You're Always in the Last Place You Look Read Online Free PDF Page B

you.” He broke down into a fit of giggles.
    I rolled my eyes at him as I attempted to loosen the grip I had on my saddle horn. Tye pulled out his can of chew, and slapped it on his palm, causing Gator’s head to snap up for a second before he recognized the sound, and went back to eating.
    “Hey man, just sayin’—sure thing and all.” He arched his brows at me as he wedged a pinch of tobacco between his teeth and lower lip.
    I shook my head. “I’ll pass.” Just the mere idea of having to touch her, or letting her touch me, made my skin crawl, and my heart race.
    Something sounding a lot like a scream broke the quiet, and my head whipped around along with AJ’s. Gator spun the opposite direction, dumping Tye in the creek. He swore as he leapt up, and grabbed his horse before he took off.
    “What the fuck?” Tye scurried to catch his hat before the current swept it downstream.
    “That was weird. It’s quiet now, but I think we should go check to make sure no one’s hurt.” I swung AJ around, and he clambered up the slick bank onto the path.
    Sweeping his dark wet hair back, Tye made a disgusted noise. He cranked his straw hat onto his head, then mounted. “My good saddle...” he complained as he reined Gator around to follow.
    We traveled up the path a ways, stopping now and then to listen. We didn’t find anything, the area calm but for the burbling creek. At Henry’s field we turned around, and headed towards home. We were almost back where we had started when an anguished yell jarred the air. I leapt off AJ, unclipped one side of his rein, and threw it to Tye.
    “ Hey ...” Tye called.
    I glanced at him before I dove into the huckleberries. “I’m just gonna to check it out.” I didn’t wait for his response. He knew the slope was too steep here for the horses to go down. My feet slipped as I hit the escarpment, and I grabbed a scrub oak, managing to keep myself from tumbling down the embankment. I swung myself down, the branch tearing at my hands. I hit the bottom, and the momentum sent me crashing onto the large flat rocks along Creeksbend, my hands scuffing along the timeworn granite.
    “Zane?” He was on his knees, and even from where I was scrabbling back to my feet I could see he was shaking. “Zane...” He didn’t look up as I hurried over. “Oh Jesus!”
    He was pale, the rock beneath him dotted with sweat where it had rolled off him—was still rolling off him. Then I caught sight of something dark red smeared across his jeans— blood —a switchblade lay against his thigh clutched tightly in his right hand. Where did someone even get one of those anymore?
    “Zane,” I said carefully.
    My father had all these pamphlets that covered just about everything. I’d read them all, and in the mix had been one titled; The Causes of Self Mutilation . It had gone on and on about the outward signs of a cutter, and then pretty much summed it all up as a result of depression, referring the reader to pamphlet five, the one on depression. Not once did it mention what to do with someone who had actually cut themselves.
    Zane’s eyes stayed screwed closed, not even a flicker of recognition passed over him. He wasn’t hearing me. Heck, he didn’t even appear to be here at all. I knelt in front of him, not sure what to do. Suddenly he screamed, and I caught the movement of his hand. I went to lurch back, afraid he was going to stab me, but he pushed the blade’s edge into his thigh, and went to swipe it across the width of his leg. I seized his wrist, my hand closing around the black bandana there, and his hand snapped open, releasing the knife. In the same instant his eyes flew open, filled with shock.
    I kept a hold of his wrist as I tossed the switchblade away. “Zane?” I reached up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes so he could see who I was. His face tensed as he stared at me confused. He didn’t seem to recognize me. Then his eyes squeezed tight, and he let out such a woeful