Wild (16 page)

Ignoring her, Lia went on. “That he was raised by
wolves
.”

“Seriously?”

“Totally. It made News of the Weird on Yahoo,” Lia said with relish. Pulling out her phone, she opened her browser. With a few quick touches, she found the page she was after. Then, she read aloud.

“‘The Primitive Boy is a puzzle that local authorities are trying desperately to solve. Lauded for a daring rescue of two Makwa teens, he seemed to be a hero.

“‘But questions abound. He claims no memory of a life before his appearance in the forest. And after an outburst in a local hospital and a rampage through small-town Kentucky, we're left wondering: who is this boy, and are we safe with him in our community?'”

“Are you . . . what?” Dara exclaimed. “Is that from Kit's Tumblr?”

Lia snorted. “He wishes. He's telling everybody he broke the story, but nobody's listening to him.”

“Nor should they,” Mrs. Porter snapped.

“Then where is it from? Who would write that?”

“It was in the paper, dummy. That freakazoid you pointed out at school? Mmhmm.”

Suddenly cold, Dara clutched the counter. “You lie.”

Still surfing the web on her phone, Lia held it up for Dara to see. She'd stopped on the website for one of the local news stations. “On Channel Ten, they're mostly going with oooh, raised by wolves boy, look at his weird clothes, is he the missing link?”

Disgusted, Dara shoved the pan of chicken in the oven a lot harder than she needed to. “This is such bull!”

“Language, Dara,” Mrs. Porter said. It was obligatory; she was texting fast and furious with someone and obviously hadn't heard a thing Dara said.

Itching to check the TV, Dara washed her hands instead and started on a blue box of mac and cheese.

When they wanted to be, she and Lia could be a good team. They were going to get dinner done approximately ten times faster than their mother ever would, and twice as fast as their dad—and it would be edible. They used to joke that their parents would starve to death if it weren't for them. Which is why Dara bothered to speak to Lia at all.

Filling a pot with water, Dara asked, “Okay, then why are they in front of
our
house?”

With a snort, Lia tossed a handful of tomato slices into the salad bowl. Plucking it up, she fixed her sister with a plastic, unpleasant smile. “He saved you, dummy.”

“Don't call your sister a dummy.”

Sweeping around Dara, Lia glided toward the dining room. She kept her voice low enough that only her sister could hear when she mocked.

“Is the sheriff's daughter the Primitive Boy's secret lovah? Or is she the victim of a potentially psychotic drifter? Tune in at ten to find out!”

Twenty-six

S
ofia always drove too fast.

Clinging to the armrest, Dara tried to keep herself upright as they turned the corner. It took a second for the car to stop shuddering, and Dara slumped in her seat.

After the reporters, Dara spent the evening uneasy. She kept expecting them to pop back up. At school the next day, or when she walked out to the bus. So far, they hadn't, but that didn't ease her nerves.

“Media free,” she said, rolling her head to smile at Sofia.

“I can't believe this is your life,” Sofia replied.

She followed Dara's pointed directions to Ms. Fourakis' driveway. They left their jackets in the car. A burst of unseasonable weather made it feel like summer. A particular, perfect shade of blue, the sky was clear all the way to the horizon. The sun was tiny, but warm, burning off the lingering morning cool.

Bounding up the steps, Dara pressed the doorbell, then turned to Sofia. “I found my old laptop, by the way. Watched like six YouTube videos last night. I'm totally prepared to fix your gutter.”

Sofia snorted, but didn't answer. Instead, she peeked in the curtained window. Footsteps rumbled inside, and a moment later, the front door swung open. Ms. Fourakis had braided her thick, dark hair into pigtails. They made her look crazy young—way too young to be a temporary foster mom.

“Hey girl, what's up?” Ms. Fourakis said to Dara, flicking a quick, curious look at Sofia.

With a nod, Dara said, “This is my best friend, Sofia. We were wondering if Cade could . . . if he wanted to hang out.”

How fail did that sound?
Dara wondered to herself. She felt sheepish, like a kid asking if their brand-new neighbor could come out to play. It was kind of like that, only way more complicated. In grade school, almost nobody had to dodge Channel 6 to get to a playdate.

“Sure, come on in.” She left the door open, inviting them to follow as she walked back inside. Raising her voice, Ms. Fourakis called down the hall, “Cade, you have guests.”

A splash answered, and Ms. Fourakis laughed. With a shrug, she informed them with amusement, “He's taken four baths since he got here. It's not even a good tub.”

“We can come back,” Dara offered.

From down the hall, Cade called, “Wait!”

Ms. Fourakis grinned, gesturing toward the couch. “Guess you'd better wait. Want a birch beer or something?”

Sofia nodded sweetly. “That would be amazing, thank you.” Then, as soon as Ms. Fourakis walked into the kitchen, she bumped her elbow against Dara's. “What is that, even?”

“No idea.”

Taking in her surroundings, Dara marveled at the sheer amount of greenery contained in the living room. Her mom kept a spider plant in the kitchen, and there was a fake ficus in the dining room. But this was . . . it was practically a terrarium. Catching Sofia's eye, she nodded at the ivy that spilled over the side of the armoire.

Sofia replied with an incredulous expression that said,
I know, right?

A door opened deeper in the house. Steam wafted out, not really visible. But it carried warmth and scent with it. New but familiar at once, it left Dara shifting uncomfortably. It smelled like Cade's skin, an introduction before he came into sight.

And when he came into sight, it was something. Even Sofia murmured approvingly. Someone had bought him jeans that fit, and his T-shirt clung to his still damp skin. Tied into an intricate knot, his dreads kissed the back of his neck.

His skin was paler, all the grime scrubbed away. But he was still golden-brown and keen-eyed. It's just that now he looked like he'd walked out of an H&M ad. If the reporters could see him, they wouldn't keep calling him Primitive Boy. He looked more like music festival boy. Or underground-indie-zine boy.

“I'm glad you came,” Cade said.

With a smile, Dara said, “I told you I would.”

“I know. But I thought you were grounded,” Cade said, pronouncing it carefully.

A stupid flutter rose in Dara's chest. It wasn't like he'd said anything that warranted it. Some rational part of her mind could admit she was crushing. It was incredibly scientific about it, too. Fortunately, the irrational part of her brain took over and smoothed things out.

“Turns out that's kind of a state of mind,” she said.

“Unless they handcuff you, they can't really make you do anything,” Sofia added.

Ms. Fourakis returned with an amber bottle of birch beer. Offering it to Sofia, she turned to Cade. “You're welcome to head out with them as long as you're back for dinner. Do you want me to write the phone number down for you, in case you need it?”

Cade nodded. “Please.”

Squinting, Dara waited for Ms. Fourakis to walk out of earshot, then asked, “Do you even know what a phone is?”

“Yes. It plays music in your bag, and you cuss until it stops. Then you hold it in front of your face and talk to yourself.”

Sofia made an explosive sound, and handed the bottle of birch beer to Dara. Scrubbing at her face with a tissue, she started to giggle. “Are you for real?”

“Yes.” Cade pressed his forefinger against Sofia's arm. “See?”

 

It was like a tour through a dreamscape. None of it really made sense, but Cade followed Dara and Sofia eagerly. All the people in their world made him uneasy. But as long as he avoided them, and stuck close to Dara, it was exciting to see things he'd only heard about.

Traffic lights glowed on their own. Motorcycles and bicycles sped by, both in the street, piloted by very different people. Above the street, a billboard flipped, revealing a different picture than it started with. Cade had no idea what a five point inspection was, but he stared at the ad avidly.

“Okay,” Sofia said, slamming the car into park. “First stop, box store.”

Cade slipped from the backseat, and turned in slow wonder. Hundreds of cars surrounded him. All different shapes and colors, some plastered with slogans and others pristine and shining. He murmured to Dara, “What is this?”

With a gentle smile, she put a hand on his back and pushed him up the aisle. “Just a parking lot.”

They were strange to look at, but a little wonderful. There was a picture back home, of his parents standing beside a car. It was narrower, lower to the ground than these. But it made him feel connected. This is the world his parents came from.

But it was all supposed to be gone. His mother had told him this was over. No more parking lots, no more cars. No more safe people. No more civilization. But here it was. Strange and alive and remarkably unconcerned. It was like they didn't know . . .

“Cade,” Dara said. She stood a few feet away, waiting for him, Nodding toward the building, she offered him a smile. “You coming?”

At least Dara made sense. She was warm and soft; she kept coming back. He liked the way she blushed when he touched her skin. It was like lighting a fire in her, she glowed, her voice deepened. Putting aside thoughts of his parents, he bounded after her.

She must have been dazed, because she turned and walked straight for a glass wall. Lunging after her, Cade caught her arm. She gasped, and so did the glass wall. It opened with a wheeze, cooler air washing over them.

“Automatic door,” Dara explained.

Cade twisted around. Backing onto the sidewalk, he twisted up and down. Then, carefully, he crept toward the door again. His heart pounded. Would it open again? Suddenly, it did and he jumped away.

Even here, he was aware. Sofia stared at him, Dara did, too. But how could he care? Excitement raced through him, and he approached the door from another angle. Could he sneak up on it? With a quick, mental measurement, he considered the opening. Then he leapt onto the metal rail.

“Cade, get down,” Dara said.

Sofia raised her phone, following his every movement.

And he didn't get down. Instead, he waved his hand at his reflection in the glass. The door didn't move. Standing up, he considered jumping to the other rail. Just before he did, he thought better of it. His foot wasn't strong enough yet. The sneakers wouldn't let him grip with his toes.

A woman clattered up to the door with a silvery cart. She shot Cade an ugly look. “You kids need to quit playing up here. People are trying to walk.”

Quickly, Dara darted in and grabbed his hand. Her touch was smooth, warm. It didn't match her icy expression. “Go ahead. We're not hurting anything,” she told the woman. Rather than pull Cade down, she stood beside him fiercely.

Disgusted, the woman trundled on inside.

“She's probably going to complain to the manager,” Sofia said, dropping her phone in her purse again. She smoothed her hair back and approached the door. It opened for her, and Cade wondered what the difference was. How it worked.

Dara rubbed his arm, then nodded toward Sofia. “She's right. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Cade dropped to the ground. But for good measure, he waited until the girls walked inside. Then he backed away from the door and ran at it. A split second before he crashed into the glass, he saw their horrified faces inside. Then, he saw them in person as the thing finally swung open.

Head aching, he let Dara pull him to his feet. The rush of cool air from inside soothed the ache. But not his embarrassment. They both laughed. It was mixed with sympathy, but it was obvious they couldn't hold back.

Petting him, Dara asked, “Oh god, poor baby, are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said. He glowered at the door from the inside. Traitor.

“If you go too fast, the motion sensor misses you,” Dara said.

“I think there's a weight thing on the ground, too.”

He followed them through the aisles. Too many people here, for certain. His skin started to itch again. Veering around the crowds, his heart raced—but this time, from anxiety. Too many people, strangers . . . they brushed and touched and coughed. They sneezed and barely covered their mouths.

“Yeah,” Dara said, still working on the door problem. “So probably like, you have to move slow enough for the sensor to see you, and weigh enough to set it off. Otherwise the place would be full of stray dogs and cats. Birds. Squirrels.”

“Squirrels are not allowed to shop here,” Sofia added.

“That's good.” Cade said. “They're very messy.”

“Oh really?” Sofia asked.

It was a relief to talk about things he knew. It took his mind off the great clouds of people that swirled around him. “That's how I find them. Piles of nut shells. It's squirrels, every time.”

“Why would you want to find a squirrel?” Sofia asked.

“They taste good.”

Horrified, Sofia flung herself away. She wriggled and writhed with disgust. But not Dara. Instead, she considered him slowly. Her face was mysterious, brows furrowed and a faint, folded line above her lip.

It felt good to be under her gaze. To know she was studying him the way he'd studied her. Maybe she hadn't been aware enough to look up in the forest. But Cade suspected she was a different kind of aware, in her own world.

“What?” he finally asked.

“Nothing, I'm just . . .” Dara rolled a shoulder. Then suddenly, she smiled. “I basically want to show you everything in the world. You know, to see what it's like for you.”

Closing the space between them, Cade nodded. “Okay.”

Her blush wasn't subtle or slow this time. It sprung up, fully scarlet, and she took a step back. “First, we have to get the stuff to fix Sofia's gutters.”

 

Actually, first Dara couldn't resist winding Cade through the store. He approached rows of canned goods the way she would approach a sculpture in an art museum. Except he was allowed to touch the exhibits, and he did.

“Nonononono,” Dara exclaimed, when he tore open a box of cookies. “It's not yours.”

“It's mine. I took it.”

With a sigh, she dropped it in her basket. “It's not ours until we pay for it. We'll get these, but no more opening, okay?”

He shot her a look that said he might not agree to that at all. But he did. Down the aisle, he still picked things up. He just made no move to open anything else, which was a relief. Dara was pretty sure she only had a twenty on her.

It was interesting to watch him, though. He
smelled
everything. As soon as he picked something up, he raised it to his nose. Boxes of crackers, a bottle of laundry soap. The detergent aisle made him sneeze and toss his head. Standing in the middle of it, Dara noticed for the first time how overwhelming all the perfumes were.

But Cade kept moving, turning the aisle and stopping in front of the dairy case. Pressing a hand to the glass, he looked back at Dara. Confidently, he said, “This is a refrigerator.”

“It totally is,” Sofia said.

It was hard to tell what she thought about all of this. But what was nice was that she went along. If Cade was a mental patient, then later, it would be an incredibly interesting story for her to tell. And if he really did turn out to be a modern caveman then . . . it would be an incredibly interesting story for her to tell.

Cade turned, taking a few measured steps. “I smell fish.”

Pointing past him, Dara said, “The meat counter's right there.”

Rows of perfectly cut steak and pork led the way. They were exquisite shades of marbled red and pure pink. They sat unmarred on their beds of white Styrofoam, and they seemed to frighten Cade. He approached the case, touched some of the plastic, then shrank back.

“What's this?” he asked, then poked a chuck roast curiously. “Beef. That's a cow. Where is it?”

“What?” Dara asked.

“The cow.” Cade tried to look under the shelves, but mirrors reflected his face instead. “Pork, that's pig. Are the animals out back?”

Shaking her head, Dara said, “Um, no. All this comes on a truck.”

Cade backed toward the seafood department. “The fish?”