The Distance Between Lost and Found (17 page)

Her voice breaks. She has to swallow past a lump in her throat.

“I know Luke's not a good guy. I know what he did isn't my fault. It's his. But still, none of it would've happened if I hadn't gone to his room.”

She's almost there. Almost done. Almost heard. Something deep inside her hurts like it hasn't hurt in a long time. But she knows that this gash had to reopen in order to heal. That's how wounds work. They need air.

“I knew I'd get punished, and I did. My parents grounded me. I was put on youth group probation. But I honestly thought Luke's lies would just fade away if I kept a low profile. There's always gossip about someone. This time it was me.”

It's not like she was the first person in the history of their youth group to break curfew on a retreat. She wasn't even the first one to get caught. To get lectured and punished. But to get caught with Luke, in his hotel room, looking like she did—and with her having been one of the “good girls” up until that point—it was like the perfect storm.

Luke didn't get off scot-free. Not that he got in trouble for inviting her over, for pushing her too far, for lying. But he did get a slap on the wrist for letting her into his room, unchaperoned, after curfew. She wonders sometimes if her life would be easier if he hadn't gotten punished at all. Maybe he'd feel less inclined to punish her in return.

“Luke is
still
telling people about what supposedly happened that night,” Hallelujah says. “And he makes fun of me. All the time. What I look like, what I say, my name. And he does this thing at church: whenever we sing a hymn with my name in it, he sings it like he's hooking up with me. He sings the word ‘hallelujah'
at
me. He
moans
it. And I hate it.” That's one of the reasons she stopped singing: his voice, his fake grunts of satisfaction, ruining the music she loved so much.

“You said,” she says to Jonah, “he wanted to keep me upset. To keep me from telling anyone what really happened. Well, it worked.” She pauses. “Until now.”

“Until now,” Rachel repeats. Then she curses. “I can't believe him. I can't believe he got away with it.”

“I let him get away with it,” Hallelujah says softly.

“No. He's the one who crossed the line. And okay, maybe you could've spoken up sooner. But if no one pushed you for your side of the story, that's on them.” Rachel yawns and stretches. “And when we get home, we're going to set the record straight.”

A cloud passes over the moon, changing the light. The fire crackles and burns, sending shadows dancing on the ground. An owl calls out,
Who, who?
from a nearby tree. Another owl answers.

Rachel said
we
.

Hallelujah doesn't want to think too much about telling this story again—telling her parents, Rich, her former friends, or anyone, really. But she'll have to, for it to end.

And Rachel said
we
.

“Thanks,” she says. “For listening.”

“Thanks for trusting us,” Rachel murmurs. Her eyelids are drooping now. “We're gonna fix this. I promise.”

Hallelujah just nods.

After a few minutes, Rachel falls asleep. Hallelujah can hear her breathing, slow and even. She can
feel
her breathing, her chest rising and falling under Hallelujah's arm.

In the silence, Hallelujah realizes that Jonah hasn't said a word since confirming that Luke kicked him and Brad out of their hotel room. He has his eyes closed, but he's definitely not sleeping. His mouth is tight. He's breathing deeply too, but it's on purpose. And when he opens his eyes to see Hallelujah looking at him, he gets up abruptly. He adds more wood to their fire. He paces a circle around their camp.

Then he says, in that low, dangerous voice Hallelujah heard for the first time at the party three nights ago, “I'm gonna kill him.” He circles the campfire again.

A part of Hallelujah feels a little thrill at Jonah's anger. That he's this worked up on her behalf. The other part of her—a bigger part—doesn't like seeing him like this. She says, not because she believes it but because she wants to calm him down, “It's okay.”

“It's not okay,” Jonah says, but he stops pacing. He looks at her, and then at his fists. “Right. I won't kill him. But it would feel really good to punch him in the face.” And then it's like the anger drains out of him. He shakes his head. He pops his knuckles, slowly, one by one. He returns to Hallelujah and Rachel and wraps himself around Rachel's body, but his eyes are on Hallelujah. He looks at her. She looks back.

“I
HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING
.” J
ONAH SPREADS HIS
jacket over the three of them. Hallelujah tucks the sleeve under her body. It's like they're being held together. Embraced.

“I—” He takes a deep breath. “I really liked you. The whole time you liked Luke, I . . . I liked you. I was even going to ask you to ride on the ski lift with me in the fall, but Luke told me you'd already asked him.”

Hallelujah is genuinely surprised. “He asked me.”

“I know that now. I didn't know it then. And you didn't exactly look like you minded riding with him. Kissing him. And then when we walked in on you two—uh—making out—”

“We were
not
making out,” Hallelujah cuts in. “I mean, not any more . . .”

“Right. But like I said, I didn't know that. You were practically on top of him, and you looked like—and Luke said it was all your idea, and you didn't say anything, not then and not after—” He breaks off. Picks up again. “I didn't like thinking about you doing something like that. I was mad. I wanted it to be me. That's why I didn't stand up for you. I liked you,” Jonah repeats, “and I didn't want to still like you, because—”

“Because I was a slut?” Hallelujah asks quietly. Even quiet, the word is harsh. It cuts the night. “Or because I was a slut with someone else?”

“Both, honestly.” Jonah keeps his eyes on hers. “Don't look at me like that. Do you want me to lie?”

“No,” she says after a moment. “No more lies.”

Jonah nods, slowly. “Then I have to tell you something else. Just in case we don't make it home.”

Hallelujah's stomach lurches. “What?”

Jonah breaks eye contact. He studies the top of Rachel's head. “I never stopped liking you,” he mumbles. “I tried. I really did. I thought by ignoring you, by staying mad at you, I could make it go away. But I couldn't. So when Luke told me the truth on Monday, the first thing I thought was,
I missed my chance, she's different now
, and—” Now he looks at her. Right at her. “I helped do that to you, to someone I liked, and I have to carry that around—”

Rachel stirs, murmurs something, shifts in her sleep. Hallelujah adjusts the jacket over her back, just to have something to do that isn't stare at Jonah.

“Say something?” he asks.

She flounders. “You like me?” She's sure it's the night that's making him say this. The honest and open night, with its never-ending black sky and wind-swirling treetops and sense of danger just out of sight and earshot, in every direction. It made Rachel admit she doesn't feel God, doesn't believe there's anything there. It made Hallelujah tell Jonah and Rachel what really happened with Luke.

And now, Jonah, who looks hopeful despite everything, but not hopeful for the things they all need—not hopeful for rescue, or food, or warmth. Hopeful for her.

If they'd been found by those rescue hikers earlier, if there actually were rescue hikers out there, or if the helicopter had seen them, they might never have had this conversation. She might never have known how he felt. How he feels. That thought makes her sad.

She was liked. Is liked. In that way.

He's still watching her. Waiting for her to say more. Guilt and hope flicker across his features like the shadows from their fire, light and dark. And she can't help but notice that he's good-looking.
Cute
isn't right; the shadows and moonlight make his face look contoured, mature, a man's face rather than a boy's. His biceps bulge where he's hugging Rachel's small body to keep her warm and protect her.

A flicker of a second: Hallelujah imagines his arms hugging her instead.

Her heart is a traitor. But she kind of doesn't care. Not in this moment. Not under this moon.

Still, she's not sure how to respond. “I didn't know. And this . . . it's a lot to process. I have to think.” It comes out harsher-sounding than she means it to, so she repeats, more softly, “I just have to think.”

Jonah clears his throat. “Okay.” He sounds disappointed. “We should, um, go to sleep.” He's ending the conversation. He's closing that door.

Somewhere not so deep inside her, she hopes it's just closed, not locked.

But the suggestion of sleep is enough to make her yawn. She curls up into Rachel's body, under Jonah's jacket, sharing the warmth. She nods off, into a dream world that's dark and insect-buzzing.

She remembers her first kiss. It was sixth grade. With Ryan Lane, youngest son of her parents' oldest friends. In her backyard, on a cool, almost-winter evening. Their parents inside. She didn't like Ryan, not really, but they both wanted to get their first kiss over with. They agreed, after the fact, not to try again
.

She remembers other kisses. Just a few. Shared after an early-evening movie date, before her dad showed up to drive her home. Stolen during the eighth-grade graduation dance when the chaperones' backs were turned. It wasn't that those kisses were bad. Or that she didn't like the boys she kissed. She just didn't feel a spark
.

She remembers, will always remember, kissing Luke Willis. Their first touch of lips, in the air over the mountains with only the glittering landscape as witness—it feels crystallized in amber. She wants to feel that caught-in-amber perfection again. Not with Luke. Never with Luke. But with someone
.

H
ALLELUJAH WAKES TO THE SOUND OF WHOOPING AND
cheering. It startles her. Where is she? Who's yelling? Why is she looking up at trees?

The whooping becomes her name, loud and jubilant: “Hallie! Hallie!”

She struggles to sit up. She's so tired. Her head hurts. Her ankle hurts. Her stomach gapes.

“What's he yelling about?” Rachel moans.

“I don't know.”

“Is it a helicopter?”

“No.” The only sounds are the creek and the birds and the wind.

“Then tell him to shut up.” Rachel throws one arm over her eyes.

Hallelujah struggles to stand. She stretches. Squints. The sun is bright and cheerful. The air is crisp and clean.

“Hallie!” Jonah calls again. He's standing in the creek a little ways down. He's waving one arm in the air. He's soaking wet. “Hallie!”

“What?” Hallelujah yells. She takes an experimental step, and her ankle gives beneath her. She gasps, but manages to stay upright. “What is it?” she calls. She can see that he's holding something. Something shiny. Something . . . that's moving.

All at once, she knows.

A fish.

Jonah is holding a fish.

It's not as good as rescue, but it's close.

“Backpack!” he yells.

Hallelujah grabs his bag. Unzips it and empties it. Holds it in the air.

“Rachel?” Jonah asks.

Hallelujah looks down at Rachel. She thinks about last night. Rachel's small, shivering body. She's not going
near
the creek today. “I'll come!” she yells back.

The fish wriggles out of Jonah's grasp, but he manages to catch it again, scrambling. “Are you sure?” he calls, clutching the fish to his chest.

Hallelujah takes another halting step. She hops on her good foot. She tests her injured ankle again. This time, it holds her up. But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. She thinks:
Fish
.
Fish
. She hobbles closer.

When she reaches Jonah, she has to sit down and catch her breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes worried.

“I'm okay. What do you need?”

Now Jonah beams. He looks proud. And excited. “Open the bag.”

She holds the backpack open and Jonah sloshes over to her. He deposits the squirming fish inside and she zips the bag up fast. It flops around in her arms.

She is holding a backpack with a live fish in it. She laughs out loud. Jonah grins like a maniac, and then turns his back to her and wades out to the middle of the creek. He stares intently at the surface of the water and then plunges in. He comes up empty-handed, and immediately dives in the opposite direction. This time, he surfaces with another wriggling fish.

“Open the bag, open the bag, open the bag!” he says, bounding through the thigh-deep water. She does. He dumps the second fish inside, and she zips it closed.

“I didn't know you could do that!” Hallelujah calls out as Jonah splashes away from her again.