For a moment, there’s just silence—the eerie quiet of this tucked-away pocket pressing down on me. I look at the floor, at those wild splashes of paint so many graffiti artists have left behind. I hate the way hope sends you careening after something, ignoring all the practical signs that it’s just not going to fucking happen.
Eventually, I hear the soft trod of Henry’s footsteps, feel him settling in next to me.
“Tell me what you like about this place,” he says.
My head jerks up. “What? I’m having an existential crisis and you want me to give you a guided tour?”
“Sort of?” He laughs a little. “Actually this is something Grace taught me. Sometimes if I’m in pre-panic-attack mode, she’ll ask me to tell her a really specific story—something about a restaurant I’ve gone to, or a moment when I remember falling in love with dancing. It helps my mind focus on the details—it grounds me. And the emotions I was feeling before that were so frustrating kind of . . . evaporate.”
“That sounds . . . okay, fine,” I concede, as the frustration roars through me, louder with every passing second. “Why not? It’s not like I’m doing anything else.” I blow out a long breath and stare at the silver swirls. They shimmer, as if encouraging me. “Auntie Suzy brought me and Belle and Rory here when we were little. All those wide-open spaces outside—it meant we could run around all we wanted. Plus, it was a free activity. I remember she brought us here once after Belle begged and begged to go to Disneyland to see all the princesses. Auntie Suzy told us this was like Disneyland—but, you know, something we could actually afford.” I smile slightly at the memory, at Belle’s indignant face when she realized her Disney princess dreams were definitely not coming true that day. “I guess we were about ten? Belle thought it was ugly. Rory was indifferent, mostly because Rory’s favorite activity at that point was grabbing as many blades of grass as she could hold in her tiny little fist. And I . . .”
I close my eyes, remembering that day. Auntie Suzy looking tired as usual, slumped at one of the picnic tables with Rory plopped on a blanket at her feet. The way my heart skipped a few beats when I saw those strange rock formations that looked like a half-finished villain’s lair. All the dark corners and shadows waiting for me, as if calling me home. I’d explored every single one of them. And then . . .
“I came up here,” I say, recalling the way I’d skulked into the rock formation and found that ominous tunnel. “I almost tripped on my way up the stairs, but eventually I ended up here. And I was so . . .”
“Scared?” Henry says.
“Enchanted,” I say, giving him a wry grin. “It felt like the nure-onna’s lair. Like a place with endless shadows. I fantasized about moving here, setting up my own little home. Just me, all by myself.”
“What an enterprising ten-year-old,” Henry says. “Your aunt must have noticed you were gone, though—did you scare the shit out of her?”
“Sort of,” I say. “She was so busy trying to keep Belle entertained and Rory from toddling farther into the grass, she didn’t notice I’d completely disappeared until it was time to go. By then, I’d been up here for like half an hour.”
“Were you stoked?” Henry says, amusement creeping into his voice. “For a whole half an hour, you got to live out your ultimate secret-lair dreams.”
“I suppose I was. But I also . . .” I trail off, falling back into that moment in time that feels so long ago. I remember being excited, then kind of bored as the minutes ticked by. I remember making plans for how I was going to decorate my lair, and how maybe Auntie Suzy wouldn’t look so tired now that she only had two kids to look after.
How my whole family could finally escape the shadow of Rika the Biter, Rika the Monster, who always seemed to cause trouble for them no matter what.
“But you also . . . what?” Henry prompts.
“Nothing,” I say hastily, but now the memories won’t stop. They’re crashing over me, as loud and endless as the graffiti on these concrete walls. “I . . . I told myself I was happy. And at first, I was. But then I started getting bored. I started feeling . . . lonely.” The word comes out jagged, broken. “And deep down, I wished . . .” My voice catches and I press my lips together, determined not to let any more words out. But somehow I know Henry can hear the rest.
I wished someone would come for me.
Which is what I’m doing now, hanging out here and hoping Grace will magically show up.
I am nothing more than a pathetic girl, sitting in a hidden-away part of the world, waiting for someone to want her.
“Let’s go,” I say abruptly, springing to my feet and scraping a hand over my eyes. “She’s not coming, the park’s probably about to close, and we’re wasting time on nothing.”
I stalk back down the staircase, putting a little of that Rory stomp in my step. Henry follows behind me, his footsteps quiet. Always so quiet.
We emerge to a dusky sky, the sun finally losing her battle and sinking into the earth. It’s not cold—LA is almost never anywhere near cold in the summer—but there’s a slight breeze in the air, and I stuff my hands into my pockets for warmth.
And that’s when I realize . . . there’s nothing in my pockets. They are empty, useless. The photos I’ve been carrying around with me like some kind of talisman are gone.
“Oh . . . oh no,” I whimper.
“What?” Henry says, his brow furrowing with concern.
“Th-the photos,” I manage. “The ones of Grace . . . they’re gone.”
“Maybe
