“Wewilldo it,” Reyva corrected. “Perseverance, not perkiness.”
Climbing over the boulders that littered the shore, Claire searched for the perfect spot: flat and shielded from the wind. Away from the trapdoor and the burned-down house, out of the woods, and with a task to do, she felt a bit calmer.
All we have to do is light this fire, she thought.Tackle one problem at a time. Don’t borrow future problems.It was the closest she could manage to Reyva’s parents’ motivational posters. It was good advice. Just because she’d never followed it before didn’t mean this couldn’t be the first time.
Locating a viable site, Claire called the others over. “How about here?”
Three weather-beaten boulders framed a patch of sand and pebbles. Assuming the wind didn’t change direction radically, the rocks would act as a buffer.
“I’ll fill the toolbox with water,” Mariana volunteered.
“I’ll find sticks,” Reyva said.
Kneeling, Claire retrieved the unused wad of tinder, made of Mariana’s cotton balls and bark, and began to build a pyramid of twigs over it. Every few seconds, she glanced up at the woods. Had it been a squirrel or the wind, or was someone out there? She felt as if there were dozens of eyes staring out at them.
Trying to shake the feeling, she picked up a rock and examined it. It was gray, flecked with mica, and hard—you know, a rock. “Anyone know what flint looks like?”
“When you mine a block of gravel inMinecraft, there’s a ten percent chance it will drop flint,” Reyva said. “And when you hit a rock with a sledgehammer inZelda, it can give you flint, rock salt, or a precious stone.”
“Did not picture you as a gamer,” Mariana said.
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Strike flint with a blade, and you get a spark,” Claire said. But she had no idea if any of these rocks were close enough to the hardness of flint to work. She’d never paid attention to types of rocks. She could distinguish sedimentary from metamorphic and igneous, thanks to eighth-grade earth science, but that was about it.
“Actually only play at friends’ houses,” Reyva said. As an explanation: “Parents.”
“Ah, got it,” Mariana said. “Mine think any indoor activity that isn’t homework is likely to cause a fatal vitamin D deficiency. Don’t even get them started on the evils of TV. That’s part of why I started working on cars—the garage counts asoutside. Held my first wrench at age three, or so the family story goes. Apparently no one realized, or cared, that a steel tool was not an age-appropriate toy.”
“Mine...” Reyva seemed on the verge of continuing, but settled on just: “Yeah. Parents.”
Eyeing her, Claire wondered what she wasn’t saying.
She wanted to ask, but she didn’t dare. They might ask whatshewas keeping locked up tight. Instead, Claire chose a rock at random and took out her Swiss Army knife. It wasn’t one of those knives with a million attachments plus a tiny food processor. Just two blades on opposite ends, a short one and a long one. Over her tinder bundle, she hit the rock with the longer blade.
It didn’t spark.
She examined the knife. The rock had scuffed the edge, but it looked okay. She tried again.
“What if you strike faster?” Mariana suggested.
Claire noticed that both Reyva and Mariana had come closer to watch her. She felt a bit like she was onstage, about to perform a magic act that she hadn’t practiced.All that’s missing is me in my underwear, and this would be a classic nightmare, she thought. Granted, her typical nightmare tended to be less about embarrassment and more about dismemberment, but still... She wasn’t immune to the fear. She remembered a teacher in elementary school once insisting she stand at the front of the classroom for an oral report on... what was it? The life cycle? She’d spent entirely too long on the decomposers and was dubbed Worm Girl for the rest of class. She’d hid in the bathroom for lunch thatday, but thankfully the nickname had been forgotten by the final bell. It was funny, the things you remembered when you were busy trying not to die.
She tried again with the rock, striking harder.
“Let me try,” Reyva said.
Claire passed the rock and knife to Reyva.
Leaning over the tinder, Reyva struck the rock hard. And then again. And again. Each time, Claire held her breath. Once, she thought she saw a spark—but no, it was just the glint of the blade, catching a bit of stray daylight from between the clouds.
Mariana gathered firewood, adding to Reyva’s pile.
“Maybe a different kind of rock?” Casting around, Claire found a mottled rock with pink splotches. “Here, try this one.”
Reyva tried and failed.
“How about this one?” She gave her a grayer rock with a rough edge, not yet worn by the lake. Reyva took it and began striking it just as hard.
