No one was home to witness Crow’s creepiness—he could see that both of Em’s parents’ cars were gone, and he’d seen Gabby pick Em up this morning while he was eating breakfast. Should he call the cops?
Without thinking much at all, he started striding across the lawn.? JD had the right to tell Crow to get the hell off the Winters’ property. And while he was at it he would tell him to leave Em alone, that he wasn’t good enough for her in any universe. JD trusted Crow about as far as he could throw him, and for the first time in his life, JD was itching for a fight.
But before he got too far, he saw Crow turn and go back to his truck, moving stealthily across Em’s lawn. In an instant, JD decided that he wasn’t going to school after all, at least not right away. He sprinted back to his Volvo, waited a moment so that he wouldn’t be right on Crow’s tail, and followed the red-and-silver pickup truck down the road. Even if he got a black eye in the process, JD was going to finally tell Crow what he thought of him. He was going to find out how he knew Ty. He was going to prove—to himself, and then to Em—that Crow really was bad news.
Behind the wheel of his Volvo, trailing Crow out onto the main road, JD felt a momentary twinge of What the hell am I doing? But recalling the sight of Crow peeping into Em’s windows, JD’s feelings of paranoia flooded back.
When Crow put his blinker on to indicate that he was turning into the cemetery, JD was mystified. A strip club, sure. The seedy motel by the highway where everyone knew out-of-town drug deals went down, okay. But the cemetery? JD eased up on the gas and pulled back to a distance where he hoped his presence was less obvious.
JD stopped the Volvo by the entrance of the graveyard. He got out and closed his car door carefully, peering down the lane to see that Crow had parked just next to a big oak tree in the new section of the cemetery.
JD crept closer. The grass made soft squishing sounds below his boots. Here among the gravestones, the air seemed cooler. There was a fine mist swirling through the graveyard, low to the ground, and the heavy smell of wetness, of damp dirt, hung around him. Only a few trees stood on the property, and they were still without their leaves, lending them a stark quality against the grayish sky. JD wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but there was no denying that this place was creepy. He had the same feeling here he’d gotten walking through the abandoned warehouse with Ty—as though he were being watched. If he believed in ghosts, he’d definitely expect to find them here.
He grimaced a little, thinking of the last time he’d visited this burial ground: a few weeks ago, when he’d followed Em to this very spot and found her hunched over Sasha Bowlder’s grave with a knife in her hand and a dead snake by her feet. A dead snake—just like the one in that creepy book he’d found on Em’s bed. It had said something about the Furies under the picture. . . . He shivered and pulled up the hood of his jacket. He hated thinking about Em like that—not just vulnerable, but teetering on crazy. He’d never seen her so shaken.
JD stopped and hid behind an oak tree, watching as Crow approached a newly dug grave and kneeled in front of it on the freshly packed dirt. Crow bowed his head for a moment and for the first time seemed human, like he wasn’t putting on a show or trying to be all anti-establishment. He just . . . was, and JD felt a prang of sympathy. Then, just as quickly as he’d come, Crow stood and brushed off his knees—then turned and headed back to his truck.
For a split second JD thought to confront him; out of principle he didn’t want his anger to dissipate. But what was the point? Let him go, JD thought. It suddenly seemed wrong to start a fight surrounded by headstones.
As soon as he saw Crow’s truck pull out of the cemetery, JD walked down to the grave. When he read the words on the headstone, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
Drea Feiffer
Beautiful daughter, friend, individual.
Gone from us too soon.
The sight of it gave him chills. It seemed somehow like an offense that she would be here. This didn’t do justice to the person she was: unique, curious, brilliant. No. Drea’s ashes should’ve been shot into space, floating across the universe—or scattered in the ocean to move with the currents. Something . . . bigger. Just not here, buried in this old, crumbling place under layers of soil.
He stooped down and ran his fingers over the cool stone. His chest ached. Gone forever.
“I’m sorry,” he said out loud. And he was. He was sorry for almost kissing her, for not kissing her, for not being a better friend. For not saving her from the fire in the gym. For choosing Em. Who had not chosen him back.
He hung his head, lost in his thoughts—but pulled away when he heard something nearby, a voice. A faint murmuring. He jerked upright.