But instead, Mariana released Claire’s hand and said in a bright, chipper voice, “Reyva, you have a favorite food? Anything special a relative makes for you?”
“My parents defied their families in every way except food. They make only family recipes, mostly curries. Lots of chickpeas and lentils.”
“Favorite?” Mariana persisted.
“Not chickpeas and lentils.”
Mariana laughed, softly so the sound wouldn’t carry through the night.
Beside her, Claire heard Reyva rustle as she shifted positions. “I have one granola bar left,” Reyva said. “Split it or save it?”
“Split,” Claire voted. Maybe if her stomach wasn’t so empty, she’d be able to sleep. Also, they had to keep up their strength, especially if they were going to be running from wild men and dead-eyed hunters.
That was, she decided, the most disturbing thing about the man with the gun: the emptiness in his eyes. Well, that and the gun.
Reyva broke the bar into thirds.
Chewing on her share, Claire listened to the sounds of the forest at night: the crickets, the crunch and crackle of night animals moving through the dead leaves, the wind through the branches. She wished she had water to wash it down. Her mouth felt as dry as if she were chewing chalk. When she finished, she lay down again.
She listened to the others breathe. Counted their breaths, then counted the cricket chirps. At a hundred, she started over.
“You were right,” Reyva said after they’d been silent for a while.
“Who was right about what?” Mariana asked.
“You about me.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“But I don’t have to like it.”
Claire smiled in the darkness.
The crickets were a steady song. She listened to them, letting the thrum-like chirp soothe her. It reminded her of the ambient music that Mom liked in the background while she worked. She’d encouraged Claire to listen to it too, especially when she felt stressed. Claire had resented being told what to listen to, but she had to admit that it did help. Especially now. She was fairly certain than if any armed man or other predator came tromping through the underbrush, the crickets would stop.
Beneath the song of the crickets, Mariana said softly, “If we’re truly bonding, then I should tell you... I’m a liar.”
The crickets chirped.
“What?” Reyva said.
“I don’t live in California,” Mariana said. Her voice was dull, almost too quiet to hear. “Not anymore. We picked up and moved in February. To Indiana. Away from my cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. All my friends. My school. I was three-quarters of the way through junior year when I had to start over. Would have been president of yearbook next year. And Pride Club. And Math Team. Instead, I had to come out all over again, to complete strangers who didn’t care because by junior year, every friend group has calcified. Fun times.”
It was bad enough to go to school every day without any close friends. At least everyone at Claire’s high school was familiar. She would’ve hated to have to start over. She imagined walking in new midyear and shuddered. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you move?” Reyva asked.
“That’s the kicker,” Mariana said. “We had to, because Dadscrewed up. At work. He borrowed... No, hetookmoney that wasn’t his. Said it was just a mistake. But he stole it. Because he wanted to impress people. Because he thought we needed it. Because having it fit his self-image better. Stupid reasons. But it doesn’t matter why. He stole it.” Her voice broke.
She’s crying, Claire thought. She couldn’t see Mariana’s face in the darkness, but she could hear it in her voice. She reached out her hand and took Mariana’s again.
This time, Mariana didn’t let go.
“He could have been arrested,” Mariana said. “But they didn’t press charges. It was in all the papers, though. Everyone knew. And so, my parents decided it would be better if we moved. They never asked me. They didn’t care how it affected me, to uproot and leave everything and everyone. And Dad... he said he did it for us, for me. So I could have things like the shell of a ’55 Corvette. As if I’d rather that than a life at home with all our family and all my friends.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. She knew what it was like to love parents who thought they were doing the right thing but kept making everything worse. You loved them, even when they messed up, but sometimes that made everything else harder.
“He sucks,” Reyva said succinctly.
