“I didn’t even know you saw us! How could I be flaunting?”

“A million restaurants on Mission Street, and you pick that one?”

He’s actually 100 percent right. I did pick that restaurant on purpose. I was still mourning Lennon at the time, so yeah. I wanted him to see me with someone else. I know it was shallow, but I was in pain.

What’s puzzling me now is his complaining about it. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think he sounds as if he’s mad about me dating Andre, and why would that be? Could there be some truth in Brett’s torch-carrying remark?

Is he having second thoughts about us? Why? What changed?

The path splits again, but this time one of the side tunnels only heads east. Lennon hesitates, checking his compass and glancing down our current tunnel. It looks to curve ahead, and that’s back where we came from, so he points us down the eastern tunnel.

It’s even wider here, and the walls begin changing. Gone is the smooth rock. Now it’s craggy like the fabric of a curtain, and the ceiling is much higher. It also feels as if we’re ascending.

“Funny that you heard all about me,” I say after several minutes of walking. “Because I didn’t even know you were dating someone.”

I hear my own voice, and it sounds petty. What is wrong with me? Maybe I’m grumpy because of the dropping temperatures in here. My fingers feel like ice, and I really wish I weren’t wearing shorts.

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention.” He’s said this before, and I don’t understand why. Am I missing something? Before I can ask, he throws me off guard and says, “I dated Jovana Ramirez.”

Oh.

Jovana. She’s one of the nouveau-emo girls who hang out at the skate park with the stoner kids. I don’t really know much about her. I certainly had no idea she and Lennon were a thing. “When?”

“We started seeing each other a few months ago. We like a lot of the same bands.”

Suddenly, all the defenses I’ve built up over the last year come crashing down like a poorly played Jenga move, and a horrible warmth floods my chest.

What is this strange feeling? Jealousy?

“Are you still dating?” I ask, and immediately regret it. Take it back, take it back, take it back! I don’t want to know.

And when he doesn’t respond immediately, I fear the worst.

That’s when it hits me like a kick to the ribs.

I’m not over Lennon.

I tried so hard. I ignored him. I got rid of all the stuff that made me think of him. I stopped going places we used to go. I cried until there were no more tears to stop me from getting angry. And then I moved on.

Only, I didn’t.

How did I not realize this before?

Something hits my shoulder. I swing my headlamp up to see Lennon’s arm blocking my path. He’s staring intently down a branching tunnel. I follow his gaze and squint into the darkness beyond my headlamp’s reach. A shadow shifts.

“Someone’s in here with us,” Lennon whispers.

My pulse picks up speed, though I’m not sure why. This cave is open to the public. It’s probably just another hiker. No cause for alarm.

“Hello,” Lennon calls out. His big voice reverberates off the rocky walls.

No answer.

Okay, this is starting to worry me. The dark was fine when it was just the two of us. Sort of calming. Peaceful. But now that peace feels threatened.

Lennon gestures for me to move back a step, and then he leans down and whispers in my ear, “I thought I saw a man. But maybe I was imagining it.”

“Why are we whispering, then?” Something drips on my arm, startling me. It’s just water from a stalagmite. Or stalactite. I could never get those right. Whichever one grows from the ceiling.

Lennon shakes his head and his chuckle sounds forced. “It just freaked me out a little.”

Yup, me too. We listen for a minute. I don’t hear anything. It’s eerily quiet in here. Images of ax-murdering miners flood my anxious brain.

“Shouldn’t we be out of here by now?” I say.

“We’ve got to be close to the exit.”

“Is that the way we’re supposed to go?” I ask. “Where you didn’t see a creepy shadow troll?”

Lennon studies his compass and looks around. If I squint, I think I can make out two more branching tunnels ahead of us. Possibly a third. This maze is getting complicated.

He sees the tunnels too. “Stay here. I’ll go check those out.”

I watch his back disappear past my headlamp. I don’t like this. At all. I’m beginning to feel a little claustrophobic and have to force myself to calm down when water drops on my shoulder again. I shift positions to get away from the cave drip and accidentally kick a big, loose rock. It clatters against the wall.

I wince and look down. Something’s moving. It’s a black-and-white striped ball. Only, one end of the ball is unraveling, like yarn. Shiny yarn.

It’s a motherfucking snake.

16

* * *

I freeze.

The snake is unraveling faster. I’ve disturbed its hidey-hole, and now it’s lifting up its head, looking around for the person who dared to wake it up.

I have no idea what to do. I quickly flick a glance at the tunnel ahead, but I don’t see Lennon’s headlamp right away, and I’m too scared to take my eyes off the snake.

Maybe I should stay still, as Lennon instructed during the bear incident. Do snakes have good eyesight? It can’t smell me, right? Maybe I’m blinding him, and if I stay super still—

My headlamp flickers. This catches the snake’s attention.

WHERE IS LENNON?

“Bad shrimp,” I call out softly as the snake’s head lifts. Its tail shakes, slapping against the rocky floor. That seems . . . not good. “Bad shrimp!”

The snake’s head strikes.

I jump away.

My headlamp flickers out.

Panicking, I scramble backward and bump into the wall behind me. My foot feels caught on something. I jerk it, and it doesn’t help. It’s heavy and . . .

Oh sweet God, I’m dragging the snake! It’s wrapped around my ankle, and I can’t tell what’s going on. I shake my foot around and that’s when I realize that the snake is biting me. Its mouth is clamped onto my leg, just above my sock. I can barely feel anything—why can’t I feel it? Is that poison, numbing me?

I scream.

Lennon’s light bobs into view. He’s running toward me, and now I can see the banded snake wrapped around my ankle. It’s huge. I’m going to die.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lennon says, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. Calm down. Stop kicking.”

I take in a sobbing breath and nearly fall down.

“It’s only a kingsnake,” he tells me in a calm but firm voice, dropping in front of me. “Only a California kingsnake. Let me get it off. It’s okay. He’s just scared. I want you to stay still while I get him to release you.”

I don’t know what any of those words mean. He might as well be speaking in tongues. And maybe he realizes this, because he softly shushes me—or maybe the snake, I’m not sure. But his fingers are digging inside the snake’s tightly wrapped coils, searching for the head, which is firmly attached to my leg.

“Shit,” Lennon mumbles.

“What?”

“Hold on,” he says. “Are you in pain?”

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know,” I say. It’s sort of pinching me. Smashing me. Like my ankle is being slowly crushed. “Get it off of me. Please, Lennon.”