Free Before Wings by Beth Goobie Page A

Darcie’s fault. Darcie had hugged her in front of the rest of the staff. She had hugged and hugged Adrien, helped her to her feet and walked with an arm around her, keeping her so close Adrien could feel her heart beat.
    Had Connor’s arrow been the one to graze her arm? Had it?
    “I’ve got the rest of the afternoon,” said Aunt Erin, folding her arms and parking her butt on the edge of her desk. “And so do you.”
    Adrien held onto the till and watched the bare wood floor. The wind grew louder, everywhere in the trees. Aunt Erin switched on the PA. “Darcie Smythe to the office. Darcie Smythe.”
    They waited in silence. I could call Mom and Dad , Adrien thought. I could just go home. But she could feel the clouds building on the lake like a promise. The sound of the wind moved through her as if she was part of its message, leaves lifting and falling inside her, whispering their meanings. The shaky hollow feeling faded and she felt part of this place, older than anything that could happen to her here, just like the trees, the lake and the sky were older than the camp. People were small stories that the wind blew clean, and then they were forgotten. One day, her story would beblown across the lake and she would be forgotten too. This didn’t frighten her.
    A shadow shifted through a patch of light on the floor, a writhing shape that lifted its arms to her, then faded. Adrien glanced at her aunt, but she was staring grimly at the door and hadn’t seen the spirit. She also hadn’t noticed that the clock above her desk had stopped at 1:37. Adrien glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. 3:55.
    “Your clock stopped,” said Adrien.
    Aunt Erin glanced at it and lost the tight grip she kept on her face. For a moment, Adrien was staring at a face of absolute fear. Then her aunt’s face closed over again. “Acting up, is it?” she muttered, moving toward it as Darcie’s slow footsteps began to mount the outside steps. A slumped figure appeared in the doorway.
    “Come in.” Aunt Erin’s voice was even, her pale eyes icy. Darcie took one step through the doorway and waited.
    “Explain the arrow burn on my niece’s arm,” said Aunt Erin.
    “It’s not—” began Adrien.
    “Yes, it is,” Darcie said miserably.
    “Adrien kept her mouth shut. Didn’t betray you,” said Aunt Erin. “Not her fault I’m firing you.”
    “What?” gasped Adrien.
    Darcie blinked hard and stared at the dead clock. Then she nodded and turned to go. “Don’t you even want to hear what happened?” demanded Adrien.
    “Want a full explanation,” said Aunt Erin, “but Darcie’s fired just the same.”
    Facing the door, Darcie explained. Then she walkedout. The screen door slammed behind her.
    “Open Tuck’n Tack,” said Aunt Erin, fixing the clock.
    “No,” said Adrien. “I quit. I’m going home.”
    “Suit yourself,” said Aunt Erin.
    “I’m not suiting myself ,” hissed Adrien. “I hate you. You never give anyone a second chance. Darcie would never let it happen again.”
    “Could’ve been killed,” said Aunt Erin, her eyes bright. “Don’t get second chances when someone’s dead.”
    “I’m not dead!” yelled Adrien. “No stupid arrow’s going to kill me—you know that. I’ll die the way I’m going to die, and nothing’s going to stop it. You could fire a million staff and nothing would stop it.”
    “Got nothing to do with it,” snapped Aunt Erin. “Her carelessness almost got someone killed.”
    “None of them can shoot,” howled Adrien. “Only Darcie can aim and she wasn’t shooting.”
    “Got your arm.”
    “Lucky chance.” Adrien stomped the floor. “You make me so mad . Give her a break. That stupid archery range’ll be safer than a daycare after this.”
    Aunt Erin sat quietly on the edge of the desk. Abruptly, Adrien realized how closely she was being watched.
    “You like rooming with Darcie?” Aunt Erin asked.
    “She’s all right,” Adrien said grudgingly. “I never