A car cruises up State Route 206, alone under the flushed sky. It parks
beside the blackening pines, its doors wing open, and out step two teenagers. They’re suited to the land: dark jeans, black sweatshirts, skin and hair the shade of sand and soil. But their hearts are like the sky, fresh and pink. Flaming.
One holds a silver radio, first to her ear and then above her head. She turns in place, and so does her friend, intent on the compass in his hand. The calendar says spring, today, but still the nights are cold.
“Turn it up,” the boy, Brendan, says, and the girl, Tia, spins the dial a half-turn.
The music is like a fluttering ribbon in the air, thin but vibrant, and when it flares, the two stand in place. They’re facing the entrance to the woods, the beginning of Glass Forge Road.
They look at each other and smile. Perfect.
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