The Box in the Woods

I’m still going to eat a lot of tacos,” Nate said. “But I’m going to do it judgmentally

Anxiety is very accommodating. Minutes ago, Stevie’s anxiety was all about failure. It neatly converted itself into worry about places called Bounce Houses and not having hot water or air-conditioning. It was perfectly ready to bring the snakes to the party. It’s a big tent. All problems are welcome.

Fashions come and go, but jawlines are eternal.

Never question the girl who works in the library" -Eric

This is how she had learned to release some of her anxiety—thoughts may come, but she didn’t have to follow them everywhere they wanted her to go.

night,” he said. “All. Night. He talked about my book. Mostly, what he thought was wrong with it. And where is the second one? He knows more about that book than I do. He is a sentient internet comment.

That’s the thing about speaking—you can talk and talk and have no idea at all what the words leaving your mouth mean, or where they came from.

Sometimes anxiety did that—it could slow you down or speed you up.

She’s like the Hulk,” Nate explained. “But instead of transforming when she gets mad, it’s when she sees crafts. And she doesn’t turn big and green. She just makes crafts. So not like the Hulk, really.

Funny how the world shifts when you’re in the same space with your friends. The air is energized, the light is warmer.

There were for sure snakes at the camp. It was entirely made of snakes. Why hadn’t she thought of the snakes?

Nothing is longer than a little while.

Periodically someone would encourage her to walk through the woods or try out the mountain bike. Stevie viewed these offers with grave suspicion and declined.

No, hear me out. This whole thing is ticking a lot of the horror movie boxes. Murder at a sleepaway camp. A serial killer. A final girl. A kid who died because some teenagers were being irresponsible.

One of the things that made Nate and Stevie such good friends was their mutual hatred of sharing emotional things. Somehow, they managed to have a deeper bond by staying on the surface—as if they were snorkeling their feelings, floating along side by side, observing all of nature’s wonders without getting close enough to be stung by something under a rock.

In many of the murder mysteries Stevie loved, the detective would gather the suspects in a room, then explain who didn't do it before getting to who did. She never really understood who suspects would want to go to something like that, except maybe because these books took place in the past, and there wasn't that much to do then. Today, she got it. People would come because everyone wants to know the answer- especially in a place like a small town, where everyone knows everyone, and murder had cast a shadow for decades.

Small change of plan. One of the counselors got sick. He’s going to be delayed by a day or two. I need you to sub in until he gets here.” “What?” Nate said, blinking. “It’s the Jackals, cabin 12. The kids are nine years old. You’ll be working with Dylan and staying in that cabin until the other counselor gets here. Can you go join him over at that table when you’re done eating?” “Oh no,” he whispered dryly. “No. How did everything fall apart so quickly?

Most high school students have hobbies. Some play music. Some play sports. Some write , or draw or make things. Stephanie ( Stevie ) Bell solves CRIME

Stevie quickly surmised that this was one of those cases where she sounded weird if she explained, but far more weird if she did not.

I get to live by myself in a tree, doing some bullshit job for no one?” Nate said when Stevie told him. “This is my dream, Stevie. This is my dream.

There was the thing about romantic feelings- the sensation was incredible, like a warm flood through every highway and byway of her body. Every good chemical she could produce turned up, like some bountiful harvest. But the feelings and chemicals blocked out everything else. They dulled logic and sense and focus. They made everything else seem irrelevant and time started to move jerkily too fast, then too slow

Nate poked her with the toe of his sneaker. “This is a David thing,” he said. “Obviously.” She did not reply. “Romance seems fun,” he added. “Don’t.” “I’m not.

There will be children here tomorrow,” Nate said. “Children. With their little child fingers.” “Child fingers?” “I’m saying we won’t be safe anymore. This other counselor better stop being sick really quick.

Campers screamed when they swam and played and sometimes simply for the sake of screaming.

Even if you knew your routine like the back of your hand, a checklist was still important.

She wasn’t as bad as Todd, as good as Sabrina, or the well-meaning drug dealer who almost made it to safety. She was simply there, the girlfriend, the fourth victim.

People always talk about this like it’s some lurid slasher movie,” Allison went on. “I lost my sister. Some bastard took my sister from me. I feel like Carson used her memory, gave us that reading room, to try to worm his way in. He can go to hell. But I didn’t mean to catch you in the crossfire.

If Stevie was being completely honest with herself—and she preferred not to be—David’s concern felt very good. He was really worried about her, possibly more worried than she was about herself. He cared. It sent warm bubbles of pleasure through her system.

Daughters were supposed to like prom dresses and getting their hair done and shopping. Stevie assumed those things were all fine and good, but she didn’t understand them, really—at least not in the way that you were supposed to understand them. She never once in her life felt the desire to dress up,