like a man who had been born knowing the answer.
Mrs. Garcia raises an eyebrow because I must be right and she has no idea how that happened, yet she continues with the lecture. I sneak a peek at Veronica and she’s fighting a smile as she stares straight ahead. What is one more amazing thing about this girl is that she can type without looking at her phone: Nice save.
Me: Thanks for giving me the save.
Veronica: No problem. That’s what friends are for.
Friends. I glance over at her again, she winks at me, and that sends me high—almost as high as standing on the edge of a cliff. The sensation is a lot like falling, though not through the air. It’s confusing, but it’s a rush and I like it.
VERONICA
“Veronica,” Sawyer says in a quiet voice, and there’s a light, warm touch on my hand. “We’re here.”
I lift my head off the passenger’s-side window and blink away the drowsiness of the unexpected nap. There’s a pleasurable awareness along my skin as his hand remains on mine. As if him touching me is natural, destined. It fills a cold, black hole I didn’t know was there until I experienced his warmth. Just as I’m starting to comprehend how nice his hand feels, he removes it. I frown, and Sawyer’s eyebrows draw together with my reaction.
It’s late September, and it feels like a lifetime has passed since Sawyer and I received official project approval from Mrs. Garcia. Trying to find time for us to meet between his swim practices, his work as a lifeguard and my work schedule has been tough, but today finally works.
When we left the house earlier, I had a mild headache that had been threatening to become more. I got up early to do research on our paper, and reading on the computer strained my eyes. Then my shift at the Save Mart was long, busy and loud. Once home, I had enough time to eat a granola bar before meeting Sawyer and Lucy on the front porch.
Lucy was nonstop chatter as Sawyer drove her to a friend’s house for a sleepover. I talked along with her, but then we dropped her off, leaving only me and Sawyer. Music was on, but it was low and, after a few pleasantries between us of “how are you” and “I’m good,” we fell into silence. I had meant to talk to him about the research I had done on the bridge, but then I had rested my eyes. It was only supposed to be for a second, but … I obviously fell asleep.
“Sorry for touching you, but you weren’t waking up.”
“It’s okay.” I liked it, and I sort of would like him to do it again. “I can sleep deeply.”
I stretch and my muscles are stiff from the weird sleeping position. I gently search my hair and find my fake sunflower barrette that shifted during my nap. I take it off, clip it to my off-the-shoulder T-shirt then stretch again. “I’m sorry for falling asleep.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gestures with his chin out the windshield. “What do you think?”
There’s an awe that sets in as I realize we’re here—the covered bridge. The narrow wooden bridge looks barely wide enough for one car to fit through, and if a car was brave enough to drive over it, the only thing keeping it from plunging into the water below is several layers of wooden planks. The aging shingles of the bridge have a foreboding feeling as if they’re thunderclouds imprisoning all that’s inside.
“I think it’s brilliant,” I say. “You ready?”
“For lions and tigers and bears? Sure.”
We exit the Lexus Sawyer parked off to the side of the road on a dirt clearing. We’re north of Lexington, and there’s a hint in the west of the fading sunset. A warm breeze carries the scent of the rich forest surrounding us, and the world has a grayish tint as the day gives in to night. Soon, the sky will be deliciously dark. No lights, and ghosts will be hiding in the shadows.
I join Sawyer at the hood of the car and fiddle with the digital recorder in my hand. “Once it’s completely dark, we’ll go to the middle of the bridge and turn on the recorder. We’ll ask a question, give the spirit time to answer and then ask another question.”
The skepticism on his face tells me he thinks I’m batcrap crazy. “Do you know how far that drop is into the river?