The Dig (11 page)

Then it jumps onto the first stone.

With a scream, I lunge for the next step. I‘m making them as fast as I can, but I can‘t break them and make them at the same time, so I try to make them skinny enough to slow down the dog‘s pursuit. It‘s a nerve-racking chase and all I can think of as I‘m staggering across the canyon is, Not like this. I will not go out chased by a dog. And then I‘m two stones away from the other side of the chasm, and once I‘m safely there, I can smash the remaining stones to bits and the dog will fall into the nothingness.

I summon the final hovering stone step and hop onto it with triumph, knowing that I‘m close enough to steady land to finally make it. Only I failed to consider that the dog can jump much farther than I can, and with horror I see it lunge from the step and straight for me. It‘s in the air, all teeth and claws extended, ready to slam me onto the other side and tear me in half.

Instinctively I turn away, covering my head with my arms to protect myself from the lunging beast. My eyes are squeezed tight and my breathing has stopped.

So this is how I die.

Crack!

I feel a blast of heat blaze past me, and when I open my eyes, the dog is yelping, as if it‘s been sucker punched, and tumbling down into the abyss, away, away.

But the problem is, so are the stone steps.

As I start to fall, I snatch out wildly and just manage to grab on to an exposed tree root. My feet are dangling into nothingness, and across the chasm the other dogs have receded because they know they have won. I can‘t hold on to this root forever and my backpack is too heavy and my mind is thwarted by the obliterating fear that any second I will lose my grip. I can‘t focus to use my powers; all I can do is gaze down in horror, seeing nothing, seeing my life, everything I did and everything I didn‘t do…And I should have been looking up, because when I do, I see it there, waiting to save me.

A hand.

I grab it and he lifts me up easily. It‘s a swift and serene reemergence, like coming up from the water after a dive. As I hunch to catch my breath, I feel that same hand squeezing my shoulder, a gentle and deliberate touch that feels like home.

―Curly,‖ he says. ―I‘m going to ask you one more time. You want some company?‖

He‘s even cuter than I remembered, my Blondie, and it‘s the easiest and truest word I‘ve ever said in my life: ―Yes.‖

It begins with me telling one lie after another. When he asks how I made it across the chasm, I tell him there was a bridge that collapsed. When he asks why I fled the cantina, I tell him I felt sick to my stomach. When he asks where I spent the night, I tell him I went home to my parents. And that‘s a double lie that sits particularly badly in my gut. The worst part is that he seems to believe all of it, and the best part is that he doesn‘t ask me if I‘m a goddess, which tells me that the waitress must have refrained from saying anything. Thank you, weird spider waitress.

We‘re on different planets, Blondie and I, because he gets to tell the truth. He tells me that he figured I took off and went hunting and then went home. He tells me that he stayed in the cantina because he loves that kind of debate. He says that he‘s been bored with his friends and that it‘s always refreshing to go to the woods and hang out around the creatures that live such a different life.

I‘m forced to lie and he‘s allowed to be truthful and it doesn‘t seem fair, but then again, it might be for the best. After all, CeeCee says that the best relationships always start with a little secrecy, that you don‘t have to reveal everything in the beginning. To this day, for instance, she won‘t tell me exactly what happened last April when she was involved—I think—with the class mute, Anton Baird. Literally, he doesn‘t speak. Ever. Anyway, all I know is this: CeeCee and Anton, who also never tweets or Facebooks, were alone in the infirmary for a day. She had chicken pox. He had…something.

In the week that followed, CeeCee turned into Anton 2.0. She didn‘t talk.

Or tweet. Or Facebook. And then, for no apparent reason, she returned to normal CeeCee.

She won‘t ever talk about Anton or what happened. Part of me thinks that they were in love, even if only for a few days, even if they didn‘t say a word to each other, that they forged some bond in their silent time together.

Of course, it‘s not easy to tell stories to Blondie. I can‘t say that I‘m in school, so when he asks what Greeley is, I have to say that it‘s a village.

Naturally, I can‘t mention Twitter or Facebook, so I put them both under the ―village meeting‖ umbrella. And in this way, talking to Blondie is an exciting exercise, like ice-skating on a frozen pond. Sure, an indoor man-made rink is smoother, but on a pond, you have to have your wits about you and avoid the cracks and natural bumps on the surface.

―Let me ask you something, Curly.‖ Oh, yes. Those are officially our names now, Curly and Blondie. Every time he calls me Curly, I smile, even though there‘s nothing cute or sexy about the name. No girl wants to be a Stooge.

―Go right ahead, Blondie.‖

―Does CeeCee care a lot about what other people think?‖

―Why do you ask?‖

―Well…‖ I love the way he says ―well.‖ He‘s like my sophomore English teacher, Mr.

Blake, the best listener I‘ve ever known. His ―well‖ isn‘t like the

―well‖ I‘ve heard from so many other people. It‘s an actual well, deep and full of freshwater and space where his thoughts percolate and float.

Oh lord, Zoe. Cool it already. Just listen to him and stop making lame metaphors!

―Maybe she found herself caring about what Anton thought of her.

Maybe, sitting there with him, away from her friends, she suddenly wanted his approval.‖

―You mean maybe she liked him?‖

―Is that how you feel when you‘re interested in someone?‖

―I don‘t know,‖ I say. ―I‘m never really interested in anyone.‖ He trips and stumbles on a rock. I‘m relieved. So he‘s not perfect.

―Well, maybe she wanted Anton to like her,‖ I say.

―Do you think he did?‖

―I don‘t see how he could, really. I don‘t think she knows what most of the words in his essays even mean.‖

―Essays?‖ he says.

I‘ve slipped up. ―Sorry,‖ I say. ―Local vernacular, um, we talk funny in my village. Kind of, you know, a whole little language that‘s just for us.

Anyway, I feel bad bashing CeeCee. She really is a good person underneath it all.‖

―You‘re not bashing her. You just can‘t relate to her. Believe me, I know the difference.‖

I look at him. He raises his eyebrows. Every time he‘s about to share something personal, he shies away.

―So it happens with you?‖ I ask encouragingly.

He shrugs. ―Around here—well, not right here, but where I live—

people are ridiculous about keeping tabs on each other. Judging people, prying into their lives. It‘s like everyone‘s life is their business, like…‖ I smile. ―Like all people care about is the social network?‖ He makes two fists and bends toward me. ―Yes! That‘s exactly what I‘m talking about, the social network. Nice.‖ Don‘t get cocky, Zoe. Any girl from the future would have whipped out that phrase.

―Well, it‘s like that where I live too,‖ I say. ―Half the time, you can‘t tell if anyone does anything because they want to or because they want other people to know that they did it. People just aren‘t genuine. And it gets to a point where you can‘t get mad at them for it because you know that most of them, they‘ve lost sight of their own motivations. They don‘t know whether or not they really, truly believe in what they do. They just know that they want people to know what they do.‖

―Wow,‖ he says. ―Are you sure you‘re not from around here?‖ We laugh and fall into one of our lulls. The lulls are as enjoyable as the conversations. We move easily together somehow, as if we‘re joined but we‘re not. We‘re not even holding hands.

A spasm of worry flurries through me: What if Ancient Greece is as bad as Greeley? But that‘s not possible. After all, there‘s no boy like Blondie at Greeley. So already this place is nothing like Greeley. Then again, Blondie seems to feel as alienated as I do.

―Hey, are you thirsty?‖ he asks.

―Yes.‖

He leads the way to a brook and we sit down together and for a moment we just listen to the water roll over the rocks. My cowlick blows over my eyes and I‘d forgotten I even have a cowlick.

Around Blondie, I feel so put together, as if every little molecule and follicle is in its place.

―So,‖ he says, and immediately I have a bad feeling. ―I think I know why you left me back at the cantina.‖

I nod. Oh god! I‘m sweating and I‘m scared and my voice vanishes.

I want to run and I want to stay and I want to disappear and I want to confess and I want to go back to twenty seconds ago when we were pretending I never ran out on him. But instead I just push the cowlick out of my eyes and try to sound surprised. ―I told you, my stomach.‖

―Maybe,‖ he says, so gently that I might crack. ―Or maybe you thought I was being obnoxious, sticking my nose where it doesn‘t belong.‖ Relief washes over me. ―Not at all. You were so right. I mean, if you didn‘t speak up, they would have started a huge brawl.‖

―It‘s okay if you think I was wrong,‖ he says. Okay, it‘s official, he is
the
cutest boy of all time. ―See, my friends think I come on a little strong sometimes.‖

―Well, I don‘t think so. I think you come on just right.‖ Oh no. Did I really say something that dorky? I beg you, cheeks, please, please don‘t blush. I will
pay
you not to turn red. I will give you millions of dollars if we‘re ever back in the land of American currency.

He picks at the grass. I can‘t tell whether he‘s bashful or bored. He doesn‘t look at me.

―Thanks, Curly.‖

And now there‘s nothing to say and I‘m worried I screwed it all up. If CeeCee were bearing witness to this disaster, she‘d go into
Sex and the City
mode and say that he likes the opinionated Miranda type of girl, and that I‘m being way too Charlotte with my pleasant platitudes. But I can‘t be myself because to be myself would be to reveal myself and to reveal myself would be to endanger myself. But if I‘m not myself, there‘s no way he‘ll stay interested in me…and if he does stay interested in me when I‘m acting all blasé and evasive, then I won‘t stay into
him
because I‘ll know that he likes Charlottes—and if there‘s one thing I know even though I never watched the show that much, it‘s that I am not a Charlotte!

For the zillionth time,
breathe
, Zoe. Breathe. And girl up already and change the subject.

―So what exactly is going on with your friends?‖ He sighs and says, ―I dunno. I guess I just need to get away sometimes.‖ I can‘t think of a clever comeback and I‘m not allowed to tell him that I want to know when he lost his first tooth and what his best friend‘s middle name is and every other irrelevant detail about him. Tell me everything, Blondie. Every single thing.

―Well,‖ he says. ―I notice you didn‘t get involved back there.‖

―In the cantina?‖

―You just stayed out of it.‖

―I‘m not really a bar-brawl kind of girl.‖

―No? You seem like you could get a little feisty. If you had to,‖ he says, smiling.

―Well then, you‘d better hope I don‘t have to.‖ He laughs and tilts his head. Does he know how cute he looks when he does that? ―You‘re hysterical, Curly.‖

―Well,‖ I say, ―lately I‘ve sort of had to have a sense of humor about things.‖

―You want to tell me why?‖

I tuck my hair behind my ear and shake my head and look down at the water. I wish Creusa would appear out of nowhere. I need a friend. I don‘t know what to do. And then I realize that if Creusa were here, she would start bowing and fluttering and Blondie would know who I was.

―So if you hung out with your friends today, what would you be doing?‖ I ask.

―The usual, I guess.‖

I nod. He clearly doesn‘t want to talk about his friends. Does that mean he doesn‘t want me to meet them? Is he embarrassed of me? ―What‘s ‗the usual‘?‖

But he studies me and he‘s not going to answer my question, is he?

Does he know? No. He couldn‘t know. Here it comes. ―Can I ask you something?‖

I nod. I swallow.

―How did you cross the chasm?‖

My heart skips. I know people say that happens, but in all seriousness, my heart skips.

―I told you. There was a bridge. And it, you know, it collapsed. Right before you got there.‖

He looks at the water and I look down at my formerly white pants.

The more time we spend together, the harder it is to lie. I don‘t want to lie anymore. I want to tell him the truth, but I can‘t. I want to tell him about school, about my aunt and uncle, about my parents‘ accident, about the dig and how I got here. But I can‘t. I don‘t understand how I can feel close to him when 99 percent of what I‘ve told him is untrue. And that‘s why I have to leave him.

There‘s just no other way, because no matter how cute and smart and fun to talk to he is, I‘m in the Kocaba forest and I‘m not supposed to trust a stranger.

―So,‖ he says. ―You said you were headed to the Oracle.‖

―Do you want to join me?‖ I blurt out.

‖Yes,‖ he says.

We walk in silence for a bit, and it occurs to me that I know I‘m quiet because I don‘t want to tell more lies. But why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

Something inside me knows that I‘ll understand soon, but it won‘t be all that soon. We‘re only just getting started.

When we arrive at the Oracle‘s palace at the foot of Mount Olympus, we just stand there for a moment and take it in, the open windows and the doves that float from sill to sill.

―Well,‖ he begins. ―Shall we?‖

I shake my head no. ―I‘m going in alone.‖

―Why can‘t I go with you?‖

―You just can‘t.‖

―But I can help you.‖

―No,‖ I say. I have to get out of here before I start to become really aware that going to the Oracle means leaving Blondie—forever. ―I have to go. I just do, Blondie. But I‘ll be right back.‖

It‘s the worst lie that I‘ve told. But if the Oracle asks me about my powers, I can‘t reveal them with Blondie watching. Lies really are a trap, more so than I ever realized.