Beware the Wild (5 page)

From her desk, Mrs. Gwaltney reminds us to turn in our books if we haven't and threatens the wrath of every writer from Thomas Malory to Mark Twain if we don't. It's the sort of joke she can only make at the end of the year, even then only a few of us paid enough attention to find the humor of it.

Finally free, Candy, Abigail, and I join the rush of bodies sweeping along the hall to the cafeteria.

“How'd you do, Beale?” Candy calls across my nose.

“None of your business,” Abigail says, uninterested in competition off the volleyball court.

Walking next to her, I always feel a good two feet shorter than I am in reality. She's looming and serene with the hundreds of dark braids coiled on top of her head, adding a touch of regality. When Candy talks about beauty, Abigail's the person I think of. Put her next to her sharper twin, Valerie, and they're deadly gorgeous.

Candy scoffs. “Everything is my business,” but she doesn't press. Precedent is against her strong-arming Abigail into anything.

The cafeteria is a long room lined with windows that face the football field, which stands between the school and the swamp. The walls are yellow, the floor a tightly checkered pattern of maroon and black and years and years of grease.

Lenora May is already here, seated at a table full of senior girls. I search their faces for any sign of discomfort at her presence, but I should know by now that I'll find none. Lenora May and the other girls move and talk in the rhythm of old friends. Her curls bounce while she laughs. Ketchup hangs from the little cluster of fries in her fingertips, and I hope with all my might that it'll splatter the front of her dress. She notices, dabs it lightly on her plate, and eats.

“Buying today?” Candy tugs me in the direction of the grease and canned veggies
line.

The sight of Lenora May has killed any appetite I might have dredged up during finals. I pat my backpack. “I've got mine. I'll get a table.”

“Whatever.” She stops short of calling my bluff and leaves to catch Abigail.

The crowd is a smothering riot of laughter and anticipation of summer. I find myself enraged by how easily they accept Lenora May as one of them. Would Candy and Abigail so quickly relinquish memories of me?

This sparks an idea in me.

With a student body barely large enough to support the typical gamut of sports teams, it doesn't take long to figure out who your friends and enemies are. And in a place like this, you're either one or the other. In Phin's case, there are more of the latter thanks to his fists-first philosophy of conflict management, but he wasn't without allies.

Scanning the room, I find Cody Hays sitting at a table by the vending machines for those who prefer sugar to grease for lunch. He's been Phin's best friend since I can remember. If there's a chance anyone else in this entire town might remember Phin, surely it's him. I have to try.

Cody sits in the perfect center of his table, which will make this awkward no matter how I do it. I stop at the far end and push my hands into my pockets. Keeping my eyes steady on his face I say, “Hey, Cody.”

“Hey, Sterling,” he says with a grin, leaning back a little. All heads at the table turn toward me. I can't help but remember the two million times he's teased me about my pale legs while Phin smacked the back of his head—we all knew his teasing was an excuse to look. Beside him, his girlfriend, Samantha, narrows her eyes.

“What's up?” he prompts.

A weight heavy enough to stop me from speaking settles on my chest. Pushing my words past it makes their ends waver. “I wanted to know if you've heard from Phin.”

There's a pause and, in a burst of hope, I think he's the one who will finally remember my brother. But then—

“What are you talking about? Who, now?”

“Your best friend? My brother? Phineas? You've been helping him rebuild his Chevelle all year?” His shrug pulls my throat tight. “He disappeared into the swamp yesterday when you were supposed to go to the track, remember?” My mouth is hot and my hands cold, but I keep going. Last chance. If Cody doesn't remember . . . “He loaned you thirty bucks two weeks ago because you said you needed gas money, but really it was because you thought Samantha was preg—”

“Hey!” The near-mention of Samantha's scare has him on his feet. Samantha's
cheeks go red and she smacks his arm. “I give, okay. I
really
don't know who you're talking about. I wish I did,” he says with a nervous glance toward Samantha, who's looking fit to be tied. “I'm sorry,” he adds, but it's more for Samantha.

My tears are too fast for me. The first one is falling down my cheek before I can stop it.

“You have to believe me,” I say, pleading. “The swamp took Phin and I just need someone to give a damn!”

Cody looks stunned, like I've called his mama a whore. He opens his mouth, but it's Candy who speaks.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks, inserting herself between me and the table. “Why don't we grab a Coke and sit for a minute?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. I should do as she says, but frustration is a waterfall and I'm already plummeting.

“No! Candy, you have to remember Phin. You had a crush on him in sixth grade. He's always in trouble, but he's stupid smart. He's planning to leave in the fall because he got that scholarship to Tulane and I've been mad at him for months. The swamp took him, Candy. The swamp took him away, it took his whole life away. Don't look at me like that. I'm not crazy. You know I'm not.”

“Yeah, I know that, but honestly, Saucier, you're sounding a little crazy right now. Let's—”

“Candy, please!” Tears get in the way. “You have to believe me. Just say you believe me.”

Candy looks away. I can't bear her silence. As students gawk, I head straight for the doors.

The little courtyard is full of noon sun that pulls the AC right off of my skin. I keep moving, slashing at the tears that fill my eyes. We're not supposed to leave the campus, but no one's around to enforce it the last week of school and I move easily through the courtyard, out the rear doors, past the teacher parking lot, and around the bleachers. I keep going until I'm on the far side of the football field, running right into the pines and all the way to where the swamp fence curls around on this side of things.

My breath catches painfully in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on trapping my tears there, but they push through my lids and slide, hot as sunlight, down my cheeks.

Phineas is gone. He's not in any of the places he should be and the whole world acts as if it's fine and dandy for Lenora May to be here instead.
Am I crazy?
I think, and panic smacks my heart into skipping a step.

No
, I decide, twisting the bracelet on my wrist.
Phin is as real as I am
.

I slam my open palm against the fence. “Give him back! I swear on my life I won't let you have him!” I cry, and slap the plank again.

I've bruised my wrist bone by hitting the bracelet against the fence. I study the piece of silver, the blooming red beneath it. I wonder if Phin really believed it would keep me safe.

Long minutes pass until somewhere far behind me, the first warning bell trills. The sound calls to mind the chatter of friends, the smell of lunch lurking in the air, and a hollow feeling in my guts.

I let the walk up the hill take as long as I dare. Inside, the hallways are crowded and anxious. Too many eyes follow as I pass. Not only does news travel fast in this school, but I probably couldn't have picked a better time to have a spaz attack or a better person to have it on. Even people who've never bothered to notice me take the chance to get in a good leer.

I'm trying so hard not to notice everyone noticing me that I don't hear the person calling my name as I walk into trig. I only stop because he pulls on my shoulder. Lightly and just once. His hands are already in the pockets of his faded jeans when I turn.

“Sterling Saucier,” he says again. It sounds like an invocation and I think if he knew my middle name, he'd have included that, too.

“Heath Durham,” I answer. One corner of his mouth twitches, a feint at a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

We've shared a number of classes in the past two years. In fact, near the end of ninth grade, there was a moment when I thought we were heading toward a first date. Heath wasn't a talker, but when he did talk, the words we shared were sweet and supplemented with notes of the flirting variety.

And then he shut up.

For about three weeks, I cursed his name, but by the time sophomore year started, he'd taken a turn for the stoic and unattainable. Drugs are the popular theory, which only serves to make him that much more appealing to most. Not me. I've avoided him like death all year. Yet, I can't deny there's something about the cut of his honey-gold hair and the uneven slope of his shoulders that makes my mouth hunt for a smile.

“I heard about your—um—conversation with Cody,” he says, and I stop him right there.

“It wasn't anything, okay? A mistake and frankly, none of your business.” I'm more than a little irritated that the time he decides to break his stupor and talk to me again, it's to take a cheap shot at the girl who's losing it.

I turn so fast my hip slams into a desk hard enough to tip it. It crashes to the ground in cacophonous glory. Any eyes that weren't already on Heath and me surely are now.

“Sorry,” Heath says loudly so everyone can hear. “I can be such a klutz.”

I can recognize a kindness even when I'd rather not.

“It's okay,” I say, turning to face him as he rights the desk. “And thanks.”

His nod is barely visible, a quick wink of movement.

The room begins to fill around us. The imminent exam has siphoned their attention from the crazy girl. Now they frantically review equations and rules, rapidly quizzing each other. I should be doing the same, but Heath catches my hand and pulls me as far from the crowd as we can go. Dusty afternoon light warms my shoulders. But it's something else that makes my cheeks heat when he bends to speak in my ear.

“I believe you,” he says, his breath stirring my hair.

“What?” I don't want to jump to conclusions, but hope is a weedy thing.

Just as close, he adds, “About the swamp.”

I lean away enough to see his face. His eyes are tired but earnest.

“You believe me,” I repeat because I want it to be true.

“Can I drive you home?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer without bothering to think about it.

His brassy eyes brighten. “Okay. Meet me by the magnolia tree after school.”

“Yeah,” I say again.

Candy is full of significant glances when I sit down. Thankfully, there's no time to talk before the exams are passed around. And extra thankfully, this is trig and I can work most of it in my sleep, which is good because there are only three words in my head right now and they're the best I think I've ever heard:
I believe you
.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I
N
S
TICKS
,
THERE AREN
'
T MANY
people who actually need to drive to school. Regardless, the student parking lot is a boiling pot of alternately pristine and peeling chrome. Heath stands in the shade of the tall magnolia at the edge of the lot with his hands in his pockets, studying the ground with a steady gaze. He's oblivious to the ruckus around him as students tumble toward freedom. One boy gives Heath's arm a friendly punch as he passes. Even that gets little reaction. Just one slow nod of acknowledgment.

I contemplate the drug rumors.

I consider the talk that must be going around about me after today.

“Hey,” I say, stepping from the sidewalk to the grass.

His eyes are glassy when he looks up, a statue coming to life. “This way.”

Heath's truck is one more hand-me-down Ford lost in a sea of trucks. Green and cleaner on the outside than most, he hasn't made any attempt to fancy it up the way others have. No tacky license plate frame, no fake balls swinging from the hitch, no fancy rims on the tires. The only thing resembling decoration is a faded decal of the sun plastered perfectly in the middle of the rear windows.

Inside, the cabin smells vaguely of leather and lemons. The floors are lost beneath homework assignments, crushed soda cans, and the summer AP Literature reading list. Baseball caps, maps, and food wrappers cover the dash. I have to slide
Fahrenheit 451
and a seriously abused iPod out of the passenger side to make room for myself. I try not to notice the B's and C's on the papers at my feet. If they were mine, I'd have burned them, but they'd never have been mine.

Heath heaves his bag into the little space behind the seats. It lands on a duffel bag and a baseball bat, and I remember that he's big into baseball. A pitcher, and not a bad
one. Before our year of silence, I used to go to the games with Candy and Abigail and watch how calm and sure he was at the center of all that tension.