“Let’s get this done.”
I stand like I’m rooted to the spot as Tucker and Murphy drag the rafts from the trailer and into a garage on the side of the office. Then they inspect each one, work through some kind of checklist with the life vests, and lock the garage up.
“See ya,” says Murphy, then jumps into a Jeep and gets the heck out of here.
Tucker and I stand in the parking lot staring at each other. I still can’t form words. All the things I planned to say flew out of my head the minute I laid eyes on him. He’s so beautiful, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, his hair still damp from the river, his eyes so blue. I feel tears in my eyes and try to blink them away.
Tucker sighs.
“What do you want, Clara?”
The sound of my name is strange coming from him. I’m not Carrots anymore. My hair is back to blond. He can probably tell even now that I’m not quite what I appear to be.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I say finally. “You don’t know how much I wanted to tell you the truth.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because it’s against the rules.”
“What rules? What truth?”
“I’ll tell you everything now, if you’ll hear me out.”
“Why?” he asks sharply. “Why would you tell me now, if it’s against the rules?”
“Because I love you.”
There. I said it. I can’t believe I actually said it. People cast around those words so carelessly. I always cringe whenever I hear kids say it while making out in the hall at school.
But here I am, saying it and meaning it.
Tucker swallows. The anger fades from his eyes but I still see shadows of fear.
“Can we go somewhere?” I ask. “Let’s go somewhere off in the woods, and I’ll show you.”
He hesitates, of course. I see something like fear on his face. What if I’m an alien invader trying to lure him to a secluded place so I can suck his brains out? Or a vampire, ravenous for his blood?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His eyes flash with anger like I’ve come right out and called him chicken.
“Okay.” His jaw tightens. “But I drive.”
“Of course.”
Tucker drives for an hour, all the way out to Idaho, into the mountains above Palisades Reservoir. The silence between us is so thick it makes me want to cough.
We’re both trying to look at each other without getting caught looking at each other.
At any other time I’d find us hilarious and lame.
He turns down a dirt road that’s marked as private property and heads past the log cabins tucked back in the trees, up the mountainside until we come to a big wire fence. Tucker jumps out and fumbles with his keys. Then he unlocks the rusty metal padlock that holds the gate together, gets back in the truck, and drives through.
When we reach a broad, empty clearing, he puts the truck in park and finally looks at me.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“My land.”
“Yours?”
“My grandpa was going to build a cabin here but then he got cancer. He left the land to me. It’s about eight acres. It’s where I’d come if I ever had to bury a dead body or something.”
I stare at him.
“So tell me,” he says.
I take a deep breath and try not to focus on his eyes staring me down. I want to tell him. I’ve always wanted to tell him. I just don’t exactly know how.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about you start with the part about you being some kind of supernatural being made of light.”
My breath catches.
“You think I’m made of light?”
“That’s what I saw.” I can see the fear in him again, in the way he averts his eyes and shifts slightly to put more space between us.
“I don’t think I’m made of light. What you saw is called glory. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it’s this way of communicating, being connected to each other.”
“Communicating. You were trying to communicate with me?”
“Not intentionally,” I say, blushing. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’d never done it before, actually. Mom said that sometimes strong emotions can trigger it.” I’m babbling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. Glory
