I’m standing there, everything whooshing past me. Someone is going to search for my dad.
I notice she’s examining the wound on my forehead. It must have been from when Chester grabbed me by the neck and slammed my head against the wall. A young employee in black trousers and a white blouse presses an ice pack into my hand and looks at me with pity. They want to know if Chester did thisand what James saw. So many questions bombard me, but at this moment, all I can think about is River. I clutch the signaling device, tears welling up in my eyes.
Since you can’t protect yourself, someone else has to do it for you. Especially when I’m...
When you’re sleeping.
Where are you?
I’m shaking all over. Maybe that’s why someone is placing a blanket over my shoulders, like they do with people in shock. I realize that all of us will have to give a statement. The hotel manager, a burly red-haired giant, has called the police, who are on their way.
Because of nothing. At least it feels that way because hardly anything happened. I don’t understand. Today was nothing compared to last year, when I was constantly beaten, corralled, dunked underwater, and finally assaulted.
All of a sudden, everything is too much for me. The neat receptionist with the high voice who is speaking to me, the security guard who means well, Dad, who, since he got here, keeps asking questions. “Is James telling the truth? This wasn’t the first time? Has Chester been harassing you for a while? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” The last one sounds accusatory, as if it’s my fault. And I did tell them, at least about the incident at the Davenport mansion, but they didn’t believe me—because Arizona saw something that she misinterpreted. Because she can express herself better. Because it would have seemed so unlikely to everyone that Chester would do something like that. And yes, when the attacks started at school, I should have confided in someone much sooner, but I just couldn’t.
And even though I never wanted my family to find out, and I’m still embarrassed, I’m relieved. Now there’s no dark secret separating me from them. They know the truth.
Despite that, or perhaps because of that, I decide to leave, especially when I hear Clark Davenport’s deep bass roaring in the hallway. With the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I break away from the crowd of people with the excuse that I want to get some fresh air alone. Nobody stops me. Everyone lets me be alone.
I impatiently wipe a few tears from the corners of my eyes. Maybe it wasn’t nothing. Maybe that’s just my perspective because I’ve experienced so much crap in the last year.
Before leaving the hotel, I glance at my phone because I remember the message from Zozoo. That text is why I went to the bathroom in the first place. Maybe River contacted him.
Kansas, girl who was with River for a summer. We found River’s cell phone at an intersection on the way to Death Valley. But there’s no sign of him. His GPS was suddenly back on. I guess he wanted us to find it. Or he didn’t care. Do you know where he is?
Now I understand what he meant.I told them I was going to Death Valley. And I gave them a good reason to believe me.
Okay. So I can stop texting like a mad woman. He used the phone to mislead his friends. I’m sure he took the phone there while I was at the hotel and then turned on the GPS.
I have no idea what that means. Do any of his friends know he’s planning to set up a highline in Yosemite? Did he ever talk to them about it?
I try to call Zozoo several times, but he doesn’t answer, so I leave a voicemail and tell him everything I know.
What happened to the last girl?I type after sending the first message. I just want to hear it from them. I’m sure Chesteris twisting the truth. I put the phone back in my pocket, and the loud voices in the background pierce my awareness.
I go outside, where there’s an open-air corridor covered with wood. I walk until the noise from the hotel fades and it’s quiet.
There’s something familiar about it. It takes a few seconds before I realize that it’s not completely quiet, of course. Somewhere in the mountains around me, the roar of the mighty waterfalls in Yosemite fills the night.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine needles, cool summer night, and freshness. Worst of all, the incident distracts me from River.
I pray he’s not out there yet.
Let the buses break down. Let him be unlucky hitchhiking. Let him be alive. Let him come back to me.
I wrap my arms around my waist because I feel so lonely without him, so cold and incomplete. I want to feel him, kiss him, and hear him laugh as carefree as he did when we caused chaos at the store. When he was still River McFarley.
What was even real about him?
I peer into the darkness. What was truly real about this guy? Why did he keep those lists of my phobias? Was getting me to speak really his only goal? If so, shouldn’t I still be grateful to him? Because he actually saved me?
In the cold summer night, I suddenly feel someone standing behind me, even though I didn’t hear anyone approach. I know immediately who it is.
“Kansas?”
It’s Arizona. I feel the heat radiating from her body. It’s weird, but that’s how I could recognize her out of hundreds of people if I was blindfolded; she’s always felt warmer than anyone else. Sometimes, I believe she has an additional inner source of life energy that feeds her. I smell her scent of milk, strawberry shampoo, and watermelon gum.
Unexpectedly, images of our lives play through my mind as if in a movie: Arizona and me in our down-filled blue snow pants, making snow angels on our front lawn. Arizona and me exchanging an annoyed glance because James is giving us another lecture about eavesdropping. Arizona crawling into bed with me because she was scared of Ghostface after Halloween. “He’ll come get me,” she whispered, her eyes wide and scared. “Maybe he’ll get me too,” I whispered back, more to calm her down. Under the covers, she shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “They always get the pretty girls.” I wasn’t mad at her; we were only five, and even then, everyone said she looked like a Botticelli angel. Not that we knew the painter back then.
