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“So you just felt like picking me up for school?” That was something new.
“Nope.” She rolled down the window, the morning breeze blowing her hair into curls. Today, it was just the wind.
“You got something better in mind?”
Her whole face lit up. “Now how could there be anything better than spending a day like this at Stonewall Jackson High?” She was happy. As she turned the wheel, I noticed her hand. No ink. No number. No birthday. She wasn’t worried about anything, not today.
120. I knew it, as if it was written in invisible ink on my own hand. One hundred and twenty days until it, whatever Macon and Amma were so afraid of, happened.
I looked out the window as we turned onto Route 9, wishing she could stay like this for just a little bit longer. I closed my eyes, running through the playbook in my mind. Pick ’n’ Roll. Picket Fences. Down the Lane. Full Court Press.
By the time we made it to Summerville, I knew where we were headed. There was only one place kids like us went in Summerville, if it wasn’t the last three rows of the Cineplex.
The hearse rolled through the dust behind the water tower at the edge of the field. “Parking? We’re parking? At the water tower? Now?” Link would never believe this.
The engine died. Our windows were down, everything was quiet, and the breeze blew into her window and out mine.
Isn’t this what people do around here?
Yeah, no. Not people like us. Not in the middle of a school day.
For once, can’t we be them? Do we always have to be us?
I like being us.
She unclicked her seatbelt and I unclicked mine, pulling her onto my lap. I could feel her, warm and happy, spreading through me.
So this is what parking is like?
She giggled, reaching over to push my hair out of my eyes.
“What’s that?” I grabbed her right arm. It was dangling from her wrist, the bracelet Amma had given Macon, last night in the swamp. My stomach clenched, and I knew Lena’s mood was about to change. I had to tell her.
“My uncle gave it to me.”
“Take it off.” I turned the string around her wrist, looking for the knot.
“What?” Her smile faded. “What are you talking about?”
“Take it off.”
“Why?” She pulled her arm away from me.
“Something happened last night.”
“What happened?”
“After I got home, I followed Amma out to Wader’s Creek, where she lives. She snuck out of our house in the middle of the night to meet someone in the swamp.”
“Who?”
“Your uncle.”
“What were they doing out there?” Her face had turned a chalky white, and I could tell the parking part of the day was over.
“They were talking about you, about us. And the locket.”
Now she was paying attention. “What about the locket?”
