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  “That’s not strange. That’s the kind of thing you miss. The scent of something—or someone. Sometimes you catch a drift of it, and you feel so close. Then it’s gone.”

  Micah looked at me, his eyes full of compassion. “So you understand.”

  I looked down, picking grass off the blanket. “I’m sorry if I made your first day here harder, with the debate. Mrs. Martinez was right. I shouldn’t lose control like that. Of course I’m right and everything,” I chuckled, “but I should be able to respect that not everyone thinks like me.”

  “I suspect things might be better if they did,” he said quietly.

  Chapter 6

  “Larkin!” Coach Banner shouted as I bent to tie my shoes. “I hope you ran off all that attitude during your vacation.”

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled and pulled my left foot back. I let the tension that had built up during the day drain as I relaxed and felt the pull in my muscles. Several of my teammates gave me a smile and a nod or a welcome back pat on the back as I picked an empty lane. If a few of them gave me a lingering look, like I’d forgotten to wear my shirt and they were embarrassed for me, I pretended not to notice.

  I crouched, excitement building as I waited for the coach to blow his whistle. Finally it shrieked, and I took off, feeling free for the first time since coming back to school. My feet flew over the blue track, and I reveled in the sound of soles scuffing the ground and the touch of the ever-present breeze on my already warm face. When I ran I liked to let my thoughts jangle around and settle into place.

  Compared to yesterday, today had been a breeze, so why was I so worked up? Just because Micah and I had an amazing, intimate moment last night, that didn’t mean he had to acknowledge my existence today.

  I guess I’d thought we’d become friends. As we’d talked, my unease about him had faded away, and I got a glimpse of who he was—or who he wanted to be. But when I saw him in speech class today he’d ignored me. At lunch he’d glanced my way a few times and given me a distant smile, then looked away. Was he embarrassed to be my friend? Was he afraid I might have a thing for him? He didn’t need to worry. I could do without him. I’d definitely be better off.

  I passed the runner on my right, picking up speed. When I glanced back I could see most of the team close on my tail. I settled into a good pace, hoping to keep just ahead of the others. I needed to show Coach Banner that I was ready to be back on the team, maybe just because I felt like I was falling short everywhere else.

  I went through practice in a daze, the events of the last couple days running through my mind with more urgency than my own feet on the track. I pushed my body hard, as if the physical exertion would help me figure out what I was missing, and give me some kind of control over my life. Before I knew it, we were stretching again.

  “Glad to see you back,” Coach Banner said as the team headed to the locker room. “Suspension worked wonders. Can I interest you in a little defacing of school property? We’ll have a superstar on our hands.”

  I chuckled, relaxing a little as the comment sunk in. “I’m not sure they’d let me come back again, Coach.”

  “Yeah, I suppose we need you for next week’s meet. Don’t do anything bad, like liberating the drug detection dogs or anything.”

  “We have those here?”

  “I dunno.” He waved me off with a grin.

  I grabbed my things from my locker and headed out. Kaela got a ride home with Austin on track days, so I walked through the half-empty parking lot on my own. Practice was already starting to take a toll on my body. My legs were shaking as I slumped into the front seat of the mini-van. But Coach Banner’s compliment, and the feeling that I had pushed myself harder than ever, had left a glow behind that made it all worth it.

  Mom’s car wasn’t in the drive yet. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved. I knew we needed to talk, but I still wasn’t sure what encouraging news I could give her. Maybe I could tell her about turning over a new leaf, as long as that conversation didn’t lead to Mrs. Martinez and yesterday’s detention.

  Cody looked up, startled, as I walked in the door. He was doing his homework at the kitchen table like he always did right after school, even on days when Mom was late coming home from work.

  “What’s up, Cody? It’s just me.”

  He ducked his head and grinned, looking embarrassed. “I know.”

  “Is something up?” I asked, concern creeping in.

  “It’s stupid. It’s just—this black SUV’s been parked outside all afternoon. There was a lady in it. I swear she watched me let myself in.”

  I went over to the window and peeked between the blinds. “Not there now. Is that all?”

  He shrugged.

  “Are you still worried about yesterday morning?” I asked, slumping down into the chair across from him again.

  He shook his head. “I guess it kind of reminded me of Dad, that’s all. You know how he got all—and then he—”

  “Cody, I’m not going anywhere. And I know I do stupid things sometimes, but I’m not going crazy on you, either.” I felt sick as I thought about the trouble I kept getting in at school, and what my actions were doing to Cody. I hadn’t realized how far the consequences would spread.

  After that weird dream a couple nights ago, and my reaction to seeing Micah, and the thing with Mom, I was worried about my sanity, too. Maybe if I could just stop thinking about it and try to be normal, I could give Cody the stability he needed.

  I fuzzed his hair again, ready for the dark scowl that followed.

  “I know,” he said. “You’ll be here forever, just so you can keep doing that. Mom says you just want a reaction out of me.”

  I smiled. “Mom is right. Hey, I almost forgot.” I pulled a handful of foil gum wrappers from my pocket. “These are for you.”

  A few years ago Cody had tried to wallpaper his bedroom with tin foil. When Mom found the empty roll, she nixed the project, so Cody had decided to finish the job with gum wrappers. Mom didn’t care as long as he was using poster goo to stick them up there.

  “Thanks.” Cody placed them on the table and smoothed them out.

  I hurried to my room and pulled off my clothes and stuck them in the hamper. Once I got in the shower, the warm water relieving my muscles and the stress, I didn’t want to get out. But the bad thing about a shower was unless you were singing, you were thinking, and I was through with thinking. So I sang as I scrubbed shampoo and conditioner into my hair. I hummed as I soaped up. Then I forced myself to get out.

  I blew my hair dry and put on my forest green Mick’s Sporting Goods polo and a pair of jeans. I did a quick version of my make-up routine, then hurried to grab a banana from the kitchen. Mom was skimming over texts as she leaned against the kitchen counter. She looked up at me. “Everything go okay today? I heard all that singing.”

  “Sure. Some people sing because they’re in a good mood, Mom.”

  “Not you. Aren’t you going to eat more than a banana?”

  I smiled. “I’ll pick something up.” That usually meant some kind of weird protein bar from work, but it would do until I got home.

  “Bye, Mom.” I paused at the door, looking back. I wanted to say sorry about what happened yesterday, but the truth was, I still couldn’t explain it, so I opened the door and left the house.

  As I hurried to the van, my legs still wobbled like Jello. Now that the buzz had worn off, I was a little sorry I’d pushed myself so hard. Hopefully it would be a slow evening, and I could pull a stool up to the register for a while. Emotionally as well as physically, I felt like I really had fallen off a cliff.

  Chapter 7

  Mick’s Sporting Goods was one of the many stores that cluttered the canyon rim in this area. It was off the main highway that took residents and tourists alike over the renowned Perrine Bridge and into town. As I passed by the canyon, turning rosy-gold in the waning light, I looked at the steep drop. I imagined my body tumbling off the side, and shivered. That part of my d
ream was so vivid I would never forget it, no matter how much I wanted to.

  I found a parking space, then hustled toward the building, glancing at my phone to check the time. Tardiness was my manager’s pet peeve.

  As I stepped inside I tried to avoid looking at the heads of deer and elk and antelope that stared at me with glassy eyes, but it was impossible. There were too many of them. There was even a full-sized bison in the entrance. If you wandered back further you’d see a moose, a bobcat, any number of small critters displayed in fake habitats, and even a giant grizzly bear.

  Of course Mick’s sold all the usual sports equipment, and we were selling softball stuff and soccer cleats for the spring season like crazy. But in Idaho hunting was king. Guns, camo, and all other hunting-related goods took up half of the store.

  I wasn’t exactly anti-hunting. I even went with my dad once when I was a kid. I still remembered peeking over my shoulder at the buck slumped over in the back of the pick-up. As much as I liked spending time with my dad, I never went again.

  Even though I couldn’t imagine killing a living creature larger than an insect, I understood killing for food. What I couldn’t understand was killing animals for sport, or displaying them as trophies or decorations. I hated having them watch me with their sad eyes as I stood at the register.

  At the back of the store near the break room, my manager Randy watched me with a critical eye as I clocked in. I saw him glance at his watch and gave him a stiff smile and a nod. I was right on time—barely. It probably drove him crazy that he couldn’t reprimand me.

  Randy was one of those managers that reveled in the power of his position, making sure no one took a minute too long for break, but happy to give his good friends the occasional five-finger discount. I’d thought about reporting him, but corporate would probably take his word over mine.

  I only passed a couple of customers as I headed to the front register. They were wandering around, picking up merchandise and peering closely at the price tags. A slow night would give me a chance to relax, but it would give me more time to think, too. Too bad singing in public wasn’t an option for me.

  As I stood at the register, my eyes scanning over the store to check up on the customers, I noticed a hunched-over man with dark, grizzly hair and a shaggy beard, hanging out in the ammunitions section. He wore a big, tattered, camouflage coat and a knit hat, so there wasn’t much showing to suggest he was a person, rather than the perfect place to hide as you waited for an unsuspecting deer to pass.

  He mumbled to himself as he shuffled along, giving the appearance of someone who didn’t have anywhere better to be. I wondered if he was homeless, or just one of those men who hid themselves in a tent in the middle of nowhere as often as possible, preferring hunting in the great outdoors to being in close contact with people.

  “You need help with anything?” My voice carried across the quiet store. If he needed help I’d have to call for Randy to come up, since he didn’t like me to stray far from the register. I hated to call him, since it would just draw attention to whoever was supposed to be on the floor helping customers.

  “Naw.” He picked up a box of bullets and made his way to the register.

  “Awful quiet around here, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Big game,” he muttered. “Uh—the kind with the ball.”

  I chuckled at his joke, even though I was sure football games were the only ones that cleared out all signs of civilization around here. I scanned the heavy box and dropped it in a bag. As I placed it on the counter I noticed his dark eyes, suddenly wide and attentive, were staring at my hand. Pin pricks traveled up my spine as I tried to ignore him, taking the cash he’d already set on the counter. I continued to avoid looking at him as I took his change from the register and tore off his receipt. But with a handful of coins, I finally had to turn back to him.

  I held out the change and receipt. Sure enough, he was still staring.

  “Your change,” I said abruptly, hoping he would get the hint and stop being creepy.

  Instead he took a step closer, his bulbous nose now inches from my wrist. Then his own wrist shot out toward me, nearly touching my face. I jumped back, dropping the change. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing all over the place.

  Suddenly he laughed, a harsh sarcastic sound that was more like a cough. “They got you too, huh?”

  I edged back even further. I didn’t ask what he was talking about, not wanting to encourage conversation.

  “Your wrist. Take a look.” When I stood there gaping he grabbed my wrist, shoving it toward my face to force me to look at it.

  I stumbled back, but he held on tight. It was clear he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I complied with his demand. I focused on my wrist, staring at a small circular mark, slightly purplish in hue.

  “Um—that’s just an old burn scar. I got it ...”

  “You don’t remember where you got it!” he barked, finally letting go of me.

  “Sure I do.” My mind raced. I was eight years old, and I was cooking, wasn’t I? It was hard to think when a crazy person was making me reach under the counter for the Leatherman one of my coworkers had left there. I didn’t stand a chance against this guy, even if I could pull the knife out without him noticing, but I was going to put up a fight if it came to that.

  “Comin’ to you now, is it? It ain’t real. They can make you think anything they like.” He moved closer to me again, urgency in his bulging eyes. “Having trouble remembering anything else?”

  I set my jaw, shaking my head as I squeezed the cold metal in my hand.

  “Do you see its eyes in your sleep? When you’re awake? It’s the eyes that find you,” he said quietly, looking over his shoulder as if he was afraid of being overheard.

  I looked quickly toward the back of the store, wondering how I could attract Randy’s attention. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumbled.

  He shook his head. “Let me give you some advice.” His voice was low and dry. “Don’t do you any good to hide. They’ll come for you, and then they’ll come for you again. They’ll do things to you you won’t be able to forget.” He held up his wrist again. This time I saw the scar, similar to mine, but with bulging lines cutting through it. “Don’t do any good to try to cut it out, either.”

  He grabbed his bag and gave me a lingering look full of pity. Then he walked away, muttering, “Ain’t right. Somebody got to stop them.”

  Chapter 8

  I stared after him, my muscles tight and unmoving, the Leatherman still clenched in my hand.

  “Lexi?” Randy’s voice broke through my trance.

  I blinked, shaking my head to clear it.

  “Yeah?” I carefully slid the Leatherman back under the counter, hoping Randy hadn’t seen it. I was embarrassed I’d let the nut-job get to me, and besides, Randy probably wouldn’t take well to the idea of me stabbing a customer just for being weird.

  “You didn’t give that customer his receipt.”

  I looked down at the counter, where the receipt had fallen along with a couple of pennies.

  “And his change,” he said sternly, eyeing the evidence.

  “I tried,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “He didn’t want it.”

  “Okay,” Randy said, sounding skeptical. “Just remember the rules of good customer service.”

  “The customer is always right?” It was a question. It wasn’t supposed to be. But there was no way this customer was right.

  “Yes, and always give them their change and their receipt,” he said in a snarky tone as he walked away.

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then, my hands still shaky, I bent down to pick up the remaining coins. I put them in the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny jar, then leaned against the counter, placing a cool hand on my forehead.

  I lowered my hand, looking at my wrist, unable to put his words out of my mind. I was sure the scar had always been there, but when he’d asked me about it I’d drawn a b
lank. Then the memory had filled in. It had felt a lot like yesterday morning, when I’d remembered the conversation I’d had with my mom before bed. A painted memory.

  It was just a coincidence that the crazy old guy had a scar in the same place. It was clear he wasn’t around people a whole lot. He obviously didn’t have a great grasp on polite conversation. That or he liked freaking people out.

  Still, I gripped the edge of the counter when I thought about what he’d said about forgetting things, and about the eyes that find you. Goosebumps rose up along my arms. He’d picked the right time to mess with me.

  I pulled myself away from the counter, wandering out onto the floor. If things were slow Randy liked us to tidy up the racks near the register, as long as we didn’t roam far. I needed something, anything, to distract me. I straightened camouflaged jackets on their hangers, and tidied up the boxes of Chapstick and pocket-knife key chains near the register, but my eyes kept wandering to the door, as if I was afraid he’d show up again.

  As much as he’d freaked me out, part of me wanted to see him again. Maybe it was the way he’d looked at me, like for the first time somebody knew what was going on in my head and why. It was kind of a relief to have the things I’d been hiding acknowledged out loud, even though that only meant I was so nuts that other nuts were synching with me. I knew he was crazy, but I wanted answers so badly I had half a mind to track him down and listen to every ridiculous thing he said.

  How had he known about my mixed-up memories? About the eyes I’d seen, even before Micah showed up at school? It was probably just a coincidence, or something like those fortune-tellers who know how to say the right thing to get people worked into a tizzy.

  Then another thought hit me. What if the symptoms I shared with the old man signaled a medical condition? I could have a brain tumor. Or perhaps we both had some kind of dementia as well as our similar scars. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to consult the all-knowing internet. If nothing else, a little research could give me a head start when my mom started sending me to a psychologist.