detachment.”
“When most people get excited, happy, or mad, they react with emotion,” the thin, rat-faced man said. Brady hadn’t liked him from the minute they met, so he’d pulled back completely, never looking the man in the eye—even once. “Brady doesn’t. He observes, curious some of the time, but mostly bored.”
The man got that part right. When Brady was bored, he tuned out the world around him, focusing instead on a jaw-dropping factoid he’d read earlier that day or some curious conundrum he’d encountered. This is where the problem came in. People were offended by his lack of interest in their boring, ordinary stories. Some of his classmates thought that meant Brady thought he was better than them. He was in some ways. Not that he told them that. He wasn’t stupid.
A few assumed Brady didn’t like them. Sometimes, they were right, but not always.
Rick, the boy who wanted to beat up Brady, was an okay kid. Not overly smart, but not the biggest bully Brady had ever met. That put him on Brady’s OK list. Until this morning when Rick came into class and told everybody his parents were getting a divorce, and he was moving to Florida with his mother.
Naturally, Brady said the first thing that came into his head. “Cool.”
He started to explain about the Everglades, which Brady had studied extensively in second grade and still wanted to visit. But his classmates jumped all over his comment, calling him “mean,” “stupid,” and “insensitive”—that from a girl Brady sort of liked.
Brady had felt an uncomfortable sensation he assumed was embarrassment—even though he didn’t really care what his classmates thought of him. He did not, as a rule, like being the center of attention, and, at that moment, all eyes were on him.
So, he’d hurried back to his desk, tripping over some kid’s backpack strap as he did. People laughed. Brady ignored them and sat down and started reading. Books were the second best escape. Video games were his favorite.
Halfway through the first period, someone passed him a note. A poorly written note that said: “Fight. After school. Ass whole.” He corrected the spelling of hole and added the word: “Fine,” to the bottom of the page, before handing it back to the intermediary.
His mom was going to be disappointed that he wasn’t able to make friends and fit in, but she’d get over it. She always did.
Chapter Four
‡
F lynn double-checked his phone to be sure he had cell service then he turned off the engine and opened the door of the Jeep. He’d taken the smaller vehicle from the fleet because he needed to check out each of the units before he completed his inventory evaluation report.
The Sheriff broke the news that morning that he’d been asked to complete a summary of SAR’s preparedness for the Board of Supervisors. The task was not as simple as it sounded because so far Flynn had run across a dozen items on SAR’s inventory list that weren’t around. And this Jeep, which supposedly had a new engine, was running on three cylinders. Plus, two of its tires sported bulges from being driven over rocks. Since the call log didn’t show a reference to an off-road response, Flynn had to assume the Jeep had been used for personal “wheeling,” as the good ol’ boys in Tennessee called it.
He grabbed his high country response backpack, which included a first aid kit, from the back, hefted the eighty-pound weight to his left shoulder, and then turned to look around. Very little, if anything, had changed since the groundbreaking ceremony a week ago.
The number of county dignitaries present, along with three- or four-dozen spectators, had surprised Flynn. Some, Flynn recognized as Tucker’s fellow dancers—with their very young, very pretty entourage.
“What have you been doing up here, man? Goofing off?”
“F-you and the ugly Jeep you drove up in,” a grumpy voice called from the campsite twenty or so yards to Flynn’s left. “I’m in
“When most people get excited, happy, or mad, they react with emotion,” the thin, rat-faced man said. Brady hadn’t liked him from the minute they met, so he’d pulled back completely, never looking the man in the eye—even once. “Brady doesn’t. He observes, curious some of the time, but mostly bored.”
The man got that part right. When Brady was bored, he tuned out the world around him, focusing instead on a jaw-dropping factoid he’d read earlier that day or some curious conundrum he’d encountered. This is where the problem came in. People were offended by his lack of interest in their boring, ordinary stories. Some of his classmates thought that meant Brady thought he was better than them. He was in some ways. Not that he told them that. He wasn’t stupid.
A few assumed Brady didn’t like them. Sometimes, they were right, but not always.
Rick, the boy who wanted to beat up Brady, was an okay kid. Not overly smart, but not the biggest bully Brady had ever met. That put him on Brady’s OK list. Until this morning when Rick came into class and told everybody his parents were getting a divorce, and he was moving to Florida with his mother.
Naturally, Brady said the first thing that came into his head. “Cool.”
He started to explain about the Everglades, which Brady had studied extensively in second grade and still wanted to visit. But his classmates jumped all over his comment, calling him “mean,” “stupid,” and “insensitive”—that from a girl Brady sort of liked.
Brady had felt an uncomfortable sensation he assumed was embarrassment—even though he didn’t really care what his classmates thought of him. He did not, as a rule, like being the center of attention, and, at that moment, all eyes were on him.
So, he’d hurried back to his desk, tripping over some kid’s backpack strap as he did. People laughed. Brady ignored them and sat down and started reading. Books were the second best escape. Video games were his favorite.
Halfway through the first period, someone passed him a note. A poorly written note that said: “Fight. After school. Ass whole.” He corrected the spelling of hole and added the word: “Fine,” to the bottom of the page, before handing it back to the intermediary.
His mom was going to be disappointed that he wasn’t able to make friends and fit in, but she’d get over it. She always did.
Chapter Four
‡
F lynn double-checked his phone to be sure he had cell service then he turned off the engine and opened the door of the Jeep. He’d taken the smaller vehicle from the fleet because he needed to check out each of the units before he completed his inventory evaluation report.
The Sheriff broke the news that morning that he’d been asked to complete a summary of SAR’s preparedness for the Board of Supervisors. The task was not as simple as it sounded because so far Flynn had run across a dozen items on SAR’s inventory list that weren’t around. And this Jeep, which supposedly had a new engine, was running on three cylinders. Plus, two of its tires sported bulges from being driven over rocks. Since the call log didn’t show a reference to an off-road response, Flynn had to assume the Jeep had been used for personal “wheeling,” as the good ol’ boys in Tennessee called it.
He grabbed his high country response backpack, which included a first aid kit, from the back, hefted the eighty-pound weight to his left shoulder, and then turned to look around. Very little, if anything, had changed since the groundbreaking ceremony a week ago.
The number of county dignitaries present, along with three- or four-dozen spectators, had surprised Flynn. Some, Flynn recognized as Tucker’s fellow dancers—with their very young, very pretty entourage.
“What have you been doing up here, man? Goofing off?”
“F-you and the ugly Jeep you drove up in,” a grumpy voice called from the campsite twenty or so yards to Flynn’s left. “I’m in
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