“Just one,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Don’t judge me for how I might handle this situation.” I pause and let my eyes drop away from his penetrating gaze. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and I really don’t know how I’ll hold up. I’m not afraid of death or what happens afterward—whether it involves an afterlife or a hole in the ground. Those things don’t frighten me. But thinking aboutotherpeople dying—thinking about other people being lost, forgotten, becoming nothing more than a faded memory…” I shake my head. “It makes me unbearably sad.”
Then, as something occurs to me, I go on, “Maybe that’s why I feel so pulled to write murder mysteries. So that I can remember the dead, in my own way. So that I can find justice for the pains they’ve suffered, even if it’s only on the page.” I sigh. “Anyway, I know I’m bugging you and asking a lot of questions. But don’t judge me, okay? Even if I cry a lot or lose my mind or something. And for goodness’ sake.” I point to his impassive expression. “Do something with your face, so that I can figure out what you’re thinking. You either look disapproving or completely neutral all the time, and I never know what’s going on in your head. It’s stressful.”
“You have so many complaints about my face,” he murmurs, amusement sparking in his eyes. “I’ve always been told it’s a handsome one.”
“It is,” I admit. Then I grin. “Why do you think my seventeen-year-old self tried to kiss you?”
Aiden snorts. “Cut it out. Don’t flirt with me, Juniper Bean.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, still smiling. I pause, then go on, “Well, actually, I might havedreamedof it a time or two, but I would never flirt with you in real life?—”
But I fall silent as a laugh bursts out of Aiden—a real, genuine laugh. “Get out of here,” he says, and his smile continues to hover as he shakes his head. “I’m trying to review the chapters I’m teaching my seniors tomorrow.”
I tilt my head, looking at him. “Do you like teaching?”
He shrugs. “I don’t love it, but I’m willing to do it.”
“I bet you’re good at it, though,” I say, trying to imagine him in the front of a high school classroom. “You were a great tutor.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” he says. He flattens his hair with one hand. “I think I’m better at teaching one on one than I am with a group.”
“Well, for what it’s worth,” I say, patting his arm, “you were a good tutor. You opened my eyes to how great reading and writing could be.”
“It’s good to hear that,” he says, and the look on his face makes me think he’s genuine. It’s a small, simple smile, but I like it. Sincerity is always attractive.
You know what else is always attractive? Aiden.
Ugh.
“All right, well,” I say, standing abruptly and backing away from the couch. I really don’t need to be noticing how attractive this man is; that way lies heartbreak. “I’m going to bed. Call me tomorrow, please, when you find out about the girl.”
Aiden nods, then turns his gaze back to his book. I assume that’s the only goodnight I’m going to get from him, so I hurryback up the big stairs, around the corner, and then up the little stairs.
And when I finally fall into a restless sleep many hours later, I dream about shadows in the forest, my mother’s laughter ringing in my ears.
* This is one of my favorite things about Juniper—her determination to make the best of what she has.
11
IN WHICH AIDEN DOES SOME DIGGING
The next morning I arrive at work a full half hour earlier than normal—and with a plan to find out who the girl in the woods was.
There are dark circles under my eyes, and I can tell I’m more irritable than usual too. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and the sleep I did manage to find was colored with dreams of bubblegum pink and bloody red. I woke up with a start at five-thirty, sweaty and out of breath, and puttered around killing time until I finally couldn't stand waiting anymore.
I won’t know until the end of the day if anyone was absent completely. But we keep copies of our school yearbook in the library. The ones we keep aren’t just from recent years, either; we’ve got a whole shelf of them, all the way back to when the school was started. Most of those are covered with dust and haven’t had their spines cracked for years, but they’re there.
That’s the corner of the library I head to now. I can’t wait for the end of the day to look—partly because I know Juniper will ask sooner than that, yes, but also because I don’t want towait that long. I pass the librarian and give her a stiff nod before hurrying down the rows of shelves, all the way until I’ve reached the back corner.
The Autumn Grove High library isn’t huge, but I’m far enough away from anyone else that it’s quiet back here, the air permeated with a dusty stillness. I grab a step stool from further down the row and carry it to the set of shelves I’m examining, sitting on the skid-proof surface and making myself as comfortable as possible. I have the next two hours free, so I might be in this spot for a while.
I just need to figure out where to look.
I squeeze my eyes shut, returning with reluctance to the memory of the body in the woods behind Solomon the Spud. The girl had blonde hair. I couldn’t say what shade of blonde, and I couldn’t say if it was dyed, but…
Crap.
I pull out my phone, find Juniper’s number in my contact list, and then presscall.
