Inside, Lucinda’s dad removed his sheriff’s cap and snugged it under an arm, cupped the back of Lucinda’s head, and steered her toward the couch. “Remember: stay put.”
“Where’s Sally?” Lucinda said. “Can’t we—”
She stopped. Mr. B.’s face looked so weird, like it was melting from sadness.
“Just sit,” her dad said and flashed his fake smile. “Okay, sweetie? For Daddy? Mr. B. and I have important grown-up things to talk about and I need you to be a big girl. If you are, I will forget all about you lying about playing in the fire.”
Lucinda’s face got wicked hot and she plopped down on the edge of the couch, gnawing a thumbnail as her dad and Mr. B. disappeared into the kitchen, their voices low and spooky.
Why couldn’t she just go visit Sally in her room? Even if Sally was really sick, which maybe she was, Lucinda could at least talk to her, unless maybe Sally had something that was catching.
Maybe Sally’s in trouble, Lucinda thought.
Lucinda chewed her thumbnail, fidgeted at a very bad thought that rooted in her mind.
Maybe Sally was mad at Lucinda for something and didn’t want to see her.
Lucinda could think of nothing she’d done to ever make her friend that mad.
Or maybe Sally had told her parents about the Big Secret in the woods and she’d gotten in trouble for—
Mr. B. shouted in the kitchen, startling Lucinda.
Lucinda peered toward the kitchen, but her dad and Mr. B. weren’t sitting at the empty table; all she could see was their shadows shifting on the wall, stretched out crazy, like the shadows of storybook beasts.
No, Lucinda thought, Sally would never tell grown-ups the Big Secret. She’d never tell anyone any of their secrets, especially since Sally had sworn Lucinda to secrecy.
Lucinda peeked down the hallway. Light bled from under Sally’s door. Maybe Sally was playing with her animals, or the piece of rock they’d found in the pit that Sally swore was an arrowhead, their first real artifact from a dig, even though Lucinda swore it was just a rock. In fact, Lucinda had called Sally stupid for thinking it was an arrowhead. Was that why Sally wasn’t coming out? Lucinda’s guilt sank in her belly, made her feel like she’d drunk a cup of cough syrup. Or maybe Sally wasn’t hiding or mad. Maybe she was reading. She was a super good reader, so much better than Lucinda, and when Sally got to reading, she vanished to her Faraway Place as if she were no longer here at all but in a different space and time.
Lucinda picked at the tender flesh of her thumb cuticle. She wanted so badly to slip down the hall and visit Sally. Maybe she could tiptoe down the hall and knock on the door and at least let Sally know she was here, and Sally could join her on the couch.
Lucinda glanced at the kitchen again.
Distorted shadows crept on the kitchen wall.
Slowly, Lucinda stood and tiptoed down the hall, holding her breath as she heard a noise, a tiny cry perhaps, just behind her best friend’s bedroom door.