“What, from climbing a hill?”
Church doesn’t respond. They get into their sleeping bags and whisper for half an hour about the outdoor soccer season about to start. I hadn’t even realized the indoor season was over—Mom and Dad just told me when I needed to take them to practice or pick them up. I didn’t know how they’d done. Were there any tournaments? Trophies?
After a long stretch of silence, Sully says, “So did you really try out for the spring musical?”
Church doesn’t respond for a second. “Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have made it about Macy Garrison.”
“It—it’s not?”
“No.”
“Oh. But you’re not going to try out for choir?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?” Just the smallest bit of mocking enters Sully’s tone.
“Because Ilikeit,” Church snaps back. “We don’t have to do all the same things. Try out for mathletes or something. You like math. You’d be good at it.”
“Mathletes is for nerds.”
“Sull, there’s something you should know.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Youarea nerd.”
“I’m not a nerd.Eliza’sa nerd.”
“Actually, I think Eliza’s a geek. I’ve seen her grades. Compared to us, she’s horrible at school.”
“You’re a nerd for knowing the difference.”
“That’s fine.”
Sully makes no sound, but I can feel him fuming in the darkness. I didn’t know Church could get under Sully’s skin so easily. I didn’t know Sully liked math. I didn’t know either of them were that good at school. I didn’t know Church already knew he was good at singing ... or that he was interested in musical theater.
I’ve been living with them their whole lives, but until right now, they’ve felt like strangers.
I let my eyes flutter open for only a moment. I lie facing Church; he stares back at me. I close my eyes again. Pretend I saw nothing. Pretend I’m still asleep.
Sully brings up soccer again, trying to revive the conversation, but Church stops responding. Then Sully stops too, and rolls over with a grunt. The tent goes quiet. I wish I had a bowl of hard-boiled eggs. My fingers long for my phone, my computer, my pen, mysomething. There is so much nothing out here I can’t fathom it. Nothing but dirt and campfire smell and s’mores made with stalegraham crackers. Nothing but my brothers, who suddenly look much less like twins.
I don’t sleep well that night.
In all likelihood, my phone would’ve died before the end of the camping trip. That doesn’t make tromping through the backwoods any easier. On the first day we hike over some fairly impressive hills, because Indiana couldn’t manage a mountain or two. I nearly choke on my own spasming lung. Sully and Church make fun of me. On the morning of the second day we visit a few caves, and at least Mom and Dad let me opt out of those—no way will you get me inside somewhere so tight and dark and confined. I don’t care if they’re not actually going spelunking, I’ve seen enough horror movies to know what kind of backward urban legends hang out in caves.
I sit outside the cave and draw Amity and Damien in the dirt with a stick. Neither ofthemhad parents around to tell them what to do or where to go. Someone asked me that once, actually, why so many of the characters don’t have parents. Amity was separated from her family. Faren was an orphan of Nocturne Island. Damien’s and Rory’s parents both died in their early teens. Not all of them were horrible people, either—it wasn’t like I was taking out some subconscious aggression on my own parents. They were just absent.
I don’t know why. Maybe itwassomething subconscious.
Of course it was. All art is subconscious.
I dig the end of the stick too hard into the dirt, and the tip breaks off. I chuck it across the clearing and find a new one.
