Still Waters (22 page)

“Hey!” Logan greeted Mike with a squeal. The girls widened their circle, making a space for him, but instead Mike slipped behind Kelsey, putting his arms around her waist. They danced like that for a second before Kelsey broke away, laughing. Logan grabbed her by the hands, whispering something in her ear.

The other girls drifted into the mass of people. Not that it mattered. The music was hypnotic now, not jarring. Megan closed her eyes, extending her hands out as she danced, imagining herself as some high-cheekboned hippie chick twirling in front of a stage at Woodstock. In another level of her mind, she congratulated herself for not dancing around like an out-of-sync gerbil.

Someone touched her waist. Megan started to turn, but not before a thick pair of arms slid around her middle. She twisted around and looked up. Mike’s face, grinning and sweaty, floated above her. “Having fun?” he shouted over the music. His hands
rubbed the small of her back. Megan tried to keep a few inches between them.

“Yeah!” she shouted back. They were practically screaming. “Do you miss Anna?”

“What?” He cupped his ear.

Megan shook her head. It was probably a stupid question to ask at a party anyway. Mike pulled her closer as they danced. His belt buckle dug into the waist of her jeans.
Whoa there.
Megan darted a glance left and right. No one was paying attention to them them.
Don’t be so uptight
.

“Hey, you look really pretty,” Mike shouted.

Megan glanced down at her white tank top. It had taken her an hour to decide what to wear. “Thanks!” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling idiotically.

Mike nodded along with the music and ran his hands up and down her back.
Is he coming on to me? Mike? Anna’s boyfriend. What is he doing?
His hips ground against hers.
Definitely coming on to me.
He was holding her really close now. She could see the blond stubble on his chin. She’d never danced like this with a guy, not with a big, sexy guy like Mike. It was beyond nice. Actually, it was so beyond nice that Megan could barely keep a coherent thought in her head.

Megan could feel people looking at them now. They were watching her grind with her best friend’s boyfriend. Megan knew that with certainty. This was wrong in every sense and she couldn’t care less, much less stop herself because Mike’s breath was on her face and every fiber of her body, which had completely
divorced itself from her mind, was reaching up toward him, as he leaned down toward her.

Then it was happening. It really was. Mike was kissing her. His tongue was in her mouth. Her legs were shaking. She felt like hot oil was running over every inch of her skin.

You are kissing Mike!
her mind screamed, but her stubborn, rebellious body refused to listen, just kissed him back with her arms locked around his neck.

Then his grip changed. Mike’s hands weren’t around her waist anymore, they were around her neck, wrapped around her throat. His thumbs pressed insistently on her windpipe even as he kept kissing her. Megan wrenched her head back and her eyelids flew open like a startled sparrow’s as she choked, but he would not let go.
Why is the room was so dark?
Her lungs were tight, screaming for air as he squeezed harder.
Why is his face so blurry?
It didn’t even look like Mike, his features looked smaller, softer. It wasn’t Mike at all, it was Anna. And Anna’s hands were around her neck, squeezing harder and harder as Megan gasped for air, Anna’s berry-painted lips stretching in a wide grin because she’d found out, she knew what Megan had done….

The bus bumped over a pothole and Megan woke with a start, jerking her head from the hot pane of glass where it had been resting. She eased the twisted strap of her canvas bag from across her shoulders. It took her a minute to get it off, then she lay her head back against the blue plastic seat. Her heart was hammering like a scared rabbit. What a dream. She sat still, trying to recover, staring at the metal ceiling of the bus, where a red-and white square was marked:
IN EMERGENCY, PULL HANDLE, THEN PUSH DOOR OUTWARD.
Megan briefly pictured herself standing on the seat, pushing the hatch open. It would be cooler with the wind whipping past.

Mike.
God, why was she thinking about
that
debacle? It was over, finished, done with last summer. Megan reached into her khaki tote and pulled out a stainless-steel water bottle. She took a long drink, grimacing at the warm, flat taste.
Don’t play dumb,
she told herself. She knew why she was thinking about
that night—it was exactly one year ago today. One year ago that she made the biggest mistake of her life. And almost lost her best friend forever. Almost.

To distract herself, Megan focused on the back of the bus driver—straight coffee-colored neck, neat blue polyester collar. The other bus riders seemed practically comatose, beaten into submission by the stench of the clogged lavatory at the back. To Megan’s right, a young blond woman cradled a sleeping toddler, the child’s head flung back. A girl about Megan’s own age sat in front of them, slumped down. Behind Megan, someone was snoring rhythmically, with a sound like a small chainsaw.

The sun beat through the windows, filling the coach with the smell of hot gym shoes, despite the best efforts of the asthmatic air conditioner, which whistled through the vents over their heads. It had been four hours of corn and soybeans under the whitish sky, broken by the occasional truck-stop exit full of belching semis and minivans stuffed with sticky children. But at least Anna was waiting for her at the other end.

Megan dug out her phone and thumbed through Anna’s last email, sent yesterday.
“Pick you up in front of the restaurant on the main street. I think it’s called The Leaf. The farm looks gorgeous—I can’t believe it’s been three years since I was last up here. You are going to love it. I’m so excited we get to work together!!!”

Megan stared out the window. The landscape was starting to get more hilly now, with patches of lush woods flashing past. She had been so excited when Anna asked to work with her on her uncle Thomas’s farm this summer. Anna used to go up there
every summer, back before her dad left. Then a few months ago, her uncle called and said that her aunt had started using a wheelchair because of her MS and he needed some extra help. Anna had arrived last week to get started.

Megan gazed apprehensively out the window at a giant green tractor trawling slowly up and down a sea of waving corn leaves. No—it wasn’t going to be like that. She scrolled through the email again.
“—ten pigs, chickens, a big garden, and horses!”
Anna had written. That didn’t sound too bad. More like the Richard Scarry books she used to read when she was little. She scanned the rest of the email.
“And we get a separate place to sleep too, just for the two of us. Oh yeah. There’s a surprise too. I won’t say too much now, but it’s definitely going to make this summer way more fun.
”

The bus swayed as the driver guided it around a hairpin turn. They were going into some sort of valley now, with trees crowding right up against the road. Megan caught a glimpse of a rushing creek, more like a little river. She wondered what the surprise was. Anna’s surprises could be odd sometimes. Like the time she’d made T-shirts for Megan and her with Mr. O’Gorman’s picture on it. He was their eighth-grade history teacher, and they both had crushes on him. Anna thought they should wear the shirts to school. Megan had told her that would be way too embarrassing, which Anna didn’t understand at all. She’d said it would be funny. Megan had refused and Anna shredded both shirts with her mother’s meat scissors.

The bus reached the bottom of the valley. Black cows stood with their heads buried in knee-high grass, their tails switching.
The other bus riders were waking up, gathering their possessions. The snorer behind her sat up with a grunt and belched. Megan sat up straighter, craning to look through the windshield. She could see nothing but the tops of some buildings partially hidden by a low hill. That must be the town, Ault Flats. Megan felt a wriggle of anticipation in her belly. The driver rolled through a stop sign, made a sharp left, then braked abruptly. He cut the engine and opened the door with a pneumatic hiss. It seemed very quiet without the engine noise. Megan watched the other riders file down the aisle. Megan hitched her messenger bag over her shoulder and wrestled her duffel down from the metal rack overhead. This was it. She was here.

Climbing down the steep black steps, the heat hit her like a furnace blast. It radiated up through the soles of her sandals and pressed against her face. Megan found herself alone on a cracked sidewalk.

Buildings lined either side of the short street—the only road in the town, as far as Megan could tell. There was a worn-out pharmacy, a pawn shop, a barnlike structure with bags of fertilizer stacked out front and a sign reading
BAKER’S FEED AND SEED
, a repair shop with a disemboweled tractor visible in the open bay, and a liquor store.

Her palms were sweaty and her messenger bag was cutting into her shoulder. Megan changed her grip on her duffel, scanning the buildings for The Leaf. The sun was a pale disk burning through the dull clouds. It was so quiet, Megan’s sandals scraped on the gritty sidewalk as she turned around. This place was really
remote. She’d kind of been picturing something … cuter. And Anna wasn’t here. Megan tried to tamp down her annoyance. Maybe the bus had been early. She glanced at her phone. No. Right on time.

A few men with weather-seamed faces sat outside the repair shop, perched on metal barrels. Megan felt their eyes on her legs and she swallowed, trying not to feel self-conscious. She wished she’d worn jeans instead of shorts. Where the hell was the damn Leaf Restaurant? Did Anna have the name wrong or—she spotted a green and white sign across the street with a surge of relief and marched purposefully toward it.

Megan set her bag down between her feet and leaned awkwardly against a windowsill, folding her arms on her chest and trying to look nonchalant.
Don’t those gross old guys have anything else to do? Fix some tractors or something
? One with a bushy brown beard, winked at her. Megan gritted her teeth and looked steadily and deliberately at the yellow shop sign next door.
J&B PAWN, SINCE 1960
.

Just then, she heard the rumble of an engine and saw a rust-red pickup roaring toward her, Anna at the wheel. With immense relief, Megan picked up her bag, a grin already on her face. She stepped to the curb in readiness, waving wildly as the pickup drew near. But Anna didn’t stop. The truck roared past. Megan could see Anna turn her head, laughing. She disappeared down the street. Megan’s hand wilted by her side and a familiar mixture of frustration and resignation rose in her throat. She stood, her face flaming as the men in front of the repair shop
chortled. At the end of the street, the truck screeched in a U-turn and drove back toward her. This time, Anna stopped and Megan ran to the passenger door, wrenching it open in a shower of rust flakes.

“Hey!” Anna said, still laughing. “Got you! Your face when I drove past was hilarious.” Her sunglasses covered half her cheeks, like she had huge fly eyes. Her buttery blond hair was twisted on top of her head and she wore a clingy gray T-shirt, and jeans cut off just above her knees.

Megan tucked her tote behind her feet. It was just Anna being Anna. “Those old guys at the garage thought it was hilarious too.” Megan kept her voice light.

“You look gorgeous, by the way.” Anna reached over and gave Megan a one-armed hug as she drove. “I’m so glad to see you!”

“You too,” Megan replied and suddenly, she was. Anna’s presence was like a firework—sizzling, bright, colorful. She relaxed back against the seat, which was covered with an old gray blanket, sprinkled liberally with dog hair. She cranked the window down as far as it would go and let the breeze dry her sweat-dampened hair. “This truck is great. Really … farm-y.”

“Yeah, Uncle Thomas let me borrow it to come get you. And it’s a stick shift! Can you believe I’m driving it?”

“No, not really.” Megan watched her friend’s sneakered feet alternately press the pedals on the floor. “Do I have to drive it?”

“Probably. We use it all the time for hay and feed and stuff.” Anna shifted expertly into third gear.

“Oh.” A few shreds of straw blew up from the floor of the cab
and whirled around her knees. “How’s it been so far? It feels like you left way longer than a week ago.”

Anna nodded. “I know.
So
much has happened too,” her voice bubbled. Megan was about to ask what she meant, but Anna kept talking. “How was home?”

Megan made a face. “Boring. Mom made me take online tours of colleges with her all week.”

Anna slowed down behind a trailer full of cows. “Ick. Why didn’t you just tell her to stop?”

“Oh, sure. She’d love that. Then you’d be working up here by yourself this summer because I’d be confined to the house.” Megan extracted her water bottle again and took a drink. “So, what’s it
like,
you know, working on a farm? I’m kind of nervous.” For an instant, she wished she could take the words back, before Anna gave her that look like she was the most idiotic person in the world. But her friend just reached out and squeezed her knee.

“It’s fun. You’ll love it, I promise. Uncle Thomas does all the serious plowing and mowing and stuff. The summer hands mostly do the garden and the chores.”

“Chores?” It sounded like a Laura Ingalls Wilder story. They were always doing chores in those books.

“Like feeding the animals and mucking and gathering eggs. And you’re getting paid! It’s better than Silver Mountain.”

They looked at each other and Megan snorted, then they burst out laughing. They’d both applied to work at the Silver Mountain jewelry kiosk in the mall before Thomas had called.
The woman that ran the place looked like she ate high-schoolers for snack.

Megan offered the water to Anna. “Is it weird seeing your aunt in a wheelchair?” she asked sympathetically.