Page 10 of A River of Crows

Her mom rushed into the living room. “Sloan, when did you get home?”

“Just now,” Sloan said, rubbing her knee.

“Oh. How was art club?”

“Pretty good.” This was a first. Her mom never asked about her art. “I drew you a picture today,” Sloan said.

“Oh?”

Sloan pulled the sketchbook out of her backpack. The edge of the page ripped as she tore it out.

Mom looked at the picture. “It’s a crow.”

“Yeah.” Sloan bit her lip. “I’m not good at birds yet. I need more work on feathers.”

“No, it’s great. Thanks.” She set it on the couch. “Ridge, your sister’s home. Why don’t you both head to the river?”

“Do we have to?” Sloan’s stomach growled. “When’s dinner?”

“Leftovers tonight, so you can eat when you get back. Ridge wants to watch the crows.”

Sloan groaned. “It’s not even November yet.”

“Some come in October,” Mom said. “I’d go with you, but Libby is stopping by. I need a girls’ night.”

“What? Libby’s always over. You had a week of girls’ nights.”

“Yes, and she’s leaving in two days, Sloan. My one friend in this desolate town is moving in two days.” Mom raised her voice. “Following her husband to a new job—giving up everything—and I can’t stop her.”

Sloan wanted to tell her mom that she was sad Libby was leaving too. With no grandparents left, Libby and Vince Turner were the closest things she and Ridge had to extended family. But she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes, and she suddenly wanted to leave. “Come on, Ridge; let’s go.”

“Can Noah come?” Ridge stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sloan said. Ridge smiled, but Sloan sensed something off about him. He looked pale. Sick, almost. “Get your jacket,” Sloan told him. “You aren’t wearing mine this time, no matter how much you whine.”

“See you in a few hours.” Mom rubbed her head like it ached.

Sloan started for the door but stopped at the couch, seeing the crow picture tossed where her mom had left it. She crumbled it into a ball and dropped it in the wastebasket on the way out the door.

“Race ya in,” Sloan told Noah as she propped up the kickstand to her bike. Noah dropped his bike and ran for the water, shedding his backpack halfway down the embankment. Sloan followed, kicking off her shoes and peeling off her socks and jacket, losing only by seconds. The green water was colder than she expected, and it stung.

“Mom didn’t say we could go in,” Ridge called from the bank.

“Come on.” Sloan swam farther out, the soil-like scent of the water giving way to a less pleasant fishy smell. “Your clothes will dry.”

Ridge shook his head. “It’s too cold.”

“Don’t be a chicken,” Noah called.

Ridge was undeterred. He climbed off his bike and sat in the grass, looking up into the towering trees. “Be quiet, or you’ll scare them away.”

“Fine.” Sloan swam back to the bank. Someone would probably recognize her and tell her mom if she went any further.

Noah followed Sloan out of the water. Even though he was Ridge’s friend, it was always Sloan’s lead he followed. Noah was eleven, smack in between Sloan and Ridge in age, but he and Sloan were in the same grade since she’d been held back. At least they had different teachers this year. Last year in fifth grade, all her friends teased her about how Noah followed her like a shadow.

“There’s a blanket and snacks in my backpack,” he said.

Of course there was. Sloan never had to worry about needing anything when Noah came along. He was a model boy scout if there ever was one.

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