temperature at night as it was in the day. Time didn’t matter here.
It felt good to maneuver her way around the rocks, to climb and crawl and feel her way along the slick walls. It took enough concentration that her mind settled. Her body felt strong and agile making its way through the dark.
They paused at the end of the tunnel, readjusting after the crawl and scoot. “I’ve never taken you to the right. Right?”
“Right.”
“Right,” Cotton echoed. “It’s small and dead-ends. There wasn’t much to map. But it’s still interesting.”
“Right on,” said Ria. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t a long walk to the spot where he paused. “You go first. I want you to see it pure, without me in the way.”
The space was small, but there was room to step inside and turn around. The walls looked like thick ribbons. Or snakes. Twisted and folded into each other. And then, appearing in various spots, were holes. At least a hundred openings from floor to ceiling. Like storage cubbies, or mini shelves.
“It’s a brain. I think the holes are pockets for memories.”
“I knew it looked like something,” said Cotton. “But I couldn’t remember what.”
“How much time do we have?”
“More than usual. I had to wake up my parents, so they didn’t ask a lot of questions. I was vague about the specifics.”
“Sneaky. I like it.”
“The night is long,” he said. “When you can’t sleep.”
Each of them chose a rock to settle on, leaving a few feet of dim light between them. The soft shifts of shadows and dark surrounded them.
“Sean and I broke up.”
“Oh.”
She waited, but that was all he had to say to the news that felt so big and momentous.
“You were right about Leo and Flutie. They’re dating.”
“What about you, Cotton? Have you dated anyone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Candace Bonner and I made out after several robotics competitions last spring. But we never went on a date.”
“Oh.”
It was weird to feel a twinge of jealousy. She felt embarrassed that she’d assumed he’d never been kissed. She thought his sensory issues would have interfered. But apparently making out was no big deal. And neither was her breakup with Sean.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
“About the breakup?” She paused, wanting to get this right. “Is sad the same as disappointed?”
“No. I used to have a feeling chart with different faces . . .”
She knew what he meant. Ms. Q had one in her resource room.
“Sad and disappointed are on the same line, but they’re different. I think disappointed is still hoping, but sad has given up.”
“That helps, Cotton. Then, I am sad. It’s definitely over. He and Maggie kissed already. So, I also feel inadequate.”
“Lacking.”
“Lacking,” she agreed.
“Inadequacy is an emotion derived from external relativity.”
“Translate, please.”
“It’s a matter of perspective. It’s based on comparison.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“No.” Cotton leaned back, his helmet scraping against the rock wall. “And comparison to others is an inaccurate way to measure one’s value.”
Benny used to say something like that to the team. The only person to beat is you. He meant that everyone should only worry about their own scores, their own improvement each meet. She’d never fully believed he meant it. Not for her. That was for someone who wasn’t going to win.
“Squid,” she said.
“Squid?”
Squid on Benny who always hijacked her brain.
“Squid on Sean,” she said. “Squid on Candace Bonner, too. I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”
“Yes,” said Cotton.
They sat together in the dark, breathing, being, existing. It was enough.
Finally, Ria stretched and stood up. “Let’s go. I’m finally getting tired.”
They made their way back along the path. Some of the rocks and formations looked familiar. She might have a chance of finding her way out on her own. She gestured toward the tunnel. “You go first.”
Even though she’d gotten used to the feeling of the walls close and narrow all around her, she still preferred to follow him. To remember she would fit too.
They’d made it through the tunnel and almost reached the exit, when Cotton stopped. She bumped into him, knocking her helmet sideways so it slipped down over her ear.
“Listen.”
A swish, or a swoosh, filled the air. It didn’t sound like wind, but almost. It was the wind’s cousin. The space filled with a flutter of fly. Ria leaned forward, felt a brush of something near her cheek. She gasped, grabbed Cotton’s arm. All around her, the air grew thick with movement and rush. The flickering shadows made her stomach lurch.
“Bats,” Cotton whispered. “They’re coming home.”
Knowing what it was helped. Even so, a primal