I had a flash of a memory, Ant falling asleep at our school’s symposium this past winter and accidentally making a moaning noise. He’d tried to cough to cover it, but those of us sitting nearby heard him. He was teased mercilessly afterward even though it could have happened to anyone. Remembering it, I felt bad for him all over again.
Brenda unslung her guitar, finally, and rested it in the stand. “That’s probably enough practice for today.”
“How many people go to the county fair?” I asked. It was beginning to sink in what I’d agreed to.
Claude picked up on my fear right away. “You guys sound great,” he said, nodding encouragingly. “Really good. You’re ready. Are you going to play ‘Jailbreak Girl’ for your original?”
“Maybe.” I shoved my drumsticks into a loop on my set. “Pack it up, Junie. Time to head home.”
“But I didn’t get to play the tambourine,” she whined, blinking her long-lashed eyes.
Junie was another thing in my life that was changing. Until recently, she’d been my baby sister, emphasis on “baby,” all Pippi Longstocking hair and freckles plus sass to the moon and back. But then like Maureen, she’d started to fill out early （and unfairly, if you asked flat-chested me）。 She’d lately reminded me of a fox. Part of that was her red hair, sure, but there was something more, something liquid and clever in the way she was starting to move. Made my skin itch.
“I’m sorry, J,” I said, and I was. She’d been so quiet like I’d asked, and I’d promised her she could play with us if she was. “Next time?”
Outside, a car motored past and honked. We all waved, not bothering to look. It would be a parent or a teacher or a neighbor.
Brenda strolled over and dropped her arm around Junie’s shoulder, exactly like Ricky had done to Maureen. “Those turkeys coming by really messed everything up, didn’t they? How about I stop over this weekend, and the three of us can practice our smiles?”
Claude had mentioned a few weeks ago that I had a nice smile. I’d checked it out when I got home, and he wasn’t exactly right, but my mouth was my feature least likely to make children cry. I figured if I practiced, I could make it prettier so that when guys asked me to smile, I had something to offer. Brenda had promised to help, and Junie had begged to be included, but so far we’d been too busy with summer jobs and practice.
“You swear to God?” Junie asked.
“Sure,” Brenda said, chuckling. “Claude, you better come, too, before we all get so old our faces are stuck in place.” She tapped her wristwatch. “Time’s ticking fast.”
Claude whooped and rushed us, and we started wrestling just like we had when we were little. Brenda gave me a noogie, Claude piled on with his signature tickle monster, and Junie darted in and out to pinch noses. We kept it up as we unplugged the lava lamps and closed down the garage together.
We were having so much fun that I almost didn’t see the man behind the wheel of the car parked at the end of the street, still, his face shaded, seeming to stare at us.
Almost.
BETH
It wouldn’t be accurate to say Beth didn’t regain consciousness until she reached the dungeon. The fog had receded twice while she rode in the car’s passenger seat. Just enough for her body’s alarm to start clanging, her vision to brighten, and a scream to build in her throat. He’d reached over and casually squeezed her throat both times. She’d sunk back into the darkness.
But the pitch-black room was the first place she fully woke.
It was a bottomless blankness, a space so dark that at first she felt like she was falling. She threw out her hands, scrabbling at the slimy dirt floor. When she blinked, she couldn’t make out any shapes. Just a suffocating black forever. A scream erupted, dragging at her throat like rusty fishhooks. Desperate to wake from this nightmare, she lurched to her feet and ran forward—crack—straight into a wall. The impact shoved her onto her butt and elbows. She was sobered by the salty taste of her own blood.
She remained on the cool floor, splayed out, breath ragged, and probed herself gingerly. The left part of her forehead and nose were throbbing where she’d run into the wall. Her throat was swollen and pulpy, tender as an exposed tooth to her touch. Her hands kept moving, moving, anything to focus on the here, the now, the real. Her fingers traveled over a braille pattern of ketchup flecks across the front of her Northside Diner blouse. A customer had hit the bottom of a bottle too hard, slaughtering those nearby. Had that been a few hours ago? Yesterday? She blinked back tears and kept exploring with her hands. She couldn’t stop or she’d lose courage.