The Creeping

“Stella. Stop.” One hand temporarily strays from the wheel as he holds it between us. “I’m helping you because that’s who I am. I’m someone who helps friends. Even if it’s an old friend and even if they don’t deserve it.”


“?’Kay, thanks,” I mumble, staring at my hands. I swallow the ten other apologies I feel the need to vomit at him. Dependable Sam. Kind Sam. A friend who I’ve thrown away, over and over again. I don’t deserve his help. He knows it; I know it.

The wagon makes a sharp right turn into a massive parking lot. BigBox’s glowing red cube emblem could probably be seen from space, it’s so bright and huge. Sam parks the car and jumps out. He ducks his head, regarding me frozen in place. “Come on, let’s go lose our tail,” he says with a wink. I follow, nervously glancing over my shoulder. The police car idles in a handicapped space, but the officers don’t move to pursue us. A rush of cold air bathes my face once we’re through the automated doors. The store is packed with carts and families, the quiet drone of elevator music its white noise.

“What are we doing here?” I call to Sam, who strides briskly a few feet ahead of me.

“You’ll see.” We snake through the crowded aisles, dodging crying toddlers and yelling mothers. A few red-vested employees nod greetings to Sam as we dash by.

“We can’t lose the police in here because they didn’t follow us in. They’ll be at the car when we leave,” I say.

“That’s what I’m counting on.” He takes a sudden left, and I have to backtrack a couple of steps to shadow him through a doorway in the store’s rear wall labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“This really isn’t a great time for you to take me on a tour of your work,” I grumble, just before Sam grabs my wrist and tows me down an even darker corridor. “Okay, this is kind of freaking me out.” Sam drags me for a few more yards before slamming his shoulder into a door and bursting through. White light blinds me. I squint, trying to get my bearings.

“We’re outside,” I exclaim. We stand on a paved loading dock; the cement extends twenty or thirty feet before dying into the woods.

A ribbon of light from the sun seeping through the clouds illuminates Sam’s face as he smiles slowly. “I figured we would need to lose them, and since the wood runs into Jeanie’s house, we can walk. It’s about three miles,” he says, appraising my shoes. “You okay in those?” I nod, mutely in awe of Sam. I only asked him to help me remember, and that’s all it took for him to devise a plan. I didn’t even think about where we’d go today. Of course, the dirt drive by Jeanie’s old house is exactly where we need to start. It’s where she vanished.

“Sam, this is . . . amazing.” He shrugs the compliment off and turns to start into the woods. I follow after a moment’s hesitation, watching him go. From behind I wouldn’t recognize him. His shoulders are broad and his arms less lanky and more muscular than they used to be. He isn’t wearing a shoelace as a belt today, although a UFO is centered on the back of his T-shirt, and there are patches ironed on its front with words in Latin. Hanging off his jean’s waistband is a pair of suspenders.

He doesn’t look like the little boy I kissed at the cove the summer before fifth grade. All knocking knees and front teeth big as white Chiclets. We’d had sex ed earlier that spring, and ever since then I’d felt some weird buzzing down deep in me. Gag me, but it’s true. I was curious. And Sam was my guinea pig, since he was basically the only boy I talked to—other than Caleb, who’s too brotherly to think of like that. The kiss was all teeth-clattering awkwardness, Sam leaning in most of the way, me pulling him the rest. It was sweet.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam calls. I look around, having totally spaced out. He waits for me to catch up so we’re walking side by side.

“Yeah, sorry.” I’m horrified by what I’m going to say but totally unable to stop myself. “I was just thinking about our first kiss.”

Sam’s steps falter. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again. He raises an eyebrow and prods softly, “I thought your first real kiss was with Scott Townsend.” Somehow the fact that he doesn’t sound bitter or angry or pissed makes it sting worse.

“I don’t think you could call any of my kisses with Scott Townsend real,” I admit. After that, I try not to hear the familiar rhythm of Sam’s steps as I watch a blue-winged sparrow with iridescent feathers swoop low overhead. I try not to see the droplets of sweat pooling at the base of his neck as the heat of the sun burns through the canopy of branches. I inhale deeply the scent of decaying leaves as enchanted bits of light play on Sam’s shoulders.