Some Quiet Place

class, uh, after you left, everyone chose their partners for the project. And you and me are the only ones left.”
    It wouldn’t be sensible to encourage this, to begin another friendship—not when that person is as observant as Joshua, and I’ve been so distracted lately. But then there’s Courage’s advice; he’d been so frank, and for once I find myself inclined to trust an Emotion.
    “That’s great,” I say, trying to sound young and just as shy as Joshua.
    If he’s surprised, he does well hiding it. “Okay, neat. I mean, cool. You’ve probably already looked at the handout, but the poems and story have to have a theme to them, I guess, and I was thinking we could—”
    “I’ve looked at the handout,” I interrupt, hearing Tim’s heavy tread outside. “We can talk about it more at school. Okay?”
    Joshua doesn’t ask questions or try to stay on the line. “Okay. See you.”
    “Bye.” I hang up. Mom is still looking at me curiously, but I don’t offer any explanations. Tim’s opening the door, the hinges groaning. I’m gone before he sets one foot into the house.

EIGHT
    It didn’t escape me, during his last visit, that Fear never gave me an answer when it came to the newspaper. Clearly the article disappearing changed things for him, and he intends to pursue this on his own. Although Fear is an excellent liar—he’s had centuries, millennia, to perfect the art—he can’t seem to hide the truth from me. As if some part of him wants me to know. And I will know; I’m good at research.
    During lunch, rather than sitting in a corner by myself like every other day, I go to the school library. The librarian, Mrs. Marble, nods when she notices me slip into the room. I move quietly to the back corner, slipping in and out of shadows between the bookshelves.
    I can’t rely on Fear to find answers; as soon as those words vanished right in front of me, I’d made the decision to search for my own copy of it. Though there shouldn’t be anything strange about a story like surviving a car accident, the fact that the article faded right as I was reading it makes one fact obvious: there’s something in it worth hiding. And I’ve tried, but I can’t recollect ever hearing about the incident from my parents or anyone else—why wouldn’t they tell me?
    The school archives are limited at best, but it’s the only library in Edson, so if a copy of the paper is anywhere, it’ll be here. Mrs. Marble leaves me to my search and I bury myself in the dusty corner where all the records are kept, sneezing once in a while. No one has been back here in ages.
    I start by looking at dates. If I was three or four at the time of the accident, the paper should have been published in 1999 or 2000. Many of the newspapers are missing, but I look anyway.
    There isn’t much excitement in this area. I see headlines like Crops Bad this Year and School Teacher Fired for Drug Use. Articles range from reports of small crimes to business spats and school events. But nothing about a little girl surviving any kind of car accident partway through 1999.
    There’s no time to keep delving through the year—the bell rings overhead. My next class is U.S. History. I make sure to put away the mess; Mrs. Marble is known to hunt kids down and stand over them as they clean up their clutter in her library.
    Joshua is waiting for me when I enter the classroom. Holding my book to my chest, I make my way to a desk in the back, as usual. At the sight of me Joshua pastes that same lazy grin on his face. I can’t tell what he’s really thinking—his eyes are hidden by his long hair. I smile in greeting, appearing friendly. He pulls himself clumsily to his feet and approaches. He reminds me of a newborn colt, but he’s doing better at concealing his anxiety and excitement.
    “So about the project,” he begins without preamble, sitting on the edge of my desk. I’ve never noticed what he’s wearing before, but now I do glance at the ripped and worn jeans, stained white T-shirt, and scuffed boots. Working on a farm all of his life has benefited Joshua; his arms aren’t scrawny as I’d first assumed, but sinewy. His body isn’t gangly, just lean.
    “ … okay with it, right?”
    I blink at Joshua. “Excuse me?”
    He frowns, his expression becoming worried. The Emotion manifests next to him, touches him briefly before vanishing again. “Do you have a problem with it? Because I can talk to Mrs. Farmer if you want. I