April Henry - The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die

When I walk back out into the living room, the two of them are whispering. They stop when they see me.

“You definitely look like a dude,” Ty says.

“Thanks. I think.” I look at him and James, my accidental saviors. “In fact, thanks so much for everything, but I’d better be moving on.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Ty says.

“You’ve already done enough for me. If I walk out of here acting like a thirteen-year-old boy, they won’t look at me twice.”

Ty touches my shoulder. “They’re looking for one girl on her own. We’ll just be two guys going to school. And then we can decide what to do.”

“I’ve already put you in too much—”

James, who has been peering through the blinds, interrupts me. “Two guys are going through the parking lot looking at license plates.”

“If they figure out Ty works at the mall, they’ll come back here.” My heart beats in my throat like a trapped bird. “I need to get out of here fast. Do you have a bike I can borrow?”

James shakes his head, his eyes wide.

“Do you know how to ride a skateboard?” Ty asks.

I’m tired of not knowing things. “There were snowboards at the cabin. So I might know how to snowboard. No idea about skateboarding.”

“They’re actually not that different,” Ty says.

I think he’s probably lying, but what choice do I have? He gets two skateboards from the hall closet and holds one out to me.

I hesitate. “I still don’t think it’s safe to come with me.”

“And if they figure out where I was working last night, it’s probably not safe to stay here,” he says. “Let’s go someplace and figure out what you should do next and then, if you still want to, we can split up.”

I don’t want to walk out there by myself. So even though I know in my gut that Ty is wrong, that the worst place to be is by my side, I don’t argue. Instead, I start to pull up my hood, but he stops me.

“They might think you’re trying to hide something. Just be who you are. A thirteen-year-old dude. And your name is—hm, what sort of sounds like ‘Katie’?” He thinks for a moment. “Nate.” He turns to James. “Are they still out there?”

James doesn’t move his head. “There’s the two by your car, one guy knocking on a door, and I think there are a couple more inside apartments.”

“Okay,” Ty says, turning back to me. “Tuck your hand in your pocket so they don’t see the bandages on your fingers. And once we get outside, don’t look at them, but don’t not look at them either. Just keep moving. We’re just a couple of guys going to school. And once we get around the corner, we’ll see if you can ride.”

“Be careful.” James turns, his eyes wide. “And call me.”

“Of course,” Ty says. And then he opens the door.

We walk out the door of Ty’s apartment. For one second, I let my eyes glance to the left. My gaze slides past the men in the parking lot like I don’t care, like they’re nothing to me. Just two men in dark suits talking on cell phones, slowly walking down rows of cars. It looks like they’re reading off license plate numbers. One of them is behind Ty’s car.

Neither of them is familiar, but what do I know? I sense more than see the one by Ty’s car turn his head in our direction, but then he looks away.

How long until they figure out that Ty’s car belongs to someone who works at the mall? How long until they figure out which unit he lives in?

I concentrate on walking normally. But I can’t even think of how to hold my shoulders, move my legs. Maybe I shouldn’t even be walking like I normally do. How much do they know about me? Have they seen films of me, studied the shape of my face, the way I swing my arms? Any second I expect to hear shouts, running footsteps, even the echoing pop of a gunshot. The skin between my shoulder blades itches.

Ty is talking. At first I think he’s doing it as a cover so that we look more like two kids headed to school. Then I realize he’s giving me a quick lesson on skateboarding.

“Okay, once we get out on the sidewalk, drop your board and put your left foot on it, right behind the front trucks. The trucks hold the wheels on.”

I nod. A bubble expands in my chest, making it hard to breathe. What if the first thing I do is fall down spectacularly?

“And then with your right foot you take a step forward. Just like you’re walking.” With the skateboard tucked under his left arm, Ty paws the air with his flattened right hand. “It’s not like you’re pushing the skateboard away from you. It’s more like you’re one of those guys in Venice. You know, in those narrow boats? In the canals?”

“A gondolier?” The word swims up out of my unseen depths. In my mind’s eye, I see a guy wearing a straw hat and a striped shirt, holding a pole and standing up in a boat. Have I ever seen one in real life, or am I just remembering something on TV?

“Right.” Ty nods. “When you’re skating, it’s like you’re a gondolier pushing a boat along. You stay in control by making fewer pushes, but you make them stronger—not a bunch of little paddles. Once you’re going the speed you want, put your right foot down over the rear trucks. But don’t worry about trying to go super fast. Just try to keep your balance. Okay?”

For an answer, I manage a weak smile.

We round the corner. We’re out of sight of the parking lot now. The sidewalk ahead of us is, thankfully, empty.

“Ready?” Ty looks at me.

“No.” I sigh. “But I don’t have much choice, do I?” Don’t act. Be, a voice whispers again in my head. I’m thirteen-year-old Nate going to school with his best friend Ty.

Right.

I take my bandaged hand out of my pocket, and we both drop our skateboards at the same time. Two seconds later, I’m up with both feet on the board, clacking down the sidewalk. Ty is a couple of yards ahead of me.

Following his lead, I keep my knees and hips soft. A smile spreads across my face. Shifting my weight bends the board slightly to the left—and I go left. This is easy! And we’re going downhill, so I can just keep riding. I don’t have to push at all.

We’re picking up speed when it occurs to me—do I know how to stop?

A few seconds later, Ty curves around a corner.

I try to follow, but my skateboard is going too fast. I drag my back foot on the ground, but my shoe catches. Suddenly my board is sailing out into the street. I run three out-of-control steps before I fall, skidding forward on my hands and knees. At the clatter of my skateboard, Ty jumps off his board and runs back to me.

“Are you okay?” He helps me to my feet, then turns over my hands to inspect them.

“I think so.” My palms are scraped, but my poor nailless fingers aren’t any more damaged.

Ty lopes across the empty road, grabs my board, and comes back. “You were doing really well there for a while.”

“So do you think I skateboarded in a previous life?”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re a snowboarder like you thought or just naturally athletic.” He watches me intently. “Did being on a board help you remember anything?”

“If it did, it was like a body memory. I don’t remember any more about me.” We’re at least ten blocks from Ty’s apartment complex, but I can’t help glancing back. “Do you think we should get off the street? Maybe we stick out too much here.” The neighborhood is a mix of small businesses and even smaller old houses, interspersed with more apartment complexes.

“There’s a little coffee place a couple of blocks from here. Let’s go there and figure out what to do next.”