Free Promises I Made by Michelle Zink Page A

The street was empty too, except for the same blue Range Rover. The sight of it there, in the same place it had been a few days earlier, rang the alarm on my instincts. It was just a car—and an empty one at that—but I’d been trained to notice things that were out of the ordinary.
    I glanced up and down the street, looking for the car’s owner, wondering why they hadn’t parked in the driveway. Then again, maybe they were visiting someone. Maybe they were hired to clean house or dog sit while one of the homeowners on Selena’s street was at work. It’s not like someone was sitting inside the car with binoculars trained my way.
    I was pulled from my paranoia by a flash of movement at the corner. At first I thought it was the peacock, but whenI turned toward it I realized it was Selena, alone again and heading for her house.
    She was wearing capris and a drapey tank top, her hair pulled back into a thick curly ponytail. She didn’t look like herself, something I hadn’t been able to see when she’d been covered almost head to toe in her raincoat. When we’d run from Playa Hermosa just before Christmas, Selena had been curvy and lush, her skin as creamy as caramel. Now her arms seemed pale and thin, and her pants hung low and loose on jutting hip bones. More than that, her face wore an unfamiliar expression, her eyes blank, her mouth downturned as she walked. Where was the Selena I’d known? The one with light in her eyes and an aura of expectation, like the next good thing was right around the corner, something she seemed to believe even when she’d seen bad things happen up close and personal?
    I took a step forward as she turned onto the walkway leading to her house. I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other, to cross the street, to continue up the pathway behind her. I’d never really be ready, and while her dad was probably at work, I couldn’t risk ringing the doorbell once she was inside. I had no idea what she would say or do if she saw me through the peephole on the big front door, if she would have time to get to the phone and call the cops.
    She was digging around in her bag, probably looking for her key, when she froze. I was just a few feet behind her, my heart flapping like a wild bird. I almost wondered if she could hear it.
    She slowly turned to face me, and all the words I’d planned flew from my mind. We looked at each other for a long minute before she spoke.
    â€œYou better come inside.”

Twelve
    I stepped into the foyer and looked around, wondering how a place that had once felt like home could feel so foreign, so changed. Then I realized it wasn’t Selena’s house that had changed; it was me. I wondered suddenly how all the things I’d done in my life would look if I were to revisit them, if all the choices that had seemed so clear to me then would look different through the lens of everything that had happened, everything I’d done.
    â€œMy dad’s not here,” Selena said, watching me look around the foyer. She dropped her book bag on a bench near the door. “Come on.”
    I looked nervously around as she started down the hall. It was hard to imagine Selena betraying me, telling me no one was home so her dad would see me and call the police, but I didn’t deserve the old consideration of our friendship, and Iknew it. I wouldn’t blame her if she turned me in. Still, I had no choice but to follow her to the kitchen.
    The room was neat and modest, a stark contrast to the gourmet kitchens, loaded with commercial-grade appliances and designer granite, that were standard for most of the houses in Playa Hermosa. I used to love sitting here with Selena, drinking iced tea and talking about life and school.
    Selena gestured to the table and chairs in front of the big picture window. “Have a seat.” She was being polite, but her eyes were empty, her voice flat. “Want some iced