I’m preparing to app home when my brain begins to side with my subconscious. Laila is a walking cantamen. Maybe she can help. And maybe then, my mother will never have to know.
Music drifts down from upstairs. I creep to the second floor rather than app. If Samara is home, she may have failed to sense my arrival once, but twice? I can’t risk it. Sam knowing equals my mother knowing.
At the top of the stairs, I’m about to open Laila’s bedroom door when the knob turns from the inside. Immediately I duck into the nearest bathroom. Which I only realize is a poor choice when a human teenage girl rushes in, forcing me to hide in the tub with my fingers stuck in my ears.
When the brunette with the impressive bladder capacity returns to Laila’s bedroom, she leaves both the bathroom and the bedroom doors open. I slink into the hall and flatten myself against the wall.
“I’m next!”
“Dibs on the coral polish!”
“But I brought it!”
“Wow, Laila, where did you have your toes done? They’re perfect!”
The oohing and aahing I can make out belong to at least four voices, one of which is Laila’s.
Even if I backtrack to the front door and ring the bell, I have no obvious mode of transport. If I make it past that hurdle, then I’d have to extract Laila from her friends without being sucked in—
“My cuz Azra did them.” Laila’s voice floats into the hall. “Here, this is from her birthday. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
Well, there goes that. My cover is blown. Surely they’d try to enlist me to—
“Oh, I wish she was here to do my toes!”
Yup, exactly. I’m taking too long as it is. By the time I get Laila alone, by the time I explain it all, by the time I convince her not to tell our mothers … it’s time I don’t have.
Peeling myself off the wall, I’m about to app home when Laila says, “So do I. My wish has always been having Azra close.” Her voice lowers as she says, “And, lately, it seems like it’s coming true.”
My lungs lose air at the same rate as my eyes fill with water. An image of the gold locket with the infinity symbol etched on the front is all I can see as I apport home. It’s all I can see as I race through what turns out to be my empty house, calling for my mother. It’s all I can see as I wrestle the cantamen out from under my bed and frantically flip pages, searching for a clue, a spell, a way out of this mess.
Tears dot the pages of the cantamen, and I slam it shut. How could I be so selfish? I was ready to ask Laila to risk herself—to put herself in danger—to help me. And she would have. Because she trusts me. But trust has to be earned. Which, unlike her, I haven’t done.
As I reach for a tissue from the box on my dresser, something clatters to the floor. Crouching down, I see the silver key to the Carwyns’ fence. I pick it up and wrap my hand around it, knowing I have the solution to this whole thing in the palm of my hand. Because as far as who I can trust goes, aside from Laila, of course, the answer is Henry. Henry, who kept my past secrets. Henry, who, if for no reason other than honoring Jenny’s memory, will, I feel more surely than anything else I’ve ever felt, keep this secret.
*
By the time I return to the beach, Nate’s pounding on the concession shack door and Henry’s shouting in response, “You’ll lose your breakfast, I’m telling you.”
Nate rests his knuckles against the splintering wood. “But I don’t understand. Why would she leave you in there alone? You don’t even work here.”
I hide behind the other side of the snack bar to conjure a bucket of water.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” Henry says. “Happened to pass just as Zoe hurled, and Azra asked me to make sure no one saw the mess, so she … and by she, I mean, Zoe, of course … so Zoe, then, wouldn’t get in trouble for … for … for ducking out of work.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Nate says. “Even Ranger Teddy wouldn’t make someone work who’s sick. Especially around food. And if that’s really true, why do you sound so nervous?” Panic floods Nate’s voice. “Where’s Azra? Is she really not in there with you?” He pummels the door again. “Azra? Azra, are you okay?”
Great, he thinks Henry’s hiding something. Something dangerous. Then again, he is. Just not what Nate thinks.
Henry yells over the banging. “She’s fine! She … she wants me here.”
“Oh,” Nate says in a quiet voice, bringing his intimidating fists to his sides. His brain must be churning. What it zeroes in on causes him to sound both embarrassed and flustered as he says, “Oh! She’s … you two are…”
Oh, so not what Nate thinks!
“I’m back!” I shout as I hurry over, conjured bucket of water in hand.
Relief washes over Nate’s flushed face as he sees me. “Azra! You’re not … you and he aren’t…”
“About to get sick ourselves? We’re getting close. It’s nasty in there.”
Nate shakes his head. “I thought … I’m just—”
“Just keeping an eye on things, right?” I try to suppress my hope that it was more than that. I struggle for a poker face as I raise the bucket in the air. “I better get started.”
Nate steps back, extending his hand as if to clear my path. “Well, I’ll leave you to work your magic then.”
Henry’s muffled laugh escapes through the door.
The way Nate cocks his head prompts me to move next to him and whisper, “Must be the fumes in there. Getting to him.” I open the door and am about to step inside when I feel compelled to turn back to Nate. “Thanks for … just, thanks.”
Nate’s flush spreads to his ears. “Anytime, Azra.”
He smiles, and I almost drop the bucket. Of all the times for Nate to come check up on me. Check up? Or visit?
Focus, Azra, focus.
Tightening my grip on the bucket handle, I steel my nerves and walk into the shack.
“So,” Henry says, a grin spreading across his face, “broomsticks all squared away?”