Lost Girls(7)

“Look, I won’t tell Mom or Dad what you did. But could you teach me that move, the one where you flattened me and pinned me to the ground?” Kyle asked, his eyebrows raised.

“No.”

He had that look on his face—the one he used when he wanted the last bowl of ice cream or when he wanted the whole family to watch one of his Bruce Lee DVDs on movie night. Half his life he’d been the brat I had to babysit, and the other half he’d been a video-game-addicted, bad-joke-telling best friend. But that look of his wouldn’t work, not this time.

“No way, I don’t know how I did that, but I never want to do it again. Okay?”

He shrugged, and we both pretended as if what had just happened was no big deal.





Chapter Five


I scrolled through my phone, staring down at my new obsession—a collection of ballet videos, performances by the greatest ballerinas in the world. My breath caught in my chest and I imagined my back arched, my head held high as I leaped across a stage, all lights focused on me. I could hear the whisper of ballet slippers scuffing the floor, then the music rose and everything was drowned out, everything except the applause.

Something about it both frightened and excited me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dad asked.

We both sat in the Starbucks across the street from my old dance studio. I lifted my gaze to stare at him, hoping he didn’t notice that my hands trembled in my lap.

“Yes.” But my mouth was dry and that single word sounded more like no. I glanced across the street, at the bank of windows that revealed girls and boys in unitards, all of them stretching, all with serious expressions on their faces. I recognized most of them, but would they be glad to see me? Sometime in the past six months, I’d dropped out of class, right when we were in the middle of practicing The Nutcracker Suite and I’d gotten the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

I was surprised that my teacher, Ms. Petrova, was willing to take me back. But then, money opened a lot of doors. I had a feeling that my parents’ generous offer to replace the studio’s worn flooring was what finally convinced her.

“We can come back next week, if you don’t want to start class now,” Dad said. His eyes met mine, eyes so dark you could barely see the pupils, just like mine.

Someone walked past our table then, some guy a few years older than me, wearing a woodsy cologne with faint notes of cedar and pine. For a second, I was back in the mountains, fighting some unknown assailant who had no face. I struggled against tears, my chin quivering.

“Rachel?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to give in to the fear. Instead, an unexpected determination began to grow in my chest. More than anything, I wanted to fly across the dance floor right now, to push myself as hard and as fast as I could. I wanted the freedom and release that I only knew how to find in one place.

“I do want to go back to ballet,” I said, my words thick with emotion, my hands still and calm. “Tonight.”

He gave me a thin smile and a nod. “I know, sweetheart. I was just waiting for you to figure that out. Let’s go.”

We left the coffee shop together, but I walked through the door to the dance studio alone, not sure how my classmates would react, and realizing that I didn’t care.

All I wanted was to erase the fragrance of the forest that seemed to permeate my clothes and my hair. I wanted to feel myself flying through the air, my muscles responding to every step of the dance, and my blood pumping fast through my veins.

I wanted—no, I needed—to feel free.





Chapter Six


My dreams changed that night. Up until this point, every time I fell asleep I had the same nightmare, over and over. I woke up in that gully and couldn’t remember who I was or where I lived.

It was horrible.

Tonight was different. As soon as I closed my eyes I was in the woods, somewhere in the San Gabriel Mountains. And I was trying to find my way home—

.

A cabin stood on a ridge behind me, silhouetted by the sky and a countless army of ponderosa pines. I knew the walls, floors, and ceilings of that lodge were made of cedar, but I couldn’t remember what was inside. All I knew was I had to get away.

I had to run.

Birdsong filled the woods, robins and sparrows and mockingbirds, and a worn footpath led away from the cabin. In my left hand I carried a bottle of water, as I ran down a steep incline that opened up onto a clearing. From here I could see ridge after ridge of the San Gabriel mountain range, folding and refolding, slopes that led both up and down, all covered with trees, so many you could only see the tops, crests of green that bowed and swooped with every whisper of wind. There was no road in sight, no switchback highway to aim for, but hopefully I would find one later.

Feet sliding, I left the path, jogging as fast as I could, my tennis shoes skating over gravel and tripping over tree roots; down and ever down I went. Sunlight couldn’t cut through the branches that laced overhead as I took the fork to the right, through pine-scented darkness, sweat staining my shirt and dampening my brow. A peak appeared up ahead, a rocky outcropping that jutted out over a spruce-filled vale, an expanse of sun and green.

Hands gripping rock and crawling up like a crab, I headed toward the summit, knowing I would be exposed. I tried to keep to the shadows, my body flat against the rock as I inched forward until, at last, I could peer over. My breath came out in a loud gasp when I saw what lay to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. It was all yet another vast expanse of green vales folding into green peaks, all of them extending toward the horizon. I was heading away from civilization, not back toward it. If I continued in this direction it would lead to starvation and exposure and death from thirst.