The Truth About Us

“It just seems weird.”

“It’s not that weird. I’m eighteen. Teenagers break the rules all the time. Maybe I’m meeting a boy here.”

“Are you?”

“Is that any of your business?” When he continued to stare, saying nothing, she added, “Technically, you’re breaking the rules, too.”

“Yes, but I work here, so it’s more like I’m bending them, not breaking them.”

“Are you always this incorrigible?”

“Yes.”

Abby eyed him one last time before turning her attention back to the darkness and the empty parking lot. This conversation was ridiculous.

Next to her, he rocked back on his heels and began whistling the theme song for Jaws while she struggled to ignore him.

Unable to take it any longer, she turned to him again, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you have to do that? Why are you still here?”

“It seemed apt, considering the situation. You’re a girl, waiting by yourself in a park at night. Seems unsafe. Do you want me to wait with you?”

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. ‘Cuz I’m a nice guy, and we go to school together, so you can trust me.” He stepped closer, and his sandy mop of hair fell in his eyes as he closed the gap.

Brown. His eyes were definitely brown.

She stared up at him, to the soft lines of his face. There was nothing disin

genuous in the way he looked at her, but she couldn’t have someone with her when... Well, she didn’t know what. She only knew this was important, and she couldn’t screw it up. Whatever the purpose of this meeting, she had a feeling it didn’t involve other people.

“That doesn’t mean I can trust you. Besides, I’ll be fine. If they don’t show soon, I’m leaving.”

Kaden’s gaze locked on hers, and she could tell he was trying to decide whether or not he believed her. She must’ve convinced him because he hefted the bag of trash over his shoulder like Santa Claus. “Well, have a good night, Abigail.”

He turned to leave, and for a moment, Abby wanted to race after him and ask him to stay. Maybe she did need someone there. Maybe she needed protecting. She had no idea, but she stood, feet planted in the spongy rubber.

As he headed over the hill and faded into the distance, she turned back toward the opening of the park. Movement caught her eye. A car parked.

She watched from a distance, squinting into the darkness. The hair rose on the back of her neck as a door opened and a small person stepped out. They didn’t bother to close the door. Instead, they moved in front of it and stood, staring into the depths of the park—staring right toward Abby, like they knew where she’d be all along.

Seconds passed as a knowing feeling washed over her. Her goosebumps from earlier returned. Shifting her gaze toward the hill where Kaden disappeared, she wondered if it was too late to run after him. Tell him she changed her mind, that he was right. She shouldn’t be there—alone—standing in the dark, waiting for a stranger.

But before she could do any such thing, GG’s letter flashed in her mind, and her feet moved on their own accord. Mulch turned to grass as she made her way across the playground toward the parking lot, her heart in her throat.

As she approached, the person became clearer, and she took in the sight of the old man. He hobbled a step closer. A thick wave of salt and pepper hair covered his head. Eyes, dark as onyx, never wavered from her face.

A shiver crept up her spine as he closed the distance between them, a gnarled cane in one hand and something small and dark in the other. The wind whipped her hair in her face and eyes. Brushing away her dark locks, she tucked them behind her ears and waited, unsure of whether she had the courage to close the gap even if she wanted to. Planting her feet, it took all her energy to stand in place and not bolt in the other direction.

He drew closer, then paused in front of her—so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath. Wrinkles marred his olive complexion. Though he smiled, there was no relief in the gesture, and when he reached a hand out to her, he offered her the dark object.

Her eyes moved to his bony grip, taking in what appeared to be a leather-bound book.

“Abigail Bridges?” he asked, with an accent so thick, she hardly registered her own name.

Her gaze darted back to his face. The acknowledgment shouldn’t have surprised her. Still, her eyes widened, and unable to speak, she nodded.

“I have something for you,” he said, his voice harsh like the sound of crunching gravel.