couple of weeks. You want to stay in Live Oak, sweetheart, you’d best align yourself with a better crowd.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out. Dorothy sniffs unhappily in my direction as I begin to load the groceries back into my cart; a bag boy finally comes over to help. He rolls my cart out to the car and accepts a dollar tip graciously.
“Watch out when you leave,” he calls back over his shoulder as he walks away. “Ricky is set up behind that big sign. He’s pretty much gotta pull over everyone in Live Oak to meet quota. Newcomers are easy targets—no one’ll get mad at him for pulling you.”
“Thanks.” I climb into the car and hesitate. Dorothy seemed so normal. A perfectly normal, kind lady, who suspects Sophia. Do the people of Live Oak really just need someone to blame that badly? I frown and back the car out of the parking spot.
I nod congenially at Ricky as I drive past the massive SEE ROBERT E. LEE’S RIDING BOOTS sign—he looks disappointed, then goes back to his newspaper. I take a right, down a residential street. If I can get off this strip, I can get out of Ricky’s sight and speed back up. Antebellum houses line either side, most with For Sale signs stuck into the lawn, followed by freshly mowed pastures and, finally, the start of the forest.
They’re in there, in the trees, somewhere… I watch the edge of the road, plan what I’ll do if a werewolf emerges. Watch the breaks in the trees, wonder if the paths are worn by humans or—
I slam on the brakes. Throw the car into reverse.
On the edge of the road is an overgrown gravel drive, so narrow that I’m not sure a car could make it down without hitting low-hanging branches. The drive itself isn’t anything notable—there are dozens like it. But just inside the drive, sitting in the shade of the trees, is a motorcycle. Samuel’s motorcycle.
I inhale. I pull the car off the road, onto the grassy shoulder. Slowly get out, stare at the drive that seems to disappear into the trees. Samuel is back there. He has a gun—it’ll be fine even if there is a witch. Besides, if he isn’t afraid, why should I be?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I trudge down the drive, keeping my eyes straight ahead; if I look into the trees on either side, I’ll get scared again. Gravel crunches under my feet and I sidestep a few old puddles, then finally emerge in a large, paved clearing.
Wait, no, not just a clearing. The paved area is the size of a baseball field, with a steplike formation—every fifteen feet or so the concrete drops down lower. On either end is a giant white billboard-type screen, both graying and partially collapsed. Encircling the whole area is the forest, the tree trunks like cell bars, locking us in.
And in the center of it all is Samuel.
He’s sitting at the edge of one of the steps, staring at a screen with a lost look on his face. He looks different in the sunlight, or maybe it’s because the hard lines of his cheeks and eyebrows are relaxed. I take another step forward, accidentally sending a rock skittering across the asphalt.
Samuel leaps to his feet. Hard lines return, fists tighten. He looks ready to fight me for a split second, but then when he realizes who I am, he exhales and relaxes. He rolls his eyes at me and turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Hi,” I say firmly, as though I’m completely assured of myself. I walk toward him.
“Hey,” he answers over his shoulder, tone withering.
I stop a few yards from him, rocking back on my heels. His back is still to me, and I’m not sure what to say. I glance at the screens, fiddle my hands. “What is this place?”
“Once upon a time,” Samuel begins sarcastically, “this was a drive-in movie theater. The only drive-in theater Live Oak’s ever had.”
“Oh.” I’ve never seen one in person, but now concrete steps and screens make sense—stadium seating for cars. “So, um… why are you here?”
“To think. Clear my head.
My mouth opens, but no words come out. Dorothy sniffs unhappily in my direction as I begin to load the groceries back into my cart; a bag boy finally comes over to help. He rolls my cart out to the car and accepts a dollar tip graciously.
“Watch out when you leave,” he calls back over his shoulder as he walks away. “Ricky is set up behind that big sign. He’s pretty much gotta pull over everyone in Live Oak to meet quota. Newcomers are easy targets—no one’ll get mad at him for pulling you.”
“Thanks.” I climb into the car and hesitate. Dorothy seemed so normal. A perfectly normal, kind lady, who suspects Sophia. Do the people of Live Oak really just need someone to blame that badly? I frown and back the car out of the parking spot.
I nod congenially at Ricky as I drive past the massive SEE ROBERT E. LEE’S RIDING BOOTS sign—he looks disappointed, then goes back to his newspaper. I take a right, down a residential street. If I can get off this strip, I can get out of Ricky’s sight and speed back up. Antebellum houses line either side, most with For Sale signs stuck into the lawn, followed by freshly mowed pastures and, finally, the start of the forest.
They’re in there, in the trees, somewhere… I watch the edge of the road, plan what I’ll do if a werewolf emerges. Watch the breaks in the trees, wonder if the paths are worn by humans or—
I slam on the brakes. Throw the car into reverse.
On the edge of the road is an overgrown gravel drive, so narrow that I’m not sure a car could make it down without hitting low-hanging branches. The drive itself isn’t anything notable—there are dozens like it. But just inside the drive, sitting in the shade of the trees, is a motorcycle. Samuel’s motorcycle.
I inhale. I pull the car off the road, onto the grassy shoulder. Slowly get out, stare at the drive that seems to disappear into the trees. Samuel is back there. He has a gun—it’ll be fine even if there is a witch. Besides, if he isn’t afraid, why should I be?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I trudge down the drive, keeping my eyes straight ahead; if I look into the trees on either side, I’ll get scared again. Gravel crunches under my feet and I sidestep a few old puddles, then finally emerge in a large, paved clearing.
Wait, no, not just a clearing. The paved area is the size of a baseball field, with a steplike formation—every fifteen feet or so the concrete drops down lower. On either end is a giant white billboard-type screen, both graying and partially collapsed. Encircling the whole area is the forest, the tree trunks like cell bars, locking us in.
And in the center of it all is Samuel.
He’s sitting at the edge of one of the steps, staring at a screen with a lost look on his face. He looks different in the sunlight, or maybe it’s because the hard lines of his cheeks and eyebrows are relaxed. I take another step forward, accidentally sending a rock skittering across the asphalt.
Samuel leaps to his feet. Hard lines return, fists tighten. He looks ready to fight me for a split second, but then when he realizes who I am, he exhales and relaxes. He rolls his eyes at me and turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Hi,” I say firmly, as though I’m completely assured of myself. I walk toward him.
“Hey,” he answers over his shoulder, tone withering.
I stop a few yards from him, rocking back on my heels. His back is still to me, and I’m not sure what to say. I glance at the screens, fiddle my hands. “What is this place?”
“Once upon a time,” Samuel begins sarcastically, “this was a drive-in movie theater. The only drive-in theater Live Oak’s ever had.”
“Oh.” I’ve never seen one in person, but now concrete steps and screens make sense—stadium seating for cars. “So, um… why are you here?”
“To think. Clear my head.
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