Long Lost, стр. 24
Arden stiffened. Her eyes turned hard. “Yes, I wanted you to come see me skate,” she shot back. “Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve come to any of my events? More than two years.”
Fiona’s mouth fell open. She would have argued, even if Arden was right—and Arden probably was right, because Fiona couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched her sister skate. But Arden went on first.
“Do you know what that feels like?” Arden’s voice was getting higher and louder. “When everybody else’s families are there, supporting them, and my own sister never even shows up? Not at exhibitions, not at competitions, not even when I make it to regionals? Do you know how that feels?”
“No, I don’t know how that feels!” Fiona yelled back. “I only know how it feels that no matter what I do or what I want, I’ll always be less important than my sister!”
Fiona and Arden both shot to their feet.
Before Arden could beat her there, Fiona took off for the staircase. She raced through the hall, past her parents’ stunned faces. She thundered up the stairs and bolted into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
When someone tapped at the door a few minutes later, Fiona didn’t answer.
“Fiona?” her dad called gently. “I let the Kostas know what was going on. Everybody’s really sorry to miss you.”
Fiona kept still.
“Any chance you want to change your mind and come along with me and Arden?”
“No.”
There was a pause.
“All right,” her dad said at last. “You can reach your mom at the clinic if you need to. Just stay home, and we’ll see you tonight.”
Again, Fiona didn’t answer.
The hall creaked as he walked away.
Several seconds passed. Then the heavy bang of the front door echoed up the stairs, and the house went still.
Fiona lay on the bed, boiling in her skin. If she thought about Bina and Nick and Cy climbing into the Kostas’ minivan together right now, the lump in her throat swelled so large that she could barely breathe.
Fiona shoved the tears out of her eyes. She couldn’t just stay here, imagining everything she was missing, feeling miserable. She had to do something. Something that would distract her from the boiling, choking feelings. Maybe even something her parents wouldn’t want her to do.
Well, they wouldn’t know. And that was their fault, not hers.
Fiona yanked off her cartouche T-shirt and pulled on a plain green one instead. She stuffed the map of Lost Lake, her notebook, her phone, and her house key into her backpack. Downstairs, she gathered the rest of her equipment: a flashlight, a water bottle, a piece of sidewalk chalk. Then she headed to the garage for her bike.
Early on Saturday morning, the town of Lost Lake was even quieter than usual. Most businesses were closed for the day. Only a few cars rolled by as Fiona pedaled along Main Street.
She tugged out the map and pinned it against her handlebars. If she rode past the library to the bend in Old Mill Road, cut through the woods, and then followed the river northward to its narrowest point, she should find Parson’s Bridge.
Beyond the library, at the end of the row of stolid old mansions, Fiona steered off the sidewalk. She pedaled across the lawn of a closed law firm and into the thick trees beyond. She hid her bike in a patch of ferns. Then, on foot, she hurried into the woods.
The ground quickly began to slope beneath her. Fiona jogged downward, catching herself on low branches. Already she could hear the rushing sound of water. A few more steps through the lace of leaves, and the river sparkled into view.
It looked just like she’d imagined. The water was greenish silver and fast, sloshing along its rocky banks, and the woods were thick all around. Fiona wondered which of the towering trees had been here a hundred years ago. She pictured Hazel and Pearl walking beside her, the heels of their buttoned boots leaving matching prints in the earth. She imagined them breathing the same damp air.
If The Lost One had been set right here, there had to be some sort of hint to find. Some sign. Some trace. Something that could point her toward the missing ending. Spreading her arms for balance, Fiona hurried to the edge of the water.
She perched on a flat rock and looked around. To her right, the river widened before vanishing around a bend. And upriver, just a few yards away, there stood an old wooden bridge.
Parson’s Bridge.
Invisible, icy fingers brushed the back of Fiona’s neck.
She rushed along the bank and onto the bridge. The wooden boards thumped softly under her shoes, the river shushing and sparkling beneath.
The woods on the far side were dense. As Fiona stepped off the bridge, their shadows swept over her like gray silk, cool and light, covering everything. She dug through her backpack and pulled out the stick of chalk. With it, she drew a bumpy white X on a nearby tree trunk, just in case she needed to find her way back.
Fiona hiked onward, keeping the river beside her, marking trees as she went. The farther she walked, the quieter the woods became. It got easier and easier to imagine that this was the Lost Lake of a century ago—or the Lost Lake of a strange old book.
At last she reached a patch of forest where the pines grew tall and straight, and ferns and tiny white flowers caught the droplets of sunlight that slipped through their boughs. Fiona stopped and took a long look around. This could be the sisters’ Enchanted Forest. Right now, Fiona could be standing on the spot where Hazel had disappeared.
Fiona turned in a slow circle, trying to observe everything at once, the way a researcher should. What might Pearl or Hazel have noticed, hidden among the ancient trees? What might they have seen? What might