Page 101 of The Serpent King

“Yeah.”

“Damn. When are you leaving tomorrow morning?”

She sighed. “Probably around six.”

“Ouch. And then your internship starts—” Dill carefully plucked a ladybug from his arm and held it in his palm so that it could fly away.

“Next week. June ninth.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave so early.”

“Me too, but I want to have some time to explore and get settled in before I start my internship.”

“Are you nervous to be working for the Chic lady? You said she was scary.”

Lydia laughed ruefully. “Yes, and she is.”

A pensive stillness passed while they listened to the hushed chirr of insects in the trees that surrounded the cemetery like an embrace. The ten days or so they’d had since school ended flew by in a blur of work, watching trains, sitting at the Column, random road trips (Graceland was Dill’s favorite), and lots and lots of lying under the stars and kissing.

Dill leaned back onto his hands. “Won’t it be hard to park Al Gore in New York City?”

“Yeah. I’m selling him to one of Dahlia’s friends from school. We’re meeting in the city and he’s driving Al to Stanford.” She felt a fleeting ache. Oh come on. You’re not seriously getting sentimental about inanimate objects now too, are you? You were not supposed to be this big of a mess. That was not in the plan.

“You’re selling Al Gore? I’ll miss him.” The wisp of betrayal in Dill’s tone told her that he was in the same mindset. Irrationality loves company.

Lydia ran her hand along the top of the grass. “Me too.”

“I hope you kept the bike from prom so I can give you rides when you come back to town.”

“I bet I can convince my dad to let us use his car.”

“Yeah, but the bike is pretty fun.”

Yes it is, Dill. Yes it is.

Fireflies flickered among the headstones in the leaf-green failing light. The cemetery smelled of clean dirt and sun-washed stone.

“We should have planned some ceremony,” Lydia finally said.

“Planning means we would have had to think about this, and I didn’t want to think about this.”

“Me neither.”

Dill gazed at the ground. Lydia pretended to do the same, but instead peered at Dill’s profile out of the corner of her eye, the glowing waltz of fireflies around his head. Her heart ached with the knowledge that every time it beat, it was counting away another second to her leaving and not seeing him anymore.

“Dill?” She put her hand on his knee.

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“I hope we’re always a part of each other’s lives, no matter where we go or what we do.” Let no one accuse me of not cheesing this up, she thought with an inward cringe. But I guess New York City’s going to give me an abundance of opportunities to be cool and unsentimental.

Dill scooted closer to Lydia and put his arm around her. “I’m committed if you are. You’re going the farthest in life.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Don’t count on that. I think the future has a lot of great surprises for you.”

“I hope.”

“Do you regret us—” Lydia started to ask, in a hesitant murmur.