Outside, the air was white and hot. Ash twisted down from the sky, drifting onto Lilith’s hair and the brittle gray-green grass. The most inconspicuous way to leave school grounds was through one of the exits beyond the cafeteria, which led out to a small area of gravel where kids ate lunch when the weather was okay. The area was “secured” with a flimsy chain-link fence that was easy enough to climb over.
She made it over the fence, then stopped herself. What was she doing? Bailing on an exam proctored by her own mother was a horrible idea. There would be no escaping punishment. But it was too late now.
If she kept going this way, she’d end up back at her rusting, peeling eyesore of a house. No thanks. She gazed up at the few cars zipping across the highway, then turned and crossed the parking lot on the west side of campus, where the carob trees grew thick and tall. She entered the little forest and moved toward the shady, hidden edge of Rattlesnake Creek.
She ducked between two heavy branches on the bank and let out her breath. Sanctuary. Sort of. This was what passed for nature, anyway, in the tiny town of Crossroads.
Lilith rested her guitar case in its customary place in the crook of a tree trunk, kicked up her feet atop a heap of crisp orange leaves, and let the sound of the creek trickling in its cement bed relax her.
At school she’d seen pictures of “beautiful” places in her textbooks—Niagara Falls, Mount Everest, waterfalls in Hawaii—but she liked Rattlesnake Creek better than any of those because she didn’t know a soul beside herself who thought this little grove of withered trees was beautiful.
She opened her case and took out the guitar. It was a dark orange Martin 000-45 with a crack slanted down its body. Someone on her street had thrown it away, and Lilith couldn’t afford to be picky. Besides, she thought the flaw made the instrument sound richer.
Her fingers strummed the strings, and as chords filled the air, she felt an invisible hand smoothing her rough edges. When she played, she felt surrounded by friends she didn’t have.
What would it be like to meet someone who actually shared her taste in music? she wondered. Someone who didn’t think the Four Horsemen sang “like whipped dogs,” as a cheerleader had once described Lilith’s favorite band. It was Lilith’s dream to see them play live, but it was impossible to imagine actually attending a Four Horsemen show. They were too big to play Crossroads. Even if they did come here, how could Lilith afford a ticket when her family barely had enough money for food?
She didn’t notice when she tumbled into a song. It wasn’t fully formed yet—just her sorrow melding with her guitar—but a few minutes later, when she stopped singing, someone behind her started clapping.
“Whoa.” Lilith spun around to face a black-haired boy leaning against a nearby tree. He wore a leather jacket, and his black jeans disappeared into scuffed combat boots.
“Hey,” he said as if he knew her.
Lilith didn’t answer. They didn’t know each other. Why was he talking to her?
He studied her intensely, his gaze penetrating. “You’re still beautiful,” he said softly.
“You’re…really creepy,” Lilith replied.
“You don’t recognize me?” He sounded disappointed.
Lilith shrugged. “I don’t watch America’s Most Wanted.”
The boy looked down, laughed, then nodded at her guitar. “Aren’t you afraid of making that worse?”
She flinched, confused. “My song?”
“Your song was a revelation,” he said, pushing off the tree and walking toward her. “I mean that crack in your guitar.”
Lilith watched the easy way he moved—coolly, slowly, as if no one had ever made him feel insecure about anything in his life. He stopped right in front of her and slid a canvas bag from his shoulder. The strap landed on Lilith’s boot and she stared at it, as if the boy had put it there, touching her, intentionally. She kicked it off.
“I’m careful.” She cradled her guitar. “Right now, the ratio of guitar to crack is just right. If it ever became more crack than guitar, then it would be worse.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” The boy stared at her long enough for Lilith to grow uncomfortable. His eyes were a spellbinding green. He clearly wasn’t from around here. Lilith didn’t know if she’d ever met anyone who wasn’t from Crossroads.
He was gorgeous and intriguing, and therefore too good to be true. She hated him immediately. “This is my spot. Find your own,” she said.
But instead of going away, he sat down. Next to her. Close. Like they were friends. Or more than friends. “Do you ever play with anyone else?” the boy asked.