From the darkness, someone lets out a scream of laughter. “I’ll head that way.” I point toward the sound. “You go toward the main road.”
Sophie huffs. “Fine. Whatever. If I get lost out here, I’m blaming you.”
“Fine.”
I take off at a careful jog using my phone for light. The air is sharp with cold and smells of wood smoke and wild onions. It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again, awkward and desperate to get out of my small town and never look back. If I could have seen this future for myself, I would have despaired.
Too bad I can’t go back and tell my past self how much I’ve come to love this little town and how grateful I am to be able to take care of my sisters even when I mess up or they’re mean to me.
I didn’t have much of a relationship with Emily and Sophie when I was a teenager. I don’t even remember what they were interested in as kids. Other than that stupid cartoon about a talking dog that Sophie was obsessed with.
Another shout echoes through the darkness, and I adjust course toward it.
Someone runs at me, not visible until the very last moment, lit only by the cell phone in their hand. They hit me hard with their shoulder, not slowing at all.
“Marco,” someone shouts as I try to catch my balance, step in a gopher hole and topple to the ground into something soft, gooey and smelling like cow manure.
“Polo!” someone else shouts.
The manure squishes between the fingers of my right hand as I push against the ground to get back on my feet. “I hate field parties,” I say as I step to the side and rub my poop-covered hand on the grass, trying to clean it off.
A quick check with the flashlight reveals my hand is filthy, but free of chunks. There’s also manure on the sleeve of my coat and down the front of it. Of course, I had to land in a giant cow patty.
Finding Emily is more important than getting clean, so I follow the shouts of Marco Polo and add my own shout of Emily’s name.
“Emily’s not here,” a guy yells. “You’re screwing up our game.”
“If you’re lying to me, I’m going to—”
“She’s not here, bitch. Go away.”
“Unless you want to play,” another guy yells. “You sound hot.”
Ugh, high schoolers. “I’m not. I’m an ugly troll who lives under a bridge.”
“Definitely hot,” a girl says.
I take off back into the darkness, headed in a new direction.
I’m getting really sick of the smell of manure by the time I see light in the distance. I don’t think I’ve circled back to the bonfire, because this light is still and yellow, an electric light.
Using the flashlight to guide my way, I pick up my pace to a jog.
As I get closer, I hear voices and laughter. Then I see them. A bunch of kids are hanging out on a back patio, beers in hand, sitting on wicker outdoor furniture and each other’s laps. I scan the crowd, but don’t see Emily.
When I step onto the patio, the kids see me one-by-one and go silent. Shushing each other when the last few fail to notice me.
Before they can ask any of the questions I see on their faces, I speak up. “I’m looking for Emily Lendew.”
Silence reigns as the kids look from one to another. The lack of an immediate no makes it clear I’ve finally come to the right place.
“I’m not leaving until I find her. She’s only fourteen, and she ran away from home to come to this party, so you can tell me where she is or I’m going to call the cops to help me find her.”
“Je-sus. No need to get hysterical,” one of the guys, with floppy hair that covers his eyes, says. “She’s inside with Dawson.”
My heart goes cold, and nausea rises again. I march to the sliding glass door.
“You don’t want to go in there,” a girl says. “There are things you won’t be able to unsee.”
