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Damn that Lauren Sterling.
She’s making my defect worse. And now I don’t know how I’ll get through the hours until the end of practice when I can shift and stalk her again. Find out what in the hell is so wrong that she had to miss a day of school and fuck me over like this.
Lauren
The trouble with having a twin is that they’re always up in your business.
Especially today–the anniversary of our mom’s death.
We’re all feeling like fragile freaking flowers in the Sterling household on account of the date. Lincoln and I both stayed home from school in a show of solidarity with our dad. Now that I’ve been inside all day doing absolutely nothing, I’m regretting that choice.
I don’t want to announce that I need time alone, though. It feels selfish.
Lincoln and my dad would both worry about me if I did.
So, after dinner, I slip out the back door without saying anything to either of them, hoping it takes Lincoln longer than ten minutes to realize I’m gone.
Our new house is gigantic compared to what we had back in New York. It’s a mansion built into the side of a foothill. I’m still not used to the terrain. The browns and tans. The rocks and dust. The sauna-like Arizona heat.
It’s September, and the days are still in three digits. I guess global warming has hit Arizona with a vengeance. I can’t take much more. I unbutton and tie the bottom edges of my short-sleeved linen shirt into a knot at my belly.
I walk up the side of the mountain, not following any path. The yucca scrapes my calves. Dirt and gravel slip into my Vans, which I, unfortunately, am wearing without socks.
The sun is just starting to set, bathing the mountainside in hues of orange and yellow. The white spines on the cacti take on an iridescent glow.
When I get to the crest of the hill, I look down at the house, then at Wolf Ridge beyond it.
Weird freaking town.
But Wolf Ridge and its unfriendly inhabitants aren’t worth my thoughts tonight.
I hike across the mesa, so I can keep climbing up. I’m not a hiker–not like our mom. I don’t normally head out to commune with the saguaros at sunset.
But she did. She loved Arizona because her mother did. Something to do with a formative trip to the Grand Canyon after my grandmother graduated from Sarah Lawrence. And so today, I’m going to try to find the magic they both felt here.
I’m desperate to connect with my mom. To feel something. Anything—grief. Mourning. Loneliness. Something beyond the numbness.
I climb the ridge. There’s no trail to follow. I should probably be afraid of getting lost out here, but I’m not. I guess I’m tempting fate right now.
Give me something to fear.
Make it real.
Show me I’m still alive and care about living.
It’s not that I’m suicidal like my dad.
That would require me to actually care about this life. I don’t.
I can’t make myself care about anything.
After a half-hour’s hike, I come up to a ledge where the rock drops 40 feet to a canyon below.
In the trees to my right, I think I catch movement, but when I look, nothing is there. I remember the wolf that tried to attack me through my window. I’ve had this feeling for weeks that there’s something there. Like I’m being stalked.
My dad is afraid the wolf is rabid. He keeps calling the Fish and Game Department asking if they’ve killed it yet.
A niggling of guilt runs through me. I’m not afraid of a wolf attack, but if something did happen to me out here on the anniversary of Mom’s death, it would kill my dad and Lincoln.
