When I walk through the front door, Mom is in the kitchen chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. That's never a good sign.
"Hey," I say, dropping my backpack on a chair. "Everything okay?"
Mom looks up, her dark hair falling out of its messy bun. She forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Fine. Just prepping dinner. How was school?"
"Fine." I grab an apple from the fruit bowl. "So, there's apparently some bonfire tomorrow night. Everyone from school is going."
The knife in Mom's hand stills. "The full moon bonfire?"
"Yeah. Is that a big deal or something?"
She resumes chopping, but slower now, more deliberate."It's just a Stone Mountain tradition."
"So you knew about it?" I take a bite of my apple, watching her carefully. "It sounds like fun."
"I grew up here, remember?" Mom says, her voice tight. "Of course I know about the bonfires."
"Great, so I can go?"
Mom sets the knife down and turns to face me fully. "I don't think that's a good idea, Maya."
I blink, surprised by her reaction. "Why not? It's a school function. Everyone's going."
"Not everyone needs to do what everyone else is doing." She turns back to her vegetables, scraping them into a pot with more force than necessary.
"Mom, come on. I'm new here. I'm trying to make friends, fit in. Isn't that what you wanted when we moved here?"
Her shoulders tense. "We moved here because it was the right decision for both of us after..." She trails off, but I know she means after Dad died.
"I know," I say softly. "But now that we're here, don't you want me to be part of things?"
"There are other ways to be part of things besides attending some bonfire in the woods." Her tone has an edge I rarely hear.
"What's the real problem here?" I ask, setting my half-eaten apple on the counter. "It's just a bonfire."
Mom wipes her hands on a dishtowel and faces me again. There's something in her expression I can't quite read, worry, yes, but something else too. Fear? "Stone Mountain has traditions that go back generations. The full moon bonfires are part of that. I just don't think you're ready."
"Ready for what? It's not like it's some crazy ritual sacrifice or something." I laugh, but Mom doesn't even smile.
"Maya," she says, her voice low and serious. "There are things about this town, about these people..."
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Bolton:You should come.
I look up at Mom, whose eyes are now fixed on my phone. “It’s Bolton,” I say.
Her hands still on the dish towel. “Bolton?”
“Sharpe,” I answer.
Mom goes quiet—too quiet. Then she turns slowly to face me, her expression hard to read. “I know the Sharpes.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
She nods once, carefully. “I told you, I grew up here. Their family’s been on this mountain for generations.”
“You say that like it’s a warning.”
“It is.”
