“What about my shower?”
The side of his mouth cocked up. “You don’t need one. You smell good.”
“Liar,” I accused, but smiled back. As Jamie went to shower I took an experimental sniff under my arm. Thank the Universe for spray deodorant.
His shower, at least, gave me time to call mom. She picked up on the first ring. “Claude?”
“No, Darth Vader.”
“That’s not funny,” she snapped, but I could sense her relief. Some of the tension seemed to unwind from her voice as she said, “Are you all right? Where are you?”
Like I said, Mom never asks me that sort of thing. “I stayed over at Jamie’s. I’m fine, everything’s fine. What’s going on?”
Mom took a steeling breath. “Someone’s been calling around. There was an incident at Anna’s Run last night.”
An Incident. Sounds ominous, but honestly? Jefferson-Lorne is the sort of town that invents drama for shits and giggles. And Jefferson-Lorne is rife with rumors. I should know, I’m at the center of practically every rumor I hear.
“Don’t panic,” I told her. “It was probably a prank. People do stupid shit all the time.”
“People also die at Anna’s Run all the time,” Mom said.
Anna’s Run is our resident one-stop shop for urban legends. The little bend in the river seems harmless, even picturesque—but the calm drift of the water hides a wicked current that carved out the bank below. If you go in, you get sucked under and pushed downstream before you even realize that things have gone wrong. The pressure of the water makes it impossible to break free—that’s what the legends say. I mean, they also say that the river sprang from nowhere after the hanging of Anna’s witch coven, and that the current feels like dead girls’ fingers pulling you down. If you’re not from around here, you don’t realize. Anna’s like a god in this town. A god of nature who has to be appeased. Everyone else in Colorado is worried about blizzards and pine beetles and forest fires, but for us it’s the river. And people mess around with it. They think they can control it, or themselves, be safe next to a natural phenomenon that could kill you in thirty seconds. I mean, I’d never fuck with that place, or its reputation. But people lack general intelligence. Another nugget of wisdom brought to you by My Experience in High School.
MUÑEZ: So you’re familiar with Anna’s Run?
CLAUDE: Everyone’s familiar with Anna’s Run. I started going there when I was ten. Back then my friends and I dared each other to call out for the ghost—you know, the ghost of Anna? She steals silver, like forks and spoons and shit, and ties it to the trees around the run. People climb the trees to get it back, and they fall into the water and don’t come out again. Anna drags them down, holds them under so that they can’t swim up and out. I took a bottle of wine once and threw it in the river. It came up downstream, empty. Guess Anna doesn’t get a lot of merlot in her life.
MUÑEZ: The local police report shows that you were arrested at Anna’s Run.
CLAUDE: Yeah, maybe.
MUÑEZ: Maybe?
CLAUDE: I mean, I don’t remember any incident in particular.
MUÑEZ: You don’t remember being arrested for suspicious activity and disorderly conduct? Those were the charges.
CLAUDE: Look, Officer, the police hate me, and the police hate my mom. I’ve never done anything my peers haven’t done at Anna’s Run. Are we going through my record or my alibi?
As I slithered into my clothes one-handed, Mom sighed. Her voice softened. “I don’t mean to lose it on you. It’s been a rough night. And you didn’t text back. . . .”
“Sorry,” I said as Jamie returned in a cloud of body spray. “Out like a light.”
“Okay.” She sighed again. “I love you, sweetheart. Have a good day at school and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” That’s an old joke in the Vanderly home. Mom was the biggest terror in high school. Some of my teachers talk about her with awe.
Jamie and I walked the block and a half to my car. I park by the playground when I go to Jamie’s so that Mrs. Schill doesn’t see the Devil Incarnate’s car sitting in her driveway each morning. Jamie slouched into the passenger side as I slung my backpack into the trunk. “Don’t you get tired of sneaking around all the time?”
“Nope.” For the record, I’m not a sneak. But I like boys—so sue me. Don’t you get tired is the textbook beginning to a boy wanting to be exclusive. In my experience, boys only want to be exclusive if I’m getting laid more than they are.
So I revved up Janine—that’s my six-speed Honda, 2014 model, charcoal gray, in case you’re taking notes. “So what was your mom saying about Anna’s Run?”
Jamie shrugged. “Weird things, blah blah.” He looked at me sidelong, quirking one eyebrow up. “Someone probably heard a coyote in the night and panicked.”
I slid into the game. “Someone fell asleep after too much weed and had a weird dream.” Jamie’s the best person to riff off. Also, doing this meant he couldn’t stumble through the let’s-be-exclusive proposal he’d so clearly rehearsed.
“Sex cult covering for their loud noises,” he said.
I guffawed as I pulled away from the park. “Oh my Universe, who would even be in a sex cult in this town?”
“It’s always the ones you think are most respectable.” Jamie wiggled his fingers theatrically. “My money’s on Mr. Cross.”
“Ew.” Mr. Cross owns most of the construction companies here. He’s the kind of guy who wears sunglasses indoors, who rubs elbows with the mayor and the governor, who invites all the teens over for a pool party, who has a yacht parked in front of his house even though we live in friggin’ Colorado.
“Where are we going?” Jamie asked as I turned off the main road.
“We’re taking the scenic route,” I said.
“Claude,” he groaned.
But I wanted to see Anna’s Run.
“We won’t actually see anything. And we’ll miss breakfast burritos.” Jamie’s voice took on a suspicious tint. He saw me skip lunch once and now he’s terrified I might be anorexic. “At least have some of my shake.” He held up the protein shake his mom leaves him every morning.
“No thanks. Cement has more flavor.” I held up a hand to stop his protest. “I brought lunch—I’ll eat it for breakfast. Calm down.”
“We could still be getting burritos,” he grumbled, sliding low in his seat. Poor guy. He’s used to having his way.
Sadly for him, I’m also used to having mine. We drove to Anna’s Run.
Ordinarily I’d have liked the drive. The smell of the woods out that way is crisp and clean. We get a view of the mountains from the road, rising blue-gray and capped with snow almost year-round. The road is dotted with turnoffs that lead to dozens of hiking trails, going farther into the Rockies or up to Diamondback Ridge (great place for parties, by the way). And, of course, Anna’s Run.
The water was high. I could hear that from the car, even though I couldn’t see the river through the trees; I’ve been out there enough to picture it. Squeaking bridge, rocks as sharp as blades.