Say a Little Prayer(50)

When I’d boarded the camp bus last week, it had been with a looming sense of dread. It didn’t matter how many times Julia told me it would be okay or how excited the others were—I was never supposed to come back to Pleasant Hills. I never wanted to stay. But when our team huddles together beneath our base and Julia cries, “You did it! You played a sport!” before tossing my baseball cap into the air, I think this feeling is something I wouldn’t mind getting back.

It’s not until we start heading toward the cafeteria that I realize I’ve completely forgotten about channeling wrath. In fact, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

Before I can dwell too much on the implications, Ben slides up behind me and throws an arm over my shoulders. “Riley! You played a sport!”

I shove him away. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you famously faked bronchitis to get out of running the mile last year?”

That’s fair. At the time, I thought the excuse was brilliant, but now, there’s something like pride lurking beneath my aching muscles. It’s similar to how I feel after a long day of rehearsal or finally nailing a solo, like I’ve really accomplished something great. I grin and reach up to tug on the brim of my hat, stopping only when my fingers close around empty air.

“Oh shoot.” I stumble to a halt. “I think I left Delaney’s hat at the tower.”

Julia glances over her shoulder. “Want us to come with you?”

“No, I’ll be quick. Just save me a seat at your table.”

I break away from the group, making sure to remain just off the path so the counselors don’t notice me turning around. It only takes a few seconds for everyone’s footsteps to fade and the trees to swallow the sound of their retreating voices. Then I’m alone, walking uninhibited beneath a canopy of gently swaying leaves. A warm breeze wafts through the branches, drying the sweat on my forehead. It’s quiet here, almost peaceful, and for a second, it makes me think of dusty church pews and well-worn hymnals. I don’t miss what Pleasant Hills became, but sometimes, in these strange, in-between moments, I miss what it had the potential to be.

The thought shivers down my spine as I duck back into the clearing. Sure enough, there’s my borrowed baseball cap, lying a few feet away. I scoop it up and am just about to leave when a different sound floats toward me from the other side of the tower.

A rough, shaky inhale followed by the distinct sniff of someone crying.

I freeze, a dozen half-remembered folktales flashing across my mind. There are creatures lurking in the Kentucky wilderness. That’s just common sense, and I’m sure there’s at least one who lures unsuspecting girls to their deaths with the sound of tears. Mothman, probably. He’s always seemed a little shifty.

Slowly, hat still clutched in one hand, I peer around the side of the tower. When I finally catch sight of who’s keeping me company, I almost wish it was Mothman. That, at least, would be easier to deal with.

Instead, I find Amanda perched halfway up the wooden steps, legs tucked against her chest as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

I pull back, heart slamming against my rib cage. Either the universe has a twisted sense of humor or I’m cursed with the absolute worst luck known to man. There’s no other explanation for why this keeps happening to me. I’m just debating whether I should hide under the tower until she leaves or retreat into the woods when a twig catches under my heel. It snaps, the sound echoing comically loud around the clearing, and I stumble away from the tower as Amanda’s head whips in my direction.

“Sorry! I’m not…I was just grabbing my hat.”

The excuse sounds unconvincing, even to me. It’s not like I’m spying on her. It’s not like I care, but this is the second time in two days I’ve seen her like this. I’d be lying if I said some deep, twisted part of me wasn’t morbidly curious as to why.

Amanda’s cheeks flood with color. She stands and swipes the back of her hand over her face, but when she straightens, her expression is still frustratingly neutral. “Can I help you with something? Or are you physically incapable of minding your own business?”

So that’s what we’re doing, then? I shrug. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

“Of course.” Amanda flicks a dismissive hand at the trees behind us. “Just go, Riley. I think we’re done here.”

“You don’t own the forest.”

“Neither do you.”

“Then I guess we’re both out of luck.”

I know I’m antagonizing her, pushing as many buttons as I can in the hopes that something will give, but I don’t care. This is what I’ve been craving for months—a moment where it’s just the two of us, where there aren’t any school administrators or counselors to run to. Just her and me and whatever truth I can drag to the surface.

“What is it, then?” I ask, leaning one shoulder against the base of the tower. “What’s wrong?”

Amanda shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Did Jeremy dump you? I always thought he could do better.”

A flash of movement on the stairs—Amanda’s hands curling into fists. “No. He’s not…We’re fine.”

“Are you failing a class, then?” My eyes widen in mock concern. “It’s physics, isn’t it? You know you need four science credits to graduate.”