* * *
As Beck and I stand up from the café tables where we were watching the video, every one of my muscles tenses up. Neck, back, hips, shoulders, even my fingers seem to revert to a stiff and unwieldy form of themselves. I stumble through the first few steps back toward the campground before finally getting the fluid running through my muscles. Clouds have covered every inch of the sky, turning what should be the afternoon into a false evening. Even the mechanic shop with Beck’s car seems more ominous as we pass it on our walk back.
It’s three blocks to the welcome center. A five- to maybe ten-minute walk.
But the walk itself reminds me, strangely enough, of those old documentaries from middle school about human ancestors. I’d never thought about it much before, but they really were just forced to walk through vast, open lands where creatures with big teeth and big claws prowled around them, nothing but some animal skin clothing and a tiny spear as protection. Did they think about how easy it’d be for those teeth to sink into the delicate skin around their throats? Or is that something the human brain only developed after we were protected by swords and chainmail and stone homes?
The pocketknife Beck gave me bounces in my backpack, but I can’t feel it with all the other stuff in my pack. I want to stop us and pull it out to have it closer to me, but Beck is walking normally and I don’t want to get her paranoid too.
Signs flip toCLOSEDon storefronts as we walk down the sidewalk. The sun’s hidden by the clouds, yet the streetlights haven’t turned on yet. I have to squint to make out the details around us as my retinas fail under the strange light we do have.
And much like the night we arrived, it’s eerily quiet as we reachthe end of the first block and wait at the stoplight. I swallow. Only two more blocks and we’ll be at the welcome center.
“You okay?” Beck asks.
I exhale. “I’ve watched too many movies.”
“Would it help if I talk to you?”
Beck’s hand brushes against mine, sending a jolt through my heart. But it ghosts away as quickly as it hits me. “Yes, please.”
Someone in a hoodie stands on the other side of the street. They face the same way we’re facing, one foot off the curb. We accidentally make eye contact. I practically throw out my neck looking ahead again. The pedestrian sign for the crosswalk between us signals us to walk.
Beck continues, “I want you to know the rumor that I crashed my car in some outburst of teenage behavioral issues is one hundred percent false. I crashed my car when I misjudged a median on Moorpark and hit a planter.”
Despite myself, a rasp of a laugh escapes me.
“However,” Beck continues. “Iwaskicked off the volleyball team and will repeat senior year. That was because of destructive behaviors.”
“Are you—?” I start to say.
But the wordokaydisappears as the figure suddenly turns their body toward us and walks across the street. The four-lane main street feels a few inches wide.
They make it across the street and linger a few feet behind us. As sweat forms on my palms, I regret not having given their face a better look.
The light isn’t white yet to walk. But there aren’t any cars in sight. Is it worth the risk, though?
And then, suddenly, the figure is closer. Close enough that the hairs on the back of my neck spring up.
Their hand is within the invisible forcefield of my consciousness. On its way to physical touch.
The light isn’t white forwalk, but I start walking forward anyway.
“Shit, Emma,” Beck says before joining me in jaywalking.
We make it to the other side of the street safely. That should be the end of it. I force a breath like it is.
“That person got too close,” I say, leaning into Beck to speak.
Beck glances back, turning back to me quickly. “Are they following us?”
I don’t know. We’ve walked so fast there’s enough distance between us and the figure that I can’t make out their face. I put a hand to my chest. We’re okay. It was just a coincidence. One and a half blocks until we’re at the visitors’ center. We just have to keep moving forward.
“I’m sorry about senior year,” I say, winding us back to our conversation.
We pick up our pace ever so slightly, heading toward stoplight number two. But shit, this block is long. The streetlights still haven’t turned on in the dark.
“It’s okay. Beats my parents’ original plan to send me to rehab.”
