Boy Dog barked again, and Marci whispered under her breath, “I don’t like this.”
The three boys walked closer, coming slowly into focus. I guessed they were about our age, probably seniors in high school. The smell of alcohol was strong.
“You guys from Crosby?” asked one of them. He wore a baseball cap, though I didn’t recognize the logo.
I remembered the map I’d used to find Dillon; Crosby was the next town over. “Just passing through,” I said.
“I know Ms. Glassman has family in town,” said the second boy, brushing his long blond hair out of his face. “You guys, like, grandkids or something?”
“Glassman doesn’t have kids,” said Ball Cap. “How’s she gonna have grandkids?”
“She doesn’t have legitimate kids,” said Blondie, “that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any. It’s like the twenty-first century, man, get out of the dark ages.”
“You’re homeless,” said the third boy. It wasn’t a question, but an observation. Despite the summer warmth he was wearing a dark jacket, though I couldn’t tell what color it was.
“Not homeless,” said Marci carefully, “but you’re right that we don’t have a place to stay. You know of anything here in town?”
“You can stay at my place,” said Blondie, and he grinned wickedly. “I’ll even let you stay in my bed.”
I imagined myself stabbing him in the neck, right under the chin, behind the jaw and up through the skull into his brain. I twisted the knife to the side, and felt the crack of the bones. It was against my rules to entertain those kinds of thoughts and I knew I should push it out of my mind, but this was different—this was a direct threat to Marci, to Brooke, to the two most important people in my life.
“We’re fine,” I said. But I let my right hand hang loosely at my side, ready to stoop and pull my combat knife from where I kept it strapped to my shin, under my pant leg.
“Were you going to sleep here?” asked Ball Cap. “Dude, that’s … that’s kind of awesome. Are you, like, runaways or something?”
“Just travelers,” I said. “Graduated high school last year, didn’t want to start college yet, so we’re just backpacking around for a while.”
“Most people do that in Europe,” said Ball Cap.
“I don’t like flying,” I said.
“This is crazy!” laughed Blondie. “Can you imagine going on vacation to friggin’ Dillon? That’s got to be the worst decision anyone’s ever made.” He jerked his chin at Marci. “Trip not really turning out as awesome as he said it would, am I right?”
Marci smiled. “Actually, Dillon was my idea. I picked it right off the map. Thought it looked cute.”
“Cute,” said Blondie, looking at Ball Cap. “We’re cute.” He turned back to Marci. “I won’t say it was the best decision of your life, but we can show you around if you want. We have a bowling alley, and the guy doesn’t card for beer.”
I had forgotten how smoothly Marci could manipulate people, boys especially. She knew how social interactions worked in a way that I had never understood and still didn’t; she was as good at social deception as Brooke was bad at it. Blondie watched her expectantly. In one sentence Marci had turned his mocking joke into an offer of help.
But Blondie’s help was the last thing I wanted right now. “We’re fine,” I said again. How could we get them to leave, or how could we leave without being followed?
“My name is Corey,” said the boy in the jacket. He pointed his thumb at Ball Cap and Blondie in turn. “This is Paul and Derek.” He looked around at the empty lot, then back at me. “We don’t get a lot of new people in town.”
“I’m Marci,” said Marci, and this is—”
“David,” I said, cutting her off. Marci’s name was fine, but Brooke and I were wanted by the FBI. David was the first name that came to mind, though I realized almost instantly that I had gotten it from David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam. Was that too much of a clue?
I was being paranoid.
My hand itched for the knife.
“So,” said Ball Cap—Paul, the guy said his name was—“this is fascinating to me. You’re just, what, hitchhiking around the country? Were you planning to sleep here?”
“That’s what we were hoping,” said Marci, “but there’s an awful lot of broken glass.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Blondie. Derek. “This place is a pretty common hangout for the kids at school—kind of hidden, kind of isolated. Not everyone’s as cool as the dude at the bowling alley, so this is a great place to get drunk.” He leered at Marci. “A lot of guys bring their girlfriends here too, it’s kind of our Make-out Point.”
“It’s been a really long day,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Do you guys mind—”
“The building is full of broken glass, too,” said Paul, walking to the barred window. “Probably a couple of inches of it; people chuck bottles through the bars all the time.”