Page 87 of The Bright Lands

“He hasn’t texted you?”

She shrugged.

Jamal pushed the cookie aside. “That guy treats you like shit, you know.”

Kimbra only shrugged again. “What can you do?”

God, Jamal thought, and not for the first time: if only he had spent last weekend with Kimbra instead of Bethany. He’d always had a soft spot for the girl, for her sly little smiles and the eyes that said she was too smart for you but she’d politely endure your company anyway. The fact she had come here just to bring him a pack of cookies was perhaps the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him. Jamal fought a sudden, foreign urge to weep.

“Hey,” Kimbra said softly. “Have you been having weird dreams?”

It feeds

Jamal flinched. For some reason he thought of the words he’d seen scribbled beneath Dylan’s face yesterday. “Sometimes.”

“I think everybody has. You heard what happened at the bank yesterday, right? And some guy’s house blew up. Of course everyone’s fronting like there’s nothing wrong. Like we always do here.” Kimbra hesitated. “What’s in yours?”

“My what?” he said, though he knew what she meant.

Kimbra only cocked her head.

Jamal toyed with his cookie. A cold slick of sweat ran down his neck. “Lights. Just...lights. Way out in the dark.”

“Not a woman with long hair, watching you from a window?”

“What? No.”

Kimbra let out a relieved little sigh. “Thank God. April swears we’ve all been dreaming the same thing.”

“But they started Friday night, didn’t they?”

The girl’s attention had already moved on. She glanced at the one-way glass again, at the microphone bolted to the table. She lowered her voice. “Have you ever heard of the Bright Lands?”

Yes. Oh yes.“Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“I brought you a snack.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you—”

“It’s stupid. Don’t ask about that.”

Mr. Irons opened the door of the little room. “That’s all we have time for today.”

“Is it a place you go to? Or just some kind of party?” Kimbra made no move to rise.

Jamal stared at the table.

“They didn’t talk about it in the locker room or anything?”

“Thank you, young lady,” Irons said. “You can leave now.”

Jamal stared at Kimbra. She was too clever to bullshit. Clever enough to get herself hurt.

“Just—don’t ask people about that,” Jamal said in a low voice. The big deputy hooked a hand under Kimbra’s elbow. “Don’t let those guys fuck you up.”

But Kimbra had stopped listening. She didn’t say goodbye. She shook off the deputy and stepped through a door where nothing awaitedbut a black night, an empty sky, an awful dome of lights—bad lights,wronglights—trembling on the far horizon. The girl takes a step toward the lights, stops, turns back to give him a quizzical look and—