Free What the Moon Saw by Laura Resau

into my backpack, along with a water bottle, two red bananas, a pencil, my sketchbook, a flashlight, a pocketknife, and a yellow rain poncho. The poncho looked silly on me—something I would never in a million years wear in Walnut Hill. But Abuelita made me put it in my backpack. “For later, Clara, when the waters come with such force you won’t think of how you look. The trees will not care. The animals will not care.”
    That was another thing we had in common: We both liked to be prepared. Mom always called me a pack rat and complained about how I dragged my backpack around everywhere. For even a ten-minute car ride, I had to have books and snacks and CDs and my CD player and sketchbook. But it pays to be prepared. If I’d been allowed to bring a third suitcase, I would have had a pair of hiking boots with me. Abuelita’s sandals were starting to grow on me, though, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise, as Mom would say.
    All morning I wandered along a maze of trails on the mountain. I even explored places without the waterfall sound. I figured there might be echoes that tricked you. By the time the sun shone from directly overhead, I’d circled back to where the sound was the strongest. I sat down on a rock by the stream and watched the wispy-thin water bugs, and right then it occurred to me I might be lonely. Not completely lonely, since I had Abuelita and Abuelo and Loro, but lonely for someone to explore with me. Sometimes I just had the urge to point out neat things to someone else. I used to do this with Dad, and Samantha, too, until she changed.
    “Hey, look at the shadow of that water bug!” I would say if a friend were with me. “Look at the perfect little ribbons the water makes in the sand!”
    I leaned back on the rock, with my face to the sky, and then I squirmed around a little because a sharp point was jabbing me in the back. I sat up and thought. Maybe I could turn the rock over to lie on its smooth side. I wedged my fingers underneath the rock and pushed it over. I was so absorbed in my work, I didn’t notice him coming up behind me.
    “Don’t move!” a voice yelled.
    I froze.
    “Let go of the rock and move back slowly!” the voice said. The voice was sharp. It was a guy’s voice, I realized.
    I felt the rock under my palms. I thought of murderers and gang members and genuine lunatics. The rock was too heavy to pick up and hurl at him, so I took a deep breath and turned to face him.
    The boy was my height, and staring me straight in the eyes with a crazy look. Sweat was beaded up on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. We stood facing each other—him breathing hard and me just trying to breathe at all. Our bodies were tensed, like two deer with their ears perked up, ready and waiting.
    He took a step toward me. Then I noticed that his eyes weren’t focused on me, but on the rock I had turned over. I looked at the rock. The bottom of it seemed to be moving with swarms of creatures that looked like small brown lobsters. They waved their claws above them and grasped angrily at the air. I stepped closer and bent down to inspect them.
    The boy grabbed my arm. He pulled me back so hard I fell against him.
    “Do you…” He paused to catch his breath. “Do you know what these are?”
    I shook my head.
    “Scorpions.”
    The word made my stomach freeze.
    “Do you know what would happen if one stung you?”
    Again, I shook my head.
    “One sting on your toe would make your whole leg ache all day. Then it would feel prickly—like ants were crawling around under your skin. Three or four stings in the right places could kill you. The worst is if you’re allergic to scorpions. Then, with one sting, your lungs would close up and you’d be dead in fifteen minutes.”
    At least a dozen scorpions covered the rock. I took a few more steps back and glanced nervously down at my legs to make sure none was crawling up.
    “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
    I shrugged. My