Logan unloaded her pile of artwork with a scowl. “I hope I forget Snakebite when I leave.”
“Fair enough.” Brandon was quiet. “Sometimes I wish I could forget it, too.”
The gift shop front door rang. Logan stood on her toes to see over the shelves. A group of kids around her age wandered into the store, laughter following them from outside. It was three girls and two boys, all clad in summer dresses and cargo shorts and sunglasses, shoulders sun-kissed, hair damp with what Logan assumed was lake water. They weren’t like the kids from LA, but a sharp pang of longing still struck Logan at the sight of them.
Next to her, Brandon’s expression darkened.
“Someone you know?” Logan joked.
“We should probably buy these and get home.”
The group of teens rounded the nearest shelf, each of them idly touching items without really considering them like wandering through this store was just a standard part of their day. Logan couldn’t blame them—on her brief trip through Snakebite’s “downtown,” she hadn’t seen a single thing for kids her age to do for fun.
A boy at the front of the group paused when he spotted Brandon. Sunlight filtered through the dusty store shelves, streaking the boy’s pale face sickly yellow. His lips twisted into a grimace.
“They multiplied,” the boy said. He motioned to Logan, unnervingly square jaw clenched. “What’re you doing here?”
Logan looked to Brandon for an explanation, but Brandon only stared. He adjusted his glasses, then turned like he meant to leave.
“Hey,” the boy said again. “I asked what you’re doing here.”
The other teens gathered around the boy were silent. Logan recognized them from the vigil the day she’d arrived. This was the same group of kids who’d stared at her and Alejo like they thought their glares could kill. Logan began to understand Brandon’s quick retreat, but she wasn’t one to run away.
“We’re shopping,” Logan said. “What’s your problem?”
The boy’s glare shifted from Brandon to Logan. “My problem is this guy shows up here and my friend goes missing. I wanna know why.”
Maybe she’d spoken too soon on the pitchforks. Logan looked to the front of the shop for backup, but the woman behind the register only watched the argument unfold with vague interest, like it was a bit of theater on a slow afternoon. Truck engines stammered outside, voices trickled in through a crack in the door, and Snakebite carried on. No one was coming to their defense.
“How about you mind your own business?” Logan snapped. She adjusted her art prints under her arm, but she didn’t budge.
The boy at the front of the group took a step forward.
Before he could say anything, another of the teens slipped in front of him. Her bright blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, cheeks dappled with freckles, eyes unnervingly wide. She’d been standing at the edge of the cemetery on the day of the funeral; Logan recognized her same blue-eyed stare, like the girl was trying to pull her apart.
“We don’t want a fight,” the girl said, voice obnoxiously appeasing. “Why don’t you two just go?”
“Who’re you supposed to be?” Logan asked.
“Stop.” Brandon put a hand on Logan’s shoulder like he meant to quiet her. He wasn’t focused on the group of kids harassing them. His stop was meant for her, not the bullies. In classic Brandon form, he was already on the run, retreating from the situation like he retreated from everything else.
“Why should we have to leave?” Logan asked. “We’re not—”
“Logan,” Brandon warned. His lips made a tight frown. He looked at the blond girl and said, “We’re going.”