Read Online Secret of the Sevens by Lynn Lindquist - Free Book Online Page B

you.”
    â€œDo you have any toothpaste?” I give her a weak smile. I’m clammy and shaky, but I don’t want her to let go. Her voice and touch soothe me.
    As we continue down the hall, my stomach settles a little. After a while, we stumble on an intersection.
    â€œShould we turn or keep going forward?” she asks.
    I think for a minute. “Don’t turn. The poem said straight, remember? ‘Straight, straight, straight into the night.’”
    â€œOh, that’s right. Nice catch, Talan.”
    I breathe through my nose and walk on, trying to concentrate on anything but the walls trapping me in this underground prison. I think about the way Laney’s soft hair tickles my neck as she leans into me, and how good she always smells, even in this sewer hole. Like lavender.
    I’m not even sure what a lavender is; I just remember reading the word on a bottle of her lotion once. Laney was sitting at a chair in the kitchen, slowly rubbing the cream on her bare legs, and I was watching her, thinking … well … never mind.
    We pass another tunnel to the left, and then another. A few more feet and Laney steps right into a nasty web. She karate chops the air and wiggles around until she’s sure she’s shaken every bit of it off her. I lean against the wall and laugh weakly until a humongous roach races across my shoe. To say I scream like a little girl is an insult to little girls. I yelp like a Chihuahua, kicking and shaking my foot like I’m putting out a fire.
    Whatever tough guy reputation I once had is now trashed. But it’s Laney, right? What do I care what Shanahan thinks? Still, my face burns when she laughs and says, “I didn’t know you could River Dance.”
    â€œYeah? Well, I didn’t know you were an epileptic ninja.” I imitate her martial arts moves.
    She laughs even harder, and it feels like some kind of prize. Slowly, she catches her breath, smiling and staring at me with a weird expression. She rubs the back of her neck, clears her throat, and steps toward me, gently slipping her arm around mine again. “Let’s go.”
    We march ahead, a little faster now. I don’t say it out loud, but all my fears rush back about this secret society thing. What were we thinking? The last group of Sevens were murderers. For all we know, we could be the next victims instead of the next pledges. No one even knows we’re here. Who would find us if we just made the biggest mistake of our lives and climbed into our own underground graves? I’d turn and run but I know Laney wouldn’t follow, and I can’t leave her here.
    We come up to a wall and Laney swivels her flashlight from side to side. “It’s a T-intersection. Which way now?”
    â€œThe next line of the poem is ‘Left, right, left—the soldier’s pace.’ I think that means our next turns are left, right and left.”
    With our arms linked together, we veer left, armed with only our flashlights.
    I squeeze Laney’s arm tight, and her voice reassures me. “There’s our next turn up ahead.”
    We swing down a passageway to our right and plod on a few more minutes more before another tunnel comes up. “We take this left,” I remind her.
    We creep another hundred yards before Laney blurts out, “The quiet is spooking me. Let’s talk about something, okay? So … so what’s with the claustrophobia? Since when have you had claustrophobia?”
    â€œSince I was little. My mother locked me in a closet once and forgot about me.”
    Why did I tell her that? I’ve never told anyone that.
    Suddenly, Laney’s not so chatty. She stares up at me, waiting for me to elaborate.
    â€œThe day DCFS removed me from our home, the social worker guessed that I’d been there almost two days. Mom thought I’d be okay while she went to score drugs. She hadn’t planned on getting arrested.”
    Laney