Page 7 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
My initial frustration over losing the squirrel is fading, replaced by a sickening sense of dread. I worried I’d eventually get caught trespassing. Just not enough to actually stop.
I shrug with as much innocence as I can muster. “Do what? I’m taking pictures in the woods. I’m not breaking the law.” I spare a cautious glance over my shoulder, down the deer trail that brought me to the ravine. When I look back, the Incredible Hulk—honestly, the resemblance is uncanny—folds his arms across his chest, his meaty forearms flexing.
I’d like to think I could outrun him. How fast can you truly be when you have to haul around that much muscle? But I haven’t been in tiptop running shape since college.
The man takes a step closer. “Youarebreaking the law. You’re on private property, for which I’m responsible. The cops are already on their way, and I’m sure they’d appreciate you coming in easily. Wouldn’t want to add resisting arrest or evading a police officer to your rap sheet.”
“My rap sheet? I’m just taking pictures. This really doesn’t need to be a big deal.”
The man frowns. “You’re taking picturesonprivate property.”
I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes.
I mean,yes.Technically, Iamon private property. Andyes,when Carolina Southern University sold the seventy-five acres of research forest they owned in Polk County, I was supposed to shut down the multiple experiments I had going on and relocate to the public forest land on the other side of town. But I was here first. One doesn’t justshut downthree years of research on oak ecosystem restoration, forest stand dynamics, and wildlife response to human forest management. Not to mention the water samples we’ve been collecting from the Broad River. I can’t relocateour collection site without scrapping all our data and starting over. There are too many factors at play.
I look to my left at the house now sitting in the middle of my research forest. It’s hard to miss at this distance—a monstrosity of glass and brick and poured concrete that makes my chest ache for all the trees that were sacrificed to build it. Most of the time, I’m not anywhere near it. I stay intentionally close to the river, on the back thirty acres where most of my research takes place. I’m only here now because of the squirrels.
“Ma’am, the property line is well marked. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be.” The man shifts again, one hand moving closer to the firearm strapped to his waist. I resist the urge to ask him the diameter of his bicep because I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than my entire left thigh.
My shoulders drop. “What if I just go quietly?” I motion down the deer trail, in the opposite direction of the house. “We can pretend like I was never here.”
He lifts a single eyebrow—a feat only thirty to forty percent of humans can do. (I’m convinced the ability is inherited, though some argue it’s simply a matter of muscle dexterity. I’d need to do my own research to fully rule out the genetic component.)
“You give me your memory card, and I’ll think about it,” the man says, reminding me that there is more at stake here than eyebrows.
I press my camera against my chest. There’s way too much research on my memory card—at least two months of documentation, not to mention potential photos of a rare and possibly monumental white squirrel. I’ll go to jail before I give it up.
“No way,” I finally say. “You can’t have my memory card.”
He nods as though he expected my response. “Then you’re coming with me,” he says.“Now.” He moves forward and reaches for my elbow.
I jerk it out of his reach. “Fine. But I’ll walk by myself, thank you very much.”
He gestures for me to go ahead of him, pointing through the trees. “That way,” he grunts.
I push through the undergrowth for fifty yards or so, then follow Bruce Banner’s lead as he cuts around a thick stand of rhododendron and lands us on a rough trail that looks like it’s only recently been cut in. It isn’t quite wide enough for a car, but the utility vehicle sitting a few feet away clearly fits just fine.
My feet slow, this whole situation suddenly feeling very real.
Am I really going to let this enormous man drive me somewhere? What if he isn’t actually a security guard? What if he’s just some random dude with a hidey-hole on the other side of the mountain where he plans to fatten me up like Hansel and Gretel before feeding me to the coyotes?
He motions toward the passenger seat. “This will be faster than walking.”
I take a step backward, then lower my camera into the bag secured across my shoulder and around my hips. “I don’t—” The words catch in my throat, and I swallow against the knot there. With the adrenaline firing in my brain right now, I probablycouldoutrun this guy. But then I see a flash of blue through the trees—a police car making its way down the drive leading to the house. It’s only visible for a moment before it disappears again. Weirdly, this brings me comfort. If I’m not getting away from this guy, I’d at least choose real jail over a hidey-hole.
“Ma’am?” the guy says.
I breathe out a resigned sigh and climb into the utility vehicle beside him.
“Who lives here anyway?” I say as we make our way up the trail. “You could have just asked me to leave, and I would have. This seems like a lot of fuss over a few pictures.”
He eyes me warily. “Very funny,” he says, no trace of actual humor in his voice.
Very funny?
Fear tightens my gut, but I do my best to will it away. All I’ve been accused of is trespassing, something that, even with official charges, only carries a fine.Annnndpossibly thirty days in jail. But probably—hopefully?—it will just be a fine. It’s not like I have an actual criminal record. I’m a model citizen! A distracted scientist who ignored private property signs because she was so focused on finding the ever-elusive white squirrel.
A surge of satisfaction pulses through me.
