The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

a way of casting the world in a different light. Distortions, warped fun house mirrors of reality that make the world seem more dire and threatening than it actually is.

The unease in this town—there’s a better than average possibility that it’s all in my head. And I’ve decided on one rule, these past few months: don’t get lost in your own head.

“Excuse me?” I try to channel my mother’s phone voice. “Hello?”

Business doesn’t seem great for Theresa today—there’s no one here but me, no car except for the garage’s tow truck. The girl in Lethe Ridge said she was the best in town. Though that was the only thing she said that made sense, so maybe I should have checked Yelp.

It’s quiet enough that I can almost hear a click in my blood, the valves of adrenaline uncapping. I square my shoulders, drive my feet more firmly into the concrete, send every signal I can to my body that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Hypervigilance or not, I need my car back.

“Hello?” I say again. Then, quieter, “You wanna maybe put a bell out here or—”

“Gibson Repairs,” says a voice, right over my shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

I whirl around, and I find myself nose-to-nose with Theresa herself. She doesn’t look the slightest bit fazed. The only response I get is a level, flat stare—from one eye, at least. The other eye is strapped into a leathery black eye-patch.

“Um,” I manage. “I called for someone, but—”

Her eye widens a little with recognition, and she reaches into each ear and pops out a pair of earbuds. “Roadwork,” she says. She sets aside a small, battered CD player. “Hell on my migraines.”

She moves in a circle around me. Despite her combat boots, laced all the way up to the knee, her footsteps are barely audible. “Who are you?”

“Nobody.” It comes out before I can blink.

Theresa doesn’t miss a beat, either. “Well, then. What brings you here, Ms. Nobody?”

Something in the way she says it makes me hesitate. It’s not the same uneasiness I’ve sensed from those people I passed in the street. It’s closer to curiosity.

“My . . . car broke down a couple of miles from the 15,” I finally say. “Near the state line. I was hoping I could get it towed here.”

“Near the state line?” She hums, impressed. “Which side?”

“California,” I say.

“Your feet must be pretty tired, then,” she says. “You’re in Nevada.”

I almost laugh. The idea was to get out of Nevada. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t have AAA or anything, and was told you were the person to see—”

“You remember which exit?” she says. “You could show me, if we went there?”

“I . . .” Slowly, I nod. “Yeah?”

“Then it’s not a lot to ask.” She jerks her head toward the tow truck parked to the side. “Let’s go.”

I go to take a breath as I follow her to the looming, rusted-red pickup. It stops somewhere past my throat.

I swallow, like that’ll push my insides back into place. “Weird question, but . . . I don’t suppose you’d let me drive?”

“You suppose right.” Theresa laughs. “There a problem, Ms. Nobody?”

“No, no problem.” Two minutes into the conversation, and that’s the first lie I’ve had to tell. That’s pretty good these days. “I don’t like being a passenger, that’s all.”

“You and me both, sister,” she says, swinging my door open like it’s a chariot. It creaks and shudders before it stills. Waiting.

I can feel the sticky-warm breeze from the garage door behind me, and the soles of my feet itch to run through it. But if I want an escape route, this is the way to get it.

I let my backpack slide to my feet as Theresa swings herself into the driver’s seat next to me. “Just curious, though,” she says as she starts the truck. “Who told you I was the person to see?”

I swallow hard, blink harder, try to breathe past the lump in my chest. Somehow I manage words. They even sound calm. “I didn’t catch her name. My age, blonde?”

“Ohh,” Theresa says, with dry recognition. “What an honor.”

I watch the road, at first. It doesn’t help. I try to channel the buzz under my skin anywhere else: I tap a beat against the door with my fingers, and when that’s too noticeable, I jiggle my foot instead. I’ve hated the passenger’s seat since I was fifteen, when I got my learner’s permit and realized how many things could go wrong. Even under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t like this. But my circumstances haven’t been normal for a while now.

I fish out my phone. If I’m going to spend this ride in a haze of nerves, I might as well get this part over with, too.

New message to: Mom.

hey, sorry I missed you last night. gonna stay with Flora till new year’s—is that okay?

That one wasn’t too bad. But now for the tricky part.

New message to: Flora Summer.

sorry I missed your call, I type with shaking fingers, phone was off. I think I’m actually going to stay home for new year’s. sorry this was last minute—parents wanted me here.

There. Easy. My heart’s pounding so hard I might throw up, but when isn’t it?

Then my phone shivers in my hand. Someone’s texting me back.

New message from: Mom.

Of course that’s okay. That was the plan, wasn’t it?

Maybe she won’t realize anything’s wrong. Until I have to tell her about the repair shop charge that’s about to hit my never-used, for-emergencies-only credit card.

I start typing a response—except my phone vibrates again. New message from: Flora Summer. Shit.

Call me?

Dammit, Flora. This is why Gaby muted you on Twitter.

at movie, can’t talk right now, I type. email you later?

And then, to Mom: oh yeah, just wanted to make sure you knew!

I start to slide my phone back into my pocket, but it buzzes twice in quick succession. If not for Theresa sitting next to me, I might scream.

“You’re pretty popular,” Theresa says.

“Something like that,” I mutter as I look back at the