Why are you here?” he says, finally turning around. It’s doubly clear I’ve interrupted something, now that I can see the dark look in his eyes.
“I, um…” I shake my head as a breeze rustles the forest, and a small piece of one of the screens tumbles to the ground. “I want you to teach me to shoot,” I finally say, as though it’s a line rehearsed for a school play.
“No.”
The answer is confident, in a not-to-be-argued-with tone, and Samuel brushes past me toward the drive. I blink, trying to analyze what just happened, as Samuel storms away. I shake off my frustration and hurry after him.
“Why not?” I shout; my voice is loud and invasive in the quiet of the drive-in, and I feel guilty, as if I’ve been disrespectful. When he doesn’t answer, I repeat my question in a normal voice.
“I don’t teach people,” he answers from the mouth of the drive. I jog to catch up to him before he makes it back to his bike.
“Just one lesson,” I beg.
“Why?” he asks without turning to look at me.
“Because I want to be able to defend myself.”
Samuel stops so quickly I almost run into him, then turns to face me. His eyes look even greener when he’s framed by so many summer trees.
“You think taking aim at a Fenris isn’t a faster way for you to die? Right now you’re just a meal to them. If you’ve got a gun, they’ll kill you quick. No chance to run like last time,” Samuel hisses.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“Is this about Sophia Kelly?” he asks. “Did she tell you to ask me this? Is she trying to make me look stupid?”
“Of course not. I’m just sick of feeling helpless. I’m sick of thinking I’ll end up like my sister or the girls who disappeared here.”
Samuel studies me for a moment, as though he’s trying to find something in me. He tries to hide the loneliness, tries to push it to the back, but it doesn’t work—not on me. I try to pull it out of him, try to appeal to it. Come on, I mutter to him silently. Please. Don’t pretend there are loads of people asking to spend time with you.
Samuel grimaces and bites his tongue. “Fine,” he finally says. “I’ll teach you. Once, maybe twice. I don’t have time to be your own personal gun tutor.”
“When? Where?” I say. I manage to stop the excitement from bubbling into my voice but can’t prevent myself from bouncing up on my toes.
“Nowhere anyone will see us,” he mumbles. “There’s a field off Old Eighteen. You can see it through the trees if you’re looking for it—used to be a tobacco farm before the Mitchells foreclosed. It’s walking distance from the candy store. Meet me there tomorrow at, say, two o’clock.”
“Walk there? Past the woods?” I instantly curse at myself for how fragile my voice sounds, but it’s hard not to think of the wolves in the trees.
“You managed to get into the drive-in just fine,” Samuel says, waving a hand at the trees that surround us.
“Okay… do I need to bring anything?” I ask as he turns and hurries to his bike.
“Yeah,” he says without looking at me, swinging a leg over the seat. “My sanity, if you can find it.”
CHAPTER NINE
I used to read to escape.
No matter what the characters in a book were going through, their stories had a final page. A conclusion. I knew the mystery and adventure would end, and it was so much more appealing than the constant wonder about my sister, the constant fear, the constant worry.
But right now? I’m reading to kill time. Because the only thing I can think about is learning to shoot. My mind fills in the rest of my story a hundred different ways: I learn to shoot, and then a witch comes for me and Sophia and I kill it. I learn to shoot, and I trek into the forest and pull my sister out. I learn to shoot and walk up to a witch, instead of running from it.
On top of that, reading is a nice break from watching my brother and Sophia. It’s not that I mean to stare,
“I, um…” I shake my head as a breeze rustles the forest, and a small piece of one of the screens tumbles to the ground. “I want you to teach me to shoot,” I finally say, as though it’s a line rehearsed for a school play.
“No.”
The answer is confident, in a not-to-be-argued-with tone, and Samuel brushes past me toward the drive. I blink, trying to analyze what just happened, as Samuel storms away. I shake off my frustration and hurry after him.
“Why not?” I shout; my voice is loud and invasive in the quiet of the drive-in, and I feel guilty, as if I’ve been disrespectful. When he doesn’t answer, I repeat my question in a normal voice.
“I don’t teach people,” he answers from the mouth of the drive. I jog to catch up to him before he makes it back to his bike.
“Just one lesson,” I beg.
“Why?” he asks without turning to look at me.
“Because I want to be able to defend myself.”
Samuel stops so quickly I almost run into him, then turns to face me. His eyes look even greener when he’s framed by so many summer trees.
“You think taking aim at a Fenris isn’t a faster way for you to die? Right now you’re just a meal to them. If you’ve got a gun, they’ll kill you quick. No chance to run like last time,” Samuel hisses.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“Is this about Sophia Kelly?” he asks. “Did she tell you to ask me this? Is she trying to make me look stupid?”
“Of course not. I’m just sick of feeling helpless. I’m sick of thinking I’ll end up like my sister or the girls who disappeared here.”
Samuel studies me for a moment, as though he’s trying to find something in me. He tries to hide the loneliness, tries to push it to the back, but it doesn’t work—not on me. I try to pull it out of him, try to appeal to it. Come on, I mutter to him silently. Please. Don’t pretend there are loads of people asking to spend time with you.
Samuel grimaces and bites his tongue. “Fine,” he finally says. “I’ll teach you. Once, maybe twice. I don’t have time to be your own personal gun tutor.”
“When? Where?” I say. I manage to stop the excitement from bubbling into my voice but can’t prevent myself from bouncing up on my toes.
“Nowhere anyone will see us,” he mumbles. “There’s a field off Old Eighteen. You can see it through the trees if you’re looking for it—used to be a tobacco farm before the Mitchells foreclosed. It’s walking distance from the candy store. Meet me there tomorrow at, say, two o’clock.”
“Walk there? Past the woods?” I instantly curse at myself for how fragile my voice sounds, but it’s hard not to think of the wolves in the trees.
“You managed to get into the drive-in just fine,” Samuel says, waving a hand at the trees that surround us.
“Okay… do I need to bring anything?” I ask as he turns and hurries to his bike.
“Yeah,” he says without looking at me, swinging a leg over the seat. “My sanity, if you can find it.”
CHAPTER NINE
I used to read to escape.
No matter what the characters in a book were going through, their stories had a final page. A conclusion. I knew the mystery and adventure would end, and it was so much more appealing than the constant wonder about my sister, the constant fear, the constant worry.
But right now? I’m reading to kill time. Because the only thing I can think about is learning to shoot. My mind fills in the rest of my story a hundred different ways: I learn to shoot, and then a witch comes for me and Sophia and I kill it. I learn to shoot, and I trek into the forest and pull my sister out. I learn to shoot and walk up to a witch, instead of running from it.
On top of that, reading is a nice break from watching my brother and Sophia. It’s not that I mean to stare,
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