Those Kids from Fawn Creek: Chapters 27–45

He was getting taller, brawnier; she’d chosen shorts for the skinny little boy he’d been last year.

He barely registered the sound of his own name when she paired him with Orchid.

Each stitch came loose in quick, unstoppable succession.

When Greyson turned around—and Hallie, by default—Orchid whispered, “Can we borrow your hoodie? I promise you’ll get it back.”

There was nothing interesting about a charcoal gray hoodie from the Old Navy in Lake Charles. He’d only bought it because he got cold at school sometimes. He’d rather cloak himself in something with more visual pizzazz.

Instead of sitting right away, Abby opened her arms ceremoniously and said, “This is Fawn Creek.”

There was a bite in her voice, though she wasn’t sure why. Sometimes she was spiteful for no reason whatsoever.

Mr. Agosto had been on a poetry kick lately, much to their dismay.

The way Renni described things, she made it seem like her behavior was totally normal and everyone else was too sensitive or didn’t have a good sense of humor.

Renni had dared Daelyn to say the worst words she could think of because she knew Daelyn considered it sinful and immoral, and when Daelyn refused, Renni shouted a slew of swears at the top of her lungs and called Daelyn a prude.

He wanted to know what New York City smelled like. How the hot dogs tasted when you bought them from those carts. The right way to hail a cab. (Are you supposed to whistle? What if you don’t know how?)

What was the point of knocking if you were just going to barge in?

“I solemnly swear that the information revealed here will not leave the confines of this circle—er, bed.”

“I solemnly swear that the information revealed here will not... Wait, what was it again?”

“I think you have the most amazing smile in the world. It could light up the whole neighborhood!”
As if on cue, Mee-Wee smiled bright.

But Janie’s expression never wavered.

The others mentioned how loyal Daelyn was, how you could trust her with your life, how dedicated she was to the things she believed in.

Mee-Wee spread her arms and wiggled her fingers, as if reverberating joy directly out of her fingertips.

Maybe she lived in a hovel deep underground.

He had a rough sketch of his outfit in his notebook. Bright. Asymmetrical. Loud. The opposite of boring.

It was uncanny how best friends could share the same thoughts sometimes.

They were side by side, almost shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the street and their eyes forward, studying the vast field ahead, which stretched to a dense thicket of trees.

They froze simultaneously, as if waiting for the other person to take the first step.

There were no paved roads, but there were houses—nine of them—alongside rows of campers and RVs. The houses were identical. Small. No garages or driveways or backyards. And they were all on slats, but they weren’t trailers.

One of the trucks had “BILDNER” emblazoned on the side.

She looked pitiful, but the seed had cracked open in Greyson’s chest and grown into full-fledged anger.

She had a faraway look in her eyes, like Greyson had taken her spirit with him. Or maybe it was because she was here, in this temporary house in a temporary work camp, instead of filling the space around her with fanciful stories about first kisses and subway rides.

And she seemed genuinely upset about it—or at least that she’d been caught, what with the crying and all.

“I’m sure all of you spent the weekend writing lyrical poetry in preparation for this week,” Mr. Agosto said.

“Funny you should ask,” Mr. Agosto continued, oblivious to the thirteen blank stares that blinked back at him.

But maybe angry wasn’t even the right word.
Hurt?
Disappointed?
Disenchanted?

Sometimes it felt like embarrassment was contagious and she was uniquely susceptible to catching it.

Dorothy imagined the other three girls with their beautiful, elaborate hair, and her, same old Didi—no, same old Dorothy—standing beside them, gazing through a veil of stringy brown strands and split ends.

“You’re amazing.”
Dorothy leaned forward. “I concur.”

She handed the notebook to Greyson’s mother, who accepted it gingerly, like a hot plate that might burn her.

Four items were draped across Greyson’s bed, along with his notebook, which was opened to a new sketch. They stared down at it, contemplative.

Janie watched Orchid all week. Orchid was a specimen to be studied, and Janie was the scientist.

She waited for the day when Orchid would lead them all outside at lunch. Regale them with stories of beach monkeys and Vietnamese noodles and Eiffel towers.

Renni had said Orchid was prancing around, acting like she was better than them.

Perhaps she would go for direct confrontation. Point her finger and shout, “You’re a liar! Tell them the truth!”