Desert Crossing by Elise Broach Page A

You’re too young to understand.”
    That made me so mad I stopped talking to them. But they didn’t seem to notice. They headed into the kitchen and Jamie called to Beth, “Hey, can you take a break? Want some coffee?”
    â€œDoes that mean you want me to make you coffee?” Beth called back.
    Jamie laughed. “Yeah. Do you mind?”
    And amazingly, she didn’t. She rinsed her hands at the kitchen sink, and Jamie and Kit immediately went into high gear, both of them. They were grinning and chatting, complimenting her on the sculpture, the house, the coffee. It was crazy. How could they do this when we were in so much trouble? How could they turn that part of themselves back on, like a switch, when a girl had died?
    Beth seemed to wonder the same thing, because as she poured their coffee, she said, “The police are going to call later. Did Lucy tell you? When they’re finished with the car.”
    Jamie winced, nodding. Kit looked at the table.
    â€œThat girl,” she continued, “she wasn’t much older than you. But there’s something really strange about it. She was miles from anywhere, and nobody walks along the highway out here. I wonder where she came from.”
    â€œShe wasn’t banged up, either,” Kit said. “Like, wouldn’t you expect that, from the car?”
    Jamie frowned at him, starting to say something, but Beth answered first. “I don’t know. If she were struck and thrown, the injuries could be mostly internal.”
    We were quiet, thinking about her. Where had she come from? Maybe somebody woke up this morning, missing her, worried about her. They didn’t realize she wasn’t coming back.
    â€œSit down,” Jamie said to Beth, pulling a chair away from the table.
    Beth shook her head. “I’m going back to work.”
    â€œCome on. Sit with us.” He called the brown dog, Toronto, over to him, ruffling her ears while she leaned against his leg.
    Beth hesitated, but Kit refilled her mug, saying, “Oh, come on, what are you going to do, stick another hubcap on that thing?”
    Shouldn’t she be offended by that? I mean, he was talking about her work, her art. But for some reason it made her laugh. And when she laughed, she seemed even prettier.
    Beth looked from Kit to Jamie and asked, “Have you been friends a long time?”
    Jamie took her arm, smiling at her, and tugged her down to the chair, so she was crowded between them. Then they began telling their stories. Their you’ll-never-believe-what-we-did stories. I’d heard them all: the practical jokes and close calls and times when they said the perfect, hilarious thing at exactly the right moment. It was too intense suddenly. Like they usually were, but more of it. This was a performance.
    I could feel myself disappearing, bit by bit, fading into the room. So I left. I went back to the bedroom and got my sketchbook. Then I sat in the hallway near the door, listening to them talk. I didn’t know what to sketch, but I drew quick lines on the page, and after a minute, I realized I was drawing her face. The girl.
    In the kitchen, Jamie was saying, “Digger—he’s the principal, Mr. DiGennaro—is a total hard-ass. He canceled the senior chorus trip to Chicago last December because three guys on the chorus council were caught drinking—”
    Kit snorted. “Yeah, after school, and in their own cars. That was totally bogus.”
    Beth looked confused. “Wait, you two are in chorus?”
    They both laughed. “No way,” Kit said. “They’re all losers. But we can’t stand Digger.”
    â€œYeah,” said Jamie, leaning forward. “So, listen, Digger’d just gotten this new car, an Acura, nice car, he was totally into it—”
    Kit interrupted, “And there was a faculty meeting before school, so we got there early, and we brought, like, four bags of