Huckleberry Lane

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There are places in the world where life appears to grow by its own light, untouched and unaffected by those strange dark spirits of the age in which it finds itself. To Roxy Sanderson, her first glimpse of the forests outside Pleasant Town appeared that way, near magical. She leaned against the backseat window of her father's pickup truck and watched bright trees flash by with warm fall colors in their leaves, surrounding the old vehicle on every side and glowing on the mountain road behind her like a wildfire.

She shifted in her seat to sit more upright.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," said her father, glancing in the rearview mirror. His eyes were crinkling with a smile.

"I wasn't sleeping," said Roxy. She rubbed the stiffness from her neck and yawned as if to make a liar of herself.

Her mother swiveled in the front seat to look back at her. "No?" she said. "You've been quiet since we left the airport. Is everything okay?"

Nothing was okay. Not really. "Fine," said Roxy sullenly.

Her mother frowned a little, but she didn't pry. She turned around again. Roxy had already complained enough to both her parents for them to know their scheme to move across the country to a town no one had heard of had been carried out entirely against her will.

"Wait until you see the house," said her father. "It's at least twice the size of our other place, and with a huge front yard and a garage and cellar. There's even a river in the back."

"So, mosquitos . . ." said Roxy.

Her father glanced into the mirror again. "I hear the high school's one of kind."

"I'm sure. And it's probably the only one for . . . what? Two hundred miles?"

"Very funny," said her father.

"Well, I can't wait to see our new kitchen," said her mother. "Did you get the fridge installed?"

Roxy's father said that everything was there and ready for them, including a big double oven and a walk-in pantry with new shelves he'd built himself. He talked for several minutes with her mother about all the other things he'd done during the few weeks that he'd been there on his own, working his new job, directing movers, getting the utilities turned on. . . .

Roxy tuned them out and rummaged in her backpack for her smartphone. A message on its touchscreen read, "I miss you." She smiled and tapped a quick reply, but her phone told her it couldn't send the message. She frowned at it.

"There's no service here," she said.

"Probably because of the mountains," said her father. "You can try again when we get home."

Home. Would it ever feel like that? Roxy slouched back in her seat. "I hope Chris doesn't think that I'm ignoring him."

"I thought the two of you were breaking up," said her mother.

"No, that's what you told me to do. Chris and I agreed to date long distance. We'll see each other over winter break, or maybe in the spring. He said that he'll drive out to visit me."

"Long drive," said her father. "You know, long-distance relationships are tricky things to maintain."

"You make it sound like an old car, Dad."

"I think what your father's saying is maybe you're better off dating someone who lives closer," said her mother.

"Right," said Roxy, "some local bumpkin whose idea of a night out is to go hunt deer or something in these woods. No thank you."

Her father snorted a laugh. "I'm sure they hunt things other than deer, hon'."

"Great."

"Ah . . ." He pointed to a road sign up ahead. "We're close."

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