A flailing shadow covers me just as Bilbo Baggins is about to slide the One Ring onto his greedy, covetous finger.

Gingerly, I lay my most prized possession on the floor of my canoe and sit up. That shadow is a body falling down the craggy granite face of the Devil’s Mountain. As it plummets, my imagination takes flight.

Raven hair flutters around its head like feathers. I glance down at my book. My heart leaps in my chest. It’s a Raven of Erebor. Shot out of the sky or thrown out of its mother’s nest before it was ready to fly.

Then, I see her face. It’s a girl. And just then the clouds, that had been hovering all day, part and the sun casts a spotlight on her. And she glows. Like the sun itself. She doesn’t look like anything I can find a reference for in my imagination. Right before she hits the water, she … smiles.

The cracking slap of her body’s full speed collision with the hazy surface of the lake snaps me out of my daydream. The aftershock of her crash landing sends my little vessel rocking and a fine mist of water dots my arms. I scramble off my backside and grab the sides of the canoe. I plant my feet while trying to steady the less than seaworthy boat.

I don’t once take my eyes off the spot where I saw her land.

I watch for what feels like minutes—but really could only have been a couple of seconds—before her head pops up.

When she disappears underwater again, her tiny arm grasps the air for a lifeline that’s not there. I forget my book. I forget everything but saving the sun and dive in.

My heart is pounding, sending the blood rushing to my limbs as it forces them to cut through the water faster than they ever had to before. When I reach the spot where I saw her vanish, I dive under.

My eyes sting as I open them and scan the sunlit, clear water. A few feet to my left, I see her struggling against the water like it’s a pair of arms wrapped around her. Bubbles of air are pouring from her open mouth, and at the same time, my lungs give their first burning protest. I swim up behind her and loop my arm around her shoulders. As soon as I touch her, she whips around and opens her eyes for a split second. Under the water, they look like black stones, and for the brief moment that our eyes are locked together, I see fear, relief, and something else that I don’t understand. But she closes them and scrambles onto me.

She wraps her legs and arms around me like my little sister used to do when my stepfather, Jeremiah, woke the house up to “teach” us.

Her grip is so tight that I know trying to get her to loosen up would be a waste of time. I can’t hold my breath much longer, and I kick my legs and push us upward.

When we reach the surface, the sunlight is blinding. When I’d been in my boat, the sun’s rays had been hazy, almost soothing. Now, it burns, but in a way that makes me pause to give thanks that I’m alive.

I flip onto my back and let her lie on my chest and float toward the shore. She shivers, and I can feel the fast thump of her heart against my own. When I’m close enough to shore, I stand up. She starts to cough. Her forehead slams against my sternum and her little body shakes as she tries to bring up the water she swallowed. But she doesn’t loosen her hold on me. She stays wrapped around me as I walk us to the place where I dropped my shoes and T-shirt before I rowed out.

When I try to pry her arms from around my neck, she only holds on tighter.

“Hey, you have to let go.” I give her arms a gentle tug.

She shakes her head and whines low in her throat. Her arms tense, and she crosses her legs at the ankle. Her heels dig into my stomach.

“We’re out of the water, and I can’t breathe,” I croak out.

It’s like she doesn’t hear me, and she wraps her legs even tighter around me. She’s crushing my throat.

I had a growth spurt last year, and I’m bigger than most of the men in the commune.

I gently but firmly use one hand to pull her arms down and the other to unlock her ankles.

Her sobs are interrupted by her shocked yelp when she lands on her rump on the spongy grass that runs along the lake’s shore.

I stand back and get my first good look at the girl who just fell out of the freakin’ sky.

She’s tiny. She can’t be older than eight. Her knobby knees are pressed against her chest, and her skinny arms are wrapped around them. Her quivering chin rests on her forearms. She’s got one of those weird bowl haircuts that I’ve only seen on boys. It’s plastered to her forehead and trails of water stream down her face. The droplets cling to her long, spiky eyelashes before they plop onto her forearm.

She’s got a splash of dark brown freckles across the bridge of her nose that look like they were left by a fine mist of paint.

She’s shivering, staring ahead of her lips that vibrate around chattering teeth.

I grab my towel from the ground next to her and hand it to her.

“Here, dry off.” She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even look up.

Maybe she can’t hear me. The wheels in my head start to spin as fresh possibilities occur to me. Or maybe she doesn’t speak at all. Or maybe she was raised by wolves.

“Can you hear me?” When she still doesn’t answer, a kernel of worry starts to unfurl in my chest. She’s too little to be out here by herself.

I scan the lakeshore for signs of a family or anyone else at all.

My eyes land on my little blue canoe bobbing up and down in the lake. I groan when I realize I’m gonna have to swim back out there to get it. If my book weren’t out there, I’d leave it until tomorrow. But, I can’t take the chance that one of those out of nowhere summer showers will choose tonight to surprise us.

“Did Daddy send you?”

I look down at the girl, and she’s peering up at me. Her hand is pressed to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun. I can see directly into her eyes. Now that they’re not widened in fear underwater or squeezed shut in terror, I can see they’re the color of an impossibly black, moonless sky. They’re wide set and big but tip up sharply at the corners.

“You saved me, like an angel from heaven. My daddy’s there. Maybe he sent you,” she breathes out. Her dark eyes grow wide with awe.

I frown at her. “I’m not a damn angel.”

“I think you are,” she insists. A sudden tremor racks her skinny frame, and I thrust the towel at her again.

“Dry off before you get sick.”

She stares at the towel like she’s never seen one before for a full two seconds before she finally reaches for it.

She drapes it over her head and starts to rub her hair.

Her fingernails are painted gold.

My stepfather preaches about the sin of vanity every week—twice a week. On Wednesday at night bible study and on Sunday from his pulpit.

He says that women who adorn themselves are sinners. In our small community of Cain’s Weeping, he’s the judge, jury, and dispenser of justice.

Nobody who lives here would be caught dead with their nails covered in color. And certainly not one so glorious as that gold. He would say they were trying to tempt the flesh of men by casting the very sun into the shade. And there is something about the way the gold gleams against her sun-browned skin that makes the sun seem ordinary.

If I still believed in any of the garbage he said, I might think this girl had been dropped down in front of me by the devil himself. To make me wonder where she came from and if she’ll take me with her when she goes back.

I want to live somewhere where girls can paint their nails if they want.

When she moves the towel off her head and starts to wipe down her arms, I squat down in front of her and get as close to eye level as I can.

She blinks in surprise and then smiles. “Hello,” she says, curious.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Where you from? And why’d you jump off that cliff?”

I’ve been coming here almost every day for two years, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone. The footpath that used to lead here is overgrown and nearly impossible to walk through unless you know where you’re going.

My curiosity starts to lean toward suspicion.

I stand back up and frown down at her.

“Who are you?” I cross my arms over my chest.

Instead of answering me, she tilts her head to the side and whacks at one of her ears.

“I can’t hear. There’s water in my ear,” she says. Her face is scrunched up in that pitiful expression again. And her bottom lip starts to wobble as if she’s going to start crying again.

“You’re lucky you can breathe,” I say, and then I drop down again. I grab her by one of her bony little shoulders and try hard not to frown.

“Please don’t start crying again,” I beg her. I can’t stand it when girls cry. I never know what to do to make ‘em stop.

“It’s just that …” Her smile widens as she looks at me “You saved my life. Thank you,” she says and bites her lip to still it.

I feel a blush creep up my neck. My blushing is one of the things my stepfather considers a sin. Unfortunately for me, I can’t control mine. Feeling the blood rush into my cheeks only serves to remind me of the first time he decided to punish me for it. And instead of feeling good about her words, I feel irritated.

❖

I shrug my shoulders and turn my eyes away. I see a broken twig and pick it up. I start to draw lines in the sand and don’t look at her when I say, “Yeah, well you were drowning. I was here. I couldn’t very well watch you die.”

“I’m Apollo,” she says in a voice so cheerful and full of pride that I can’t help but look back at her.

“Apollo?” I lean back to look at her and see that she’s smiling at me. Not just smiling—grinning like she didn’t just have to be pulled out of a river and isn’t out here where she shouldn’t be all by herself. “Yes, Apollo Havaa Locklear,” she says proudly.“Is that your real name?” I ask. She nods her head, her grin not faltering.

“I want to be your friend, so please don’t make fun of my name. It’s the only thing you could say that would make me not like you.” She wraps the towel around her shoulders and rubs her hands up and down her arms to warm them.

“I’m a twin. My parents thought I was going to be a boy. They picked the names Artemis and Apollo. My sister was born first, so I got the name Apollo even though it turned out I wasn’t a boy. My mother wanted to name me Ariel. But Papa said when I cried for the first time, the sun broke through the clouds, and he thought it was a sign.” She beams at me.

“A sign of what?” Other than the rain had stopped.

“Apollo is the god of the sun. So, it fit. I think it’s pretty,” she declares. “Havaa is Persian for ‘life’ and Locklear is my father’s family’s name. Maman is from Iran, and my father is one of the First People.” I can tell she’s told this story plenty of times. None of what she said makes any sense.

“What in the world is a First People?” I ask her because of all of the things she said, that’s got to be the strangest.

“He’s Native American. Iroquois, to be precise,” she says as if I should know what that is.

I don’t. But, I nod like I do and make a mental note to ask my mother when she comes in to tuck me in.

“What’s your name?” she asks me.

“Graham Stevens,” I tell her.

“What does that mean?” she asks, and I wish she didn’t look so excited.

“It don’t mean nothing,” I mumble, and she tilts her head to the side like she didn’t understand what I said.

“It’s just the name my folks gave me when I was born.” I’ve never thought much about my name. Now, after she’s told me hers and what it means, I add it to the list of things the world gave everyone else but me.

A name that means something.

“Graham.” She says it slowly like she’s testing it out.

“Yeah, just Graham,” I mumble and then stand up. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.

“You don’t have a middle name?” she asks, sounding surprised and it annoys me. I cross my arms again and frown at her.

“You haven’t told me what you’re doing here. Where’s your people?”

Her smile slips a little. Right away, I feel sorry because her dimming smile does something weird and uncomfortable to my insides.

“You’re not here alone, are you?” My voice is gentler, and her smile grows again. “I’m visiting with my aunt.” She shakes her head. “It’s just Tante Isabel and me. We’re staying in a bed and breakfast in Fredericksburg for the summer.”

I rack my brain, trying to think. I’ve heard my stepdaddy talk about Fredericksburg. That’s where he and Mama go once a month for a provision run. I didn’t know there were people living there.

“What’s a bed and breakfast? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I dunno, really. It’s what Tante Isabel calls it. It’s a house, but we’re only staying there for the two weeks we’re here. Someone delivers groceries almost every morning. But, I have to make my own bed, and I have to help with dinner. I hate that because she always calls me down for dinner when I’m in the middle of something good. But, I’m happy she brought me with her, and I try to obey her so she won’t be sorry she did.. But I wish I didn’t have to cook. She promised we’d go into town to have dinner one night, but I don’t know if she just said that to keep me from complaining. Then today, when I told her I wanted to go …” She frowns a little. “I don’t know if I really believe her. I think she just wants me to stay inside with her. But I wanted to see the world, so I ran off.” She pauses for breath.

“You talk a lot, but you don’t say much,” I tell her, and she dissolves into a fit of giggles. Her little face scrunches up, and her eyes almost disappear. Her freckles look like a thousand tiny splatters of paint.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, my dad used to say the same exact thing. I can’t help it. I just start talking and can’t stop.” She grins like it’s a good thing.

“So …” I look around the lake again. Maybe this is some sort of test by my stepfather. I eye her again. She looks innocent, but I know that doesn’t mean anything. “Just you and your aunt? Without a man? She doesn’t have a husband or anything?” In our small town, the only women who live alone are the spinsters, widows, and what Jeremiah, my stepfather, refers to as “fallen women.”

She wipes the tears out of her eyes.

“Yeah, but she got rid of him. They got a divorce.” She says “divorce” slowly like she said my name.

“He let her leave? What kind of man is he?” I ask her. She purses her lips and stares upward for a second and then says, “He was nice. I dunno, I guess.” She lifts her shoulders and looks up again. “He always had gum. But Tante Isabel said it’s because he didn’t want her to know that he drank a lot. It’s not a big deal. People get divorced all the time,” she says like she’s trying to make me feel better.

I’ve never met anyone like her before. The only people I know who are this weird have names like Bilbo and Gandalf.

“Where are you from?” I ask and wait for her to say Middle Earth.

“Las Vegas. My father’s family owns hotels and casinos all over. But we live in the biggest one, The Locklear.” She says it like it could be a place that might exist in one of my books.

“Where are you from?” she asks me, with the same voice I asked her, and I can’t help but smile a little at how good her imitation is.

“Right here. Well, not right here, but a mile off in a town that’s kind of in the middle of the forest. This is where I come to read.”

She smiles at me like I just made her day.

All her smiling is weird.

“So, why are you here with your aunt instead of your mama? It ain’t safe to go jumping off that cliff when you’re by yourself. And why’d you smile right before you hit the water?” I sound more irritated than I should, but I’m annoyed that this kid is walking around here by herself.

“I didn’t jump, I fell. I tripped.” She swallows hard, and her wide eyes dart away.

“My papa’s dead. And my mama’s sad. So, Tante Isabel brought me here so she could feel better. I smiled because I thought maybe I’d get to see Papa and Arti again so it wouldn’t be so bad to hit the water. I changed my mind as soon as I was in it though.”

She’s still running her mouth a mile a minute. But her voice is so sad, she sounds like a different person. I feel bad for asking her, but I’m also glad I did. Now, I know someone else whose sister died. She doesn’t have to say another word. I already know exactly what she’s feeling.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, and because I don’t know what else to do, I pat her shoulder.

“Me, too,” she says.

“So, your aunt? Maybe she’s looking for you?”

“She’s working. She’s a sculptor. And—”

“What’s that?”

“She has a bunch of clay.” She must see the blank look on my face because she says, “It’s like wet dirt.”

“Oh, okay.”

“She uses it and makes shapes out of it. Like small people and stuff. Anyway, when she’s working, I have to be quiet. So, I left. And she called after me, but she wouldn’t walk into the woods after me because she’s terrified of snakes,” she explains.

“And you’re not?” I ask her. Everyone I know, including myself, is afraid of snakes.

“I didn’t see any on my way here.”

“Where’s your stuff?” I slip my feet into my docksiders. I look up to find her frowning at me. Her little freckled nose is scrunched up, and her mouth is puckered in disapproval. Her hair and bathing suit is nearly dry already, but I notice she’s barefoot. Her little toes are painted the same gold as her fingernails.

I glance in both directions around the shore and don’t see any clothes or anything.

“We should give you a middle name,” she says. She’s got that big smile on her face again, and her eyes roam my face.

“Uh, no thanks.” I roll my eyes.

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because I’m happy with my name, and I don’t know you,” I say and snag my T-shirt from the ground.

“Of course, you know me. I’m Apollo. You saved my life. You’re my hero,” she declares, and I slip my T-shirt over my head to hide my dumb blush.

“Did you hear me? You’re a hero,” she repeats.

“I ain’t no hero. I didn’t do nothing.”

“Your deeds are your monuments,” she says.

I roll my eyes again. “You talk like you’re grown up. What in the world does that e’en mean?” I ask her.

“It’s what Papa used to say that it’s the things we do that make us who we are. I would have drowned if you hadn’t been here. When I was falling all I could think was that maybe it was my time.” She shrugs and pauses for air, and I cut her off.

“Well, you should probably learn how to swim if you’re gonna be here for a month.” I put my hands on my hips and ask again, “Now. Where’s your stuff?”

“Up there.” She points up at the highest point of Devil’s Mountain. I didn’t realize she fell from all the way up there. I look a little at the cliff that I assumed she’d fallen from. I can’t believe she didn’t break every bone in her body falling from that height.

Even I’ve never dared to climb that high up.

“Your aunt is right to be scared. You climbed up there?”

She nods proudly.

“Through that forest?” I ask again just be sure.

Her expression becomes guarded. “Yes, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That part of the cliff is full of rattlers. Diamondbacks are everywhere. I went up there once and turned back after I saw two rattlers back to back,” I warn her.

Her eyes are wide as saucers, and she glances down at the ground before they dart around the wooded shoreline.

“Do … do …” She stops and swallows hard.

“Do I what?” I snap impatiently, my hands on my hips as I wait for her to spit it out.

“Do you mean … Are those the kind of snakes that bite?” she whispers urgently as if she’s afraid someone will hear her.

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “This is Texas. You shouldn’t walk around barefoot. Most of them can’t bite through leather. You have to wear shoes,” I scold her.

I look back at my canoe and remember that I still need to get my book. “Let’s get your stuff so I can see you home.”

She worries her bottom lip and looks up at me through her lashes, her eyes sad. “Are you mad at me?” Her voice is so small, and I feel bad that I snapped at her. She’s just a kid—a sweet one at that.

“Nah. I’m not. I just have to get home, okay?”

“Okay,” she says quietly. I turn around and crouch so she can hop on my back.

When she doesn’t hop on right away, I turn around to look at her. “Get on. You can’t walk barefoot all the way back up there.”

Her grin is huge, and she says, “Oh, okay.” I turn back around right before she leaps onto my back and wraps her legs around my waist.

I grab hold of her thighs and start walking.

She rests her sun-warmed head against my shoulder. “I’ve never had a piggyback ride,” she says, and I can feel her cheek and jaw moving against my back. It makes me long for my sister suddenly. She loved piggyback rides.

“Me neither,” I mutter.

“This is like riding a horse,” she says dreamily.

“Well, I’m not a horse, okay?” I warn her as I start to climb through the wooded brush.

She weighs next to nothing. If it wasn’t for her vice grip around my neck and her heart thumping against my back and her nonstop chatter, I could forget she was even there. It’s a good thing, too, because the climb up to the cliff’s edge is really steep in places. If she were much heavier, it would be pretty hard to do.

I try to keep my eyes on the ground as much as I can because I wasn’t kidding about snakes. I never come up here without my boots and jeans on.

A rattler bite won’t kill you if you can get help. But getting bit up here, so far away from town, it would take a long time to find help—if you could walk. And if the poison doesn’t kill you, then exposure will.

“Let’s tell each other our favorite things,” she says in a singsong voice.

“What for?” I say as I duck to avoid a low hanging branch.

“Well, we’re going to be best friends. And I love talking about my favorite things. I can’t stop talking about them,” she says.

“You can’t stop talking, period. How old are you? Eight? Why do you talk like a grown up?” I ask her.

“I am eleven years old. I’m in sixth grade,” she says proudly.

“You’re small for eleven.”

“I’m not small, I’m petite,” she says in that grown-up voice.

“Maybe in Las Vegas, but ‘round here, you’re small,” I say.

“How old are you?” she asks in that sunny voice that didn’t ever change even when I’m grumpy.

“I’m fourteen,” I tell her proudly.

“Really? I thought you were older. My cousin is seventeen, and you’re taller than he is.” She swings her bare feet, and they bounce off my thighs midstride.

“Will you quit that?” I snap over my shoulder. My foot hooks under an exposed tree root.

“Oh, shoot.” I windmill my arms to stop myself from falling forward. She shrieks, but using her arms like reins, pulls us backward.

I manage to regain my balance.

“Oooh, I saved us,” she sings loudly and swings her legs again, repeating the motion that caused us to trip.

“Saved us? It was your fault,” I grumble and start walking again. This time I keep my eyes glued to the ground. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna put you down and let the snakes have you for lunch,” I threaten, but start to walk again.

“Oh, you would never,” she giggles.

“I would so,” I taunt.

She just laughs harder. I blow a lock of my hair out of my eyes and remember that I was supposed to get my hair cut before I went home tonight.

I can see the light breaking through the clearing at the top of the trail. I can’t wait to get this annoying kid off my back and get the hell out of these woods.

I start walking faster.

“No, you wouldn’t. We’re a team. You’re a superhero, and I’m your cape.” She spreads her arms and starts making whooshing sounds as she sways on my back like she’s flapping in the wind.

I try to ignore her and keep my focus on getting us out there.

Sweat trickles down my forehead and into my eyes. And then my stomach grumbles. The trees’ shadows are getting longer, and I know we need to hurry.

“Now that we’re best friends, we need nicknames,” she proposes, propping her chin on my shoulder so that we’re almost cheek to cheek.

I shake her chin off. She just puts it right back.

“You’re a girl. And ten. I’m not going to be your best friend,” I tell her.

“I’m eleven. And it’s too late, you already are,” she says and squeezes my neck tightly.

I step out into the clearing that leads to the ledge. As soon as we’re on the gravelly ground, I pry her arms loose. Her legs only hug my waist tighter, and she doesn’t budge.

“Get down. I really gotta go.”

“Only if you promise to be my best friend,” she squeals.

“Okay, I promise,” I say quickly.

“I knew you’d say yes!” she chirps and then hops down.

I squint up to check the sun. The sun has started falling a little. I’m gonna be late.

“Get your stuff and let’s go,” I tell her impatiently.

She sprints over to a pair of bright yellow flip-flops and slips them on. I’m so distracted by the big white flower attached to the top of each shoe that it takes me a minute to realize she’s not holding anything else.

“Where are your clothes? And those shoes aren’t fit for walking through the woods. Did you walk up here in these?” I snap impatiently.

Girls are so annoying.

She looks up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I don’t have any clothes. I came in my swim suit. I didn’t know about the snakes,” she says miserably. I can’t see her eyes, but I can see that bottom lip trembling.

“Oh, God. Please don’t cry.” I rush toward her, ready to clamp a hand over her mouth if she starts caterwauling.

She covers her face with her hands and sniffles.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t know,” she says in a voice that makes me feel like a monster for snapping at her.

“I’ll carry you back down, it’s not a big deal,” I rush out, desperate to stop the only thing I hate more than living in Cain’s Weeping—a crying girl.

Her hands fall from her face and her formerly trembling lip is now spread wide and curved upward at the ends as she beams happily at me.

“Oh, good! Another piggyback,” she shouts, and without any warning, she hops back onto my back.

“You gotta hold still, though. I’ve got to go slow. It’s steep,” I warn her and then turn to walk back down the hill.

She props her cheek onto the back of my shoulder and wraps her legs around my waist, locking them at the ankles as a symbol of her agreement.

“Okay, well how about you watch where we’re going, and I’ll tell you all about the book I’m reading.”

“You like to read?” I ask, and I have to stop myself from turning my head backward to see if she’s serious.

But I’m trying to focus on stepping over a pile of leaves that are also the perfect place for a snake to take a nap.

“Oh, yeah. It’s one of my favorite things to do, and my dad and I used to read together all the time,” she says happily, and I stop.

“Well, it's mine, too,” I say slowly because a part of me is expecting her to burst out laughing or call me a sinning sissy.

But, she doesn’t do anything but keep on talking.

“Really? I just finished a book on Greek gods, and then I’m finishing one on Egypt and all the Pharaohs and their tombs and all the things they believed back then.” She’s practically bouncing on my back. I don’t know what either of those two things is, but I can’t tell her that.

I want to read about them, too.

“What are you reading?” she asks, sounding even more excited.

“The Hobbit. I’ve read it lots of times already.” I don’t tell her it’s the only book I have. And that I come here to read because it’s the only place no one would come looking for me.

I would be beaten within an inch of my life if my stepfather found out what I was doing every day.

The only book allowed in Cain's Weeping is the Bible and a cookbook my Mama brought with her when we moved here. She also brought The Hobbit and gave it to me for my seventh birthday.

“What is that about?” she asks, and I start to tell her all about mythical, magical beings that don’t really exist. She hugs my neck and says, “You sound so excited about it. Can I read it when you’re done?”

“I may not be done for a while,” I say even though the thought of parting with my book makes my stomach hurt.

“That’s okay. I’ve got other books to read while I wait,” she says.

“I dunno, you’re maybe too little,” I say slowly.

“My brain’s not,” she singsongs. Oh, yeah. That’s obvious.

“I’ll let you read some of mine. I have a bunch, and then we can talk about them,” she adds.

I perk up at that. The idea of talking about it with someone makes my stomach hurt a little less.

“I guess that’ll be okay,”

“You wanna come to my house? Or should I come to yours?” My stomach sinks. Neither of those things is possible.

“I can’t do that. My parents don’t let me …” I start and try to find an excuse that doesn’t sound as awful as the truth.

“That’s okay.” Her legs swing a little. “Let’s meet by the lake again. I’ll bring you the books I’ve finished, and you can bring me yours.”

Inside, a bubbling of happiness tickles my throat and makes me want to laugh out loud. I can’t remember the last time I felt that.

“Yeah, sure. I can only come here from two to four. And you have to wear real shoes. I don’t want you dying from a snakebite on your way here.”

“I’m so excited. It’ll be so fun.” She squeals and wiggles. But this time, I don’t tell her to stop.

I’m happy, too.

I come to a stop and shrug to urge her to get down.

“You can get down now. The rest of this way is paved. Do you remember the way to your house from here?”

“Yeah, it’s just up the road, and then we turn up another road on the right, and it’s there.” She slides down. Her legs stay wrapped around mine until she’s close enough to the ground to stand up and we start walking.

“I can take you as far as that second turning, okay? You should be fine once we get closer to town.”

“I guess I’m lucky I didn’t get bitten on my way up there, huh?”

“How’d you even know it was here?”

“I saw it from my bedroom window.” She sounds out of breath, and it’s only then that I realize she’s jogging to keep up with my long strides.

I slow down but give her a disbelieving frown. “Even if your house was right here, no way could you see all the way up there from your window. It’s too far.”

“I have a telescope. My father gave it to me so I could watch the stars, but I also use it to see things that are far away. Like the cliff.”

I almost ask her what a telescope is but decide to save it for tomorrow.

If she’s only going to be here for a couple weeks, then I gotta make sure she doesn’t tell me everything all at once.

“So, you just decided to walk up there and jump off? That’s kinda crazy.” I give her a sideways frown.

She shoves me playfully. “I told you,” she giggles, and it’s catching because I laugh a little too.

“I went up there because I wanted to check it out, but when I realized how high up I was, I was gonna leave. When I turned around to pick up my stuff, I tripped on a rock and fell.”

She says all of this like it’s a good thing. I look down at her, and she smiles up at me and sidles up to me and takes my hand in hers.

“It’s lucky you were here, Graham,” she says softly.

I pull my hand out of hers and pick up my pace, so she can’t see my red face.

I’m not anyone’s hero. I’m a skinny, weird kid who reads in secret because I live in a town where no one’s allowed to read, and everyone’s miserable.

Except for me.

I’m miserable and angry.

I feel like the rest of the world is happening, and somehow, they forgot to include me.

And now I know that even my name doesn’t mean anything.

“Let’s hurry. I need to get you home before it’s dark,” I say over my shoulder.

She jogs up to my side again and chatters non stop. Instead of feeling annoyed, I feel…happy. It’s been so long since I felt it, that it takes me a moment to identify it. It feels really good. I smile down at her and slow down a little. She smiles up at me gratefully before she starts talking again.