She let another arrow fly. It landed on the outer edge of the first gold ring. She grinned.
‘Whoa,’ Carl said. ‘I’m going to start calling you Katniss.’
He grinned at her and held his palm out for a high five. I could see Frankie squirming with embarrassment, but she high-fived him back.
‘Keep going, Katniss,’ he said. Again I saw Frankie cringe at the reference to the character. She’d loved The Hunger Games books and movies, but I guessed it was one of those things she’d outgrown, that wasn’t cool any more. It was impossible to keep up.
Frankie released arrow after arrow. I watched her. The concentration. The way the bow quickly came to seem like an extension of her arm; her eye unwavering as she fixed it on the target.
Within minutes, she was hitting the gold, again and again.
‘Wow,’ said Carl, genuinely impressed. ‘You’re a natural.’
‘Thanks.’
Frankie kept going, and Carl was about to move to the next pair of novices, but I stopped him. Casually, I said, ‘Did you grow up around here?’
‘Yep. Beautiful part of the world, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
I figured he was about the same age as Nikki from the bookstore.
‘I heard about—’
‘You’re going to ask me if I remember what happened in ’99, aren’t you?’ I clearly wasn’t the first person to bring it up. ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want to talk about the rumours either.’
‘Which rumours?’
Frankie was oblivious, firing arrows at the target.
‘If you haven’t heard them, I’m not going to help spread them,’ he said, clearly annoyed.
‘Are you talking about Everett Miller still living somewhere in these woods?’
He turned to face me. ‘You came all the way from England because of what happened here?’
‘No. I—’
He didn’t let me finish. ‘Look around you. These beautiful woods. The lake. Smell that clean air. This place is special enough as it is. It’s not a freaking theme park for ghouls.’
‘But I’m not a dark tourist.’
‘Whatever.’ He took a last glance at Frankie, said, ‘Keep it up, Katniss’， then walked away.
Chapter 8
Frankie couldn’t find her Hydro Flask anywhere and her dad was going to kill her.
She remembered the conversation they’d had when she’d first asked for it. Her mum had already said no, so she’d FaceTimed him and casually mentioned that there was this bottle she really wanted.
‘A water flask?’ he had said. ‘Sure. Send me the link.’
Frankie had done just that and braced herself for his reaction.
‘Wait. Fifty dollars for a water bottle?’
‘It’s not just a bottle. It’s better than a bottle. And this one’s limited edition.’ It was aquamarine, wide mouth, with a straw lid. All the girls at school had them, but none as awesome as this. Frankie was certain that owning this bottle would improve her social status by about 200 per cent.
A week-long back and forth of messages had ensued, about how much Frankie needed one, how essential it was, with her dad offering terrible off-brand alternatives. Finally, finally, when Frankie had achieved top grades in her exams, he’d surrendered and since then Frankie had taken it with her almost everywhere. Of course, it hadn’t made her popular at school – though she’d seen a few girls eyeing it enviously – but she loved it as an object in its own right.
And now she couldn’t find it.
It didn’t make sense. She honestly just about never let it out of her sight. The last time she remembered having it was when she and Ryan had walked into Penance yesterday. Then this morning, before the archery class – which had been surprisingly fun – she’d looked for it but couldn’t find it. Now, back at the cabin, she racked her brain, trying to recall when she last saw it. She was certain she’d brought it back to the cabin with her yesterday, after having lunch with Ryan and his parents. Hadn’t she?
Her belly had a hard, cold lump inside it.
She loved that flask and she had promised her dad she would always look after it. She wasn’t like some of her friends, who didn’t care about breaking their phones or losing stuff because they knew their parents would replace it with barely a moan. She prided herself on looking after her things. But where the hell was it?
‘Hey,’ she called. ‘I’m going out.’