In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,2

with him back then had gotten me into trouble. People in Shawano already saw both of us as losers. And my turning him in to Sheriff Logan didn’t change that.

In fact, it made things worse. The sheriff connected the dots and interrogated me as an accomplice. He just didn’t understand how wrong he was.

Reporting the murder had torn me apart. I couldn’t believe White Bird, a boy I trusted with everything that I was, could do such a thing. Seeing him that day made me question everything I believed about him. And I’d never seen a dead body before. The sight had terrified me. I had to tell what I saw. I couldn’t just walk away and pretend it didn’t happen. But in the seconds it took me to call 911—trying to do the right thing—my life would change forever. And there was no way for me to know how bad it would get.

After the sheriff cleared me, I was released and never charged, but that didn’t mean I was innocent in the eyes of everyone in town. And it didn’t mean my mom wouldn’t feel the pain of guilt by association. Her real estate business dried up and I knew she blamed me.

I never liked that boy. Now look what you’ve done.

I heard her words over and over in my head. And I can still see the look in my grandmother’s eyes the day we left Oklahoma and moved to North Carolina. I talked to my grandmother on the phone plenty, but I heard it in her voice. Even Grams had lost faith and she died not believing in me. Not even the stone angels gave me comfort the day she left this world behind. And when I didn’t go to her funeral—because I believed Grams wouldn’t want me there—I think my mother was relieved.

Now my mom had to settle my grandmother’s estate and get her old house ready to sell. At least that’s what she gave me as the reason we had to drive back. I’m not sure I believed her. I was more convinced that she wanted to torture me for what I had done to her life, too.

Lying on my back in the field, I stared into the universe and its gazillion winks of light and made a pact that I would never lie to the stars or make promises I wouldn’t keep. Whatever I promised under the night sky should be honest and true because stars were ancient beings that watched over the planet. They wouldn’t judge me. Every star was a soul who had died and broken free after they’d learned the lesson they had been born to master.

Me? I was in remedial class. I had more than a lifetime to go. Plus I had a feeling some Supreme Being had me in detention, too. So, speaking the truth, I had to admit that a part of me wanted to go back and see what had happened to White Bird.

But a darker, scarier part wished I’d been the one he had killed under that bridge. And that was the honest to God truth.

Three Days Later on I-40—Morning

“You hungry? There’s a truck stop ahead. We can get some breakfast.”

My mother’s voice jarred me. On day two of our trip, I’d been staring out the car window watching nothing but fence posts, scrub brush and billboards fade into early-morning oblivion. Not even my fascination with friggin’ roadkill had brought me out of my waking coma. And I hadn’t spoken much to Mom since she’d told me about this road trip to hell.

“Whatever.” I mumbled so she’d have to ask me what I’d said.

She never did.

Mom filled up the tank of our Subaru and pulled in front of a small truck stop café. Inside, the place smelled like cigarette smoke and old grease. And as I expected, everyone stared at me. I was used to it. I wasn’t your average Abercrombie girl. I didn’t wear advertising brand names on my body.

It was a life choice. A religion.

I got my clothes from Dumpster diving and Goodwill, anything I could stitch together that would make my own statement. Today I wore a torn jean jacket over a sundress with leggings that I’d cut holes into. And I had a plaid scarf draped around my neck with a cap pulled down on my head. My “screw you” toes were socked away in unlaced army boots. And I hid behind a huge pair of dark aviator sunglasses, a signature accessory and