Lost in the Sun (23 page)

The second day of December was my first Saturday back at Kitch'N'Thingz, now that Basketball Buddies was over. I told Annie I'd still help her with her dribbling, though, and she agreed to come over sometime soon, which was good, because she needed plenty of practice.

I was setting up a display of Santa Claus cookie jars when Fallon came into the store. My mom spotted her before I did, probably because I was on my knees surrounded by cookie jars.

“Hey, Fallon!” she greeted her. “What's going on?”

Fallon was flushed from the cold. Her scar was a little purpler than normal, so you could tell she was really chilly. But she was grinning all over.

“I had to come over to tell Trent—where's Trent?”

“Here!” I pulled myself out from the cookie jars. “I'm here. What's up?”

“Trent!” She came squealing over. I really thought she might break nine Santa noses off their faces the way she was barreling toward me, but she stopped just in time. “Mrs. Hillard called!”

“Who's Mrs. Hillard?” my mom asked.

“The director of the play,” Fallon said, whipping around to tell her. I guess she didn't care that Mom was being super snoopy. “
The Wizard of Oz.
”

“And?” I held my breath. I knew it was going to be good news, from the way Fallon was squealing, but I wanted to hear her say it anyway.

“They want me to understudy the Wicked Witch. Isn't that awesome?”

“Oh, you'll be so good!” my mom said. She was squealing now, too.

“‘I'll get you, my pretty!'”
Fallon cackled in her best Wicked Witch voice.

I laughed. “Congratulations,” I told her. “That's what you wanted, right?”

She nodded at me, suddenly looking shy. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks for making me try out. I mean, I'll probably never get to actually
be
the Wicked Witch, but if Sarah gets sick, I get to wear green makeup all over my face, and these killer red nails, and . . .”

“You'll be awesome,” I told her.

“‘And your little dog, too!'”
she cackled.

I let out another laugh. “Want to help me with cookie jars?” I asked her.

She stuck her hands into her coat pockets. “Actually, um . . .” She'd gone shy again.

“What's up?”

“Do you have your Book of Thoughts?” she asked.

“Sure. Want me to draw you as the Wicked Witch?”

“Something else,” Fallon said. And the way she said it, it made me super curious. “Is it okay if I borrow Trent for a while?” she asked my mom.

“As long as you return him in one piece,” Mom replied.

“Grab your coat,” Fallon told me. And she raised her eyebrows at me, like she knew she was being mysterious.

We left the Santas in the middle of the floor.

•   •   •

“Where are we going?” I asked Fallon. She tugged me along through Main Street, past the shops, farther, faster, toward the edge of the lake. “Where are you taking me?”

She didn't answer until we reached the water. It was a spot usually only old people and kids came, where there were a couple of scattered benches and the water was shallow, so it was a good place to toss bread to the ducks. There was no one there today. The benches were covered with a thin layer of frost. All around us, nobody.

“Are we screaming again?” I asked her. Fallon nodded for me to sit on one of the benches, so I did. She sat beside me.

“Nah,” she said. “I already know I can scream.” She held out her hand, and I took it. I was beginning to grow very fond of that red-and-purple mitten. “Now I want to talk.”

I looked up at her. She was staring straight ahead, at the lake, which was just beginning to freeze in larger patches. Icy. Windy. Cold.

She squeezed my gloved hand, and I squeezed back, my Book of Thoughts clutched tight against my other side. I looked out at the lake, too.

“It was seven years ago,” she said softly. “When I got my scar. I was five years old.” And maybe it was my imagination, but I couldn't help thinking that the wind around us stilled, that the ice spread itself out just a little bit more across the lake, that the clouds froze in place as she spoke.

As she told me the beginning of her
story.

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