Page 136 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

“No way,” Rachel said. “Do I look like a felon?”
“You guys do what you like,” Dylan said, scooping two beer
cans from the snow. “I know where Greta and I are going.”
Where are we going?
“See you in an hour,” Dylan said. “Do you have a blanket
in your car, Rachel?”
Matt snorted. “An hour. More like ten minutes.”
Dylan ignored him, and Rachel pulled a blanket from

the trunk. He draped it across his and Greta’s shoulders as
they walked in the direction of the only cabin with a porch
light—a mobile home that resembled someone’s giant
junk drawer: whirligigs, lawn gnomes, plastic flowers. The
whole line of cabins looked a little haunted, with their dark
windows along the gravel road and the one stark light. Bare
trees in a brisk wind. ADVANCE READING COPY

Behind them, the car doors opened and closed. Their
feet crunched the brittle ice of melted and refrozen snow.
Across from the mobile home, Dylan led her under the
branches of the large pine and along the side of an empty
log cabin. They put their hands out to feel their way, entirely
blocked from any light. “It’s just up ahead,” Dylan said.
The moonlight outlined the branches of an apple tree—
the yard a mushy gray—and the rooftops of a shed and
garage. “Up here.” Dylan pulled her forward and helped boost

her onto the shed roof, then pulled himself up. They crossed
over to the garage roof, crouching close to the snow-covered
shingles. He spread out the blanket and sat down, cracking a
can of beer and handing it to her.

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