Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,2

sure anyone read them, other than my English teacher. Oh, and Justin. At least he said he did. But looking down at my most recent effort, I’m not sure if I want anyone to see it. “Please take me gently down the stream to where I can’t be hurt”? Somehow I can’t escape the thought of icy cold water and death, even in my writing.

“Are you scared?” Justin asks me.

“No,” I say quickly, resolute. “Of course not.” At least, I try to sound resolute, but it’s hard, especially since the thought that’s now center stage in my brain is that of a thousand human icicles bobbing in a black, endless sea.

“Of course you are, Ki. This is the Dead River we’re talking about,” Hugo Holbrook says from the back of the truck. I dig my fingers into the vinyl armrest. Of all the people my cousin Angela could have invited on this trip, I can’t believe it’s Hugo I’ll be sleeping in a cramped cabin with for four nights. It’s bad enough that I have to spend hours after school in the closet-sized yearbook office with him when we’re on deadline. How does she find him even remotely attractive? He has nostrils like black holes and eyes so close together that the space between them is a rickety footbridge. And I’m convinced that his laugh is why earplugs were invented. Wahah wahah wahah. “Look at her. She’s shaking.”

“It’s freaking cold,” I mutter, grimacing at Angela, Miss He’s-Kind-of-Cute-and-Really-Likes-Me, in the rearview mirror. She’s the same cousin who nursed a frighteningly ugly and smelly three-legged lizard back to health in her bedroom when we were eight, after my aunt and uncle ran it over with their Cadillac SUV. Most people wouldn’t have touched it with the back of a shovel, but Angela let it sleep on her pillow.

But Angela doesn’t notice my scowl. Her eyes are focused on the river. It’s black and churning because they released the dam yesterday, something they do about ten times a year so that the rapids will be intense for rafting. Not exactly as inviting as, say, a dance floor. And lucky me, I’ll be in the middle of it tomorrow.

We pass a wooden sign in a stark field: WHAT A MAN SOWS THAT SHALL HE ALSO REAP—GALATIANS 6:7. I shudder and avert my eyes. I’d actually convinced myself that I wanted this. That this would be fun. The sparkling white frost in the bottom of a roadside ditch makes me think about the ice-blue satin gown I saw in Macy’s. Then Angela says, “Turn here.”

She points down a narrow dirt road descending into the thick forest.

“You’re not going down there,” I say, incredulous, as Justin barrels in. It’s clear, of course, that he is, that we all are, but I think the visions of white water are dancing through his head, crowding out all the sane thoughts.

“Why not?”

“Hello? Mud season?” Among other things. It looks so dark and final down that road. As in People have gone in, but they’ve never come out.

“That’s what four-wheel drive is for,” he says, shifting into gear. The engine revs and we push forward. He pats the dashboard. “That a boy, Monster.” Justin always wanted a dog, so since his parents forbade it, he named his truck Monster.

“It’s cool, Ki.” Angela smiles and pounds her fists on her thighs. “Come on, Monster. You can do it!”

I shiver again, thinking that if my aunt and uncle, Angela’s parents, didn’t own a cabin in Caratunk, we never would have considered coming here. But Justin, Angela, and I have been planning this forever. Well, mostly Justin and Angela. They’ve talked about it constantly. It was Justin’s idea. Instead of going to the prom, we would skip school and drive up to the cabin for a long weekend during the release. The two of them were so into it, and so anti-prom, that I didn’t want to be the brat to tell them I thought dressing up for one evening might be fun. Of course, since I thought my dad would freak out if I even mentioned the word “river” to him, I told Justin we’d have to lie. I didn’t explain the details to Justin, just that my father thought rafting was dangerous. So we decided to tell my dad that we were going camping at Baxter State Park. Justin hates deceiving anyone, so for him to lie to my father so convincingly, I knew this was where his heart was.

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