The question felt almost inevitable. It had been carving its path toward her since they saw that tent, like the river finding its twisted way through the swamp and flowing out to the basin, relentless inits own course. But the shock of it still caused Marlowe to stagger. Her hand tightened around the handle, and then she let go, turning all the way around to see Ben and Ariel, their chins raised, more engaged than they’d been at any point before.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Ariel and Ben waited. It was going to hurt to say the name, but she forced her mouth to form the sounds.
“Nora Miller,” Marlowe said, finally. “She lived up the road.”
“And you were close?” Ariel pressed.
“We were best friends.”
FIVE
THE LOFT
Friday, October 21, 1994
They cracked the tops on their cans of Sprite. The sound echoed loudly through the old barn, and Nora’s soda fizzed over. She giggled and jerked back, trying to avoid getting it all over herself.
“Shhhhhh.” Marlowe was stifling her own giggles. “They’llhearyou.”
“Don’t worry,” Nora said, drying the can with a handful of hay and leaning back against a bale so her straight yellow hair fanned out over her shoulders. “The coast is clear. Tom drove off in the truck, and Leroy and Dave are out mending the fence in the cow field today.”
“Right, I knew that,” Marlowe said. It was her first weekend back in the country since the start of seventh grade in September—one of the longest stretches she’d been away—and she was out of sync with the rhythm of the place.
They were up in the hayloft of the Gallagher barn, across the road from the Gray House. Marlowe and Nora knew every nook and cranny of the loft. They had claimed it as their secret spot at the beginning of summer and had been sneaking up the ladder for months now. They’d gotten so good at it that they could each climb the ladder one-handed, gripping a blanket or cans of soda andsnacks in the other. It wasn’t a comfortable place. The air was musty, often making Nora’s blue eyes turn red and itchy. Plus, the hay was scratchy and impossible to sit on while wearing shorts.
But it was secret. A hidden place of their own. Nora and Marlowe liked to climb over the wall of hay and perch in a little room they had made for themselves by shifting and stacking the square bales. They’d spent countless hours whispering up there, away from the prying ears of Marlowe’s brothers.
As a bonus, the loft made a great place to spy on people. If the girls hovered around the opening that looked down into the stables for long enough, they would inevitably see a Gallagher brother pass below. Sometimes the girls made cooing sounds as if they were birds, and once or twice a Gallagher paused and looked up, too slow to catch the girls pulling away from the trapdoor, stifling their laughter.
Once they had watched silently from above as Nate and Henry snuck into the barn to use the knife sharpener, a heavy ceramic wheel located against the far wall, next to a row of old pitchforks and rakes. Ever since helping the Gallagher brothers with baling the hay, Nate considered himself the expert on farm equipment. With a pompous air, Nate pulled a kitchen knife out of his pocket and passed it to Henry before sitting down on the rusted seat, pressing his foot against the pedal, and forcing the creaking gears into motion. Henry gripped the knife and held it against the wheel as Nate pumped. The girls, lying on their bellies with only their faces peering over the ledge, were unimpressed, until a burst of red sparks flew upward, and they instinctively pulled back into the protection of their secret hay-bale room. They were careful never to get caught by the farmers or Marlowe’s brothers. They knew the moment Nate and Henry found out about the hideaway, it would stop being fun.
Marlowe inhaled the muted scent of cow manure in the barn and relaxed next to Nora, their legs folded before them, knees lightly touching through the thick denim of their jeans. Marlowe glanced over at her friend and felt a familiar surge of joy. How many middle school girls could say they had a best friend, arealbest friend?
They’d been best friends since they were five years old, when Marlowe’s dad took her down the road to meet the neighbors. Nora had plummeted out of a tree right in front of Marlowe, giving her a grin that showed off a missing tooth. It seemed unfair that they didn’t attend the same school, but Marlowe had been coming up to the Gray House almost every weekend since her father bought the place, and the girls were inseparable whenever they were together.
“Did you already have Ag Day at school?” Marlowe asked.
“Oh God, it was so dumb this year. The Future Farmers of America kids got new jackets and were showing them off,” Nora scoffed. “And everyone at school had to make these crazy creatures out of gourds—like little vegetable monsters—and put them on display to be judged.”
“Sounds kinda fun.” Ag Day took up a whole weekend, and Marlowe’s family had gone the year before. Marlowe found the endless rows of pumpkins and the cow shows endearing, but she understood Nora was too used to it. “Did you get a ribbon this year?”
“No, but you would have won for sure, with all your art skills.”
Marlowe shook her head. “Not really my style.”
“Like I said, it was dumb. I wish I went to school in the city with you. It’ssoboring here.”
“I wish we went to the same school too.” The gleaming wood floors and ancient austere desks of Marlowe’s Manhattan private school flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t picture Nora in the plaid skirt and blazer. Nora belonged here, in her baggy jeansand oversized crewneck sweaters, having adventures. “But the city isn’t what you think it is. This isourplace. It’s more fun here.”
Nora finished her soda and flattened the can under her foot. She pushed her hair back out of her face, and Marlowe momentarily wondered if she wasn’t going to agree.
“I guess you’re right,” Nora said, swiveling around to face Marlowe as she pulled two silver tubes out of her pocket. “I almost forgot to tell you—I got these from a girl in my homeroom.”
Marlowe gasped in excitement when she saw the mascara and lip gloss. Her own mother would have confiscated the makeup, but Nora’s parents never cared.
“Let’s test it.” Nora handed the mascara to Marlowe and unscrewed the shimmering gloss. “Another thing,” Nora continued, “this really cute boy joined the baseball team this year. His name is Sean.Allthe girls are going to watch the games now.”
