Some Quiet Place

basic. Maybe this is just a dream, a random story tucked away in the back of my mind like all those paintings.
    Do you really believe that? an inner voice asks me.
    It would be easier if I did. It would be beneficial. The truth is looking less and less appealing as this winding path brings me deeper into dark wilderness.
    But I might be more human than Fear or I thought, because I can’t sink into oblivion. This boy means something to me. He’s part of my past. And he’s not just some random story.
    He’s my story.

TWELVE
    Friday morning Joshua is back in class. He looks normal but tired. Worry touches his shoulder. Sophia’s sister and my penchant for bruises aren’t the only subjects Edson High has to talk about. There’s been some speculation about the Hayes farm, about how their crops have been failing the past few years. Is that why he missed school yesterday? To help his dad?
    When the bell rings, I approach Joshua slowly, treating him like I would a hurting animal. He looks up, sees me. Kids shuffle past us—Sophia slams by, and I stumble a bit—but Joshua and I stay where we are, two unmoving stones in a wild tide. His eyes narrow at Sophia as she passes and she falters, her cheeks heating. She regains her composure, however, and whisks through the door as if she doesn’t care what he thinks of her.
    “How are you?” Joshua asks, shifting his gaze to me. All that hair hangs in his eyes.
    He really is odd; his weariness and anxiety are evident, and he’s asking about me. “I’m fine,” I answer. “What are you doing after school?”
    Joshua blinks, taken aback. “Uh … nothing.”
    I nod, brisk, because I believe it’s what he needs: someone to take control, someone to offer him a distraction. Why are you doing this? that voice in the back of my head asks. Courage said I would need him, logic points out.
    What is your excuse for indulging Fear? it asks next.
    I ignore this.
    “Come over to my house,” I say. “There’s something I need help with.”
    He’s curious. “What?”
    “You’ll see.” I hug my books against my chest and pivot on my heel, walking to the door.
    He says my name, softly, uncertainly. “Elizabeth?” I turn. Standing up, Joshua clears his throat. He blushes a little and tries to cover it up by sounding confident, casual. “Why would you want to hang out with me?”
    Teasing him, keeping up the pretense, I raise a brow. “It’s just a project, Joshua.”
    He straightens, grinning. “Yeah, but you’re a girl, and you’re you.”
    I study him some more, taking in the plaid shirt that hugs his thin torso, the stained jeans, the old work boots that I suspect belong to his father; they’re too big. “Because I think I should get to know you,” I answer honestly. You will need that boy in the end.
    “Why?” he asks again.
    We’re going to be late, and I still need to take a trip to my locker. I turn my back to his questions. “Meet me on the front steps after the last bell. You can follow me home.”
    Before he has a chance to open his mouth and ask anything more, I vanish through the door, throwing myself into the sea of kids. My senses are consumed by their chatter, the sound of sneakers on the floor, laughter. These people are always in motion, always full of a life I lack, no matter how much I pretend.
    There’s little danger in bringing Joshua home; Tim is asleep upstairs, under the heavy spell of alcohol and pain killers. He hasn’t moved for two days.
    The door to Joshua’s beat-up car squeals loudly as he opens it and gets out. He shuts it, looking around. The farm isn’t much different from his, but the boy looks at everything like he’s never seen a farm before. I try to see through his eyes, and appraise the chipping white paint on the house, the way the barn roof sags, the rusty tractor abandoned on the lawn.
    “So this is where you live,” Joshua says, so quietly he probably doesn’t mean for me to hear.
    I shoulder my bag, inclining my head. “Come on. My room is upstairs.”
    Joshua follows me inside. The screen door slamming announces my arrival to Mom. She doesn’t look up from her position behind the counter, where she’s breaking up some broccoli in a bowl. It isn’t until she hears the heavier thumps of Joshua’s shoes in the entry that her head snaps around. “Oh.” With wide eyes, she sizes Joshua up. She recognizes him; Edson is tiny and it would be impossible not to. Mom wipes her hands on a towel, turning. She