Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,3

the idea was hatched, I’d convinced myself I didn’t care about the prom. My friends had a way of rolling their eyes and making snide jokes about the event every time it was mentioned, so I went along with it. Angela is a flip-flops and T-shirt girl, so she was dying for an excuse to dodge tripping in three-inch heels. Plus, she’s been on the Dead a hundred times. I’d always seen myself in ice-blue satin, descending a long, winding staircase with a tuxedoed prince, but I couldn’t tell them that. They would have laughed their heads off at me.

You reap what you sow, I think, leaning my forehead against the cool window, letting my breath condense on it in a circle so I can draw a smiley face. Then I wipe it out as Monster sticks again and Angela shrieks, “Just gun it! Gun it, boy!” like a total hick.

I so sowed this.

It’s too late now. I should have said something to Justin. Something like “I’ll go rafting with you if you go to the prom with me.” After all, the heart of compromise is prom. But this weekend is all him. And it’s too late to change that. I’ll just need to suck it up, pretend I’m enjoying myself, and make him take me shopping next weekend. This weekend can be his, as long as the next one is mine.

Justin grins, digs his foot into the accelerator, and we lurch forward. More shrieking. Laughter. This morning’s cinnamon raisin bagel gurgles in the back of my throat. I’m not even in the water yet and I can already feel the current carrying me away.

A minute later the cabin comes into view, and my spirits brighten considerably.

“Whoa, Angela. You said ‘cabin’?” Justin asks, staring up at it.

“Yeah. Cozy, huh?”

My mouth drops open. Justin, Hugo, and I live in trailers on the west end of Wayview, Maine. It should be called Noview, though, because everywhere you look, there’s nothing but tall pines. It was Dad’s way of insulating me from anything that could possibly remind me of the river where my mother died. There’s not a brook, a pond, or even a puddle anywhere in sight. Angela’s house, or mansion, as most would say, is on the east end of the forest. Angela’s dad, my uncle, is a retired CEO and owns a lot of real estate. This vacation “cabin,” which they bought last year but have maybe used a total of twice, is probably bigger than all three of our trailers put together. I look over at Justin, and for once, his expression matches mine.

Then he sighs. I am sure he was looking forward to “roughing it.” I’m feeling better already. I can keep my distance from Hugo. Maybe we’ll even have running water. A steamy shower would be so …

She catches me smiling. “It’s nice, huh? But my parents turned off the water for the winter, so …”

Of course. They only use the cabin in the warmer months. The pipes would have frozen and burst during the long Maine winter if they hadn’t turned off the water. I swallow the bad taste in my throat. “It’s cool.”

We pile out and Justin begins pulling things from the bed of his truck. Groceries, a backpack of my clothes, my travel chess set, the liter of Absolut Justin took from his dad’s overstocked and underused liquor cabinet to celebrate our conquering of the Dead. Hugo starts snapping pictures of all the trees, as if we don’t have enough of them back home. From here, the river sounds like the gentle hum of an electric toothbrush. The sky is the somber color of castle walls, and the leaves turn out, welcoming rain. Shapeless heaps of dingy snow fight for survival in the new spring grass. Angela grabs a handful of snow and molds it into a ball.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, shivering as I back away.

But it’s obvious she has other plans. She launches it over to Justin. It breaks into pieces squarely at the back of his neck, making him jump. He turns to us, amused, but before I can point her out, I realize Angela is already pointing at me, an innocent expression on her face. “Dude, I know it’s you,” he says to Angela.

He throws my pillow at her. It lands in the mud. “Justin!” I shout, annoyed, but I stop when I realize everyone else is laughing. Sometimes it bothers me how well the two of them get along.