Page 7 of Broken Things

“Something I remembered,” I say, making it up as I go, trying to keep it vague.

“It’s about Summer,” I add quickly when he says nothing. “You still want to help me, right?”

There’s a long stretch of quiet, disturbed only by the faint pops and buzzes on the line.

“Wade?” I’m gripping the phone so tightly, my knuckles hurt.

“If the roads are open,” he says. It sounds like he’s talking through a shitty computer speaker. “I’ll be there.”

I say, “They’ll be open.” I don’t even say goodbye before hanging up.

The rain gets to us just before lights-out, beating so hard on the roof it sounds like a stampede. Half the girls scream when lightning rips across the sky, and a moment later, the lights flicker.

Monroe finds me just after I’ve brushed my teeth, planting herself in front of the bathroom door so I have no choice but to stop.

“Hey.” She flicks her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m sorry about what happened before. The whole news thing. No one knew what to—” She breaks off, sighing. “Look, Ithink it’s cool, okay?”

“You think what’s cool?” I say automatically, and then wish I hadn’t.

She blinks at me. “That you killed someone.”

At Four Corners there’s this thing called T.H.I.N.K. Before you speak, you’re supposed to make sure that what you have to say is Truthful, Honest, Important, Necessary, and Kind. In principle, it’s a nice idea. But principles and practice are very different things.

“You’re an idiot,” I say. “And you’re in my way.”

The wind is so loud it keeps me up for hours. It screams like someone lost and desperate in the dark. But finally I do sleep. And for the first time in years, I dream of Lovelorn.

Mia was the nice one, but she was shy. Summer could get anyone to like her, and she wasn’t afraid of strangers. And Brynn was always in a fight with someone, although deep down she might have been the softest of them all. (But she’d never admit it.)

—FromReturn to Lovelornby Summer Marks, Brynn McNally, and Mia Ferguson

Brynn

Now

“Everything looks good, very good. You’re feeling good? Good.” Paulie’s nerves are obviously shot. It’s like her brain is set to repeat. The admin offices flooded during the storm. Even though the water has receded, the carpets are still soaked and will probably need to be pulled up. “I know you’re old enough now to sign your own release. I see you never provided us the name of the person coming to pick you up today, but never mind.... It’s been such a whirlwind....” She manages a faint smile. “No pun intended.”

It’s Sunday morning, and while I should be relaxing in detox courtesy of Wade’s delivery, instead I’m sitting in the cafeteria across from Paulie and a big stack of release papers. The sun is out for the first time since Friday afternoon, and the lawn is tangled with tree branches and garbage blown in from who knows where. Outside, men in identical green T-shirts and thick rubber glovesmove across the puddled lawn, sorting through all of it.

I seize onto the idea of a mistake. Maybe I can buy an extra day or two. “Nobody can come,” I say, and it’s not hard to sound disappointed. Wade reallycouldn’tcome. Apparently a branch went straight through his windshield. “The storm,” I clarify when Paulie looks surprised.

For once, the storm was just as bad as the news predicted. Tornadoes did, in fact, touch down in parts of the county. Half the towns from Middlebury to Whiting are without electricity. Otter Creek flooded and carried away cars and garden sheds and even an eighteenth-century windmill—just swallowed it whole, burped out a few two-by-fours, andthanksagain, see you next time.

According to the news—ever since the generators kicked in on Saturday morning, we’ve had the news going in the media room—Twin Lakes got hit hard. I saw footage of the old movie theater missing half its roof and Two Beans & Cream, its windows shattered, its antique coffee grinder half-submerged in water. Telephone lines sparked in the street and water moved sluggishly between parked cars.

When I tried my mom’s house phone, I got nothing but a cranked-up beeping in my ear. When I called my sister’s cell phone, she practically hung up on me.

“Shit’s insane,” she said, and I could hear Mom in the background, her voice high-pitched and worried, telling her to mind her language. “Look, I can’t talk. The basement’s flooded. Mom’s freaking out. Stay dry, okay?” And that was that.

Of course, it’s also true I never asked either my mom or my sister to pick me up at Four Corners, for the simple reason that I never told them I was leaving. I was neverplanningto leave.

“Oh.” Paulie shoves her glasses up her nose with a thumb, frowning. “But what about the young woman out in the lobby?”

I stare at her. “What?”

“She signed in half an hour ago.” Paulie shuffles through her set of papers. “Here she is. Audrey Augello. She said she was here to see you. I just assumed she meant to check you out.”

For a second my brain blinks out. My first thought is that it must be a joke. One of the other girls got the idea to prank me after seeing the news. But almost immediately, I know that can’t be it—the news never mentioned Lovelorn by name or any of its characters. So: someone else, someone who knows, must have tracked me down, hoping to freak me out.

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