Chapter 7 I hit the gravel on the other side of the gate, stumbling forward before throwing myself against the rusty chain-link fence. My eyes strained through the dust kicked up by the tires. The car was moving too fast. It was a dark sedan—maybe a civic or a fusion—but the glare of the noon sun hitting the rear window blinded me from catching the license plate. Within seconds, it swung hard around the bend of the tree line and vanished onto the main road. “Hey! Danger Mouse! Wait up!” I turned around to see Max scaling the gate with all the grace of a wet cat. He rolled over the top bar, his soaking-wet sneakers squeaking loudly against the metal, and dropped down beside me with a heavy, squelching thud. Water literally squirted out of his left high-top. “We lost them,” I muttered, my hands clenching into fists inside my hoodie pockets. “They drove off right as I got over.” Max wrung out the bottom hem of his shirt, sending a small puddle onto the gravel. “Then we go back to the Pilot. Come on.” We sprinted back through the woods, the adrenaline pumping so hard I barely felt the branches scratching at my face. We threw ourselves into my SUV, and I peeled out of the creek bed, pushing the speed limit just enough to get us back to my house in record time. The driveway was empty when we pulled in. My dad’s truck was gone—probably out picking up groceries or checking out the local hardware stores. Good. I didn’t want to answer questions about why my best friend from home was suddenly standing in our kitchen looking like a drowned rat. “Go to my room, I’ll be right there,” I whispered aggressively, unlocking the front door and pushing Max down the hallway. I bolted straight for the kitchen pantry. My hands were shaking as I threw boxes of cereal and cans of soup out of the way until I found what I was looking for: a brand-new, unopened five-pound bag of white jasmine rice. I grabbed a large glass mixing bowl from the cabinet, sliced the bag open with a steak knife, and dumped the entire thing inside. I pulled Charlotte’s water-damaged phone from my pocket. It felt terrifyingly cold and heavy in my hand. I carefully slid it deep into the center of the grains, completely burying the screen, praying to whatever universe was listening that the internal motherboard wasn’t completely fried. When I walked into my bedroom carrying the bowl like a fragile piece of glass, Max was sitting on my floor. He had taken his shoes off, leaving two massive, dark wet spots on my new rug. He was shivering, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. “You look ridiculous,” I said softly, setting the bowl carefully on my desk. “I am a frozen block of ice, Luc,” Max wheezed, his teeth literally chattering. “Do you have anything that fits a majestic creature of my stature?” I rolled my eyes, a tiny smile breaking through my panic. I walked over to my closet and pulled out the biggest, most oversized gray hoodie I owned—one I usually wore as a pajama shirt—and a pair of baggy black drawstring sweatpants. I tossed them at his head. “Change in the bathroom. And don’t get blood or creek water on my floor.” “No promises,” he muttered, grabbing the clothes and shuffling out the door. While he was gone, I sat down at my desk, staring at the bowl of rice. I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of the glass. Please turn on, I thought. Please just give us something.
