one look, andPeter would mutter âSorryâ and leave the room. But I hadnât seen Luke for months. Right before Christmas heâd just disappeared. Iâd gotten a letter from him on Valentineâs Day asking me to be his pen pal. Even though heâd written that he loved and missed me, he still hadnât come home. Not even for Easter or the Fourth of July.
And he wasnât there to protect me from Peter when I needed him the most.
Chapter 11:
Stagnant
NOW
Itâs sad to see the leftovers of a party. Only ashes remain in the bonfire pit. Marlboro butts and empty Coors cans lie with pine needles and pinecones. How did the forest survive our night?
âOkay, kiddos.â Dad hands us each two bags and a pair of rubber gloves. âTrash in one bag, recyclables in the other. Go to work.â
I snatch the bags from him, still pissed off, until I notice in amazement that my father is putting on gloves and bending to pick up a beer can. I thought this was my punishment.
âYouâre going to help?â I ask.
Dad nods.
âThanks,â I mutter. Iâd expected him to sit in the truck and take a nap, or go hunting for more dead animals.
Drea works in circles around the fire pit while Dad stands in it, picking out charred cans. I follow a trail of trash to the outskirts of the clearing where two hiking paths meet.
âMan, this sucks,â I say aloud, realizing the chore is bigger than I even imagined.
Squirrels chatter loudly as I step off the trail, pursuing the shiny aluminum deeper into the forest. Light trickles down through the trees, but where it doesnât, itâs dark, making it feel later than my watch tells me it is. I reach the end of the can trail. The bonfire pit is pretty far awayâIâve wandered farther than I thought. Hairs on my arms stand on end. I hurry back to the path, noticing each chirp, snap, and rustle. Then I freeze. Someone is walking toward me from the other hiking trail. Tall. Male. Making big strides.
Heâs probably just a hiker. Iâll walk toward the clearing, even if it means turning my back on him.
âHi,â he calls out before I have a chance to move.
âHâ,â I say nervously. I clear my throat and try again. âHi.â
âNice day for a walk. . . . Hey, I know you.â He steps forward. âYouâre Luke Tovinâs little sister, right?â He smiles. âIâm an old buddy of his.â Steps closer. How could he be one of Lukeâs friends? His face is lined in wrinkles and heâs missing a tooth on the left side. His nose is raw, like mine looks after a day of snowboarding. He looks way too old to be a friend of Lukeâs.
I spy Skeleton out of the corner of my eye, peeking from behind a nearby tree trunk.
âOh, yep. Thatâs me,â I say, silently willing the man to go away, to not get any closer. âIâd shake your hand, but . . .â I see him take in the trash bag in one hand, the glove on the other.
âYou picking up the woods for a charity project or somethinâ?â
âSomething like that,â I mutter. Step out to pass him. A wide step. Skeleton peers out from behind the tree again, bones trembling.
âNeed any help?â The man bends down to pick up a can I missed. Gives it a little shake next to his ear. âGot to see if anythingâs left. Donât want good beer to go to waste.â
Gross. He laughs. Looking up the trail, I see Dad bending and standing, picking, picking, picking, his back toward me.
âHow is Luke, anyway?â the man says.
âGood. Iâll be seeing him soon. I can tell him I ran into you.â I step back. Skeleton grabs a branch, pulls himself up to the next, climbing fast. He stops at a high branch and looks down, a death grip on the tree trunk. Motions for me to start climbing.
âWe used to party up here too, you know.â He steps forward
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley