“How was your day?” Mom asks as I slide into the front seat after school.
“Fine.”
Mom eyes me with vague suspicion. I should have practiced saying “fine” without the tone. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Is it something your father is going to hear about?”
“No. It’s just . . . Ben is, I don’t know, talking to me. Like, more than usual.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I thought you liked Ben?”
“I did. I do. It’s just . . .”
“Complicated because he’s Ben?” She smiles.
“Something like that.” I smile back, grateful she’s in a good mood. It’s surprising, given the weekend we’ve had.
“But he is a nice boy. I wouldn’t be against you having a boyfriend, you know.”
“Like Dad’s going to let me.”
“Honestly? I think he’d be okay with Ben Hanson, if that’s what you wanted.”
“Only because Sheriff Hanson is his BFF.”
“Is there another boy?”
Just a wild one who lives in the woods and won’t leave my thoughts. “No, there isn’t.”
“Then maybe you should think about it. You know Ben, probably better than most, as much as he’s over here. I’ll talk to your father if you want.”
“I didn’t know you two were talking.” It slips out before I can get it back.
“Leah,” she says, her voice heavy. “Your father and I do the best we can, but it’s hard some days.”
“Apparently it’s hard all days, because I don’t remember the last time the two of you smiled at each other.” And down the rabbit hole we go.
“We smile,” she argues. “We just . . .”
“Don’t do it around us, I guess? The kids who would like to see you act like you can stand to be in the same room as each other.”
“Leah, you don’t understand—”
“What do I not understand? I’ve been here the past ten years just like you, so I’m pretty sure I understand.”
Mom is silent, her narrowed eyes trained on the road. I stare out the window, wishing I could disappear, until she speaks again, saying something about an apple.
“What?” I must have misunderstood her. Surely she didn’t say that.
“Why did you put an apple on your windowsill?”
I stare at her, uncomprehending, because my mind is trying to accept what she is saying. “Um, in my room?”
She frowns. “Outside of it. Sitting on the edge of the sill. I almost knocked it off the roof trying to get it.”
My heart races as I try to logistically reason why an apple would be on my windowsill. There’s only one, because the apple tree is too far from the house for it to have fallen there.
“Oh. I had my window open this morning and I guess I forgot about it when I closed it.”
“Hmm, well, that’s fine. I just thought I would ask since I didn’t think you liked them.”
“I eat them all the time,” I say without hesitation.
She blinks. “Oh.”
It was an easy lie, but my hands are shaking by the time we pull up into the driveway. I force myself to do all the normal things I do when we get home; grab a drink, get a snack, and put my backpack on the kitchen table.
“You have much work to do?” Mom asks, pulling out ingredients from the pantry.
“Not too much, just a short essay for English and some math. I’ll be right back.”
I swing open the door to my room, hoping to see the apple, but it’s gone. I know she said it was there, but if I can’t see it, I don’t really believe it. Would the boy be so reckless as to leave an apple on my window in the middle of the day? Mom could have seen him, and then what?
But knowing him, even for so short a time, I know the last thing he would do is be seen.
I press my face to the glass, looking all around the roof. I’m not sure how he could have gotten up here, unless he climbed the magnolia and jumped. Which I’m sure he did, being raised by giant apes and all.
I nearly jump out of my skin and pray she doesn’t notice. “Yeah, I figured you did. Just checking.” Acting casual about it is so hard. I grab a thesaurus from the stack on my desk. “Got it.”
I sit on the edge of my chair in the kitchen, forcing myself to pick up a pencil and begin my essay. It’s killing me. What if he’s waiting for me? Did he see Mom take the apple instead of me? Mom pulls out pots and pans for supper, and judging from the amount of ingredients sitting on the counter, she’s going to be here just as long as I will.
Her hand moves to the drawer with the flask, then stops. I watch as she closes it into a fist before reaching for a spoon instead.
It’s going to be a long afternoon for both of us, then.
The sun is sinking into the treetops when I sprint across the backyard. Matt’s in his room, Dad in his office, and Mom in her room.
I’m not where anyone thinks I am.
Mr. Watson has moved his cattle into the hay pasture for the winter, and they lift their heads, jaws working and ears flickering as I fly by. It feels reckless to be running out in the open like this, knowing what could be waiting in the woods, but I have to see if the boy’s here. Smoke from Mr. Watson’s burn pile drifts across the pasture, creating a thin layer of cloud above the grass. When I stop at the edge of the trees and look back, I can’t see the house anymore.
Fear trickles in.
The sun has gone past the trees, casting the forest in deep shadow, and what light breaks through is blinding, so basically I have no idea what’s standing ten feet from me.
One of the shadows moves. My eyes strain to see past the shadows, until red eyes peer back at me from the hazy forest.
I’m too terrified to turn my back for the second it would take to spin and run, and the harder I stare, the clearer the features become. It’s the smaller one, the one I think of as Baby Bigfoot. It watches me from behind a tree, as still as a statue. It’s so close I could toss an apple if I had one.
I’ve never been this close to one before, and I can’t help but study it just as much as it’s studying me. The face is a mixture of human and ape, with a protruding forehead, large eyes, and a flat, wide nose. It stands well over six feet tall, while the body is covered in coarse black hair, with a barrel-shaped chest and long limbs. I’ve seen silverback gorillas at the zoo, and they’ve got nothing on these creatures.
The light is fading around us. I test the waters, taking a small step backward. The creature tilts its head. I take another breath, another step, and it mirrors me, closing the space between us as it steps forward. This time, one breath, two steps.
It does the same.
We can’t do this across the entire pasture. I’ll die of a heart attack first. Or a cow stampede.
I take another step and my heel catches on the edge of the stump. I go down hard and something cracks in the general region of my tailbone. Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I scramble backward, desperate for oxygen just as much as escape.
The Sasquatch advances. Its steps are hesitant and wary, sliding forward with careful grace.
Suddenly it stops. The red sheen fades from its eyes as it steps out of the darkness. I blink enough tears away to realize it’s not watching me anymore, but something behind me.
It’s the boy, standing so close I could touch him.
Baby Bigfoot watches him as he moves in front of me, its wide, black eyes drifting from me to him and back. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the creature backs away. Neither of us moves until it completely disappears into the shadows.
The boy spins around, and I feel like an idiot, as he must think I am. His eyes burn, the fury and panic in them speaking clearly. I took a dangerous chance.
“I wanted to see you.” I hope I sound unapologetic, because I’m not sorry.
Whether he understands me or not, his eyes soften. He steps forward and holds out his hand.
I take it and lose my breath once again.
My fingers burn as sparks run across my skin. The boy flinches, but he doesn’t let go as he pulls me up. An impatient huff echoes from the woods, but he pulls me closer, until our shoulders brush. Breathing is getting next to impossible.
A door slams in the distance. Mom calls my name, but neither of us moves.
“I have to go.” The words sound hollow even as I speak them. Leaving is the last thing I want to do, because the pull of this mystery overshadows the fear of what I’m risking.
His eyes are unreadable as his hand slides from mine, his fingers slowly brushing across my skin as he pushes me away from the trees. It’s hard not to walk away backward. I trip twice because I can’t stop turning around to see if he’s still watching me.
He never moves.
Once I’m through the fading smoke that covers the pasture and out of his sight, I run to the house. Mom is standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in hand.
“I was worried about you.”
“Oh, I went out to see the cows. Mr. Watson moved them over here today.”
“You didn’t go into the woods?” she asks doubtfully.
“Nope. Just cows.” No eye contact. I walk right by her and up to my room. Inside, I flip on the light and hurry to the window. With my face against the glass, I strain my eyes until I can just make out the boy in the distance, barely visible through the smoke and fading light.
I wave, thinking he probably can’t see me, then realize he’s not alone as a shadow leaves the trees and joins him.
For a moment nothing happens. And then the two figures wave back.
I have a terrible feeling that “complicated” doesn’t even begin to explain what I’ve gotten myself into.