We stop near the end of the road and listen. Up ahead, out of sight, I hear Carter swearing at Jason. Yelling words I’d never say. Jason swears back at him. All they do is swear and swear without saying anything that makes sense.

Skylar creeps closer as if she thinks she might hear something important, but the boys move on across the field, still swearing and shoving each other.

Ms. Sullivan’s car is gone. Either the police towed it away or somebody stole it.

We lay our bikes in the weeds by the side of the road and watch the boys until they reach the edge of the woods. From here, they’re about the size of my thumb—too little to be dangerous.

After the woods swallow them up, Skylar and I sprint across the field. I stop, scared to go farther, but Skylar beckons me to follow her into the trees. I hesitate. The sunlight warms my back, but the woods ahead are full of shadows. Somewhere out of sight I hear crows calling, as if they’re warning me. The dead deer flashes across my mind. I can almost smell it. I shouldn’t be here. I should be home, safe from the danger I sense all around me.

Ms. Sullivan died here. Maybe it wasn’t Mr. Boyce who killed her. Maybe it was someone or something else. Something that lives in these woods, something evil.

Skylar beckons again. She’s angry now. I shake my head, afraid to follow her. She shrugs, turns her back, and walks away.

I’m not like Mr. Boyce. I hurry after Skylar, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Whatever happens, happens, I tell myself.

When I catch up with her, she says, “Go home if you’re so scared. I don’t need you.”

“Yes, you do,” I say. “And I need you.”

She squeezes my hand, and we sneak through the trees. We freeze for a second when we hear the boys. They’re closer than we thought.

Keeping a safe distance, we follow them. We’re a lot quieter than they are. After about fifteen minutes they stop and shush each other. We squat in the underbrush and wait to see what they do next.

They’re standing behind a tree, staring at a trailer. It’s streaked green with moss and almost invisible; its windows are covered with cardboard. Though it looks deserted, I see a big, shiny padlock on the door.

I don’t need my imagination to tell me this is a dangerous place. I whisper in Skylar’s ear, “Let’s go before someone sees us.” I start backing away as quietly as I can, but Skylar shakes her head.

“We can’t leave now,” she whispers. “This is just like a crime show. We might even get on the local news. Brave girls solve murder. . . . How does that sound?”