Cryer’s Cross. Lisa McMann

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      The first week of school nears an end. The unspeakable absence of Tiffany Quinn is mostly forgotten, replaced by new assignments, new students, and a need for life to be normal. Kendall performs her morning routines—the wastebasket, the markers, the windows, the desks—and things are good. Mostly.

      Jacián still doesn’t speak in class unless Ms. Hinkler asks him a question.

      And Nico is completely lost in his own world, oblivious to Kendall.

      He won’t discuss it.

      Her brain goes into overdrive.

      “Nico,” she says at lunch, outside on the grass. “Is it me? Is it something I did?”

      He stares at the sky. His lips move, but no words come out.

      “Nico?”

      He turns to look at Kendall. “What?”

      Kendall bites her lip, and tears spring to her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? Monday you were normal, and now everything’s really weird.”

      He just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

      “Are we still going to Bozeman tomorrow?”

      “Bozeman. . . . Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure.”

      “Are you mad at me or something?”

      He stares for a minute as if he’s trying to comprehend the question, and then he takes her hand. “No, baby. I love you. Like always.” He looks into her eyes and brings her hand to his lips. But his look is vacant. He kisses her knuckles, drops her hand, gets to his feet, and walks back into the school.

      There’s no soccer practice on Fridays—not until games actually begin. Nico starts home after school without Kendall. She watches him, incredulous, and then she turns and walks up the street into town.

      The town portion of Cryer’s Cross consists of one four-way-stop intersection with a handful of stores, a restaurant, and a big indoor farmers’ market that doubles for whatever else might require a large organized space throughout the year. Kendall climbs the steps to the drugstore, in desperate need of tampons.

      Outside the building is a porch with an awning, and under the awning, sitting in aged wooden chairs, are old Mr. Greenwood and Hector Morales. Kendall grins and waves. The two men often sit together in the early evenings during good weather, not talking, just sitting. Old Mr. Greenwood is grouchy, but Hector brightens up when he sees Kendall.

      “Miss Kendall,” Hector says. “Come here, please.”

      Kendall goes over to the men. “Yes, sir?”

      “You are a good friend to Marlena at school. Thank you for that. You hear me?”

      Kendall smiles. Hector is such a sensitive man, so kind. She wonders how his offspring could have produced somebody so awful as Jacián. “Marlena’s a great girl,” Kendall says. “Really good at soccer.”

      “And Jacián, he is our soccer champion,” Hector says with a proud chuckle.

      “Yes,” Kendall says, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Yes, he’s really talented.”

      “He needs the friends too,” Hector says, a little softer, but somehow with more punch. “People need friends.” He glances at Mr. Greenwood, who shifts uncomfortably. “You’re a good girl. You give him a chance, okay?”

      “Okay,” Kendall says. What else can she say? “I’ll try.” And before she can help it, she adds, “And he should give everybody else a chance too.”

      Hector looks thoughtfully at Kendall, his finger on his lips as he thinks. “I agree, Miss Kendall. You are wise for someone so young, and I thank you.”

      Kendall can’t help smiling. She reaches and takes his hand, holds it for a minute. “Good to see you again.”

      She goes inside the shop and wanders around, looking at things. Thinking about Nico, and wondering what’s really going on with him.

      Then she pays and walks the mile home, looking over her shoulder every thirty paces. Walking alone always reminds her of Tiffany Quinn.

      Kendall does her chores and homework, mopes about Nico but is glad they’ll have a chance to talk things out tomorrow on the way to Bozeman. Her parents say good night and turn in. By ten thirty Kendall falls asleep on the couch watching music videos.

      Kendall wakes up to the doorbell ringing. Once, twice. Bright sunshine streams in through the living room curtains—she slept on the couch all night. Crap, she thinks. Overslept. Bozeman today. She goes to the door in her pajamas.

      It’s not Nico.

      It’s Jacián. With a side of beef.

      “Delivery,” he says. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, and Kendall can’t see his eyes. She grips the placket of her pajama top in residual fifth-grade fear.

      “Oh.” СКАЧАТЬ