Page 2 of Buried in the Woods Below

We crash into the mud, sliding hard.

My breath punches out of me. Before I can scream, he’s on top of me, blade raised, expression blank.

I close my eyes.

And wait for the end.

Chapter 1

Eighteen years ago

I’m twelve years old, and I’m on top of the world.

I sit in an open-air gondola, swinging around the Ferris wheel at the Minnesota State Fair with my best friend, Olivia. It’s one of those incomparable late-summer nights—warm, with a hint of dew in the air and a gentle fall breeze that tickles your hair. The meteorologist says there’s a full moon tonight, and from up here, it feels so close I swear I could touch it.

An intoxicating scent of Pronto Pups, spun sugar, and fried dough rises from below. Our seat creaks back and forth as I watch families and hand-holding couples making their way through the fairgrounds: buying deep-fried Snickers bars, inspecting the latest tractor models, hugging goats at the petting zoo, throwing darts at balloons. Occasionally, I hear a bell ring from someone winning another overstuffed animal, but for the most part, it’s quiet—peaceful, even.

I wonder if I could sit up here forever.

I glance at Olivia, and I can tell she feels the same way. Her hazel eyes sparkle as she takes in the explosion of stars in the night sky, and I can’t help staring at her. She’s everything I’m not but want to be—her black hair shines and curls, unlike my stringy, fried blond locks. Her skin is a freckle-free brown, while mine is spotted pink. As she crosses her legs, her perfectly proportioned body moves with grace and agility, a sharp contrast to my lanky clumsiness.

Sometimes I wonder why she’s even friends with me.

The gondola swings through the bottom of its arc—our seventh spin around the wheel. Hordes of sunburned fairgoers wait to board the ride. I glimpse Olivia’s dad, Eric Parker, sporting a pink polo and driving moccasins, nibbling on a chocolate-chip waffle cone, talking to my mother. We breeze past him, and I take a moment to admire his toned arms and elm-green irises. He laughs at something my mom says, his eyes crinkling, dimples dancing. He’s the dad you see on TV shows—perfectly tanned, perpetually relaxed, the world orbiting around his effortless charm. Something stirs within me.

Olivia catches me staring and smacks my arm. “Ew, stop looking at my dad like that.”

Heat floods my face. “What are you talking about?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s so obvious you have a crush on him.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever, whatever.”

She shoots me a knowing squint but mercifully lets it drop. As we fly back up into the night sky, her lips break into a huge grin, and she wraps an arm around me and squeezes. I catch a whiff of her coconut conditioner.

“It’s nice up here, huh?” she says.

I tap my head against hers and sigh. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

The Ferris wheel groans beneath us.

I flinch, clutching the safety bar with taloned hands and glancing at the fairgoers below—tiny as ants—which only worsens my phobia.

“OMG,” says Olivia. “It’s just the wheel turning.” She places a hand on my back. “Relax.”

I force a smile and lean into the seat. “Sorry, the noise surprised me. I—I really do like it up here.”

She sits silently for a minute, giving me a chance to settle back in, then taps my knee and points to the glowing moon. “See, CharBar, I told you there was nothing to be afraid of. Aren’t you glad I made you do this?”

I blush. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Heights just freak me out a little.”

“A little? I thought you were going to bail on me. I was ready to ride this thing by myself.”