Words of Stone by Kevin Henkes Page B

looked smart, and with her hair away from her face, her earrings were more visible. She left a note for Floy by the coffeepot.
    Puddles dotted Floy’s lawn like scattered mirrors. But Joselle didn’t mind. She hopped off the porch and skipped across the soggy yard toward Blaze’s house, her feet sliding in and out of her thongs. Floy’s umbrella shielded her like an enormous lavender flower.
    She didn’t feel brave enough today to tell the truth. She just wanted to see her friend.

19 BLAZE
    T he steely smell of rain was in the morning air. Blaze liked rainy days. “That’s the artist in you,” Nova said time and time again. “Most creative people like gray weather.” Blaze didn’t know if that was true, but he knew that Glenn also liked dark, stormy days. And according to Glenn, Reena had felt exactly the same way.
    Reena hadn’t been a painter, but a writer. She had majored in English in college. Before Blaze was born, she had taken a job with the local newspaper, writing book reviews. After Blaze was born, she stayed home with him, hoping to write a novel one day. Glenn said that Reena was never satisfied with her attempts at a novel and therefore had never kept any of them. Sometimes Blaze pretended that his mother had written a book. A book that could be checked out at the library. A book with secret references to him.
    Blaze’s train of thought was broken by a series of loud knocks on the door.
    It was Joselle. She smiled radiantly and waved at Blaze, then flew off the porch into the rain. Instead of holding her umbrella above her, she swung it around, turning circles with it, dancing. She raced about like a top—spinning, twirling, laughing.
    â€œCome out!” she yelled, waving. “It’s fun!”
    Blaze opened the door and stepped onto the porch. It was pouring. He could see that Joselle was soaked already. He could see her bathing suit beneath her T-shirt and sweater.
    â€œCome on!” she shouted.
    Blaze hesitated, thinking. It was only a summer shower. Nova wouldn’t mind. He took off his shoes and sprang from the porch, cringing from the shivery rain. He joined Joselle in a large muddy puddle.
    Joselle put her umbrella down and grabbed Blaze’s hands, pulling him into her dance. “I’m drenched,” she said, giggling, kicking her leg out playfully.
    And then he saw it. His mother’s name written on Joselle’s thigh. He could see it through her wet, wet T-shirt which was plastered against her skin. And he could see parts of other words. All the words of stone curving around her leg in ink of various colors.
    Blaze jerked his hands out of hers harshly. They stood face to face.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Joselle asked.
    â€œI want my key collection back,” Blaze said between quick, shallow breaths, his voice shaking with anger. It was all he could think of to say.
    Joselle didn’t answer, her face uncomprehending. Blaze could feel the silence in his belly.
    Holding his breath, Blaze tried to calm himself. He squinted and concentrated, his eyelashes becoming veils that filtered things and blurred them. But it did little good; he just kept seeing the words of stone as they had appeared on the hill. He felt ashamed for being such an easy target, someone so easily tricked.
    â€œYou wrote the messages on the hill, didn’t you?” he asked. “You wrote my mother’s name.”
    â€œOh!” Joselle said, glancing down at her transparent shirt, understanding. She covered the words with her hands and pulled her legs together. “No. I mean . . . yes.” She looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just a joke. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. And I stopped doing it once I got to know you.” She knitted her fingers nervously. “Really.”
    â€œI thought you were my friend,” Blaze said. His voice cracked. His fingers were extended on