Pushing a loaded wheelbarrow through a forest wasn’t easy. The beach was fine, the trail was tough but doable, the Lake House lawn was a piece of cake... but now that they were in the woods beyond the airstrip, following Claire’s memory of how to reach the cave, every inch had to be fought for and won.
We’re leaving a trail, Claire thought.
The wheel was crunching bushes beneath it and leaving gouges in the dirt and mud. Worse, the harder she strained to push the wheelbarrow, the deeper her sneakers sank into the ground. Soon, she and Mariana were grunting with each inch, as they tried to shove the wheelbarrow over fallen branches.
“We’ve got to carry it,” Claire said.
“It’s heavy as hell,” Mariana warned, “which I suppose means that hell weighs one hundred fifty pounds.” She considered it for a moment. “Actually, that’s pretty much how I always pictured the Devil. Slim, fit, devastatingly handsome. Built for temptation. I didnotpicture him as an unwashed, skeletal man who reeks like old fish or as a gun-toting, camo-wearing woodsman.”
Claire set down her handle of the wheelbarrow and so didMariana. They circled around to opposite sides of the engine while they caught their breath. “You think it’s the Devil?”
“Oradevil. ‘Released from the bowels of the earth,’ he’d said super-ominously. Why? You have another theory?”
“Not really, no. I’d been sticking with ‘ancient evil spirit who wants to possess us.’”
“Sure, that works too.” Mariana positioned her hands beneath the engine. “Together?”
“Together,” Claire agreed. They lifted. Carrying it off the wheelbarrow, they each paused to readjust their grip. It wasn’t impossibly heavy, at least not shared like this. She supposed there was some sort of metaphor there, but she was too busy struggling to hold up her half to comment on it.
“You know, I always suspected there were things in the world that couldn’t be explained away,” Mariana puffed. “A reason for superstitions. I feel justified in my wishing on stars now. If there are devils, then why not angels?”
“Or aliens,” Claire said. “You could be wishing on UFOs.”
“Hah. Hilarious.”
They maneuvered around a rock.
Glancing at the woods, Claire hoped the dead man didn’t find them now. It would be hard to hide what they were up to.Although he might just be confused...It wasn’t every day that two girls carried a motorboat engine through a national forest.
“Was a class with Balanchine really your wish?” Mariana asked. “No judgment if yes. It’s just... I don’t know. It felt like it wasn’t what you really wanted to say.”
For a second, Claire didn’t know what she was talking about.Balanchine? When had she—She remembered the first night near the lake, under the stars, when Mariana had talked about wishes. It felt like eons ago. “Um, no, actually. I... I’m supposed to love ballet. I’ve done it since I was five, but the last couple of years... I’ve wanted to quit.” She hadn’t said those words out loud before.
Mariana grunted as she readjusted her grip on the engine. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because then my parents, my teachers, everyone would ask why,” Claire said. She’d have to explain that it wasn’t her anymore—that she only did it because it was what she’d always done, because she knew how to do it, because it was expected—and then they’d ask, if ballet wasn’t her, what was? She didn’t have an answer to that.
“You’re afraid of judgment.”
“Along with cliffs, quicksand, nuclear war, school shooters, cancer, drunk drivers, brain-eating parasites, brown recluse spiders, and now apparently ancient evil forces that reside in the earth, which I didn’t even know was something that I needed to be afraid of.” She didn’t think Mariana had any idea what it was like to live with a thousand fears, but for once, she wasn’t worried about how someone would react. She thought of the time Priya had laughed—laughed—when she’d tried to explain, and all the times her parents downplayed or dismissed her feelings.Just don’t worry so much, they’d say. Ortry not to think about it.She knew Mariana wouldn’t do that.
And she was right.
“I don’t think you should be afraid of being who you are,”Mariana said. “Who you are is pretty awesome.”
“That’s”—not true, a voice in her head whispered—“very sweet.”
“It’s true,” Mariana insisted, as if she’d seen Claire’s thoughts. Maybe she had guessed from Claire’s tone. “And you should know that before you climb down into that hellhole.” She glared at Claire in an imitation of Reyva. “Tell me you believe me.”
“Mariana, you’re—”
“Say ‘I am awesome and amazing, exactly as I am.’”
Claire laughed.
“Say it.”
“Okay, okay.” She took a breath. “I am awesome and amazing.” Mariana raised both eyebrows, waiting for her to finish. Feeling herself blushing hard, Claire said, “Exactly as I am.” It felt both cheesy and also kind of wonderful to say.
