Desert Crossing by Elise Broach Page B

Oreos—”
    Jamie started laughing. “And right there in the parking lot, we Oreo-ed his entire car. You know, pulled the Oreos apart and stuck them all over his windows. It was so great. The whole top half of his car was black.”
    I heard Beth’s voice lift in amazement. “The principal’s car? And you didn’t get caught?”
    â€œThat was nothing,” Kit said.
    I glanced through the doorway and watched them, that weird choreography they had, feeding each other lines, finishing each other’s sentences, playing to Beth as if she were the only person in the world. She was laughing, but I couldn’t tell whether it was at the stories or at Jamie and Kit.
    Jamie grinned at Kit. “Remember the toilets in the teachers’ lounge?”
    Kit tilted back his chair and whistled. “Oh my God, that was so great. That was magnificent.”
    â€œWhat?” Beth asked, still laughing. “What did you do?”
    Jamie leaned closer to her. “You’re going to love this. We snuck into the teachers’ lounge before school and put Saran Wrap under the toilet seats, between the seat and the bowl. We stretched it so tight it was completely clear.”
    â€œNo,” Beth protested, her hand over her mouth.
    Jamie was cracking up. “You couldn’t see it at all. Remember, Kit? Mrs. Bottner got so pissed.”
    â€œYeah, pissed on, ” Kit said.
    I couldn’t believe they were telling her this, or that she was finding it funny.
    I’d always thought flirting was something obvious, like those things people said in movies, with raised eyebrows and long sexy stares. But with Kit and Jamie, it was different, a way of paying attention to someone, turning a normal conversation into a private spark of connection.
    Toronto scrambled to her feet, ears pricked. I stood up and looked out the kitchen window. “Hey,” I said.
    They all stopped talking and turned toward me. I pointed. A police car was rolling toward the house, its hood flashing in the sunlight.

12
    The sudden silence in the kitchen was strange after their noisy stream of conversation. Jamie’s face lost all expression. He stared at the floor.
    Beth stood up. “I wonder what they want.”
    The dogs started barking and bounded past us toward the entryway. Beth hauled them back by their collars. She swore at them, herding them into the room where I’d slept.
    Sheriff Durrell stood on the porch. His metallic sunglasses hid his eyes. All I could see when I looked at him was my own distorted reflection: a wide, wavy face over a tiny, diminishing body.
    â€œHello, folks,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”
    Jamie nodded, quiet now, and we stepped blinking, barefoot, into the yard. The sun was high and the red sand glared back at us, brassy and unforgiving.
    â€œWe took samples from your car,” the sheriff said. “We should have results in a couple of hours. The rain washed it down pretty good, but we got something off the bumper.”
    What was it? What did he find? I could feel a shift in the air, a friction that hadn’t been there before.
    He was looking at Jamie. “I want you to tell me again what you saw. Where the impact was.”
    He led Jamie away from us. All I could hear was a muffled exchange, no words. Beth stood next to me, fiddling with the pen in her hair.
    When they came back, Jamie’s face looked pinched.
    â€œYou won’t be going anywhere. Understand?” the sheriff said. He turned to Beth. “They’ll need to make other arrangements for a place to stay.”
    Beth was watching Jamie. “It’s okay,” she said finally. “They can stay here for another night or two. It doesn’t matter.”
    â€œThanks,” Jamie said softly.
    The sheriff frowned. I wondered what he was thinking. That we’d try to take off? Nobody knew us here.
    â€œAll right,” he said.