If These Wings Could Fly - Kyrie McCauley Page 0,72

books aside at the foot of my bed—collections of haunted house stories, her new obsession.

I reach for my backpack and pull out the latest Auburn Gazette. The football team has claimed another win, and another front page. On to semi-finals. First time in nineteen years. I turn the pages to the Help Wanted section and scan the listings. The library needs help. And they need a receptionist at the law firm on the corner. The diner is almost always hiring waitresses, but that’s it. I circle the most promising ones, and then I turn to the housing page. There’s one apartment building in all of Auburn, but some people rent out the spaces over their garages, or an extra room. There are a few options with rent that isn’t too bad. I circle those, too. The next page is township news, and there’s a box at the bottom advertising the essay contest. Right now, college feels impossible. Leaving them to this feels cruel.

I set aside the pages I marked and reach for Campbell’s books. She always wants my copy of the Gazette when I’m done. But my movement disturbs Juniper, nestled in the middle of the bed, and she kicks Campbell’s stack of books off the bed. It’s muffled by the carpet, and they don’t wake up.

I pick them up and find one of Campbell’s notebooks splayed open. There are sections of newspaper cutouts pasted onto the pages, the words familiar.

It’s my column.

I turn the pages of her notebook and find more of them. All of them. Each of my crow columns, carefully saved; her quiet support makes me smile.

But then I turn one more page, and stop. It isn’t a column. It’s a police blotter from the Gazette.

Every week, local police highlights get printed in our paper.

And Campbell has been cutting them out, saving them here. There are dozens of them.

“APD responded to a check-in request on an elderly woman on Pine Street. The woman was well, and said she isn’t returning her son’s calls because she is mad at him.”

“APD responded with animal control when several callers reported a donkey walking down Main Street. Officers were able to harness the animal and locate the owner.”

“APD officers responded to a reported break-in at 58 West Elm. No evidence of a break-in was found. A kitchen window was left open and several stray cats had wandered into the home.”

I put the notebook back and turn to lie down.

Campbell’s eyes are open.

“Hey,” I say, and rest my head on the pillow. We can see each other over Juniper’s head. “I’m sorry. It fell open; I shouldn’t have read it.”

“It’s fine,” she says.

I reach over her and turn off the light.

“Campbell?” I ask the darkness. “Why do you keep them? The police reports.”

I know she’s just a few inches away from me, but it’s pitch-black in my room and she’s silent for a moment, and we aren’t touching. I reach out until the tips of my fingers graze her arm, to reassure myself that she’s right there and not a million miles away from me like it feels.

“One day we’ll be in there,” she says, and all of the little hairs on my arms stand up. “And it will either mean something really good happened, like his arrest, and we’re finally safe, or it’ll mean something really, really bad happened.”

There’s a flash of the crawl space in my mind. It feels like a premonition, and it makes me sick. I imagine the little block newspaper letters that I love so much betraying me, writing my obituary.

“It’ll be good, Campbell,” I say.

Too late.

She’s asleep.

Chapter Fifty-Three

FOR MY NEXT CROW-THEMED COLUMN, I’m covering the December town hall meeting. The crows have been brought up in other ones, I’m sure, but this month the entire meeting is dedicated to a sole purpose: deciding how to get the crows out of Auburn.

I don’t have a ride. Liam is at practice, and it’s Sofia’s mom’s birthday, so she couldn’t leave. So I ask Campbell for help, and I bike. Three miles. In December. But it’s a dry night, and it isn’t terribly cold, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask my parents for a ride. All of our recent wounds are too painful.

I arrive at the municipal building, hot under my sweater and winter coat from the exertion. I lean Campbell’s bike against a tree and strip down to my T-shirt. A flash of black right next to me catches my eye, and I turn to face a