Going Underground (22 page)

“We'll get the rest of this mess straightened out,” Branson says. “Give it time, Del.”

“Time's all I've got. Time and a graveyard.” Jeez. Am I sounding like Harper? “And a lot of graves to dig. This place really is huge, and it serves a ton of counties.”

Branson laughs. “Well, good luck to you. I'm not helping you dig.”

“I will,” says somebody from behind Branson, and I jump from the shock-tingle of hearing that voice, her voice, again after all these months.

From her cage in the tree, Fred cranks up with whistles and bombs and then a delighted chorus of, “Four, four, four, four, one, two, THREE, four!”

Branson and I turn around, and there she is, standing there just like a vision in her jeans and a blue shirt that hangs loose around her waist and stirs in the breeze. Her dark brown eyes look wide and hopeful, but also scared, and she's wearing her hair loose around her shoulders. It looks so soft my fingers flex because I want to touch it.

“Well,” Branson says, gesturing toward Ms. Johnston, who has stopped sniffing roses and started making her way toward Fred's cage for a closer look. “I should go get her before your bird chews off her nose.”

“Good idea,” I tell him, and manage a “Thanks” before he moves off and leaves me alone in the sunshine, staring at Livia. The sun makes golden patterns in her hair, and her skin's turning pink from the heat and whatever's scaring her. I realize she's got a single suitcase, a black one, and it's sitting on the ground beside her.

She looks down at the suitcase, then back up at me. “Hi.” Her lips work like she's running through a lot of things she could say. She settles on, “I've been waiting a long time for my birthday.”

“Me, too.”

She smiles, and I smile—the real kind of smile—and for right now, we don't have to say any of the rest of it, about why she waited, and how I know why she waited, and how we missed each other.

“I …,” she whispers. I wait, ready for anything, not even caring what she says as long as it has to do with her seeing me whenever she wants now, whenever we both want. I'm hearing five different songs in my head at once, but the loudest one is probably the corniest, “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison.

“I need a job,” Livia says, and the fear's back on her face again.

I blink.

Not what I expected.

But the suitcase …

And I think I'm starting to get it. She didn't just come here to see me today. She left home to do it. Maybe she would have left home anyway the day she turned eighteen, to get away from her father and the cloud over her family after what her sister did—but she packed her suitcase and she came here.

“This is a dead-end place, in case you haven't noticed.” I keep my eyes on hers and try to do the right thing. “You want out of Duke's Ridge and you want to go to college.”

“Someday. But for now, I need a job. And I need a place to live.” She's talking fast and she barely slows down for a breath. “I hope you say yes, but if you say no, I have some other options—an aunt in Reno and my cousin in New Jersey.”

I eye her suitcase. “It's a long way to those places. You on foot?”

“The car was in Dad's name. So was almost everything else I owned.” She lifts the suitcase. “This is it. I'm starting light. We'll call it Zen for now, if you don't mind.”

Wow.

Now I'm happy and scared all at the same time.

“My car sucks.” I jerk my thumb toward the ancient Ford truck I inherited from Harper. I parked it under the tree next to Fred's cage when I drove out to this spot to start digging. “Definitely not eco-friendly. Neither is the house. I'm still finding beer cans, and Gertrude came with me. She's drooling everywhere because I can't afford tuna.”

“Fred,” Fred shouts, and she drops some more bombs, and she farts for good measure, then laughs about it.

“I can take it,” Livia says. I'm pretty sure she means the truck and the house and Gertrude's drool, even though Fred immediately launches through fresh burps and some Spanish swear words.

“If you keep hanging around here, you'll be lost in space just like me.” I reach out and touch Livia's face with my fingers. She's close, and she's warm, and she's real even though I'm sure I'm dreaming. “It'll take a lot more than eighteen inches of dirt to cover up the history you'll be making if you're with me—and everybody will treat you like you're made of paper or invisible.”

“You won't treat me like that, or your folks, or Marvin and his mother whenever he's in town. Fred doesn't think I'm made of paper and Gertrude doesn't care.” She glances toward Oak Section, where her sister's buried. “And my mom can see me whenever she visits Claudia. As for the eighteen inches of dirt”—she shrugs—“I don't think I'll be needing to cover anything up or hide anything at all. Not here. Not with you.”

I trace her cheekbone, needing to know she's still right there and not about to vanish in a puff of smoke and broken sunlight the first second a cloud passes across the sky.

She frowns for a second, then smiles—almost a parrot smile, but a little better. “I'm not asking you to marry me, Del.”

“If you did, I might say yes.” I slip my fingers into her hair and pull her toward me.

Her kiss feels … like being on Earth, like being right here, right now, right where I'm supposed to be.

“Well,” she murmurs in my ear, “maybe I'll ask you in three or four years.”

“Deal. I need to finish school, anyway, and so do you.”

“Nag, nag.” She pulls away from me and picks up her suitcase before I can do it, and she heads toward Harper's house, which is my house now. And Fred's. And Livia's. It's our house until we figure out what's up, what's down, and what we're going to do on Earth now that we've all found our way back to the planet.

As I watch her go, Fred says “Livia” in my voice, or it might have been Dad's. I can't really tell.

“Livia,” I agree in my voice, thinking Mom and Dad will probably show up any minute with burgers and cupcakes and balloons to celebrate the law passing.

A few minutes later, Livia comes back from Harper's in older jeans and a darker shirt, with her fairy hair pulled back.

She's smiling … and she's carrying a shovel.

ALSO BY SUSAN VAUGHT

Stormwitch

Trigger

My Big Fat Manifesto

Exposed

The Oathbreaker saga

with J B Redmond

Part One: Assassin's Apprentice

Part Two: A Prince Among Killers

Acknowledgments

Everyone I've ever known is braver than me. No, seriously. It's hard to tell the truth, just let it spill out, and there are lots of people who tell the truth better than I do. My daughter, Gynni, is one of them, and Gisele, and my son, JB, and my friend and agent, Erin, and my friend Judy. I have to thank them for being so brave.

Everyone I've ever known is gentler than I am, in so many ways. My editor is so very gentle, and her kindness and unassuming intelligence make me wish I could be her if it's even possible for me to grow up. Thank you, Victoria. On this piece, because Victoria was busy adding to the beauty of the world, I worked with Margaret Miller, who proved to be gentle, too, and waded right in with courage and determination, even when I was being stubborn. Thank you, Margaret.

Everyone I know is more loyal and better at sticking it out than I am. My friend Debbie, my friend Susan, my dogs Alfred and Katie, the guy who sold us our wonderful house, Ralph—these people face real adversity and keep on going, and they inspire me. Thanks, all of you.

And just as important, I thank every reader who has ever written me or e-mailed me with thoughts about my books. You're why I tick and why I type.

Copyright © 2011 by Susan Vaught

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First published in the United States of America in September 2011 by
Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
Electronic edition published in October 2011
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to,
Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vaught, Susan
Going underground/by Susan Vaught. — 1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Interest in a new girl and pressure from his parole officer cause seventeen-year-old Del, a gravedigger, to recall and face the “sexting” incident three years earlier that transformed him from a straight-A student-athlete into a social outcast and felon.
[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Gravediggers—Fiction. 3. Probation—Fiction. 4. Text messages (Telephone systems)—Fiction. 5. Sex crimes—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.F3133Goi 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010051028

ISBN 978-1-5999-0714-7 (e-book)