Page 35 of Broken Things

But he’s already turned around, and this time he doesn’t come back.

Although it seemed every person, goblin, giant, and dwarf in Lovelorn had gathered to witness the ceremony, it was utterly silent. Slowly, the elders of the village began to chant. “You are a child of Lovelorn,” they said in unison, “to Lovelorn you will be betrothed.”

“I go willingly for Lovelorn,” Gregoria said next, as she had been instructed, as every Savior before her had responded, her voice a bare squeak.

“Will you do your duty and be saved?” The voices rose up again, thunderous.

Gregoria was now completely white—which, considering the greenish tint of most dwarfs’ skin, was extremely alarming. “I accept what is right for Lovelorn,” she recited. “I accept what is right for me.”

“We have to stop it,” Ashleigh whispered frantically.

But of course, they couldn’t.

—FromThe Way into Lovelornby Georgia C. Wells

Brynn

Now

“Wow.” Wade stares up at Mia’s house as if he’s a holy pilgrim and this is the site of Jesus’s birth. “Wow. So she’s lived here all this time?”

“Uh-huh.” I get out of the truck, grateful to be on solid ground. Riding around with Wade feels like going sixty miles an hour in a tin can filled with crap. He and Mia’s mom could have a junk-off for sure. “Now, remember the deal—”

“I help you, you help me,” Wade says, raising his hands, likeI got this, I got this. Wade is nineteen and a sophomore at a local community college, studying How to Be a Hopeless Nerd or Conspiracy Theories 101 or something—but he dresses like he’s fifty in 1972. Today he’s rocking green plaid trousers, cowboy boots, and an old work shirt with the nameBobstitched over the pocket.

“You help Mia on her little crusade,” I clarify, not trusting Wade not to screw this up somehow. “And you help me get backinto a sweet little rehab of my own choosing. I’m going to need a heavy-duty meltdown this time.”

“Unless we finally figure out what really happened. Then you won’t need to go back.” The only reason Wade helps me at all is because he thinks Ican’tstay on the outside—not while people still think I killed Summer. Since our old neighbor tried to incinerate me and people on the street still whisper “witch” when I pass, Wade wasn’t that hard to convince.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. Wade is one of those supersmart nerds—he’s transferring next year to Boston University, apparently on a full scholarship—who can also be hopelessly dumb. Kind of like Mia.

Wade swipes a hand through his hair, which is long, shaggy, and the color of uncooked spaghetti. “Mia Ferguson’s house. I really can’t believe it.”

“Can you try not to be a total creep for five minutes?” I stalk past him toward the front door, skirting the enormous blue Dumpster.

Wade jogs after me. Loose coins and keys and whatever else he has in his pockets jangle loudly—like a cat bell, to let you know when he’s coming.

“Hey.” He looks hurt. “I’m doing this for you. I’m on your side. We’re family, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t a creep,” I say. Deep down, I know he really does think he’s helping. But seriously—who gets obsessed with a murder case and spends years blogging about itand theorizing and interviewing people? Creeps, that’s who.

Today Mia’s face reminds me of an egg: pale and fragile and one hard knock away from total collapse.

“Oh,” she says, exhaling. “It’s just you.”

“Who’d you think it would be?” I ask, but she shakes her head, frowning at Wade.

“Who’re you?” she asks. Another sign something’s screwy. Mia’s far too polite to be so blunt.

“This is my cousin Wade,” I jump in, so that Wade doesn’t ruin things before we make it inside. In contrast to Mia, he’s practically beaming. He could probably power a car battery based on the strength of his smile. “He’s cool,” I add, which is the opposite of the truth. “He can help us.”

“Wade.” Wade recovers his voice and steps forward to pump Mia’s hand, as if he’s a campaigning politician going door to door. “Wade Turner. It is so nice to meet you. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting—”

I elbow him sharply in the ribs before he can continue. Already, I can tell that the name means something to Mia. She’s frowning at him, puzzled, as if trying to place him. I have no doubt that over the years he’s tried to reach out to her—he admitted to me that he had, after I refused to give him her email address, knowing she had likely changed it anyway. But she finally shakes her head, letting it go, and steps backward, gesturing for us to come inside.

“Cool place” is all Wade says on the way upstairs, which is just a sign of his major brain scramble. Mia shoots him a look to makesure he isn’t making fun of her, then raises her eyebrows at me. I shrug and focus on dodging the piles of crap everywhere, which remind me of overgrown mushrooms sprouting from the filthy carpet. Still, I can tell Mia’s been making progress. The stairs are a little bit cleaner than they were even yesterday.

Mia hangs back, allowing Wade to pass into her room first. She stops me before I can follow.

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