“Ate candy and drank pop.” I pause. “It’s cool when a train passes. You shake like crazy.”

“Maybe one will come.”

“We’ll see.”

Pointing up through the open door, she says, “Look, you can see the sky.”

“Yeah, not much to look at though.”

“Only if you decide there isn’t.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s something my mom used to say.” She traces a figure eight on the floor with her foot. “She should’ve taken more of her own advice.”

“Tank says she’s still messed up.”

“Yeah, my dad’s tried everything to help her, but I think he’s pretty much given up. Guess I can’t blame him.” She runs her palms over her thighs.

I scoot my crate directly beside hers until they touch. I look up through the entrance and study the Blaine sky, nothing but clouds. Our thighs brush against each other now and then. She might think nothing of it, but my entire body tingles every time we touch. I’m nervous in an excited way, unsure of what to do or say next.

“I’ve never looked out from this angle,” I say.

“Can I tell you something I haven’t told anybody except my dad?”

“Anything.”

“I really miss my mom,” she says. “I hope she’s okay, wherever she is.”

“You know what I think?” She’s silent. “I think you’ll see your mom again. Soon.” There’s a rumble in the distance. “Hear that?”

“A train?”

“Yeah. Close your eyes when it passes. It can get messy down here.”

We listen in silence as the locomotive moves closer and the horn grows louder. After a few minutes, we feel the vibrations shooting out from the steel rails. I reach for Sarah’s hand and squeeze. She squeezes back. As the train thunders past, she squeezes harder, and we laugh as the fort shakes and more dirt showers down on us from the earthen ceiling.

Afterwards, as Blaine resumes its nighttime summer silence, Sarah and I tilt our heads back and stare up into the dusty sky. At one point there’s a brief clearing, and we both agree that we’ve never seen so many stars above our city.

————

We don’t say much on the walk back, just hold hands and listen to the chorus of crickets, enjoying the moment. I feel a warm, slick sweat forming between our hands, but I refuse to let go. I want to hold her forever.

Standing by her window she says, “Okay, I’ve thought about it. If it’s coming from a coach, then we have to do something. Tank probably feels like he has no choice. He worships those coaches. He’ll do anything they tell him to do.”

“I have an idea,” I say, wiping sweat from my brow. “You said some of the injector bottles are empty, right?”

“Yeah, at least five.”