to me when I was in the graveyard. But I figured angels didnât need to shave.
âWhatâs your name?â I asked.
âMick.â
âOh,â I said. âAs in Jagger.â
âYeah, I was named after him.â
My eyebrows went up. âYour parents knew him or something?â
He laughed. âMy father probably thought he did when he was high. My old man died of an overdose when I was too little to know him. I live with my mom. She doesnât talk about him much.â
I didnât say anything. He got to his feet and walked in my direction. He was taller than me.
âWhatâs your name?â he asked.
âLynne. Where do you go to school?â
âUni High,â he said, nodding roughly in the direction of the high school a few streets away. A public high school. There were rumors about it. All the kids were wild. But that was the rumor about all the kids who didnât go to private school.
âHow about you?â he asked.
âHillsboro.â
âOh, okay,â he said, passing judgment.
I wanted to tell him I was a scholarship kid, just to ease the tension. But it didnât seem right to lie, standing on my motherâs grave.
He said, âSo your parents are what, rich showbiz types?â
âMy fatherâs a lawyer. My motherâs right here,â I said, pointing to the ground.
âI see. Thatâs who youâre talking to.â
âYeah.â
He was close to me now. We stared at each other. A weird kind of calm came over me as I looked at his face.
âWhat do you have against Hillsboro girls?â I asked.
âItâs what they have against me,â he said. âNot the other way around.â
âWhat were you drawing?â I asked, not knowing what else to do.
âIâll show you if you want to see.â
I followed him to where he had been sitting. He picked up the sketchbook, flipped through a few pages, and showed it to me. It was a pretty good abstract drawing of a graveyard. The tombstones looked like teeth, all crooked and carnivorous. The limbs of the trees reached down like magical wires.
âI like to look at death,â he said, âand take all the mystery out of it. My goal is to make a drawing of a graveyard and it doesnât look any more interesting than, I donât know, mannequins in a store.â
âYouâre not there yet,â I said.
He turned the sketchbook toward himself and laughed.
âNo, I guess not.â
I laughed, too. It was the first time I could remember actually laughing, standing so close to my mother.
I looked at my watch.
âI have to go,â I said. âI have to catch the bus. I donât have a car.â
He smiled. âThatâs unusual for a Hillsboro girl.â
âTell me about it.â
âOkay,â he said. âMaybe Iâll see you here again.â
âUnlikely,â I said.
He shrugged. âMeeting you was unlikely. I figure weâre past the hurdle.â
⢠4 â¢
By the time I got home my dinner was cold and my father was glaring.
âI was about to call the police,â he said.
âNo, you werenât.â
âYes, Lynnie, I was. I called Jenâs parents and they said she wasnât surfing. So I knew you werenât either. Because surely you wouldnât do anything that stupid.â
âAm I branded as a troubled kid now? I skipped one day of school.â
âIt worries me to see you acting this way.â
âHey, the big letter was your idea.â
He stood very still and said, âThis is about the letter?â
âMaybe.â
âHow much have you read?â
âNot much.â
He shook his head and said, âMaybe it was a mistake.â
âToo late now.â
âLynnie, I only have my own judgment. I donât have a partner to run it by.â
âI went to see Mom. In the cemetery.â
This gave him the