a secret so deep, she couldn’t share it with me?
“You’re asking too many questions,” says Markus, moving closer. “I think we should get to know each other better.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like he’s sizing me up.
“I have to go,” I say quickly.
“Yeah?” Markus grabs my sleeve. “Why so soon? You didn’t even tell me your name.”
“Her name’s Lucy.”
I spin around.
Faron is walking through the tall grass, coming up behind us. What’s he doing here? I’m so startled, I barely recognize his slow, careful voice, or the way he’s moving toward me, like pushing through water.
Markus lets go and I stumble forward. I look up at Faron, unable to believe that he’s really here. His face is unshaven, as if he hasn’t slept in a while, his hair damp with sweat, but his eyes are just as dark as I remember.
“Come on,” says Faron, sl
iding his fingers through mine. “Let’s take a walk.”
We drift away from the canal. In the distance, the water is stained with the setting sun. Faron doesn’t say anything as we cross Bahia Vista, where cars race back and forth under the power lines and palm trees.
“Why didn’t you wait for me on the beach?” I ask.
“I waited as long as I could,” he says. “I couldn’t find you. I’m sorry. I was scared I’d never see you again.”
“You were scared. That’s right.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”
I watch his face.
His expression doesn’t change.
“You don’t believe me,” he says, tugging up his hood.
“I want to believe you.”
“But you don’t.”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“Can’t we start over?” he asks. “Please. Just give me a chance, fehlerfrei.”
“I’m not perfect, okay?”
“You’re right,” he says. “But I’m not perfect, either.”
Now I’m the one who feels ashamed.
I want to trust Faron. But I can’t let him get close to me. I have to be careful, no matter how much I wish he’d kiss me again. I know it’s wrong, the way I’m aching for his kiss. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.
Now it’s getting darker. When we reach the train crossing, I sit down on the tracks. It’s dangerous, but I don’t care. The rails are a dull, silver stain, winding under the streetlight.
“Me and my friends used to race here,” says Faron. “We’d try to make it across before the gate went down.”
“That’s pretty stupid.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But it was fun.”
“Fun until you’re dead.”
He looks hurt. “Listen. After my dad kicked me out, I did a lot of stupid stuff. When I came down here last summer, it was even better than Rumspringa. For the first time in my life, I could do whatever the hell I wanted.”
“You were free.”
“Never had that kind of freedom before,” he says, looking at the rails. “Do you even understand what I’m saying?”
“You don’t have to be Old Order to understand.”
Snowbirds Page 8