“What? I thought you liked Tina? Last year, she was all you and your friends talked about.”
“Maybe my friends did, but not me. Girls are silly. All they care about are clothes and makeup and pop stars.”
She laughed. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Trevor bringing home girls anytime soon.
The next forty-five minutes passed quickly, making Nora realize how much she’d missed their mother-and-son talks. Despite Hailey’s constant worry about her brother being what she called a “geek,” Trevor was mature for his age, interested in current events, and easy to converse with. After talking about climate change, Trevor transitioned smoothly to his favorite topic—coding. “What’s the appeal?” she asked.
“It’s sick,” he said.
“I take it that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Solving problems is fun, and when I manage to create something that I think someone else might be able to use, it’s dope.”
“Better than playing video games?”
“Definitely. But in a whole different way. Coding is empowering. Playing video games is mindless fun.”
When Trevor talked so passionately about the thing he loved most, Nora found it difficult to believe he was only thirteen. Hailey was also smart. She just didn’t apply herself. “Here we are,” she said as she made a sharp right onto the long, private, gravelly drive ruined by all the divots and ruts.
“Why haven’t they paved the road?” Trevor held both arms straight out in front of him, his hands grasping onto the console, his body lurching forward and backward.
Small rocks pinged against the underside of her Jeep as she drove. “It’s gotten worse,” Nora said as she slowly weaved her way around the holes. The crooked wooden sign tilting against a tree at the end of the lane was still there. Dad had made the sign after thinking he was so clever with naming the drive “Holy Moly Lane.” It used to make her laugh. Now it wasn’t so funny. How did Mom and Dad get to town every week without ruining their tires?
After a few blind turns thanks to overgrown hedges and thick, wild vines wrapped around trees on both sides of the lane, they finally made it to the house, a two-story wooden structure that still showed signs of grandeur despite the rotted wood around the windows and decaying roof.
Nora’s mom appeared just as she shut off the engine. Trevor unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the car. He rushed over to Grandma and was quickly swallowed in her loving arms. It made Nora sad to think she hadn’t been here in months.
Nora gathered her things and climbed out. She opened the back door to let Tank hop out and stretch his legs, too. “Hi, Mom!” Nora looked at Trevor and pointed at the dog. “Would you help me out and take Tank on a walk so he can do his thing?”
“I’ll make you something to eat when you return,” Grandma called after Trevor as he made his way to the SUV. He grabbed the leash from inside, called Tank to his side, and headed off.
Trevor hadn’t gotten very far up the trail before he heard a rustling of leaves up ahead. When he stopped to listen, he heard only the short, high-pitched chirping of a bird. Tank was busy smelling the trunk of a large pine and didn’t appear to notice anything unusual. It irked Trevor to know he was thirteen now and still jumped at every tiny noise. At school, he was known by the teachers as the “sensitive” kid. Kids called him a scaredy-cat. And they were right. He didn’t have many friends because of it. Whenever he used to spend the night at a friend’s house, he would wake up shivering and scared, and Mom would have to come pick him up. It happened twice before he started making excuses as to why he couldn’t go to sleepovers. Although he didn’t like being afraid of the dark and every little noise—and now water, too—he didn’t mind spending time alone. If possible, he would never leave his room. He loved coding and playing video games. He was fine being a loner.
Tank lifted his head suddenly, his ears perking up. And then he took off up the hill, through tall trees, pulling so hard, Trevor lost his grip on the leash. “Tank!” he called out. “Come back here!”
He ran after Tank, worried that he couldn’t see him any longer. Bears had been sighted in the area before, and he knew for a fact that they were faster than dogs. Trevor was nearly out of breath by the time he reached the top of the hill. If Tank hadn’t started barking, he might not have found him so easily. Tank had made his way up and over a steep slope and was now at the edge of the lake, his nose in the dirt. Just seeing his dog that close to the water’s edge made his insides quiver. The same way some people felt if they stood at the top of a steep cliff.
Tank ignored him when he called. Trevor dug his foot into the dirt to test its sturdiness, then zigzagged his way down the hill. He stopped a few feet away from the water’s edge, afraid to get too close. “Tank! Get over here!”
“Your dog just scared away a California condor before I could take a picture.”
Trevor jumped at the sound of the voice. He looked around, left to right, unable to see who had spoken.
Laughter rumbled from behind him. “I’m right here.”
Trevor pivoted quickly on his feet and spotted a girl sitting inside an old paddleboat situated on a flat bit of land between a tree and a boulder. It was cracked in places and half-covered in thick brush. His hand rested on his chest over his heart as he tried to catch his breath and his wits.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the girl said.
He drew in a breath. Tried to calm his racing heart. “It’s okay. Sorry about the condor.”
“I was kidding. If I spotted a California condor and could prove it, I’d be all over the local news.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows in question.
“They’re one of the rarest and most imperiled birds in the world. Look it up.”
Trevor didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but he would probably google it later. The girl looked older than he was. How much older, he wasn’t sure. Maybe just a couple of years. She let go of the binoculars hanging around her neck and began scribbling in a notebook.
“Does that paddleboat work?” he asked.
She kept writing as she spoke. “No idea. It’s been here for as long as I can remember. I keep meaning to test it out.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Journaling.”
Tank had moved toward the bushes close to the girl and was sniffing around. She reached out and gave Tank a pat. Most people were afraid of Tank because of his size.
“Writing about birds?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She stopped writing and lifted her chin, clearly exasperated. “I’m documenting key points about my observations.”
“Homework?”
“Nope. Just for fun.” She was writing again. “Watching birds and keeping track of what I see when I go on walks connects me with nature and gives me a better sense of the world and the people in it. You should try it.”
Trevor wondered how watching birds could do all that. After spending an hour with a bunch of adults yesterday at the barbecue, he felt a lot of tension among the group. It had been obvious that their neighbor Stacy had a problem with Jane. Their other neighbor Laura worried the whole time about her kids, even though most of them were right there in front of her. And then there was Mom and Dad. He wasn’t used to seeing them act so weird—stiff and uncomfortable. Even his own sister had been weird . . . trying to act like she was twenty-one instead of fifteen. He didn’t understand people.