The Locker by Richie Tankersley Cusick

and run out of town on a rail?”
    â€œI’m beginning to worry.”
    I heard him laugh softly under his breath. He rearranged his cap in the same crooked position, and then he brushed absentmindedly at the hair blowing in his eyes. I sat there gazing at his profile and heard him say softly, “Quit looking at me.”
    â€œI’m not looking at you,” I said, and he gave me a sidelong glance.
    â€œYes, you are.”
    Maybe it was because he sounded so self-conscious about it that I couldn’t help teasing him.
    â€œIt’s your smile,” I said.
    There was a long silence.
    â€œDon’t you want to know what I think about it?” I persisted.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a sweet smile. A wonderful smile. Sort of funny and whimsical—”
    â€œ Whimsical? ”
    â€œYes, and kind of teasing and secretive and sly all at the same time.” I hid a smile of my own as the silence dragged on and on. “It makes you look like a little boy,” I finished.
    â€œIt does not.”
    â€œYes, it most certainly does. Cute and shy. And vulnerable.”
    No answer.
    I leaned over and put my face close to his. He was trying to keep his eyes on the road, but as I kept staring at his profile, pretending to study every feature, I saw a muscle move in his cheek, and he stole a glance at me.
    â€œAre you blushing?” I whispered.
    No response.
    â€œHmmm …” I mused. “I think maybe you are.”
    I could feel him squirm uncomfortably, and it was all I could do not to laugh.
    â€œI told you you were shy.” I couldn’t help sounding smug.
    His eyes shifted onto mine. That little smile played at the corners of his mouth.
    â€œStay close to me like that, and I’ll show you how shy I am,” Tyler said.
    I stared at him.
    I moved back.
    I turned my face to the open window and let the cool air blow across my warm cheeks, and I heard Tyler laughing softly.’
    â€œNow who’s blushing,” he murmured.
    The last shred of sunlight was finally slipping away. As we followed the road out of the trees, I could see a molten glow oozing over the hillsides, and the air smelled wet and earthy. Off in the distance I could see the ruins of a barn, rotting silently away in an empty field.
    â€œDid Suellen really live back there in that awful place?” I asked quietly.
    Tyler didn’t answer right at first. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, slowing the car even more as we came to a steep incline.
    â€œIt wasn’t always that bad,” he said, shifting into low gear and starting the climb. “Out here it doesn’t take long for nature to reclaim things, especially when nobody’s using them anymore.”
    â€œDid you ever go out with her?”
    The question popped out before I could stop it. I heard the words hanging in the air between us, but by then it was too late to do anything but feel like an idiot.
    Tyler didn’t look at me. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
    â€œOnce,” he said.
    I waited for him to go on. He didn’t.
    Instead he coaxed the old car over the top of the hill, and then he leaned forward, squinting through the shadows and pointing to something I couldn’t even see.
    â€œLook—there’s the bridge,” he announced. “Welcome to Lost River.”

7

    T he road came to an abrupt end.
    Tyler stopped the car and jumped out, walking forward onto a rickety wooden bridge and pulling back a heavy chain with a sign on it that said PRIVATE.
    â€œWhere are we?” I asked him. We must have been riding for half an hour, at least. My ears were still ringing from the wind and the noisy engine, and I gingerly patted my head.
    â€œWe have a summer cabin down here,” he informed me, hopping back in again. “My dad just wanted me to check on some things.”
    I craned my neck out the window as we drove slowly across the