Desert Crossing

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Authors: Elise Broach
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they?”
    I wondered if she was worried about her truck. She dipped the paintbrush and wiped it deftly on the edge of the can. “Your brother and Kit don’t seem very much alike. How long have they been friends?”
    â€œA long time. Since third grade.”
    Too long, I wanted to say. I thought about the two of them having lunch. I knew exactly what they were doing. Those hours in the car, listening to them talk about girls, then sitting by myself at the restaurants. I was mad at them all over again. I thought about Kit making fun of me, making me stay here while they went out to lunch. Then I remembered the look on Jamie’s face: that intense, eager look whenever he caught Beth’s attention or made her smile.
    Suddenly, I knew exactly what to say next.
    â€œYeah, they’ve been friends for a long time, but they’ve only been, you know, a couple, since last year.”

13
    Beth stopped painting. “What?”
    I couldn’t look at her. I kept my eyes on my sketch pad. “You know,” I said again. “They’re, like, together.”
    I could feel her staring at me. “They’re together ? You mean they’re gay?”
    I looked at her quickly. She was standing in front of the sculpture, dangling the paintbrush, her face full of surprise. “Wow. I didn’t get that from them at all.”
    I ran one finger along the windowsill, leaving a thin streak through the dust. “Well, they’re pretty private about it.”
    â€œIs that why they wanted to go to lunch by themselves?” she asked.
    I hadn’t even thought of that, but now I nodded firmly. “I guess they wanted a little time alone.” It was almost hard not to laugh.
    â€œHuh,” Beth said. She swirled the paintbrush in the can at her feet. “I’m just … I’m really surprised. I’m usually pretty good at picking up the signals. Jamie—actually, both of them—well, whatever.” She went back to painting, but then stopped again. “That must be hard for them, being in high school. And in Kansas, too.”
    I could feel myself losing control of the story. I was never good at lying. And for some reason—even though they were such jerks, even though this was the perfect way to stop whatever might be happening between Jamie and Beth—I felt a stab of guilt.
    â€œThey’re not really out yet,” I said. “So they probably wouldn’t want you to know.”
    â€œOh. Okay.”
    Just then the phone rang. Beth motioned with the paintbrush, so I picked it up. “Hello?”
    â€œBeth?”
    â€œNo. Would you like to talk to her?”
    â€œOh. Is this Miss Martinez?”
    Now I recognized the voice. “Yes,” I said warily.
    â€œSheriff Durrell here. I’ve got some good news for you and your brother, Miss Martinez. We just got the preliminary report from the coroner’s office. We have an estimated time of death for the victim.”
    I looked down at my sketch, at her quiet, staring face. How was that good news? “Oh,” I said.
    â€œIt’s two p.m.”
    I didn’t understand. “But it was at night,” I said. “It was dark when we hit her.”
    â€œWe don’t think you hit her, Miss Martinez. We think that girl died five, six hours earlier.”
    I leaned forward slowly, holding the phone so tightly I thought it would break in my hand. “What?”
    Beth put down her paintbrush. “What is it? Lucy, what’s the matter?”
    The sheriff kept talking. “Those samples we took from the car. There was some kind of animal fur on the license plate.”
    â€œYou mean … Jamie was right? It was a coyote?” I couldn’t believe it. I was tingly and numb at the same time, as if something heavy was sliding off my body and the feeling was rushing back into my arms and legs all at once.
    â€œLucy, who are you talking to?” Beth came

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