Page 58 of Within These County Lines

He wears a red ringer T-shirt, jean shorts that cut high above his knees, and dirty Converse sneakers. A white lollipop stick juts out from between his blue-shaded lips. My stomach flutters. I squash my hand against my abdomen, trying to calm the unexpected commotion inside me.

“In all my ten years of invisibility, I never thought to sneak into government buildings,” he says, inspecting the ceiling. “Another first for us. If we don’t solve our problems this summer, I should totally break into Area 51 in the fall.”

I huff out a laugh, but it comes out breathier than I intend. His voice, his smirk, his jokes. It’s unfair. He doesn’t even have to try to be cool.

He taps the side of his head. “Also, why do you always wear those things in your ears?”

I rub my fingers over my buds, then shrug. “I listen to live music.”

“By who?”

“Anyone. Loud stuff. I like when the crowds chant.”

“Why?” He bites his lollipop.

“It makes me feel like I’m somewhere other than Penango.”

“You know, I’ve been on stage at the Coachella and Lollapalooza music festivals.”

“No way.” I gasp. “Being invisible has its perks. I bet that was amazing.”

“It would’ve been even better with someone else.” He flicks the lollipop stick into the trash. “What’s been your favorite concert?”

I press the elevator button. “I’ve never gone to one.”

“What?” He drops his chin. “We need to change that.” His eyes float to the ceiling, mulling over a thought.

We do. But there are other things we need to change first.

When we reach the archives department, the same old man in the same beige cardigan leans over the same gigantic book. I wonder if he’s even turned the page since my last visit.

He looks up from his magnifying glass. “Hello again, young man,” he says with a faint smile.

“Hi,” I say. “You remember me?”

He nods. “Of course. Not many people pay a visit to the archives department. Especially during the summer months. It can get rather lonely down here in the basement.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re here, then.”

“What can I help you with today? Another pool?”

“No, actually. My friend and I are interested in a tree. The Ardor Tree, to be specific. Do you know about it?”

He winks. “Everyone in Penango does. My wife and I are on there—Stillwell Trail High School class of 1973.”

“Great!” I nearly shout. “Can you take us to those files?”

“Yes, it would be under the parks and preservation department.” He points to his left. “But would you like me to wait until your friend arrives to show you?”

The blood drains from my face.

I turn to Xander. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his jaw tight as he crunches down on a fingernail. My heart aches. I just reminded him, again, that he’s nobody to the rest of the world. This must never feel good, even after a decade.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely audible.

He forces a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he says softly.

But I don’t believe him.