Category: STORY

Three weeks after I transferred to Prescott Academy on Beacon Hill, my father’s instruction remained the only thing tucked behind my plastic student identification card: *Don’t tell anyone who you are.

My father gave me a single instruction before dropping me off at St. Jude’s Academy three weeks ago: *Don’t tell anyone who you are, Emily.

Three weeks after I transferred to St. Jude’s Academy on Beacon Hill, my father made me promise one thing on our morning walk from the transit station: “Do not tell them who you are, Emily.”

The salt air off Boston Harbor had carried cold rain across the brick alleys of Beacon Hill all morning, but inside Vault Four of the Cabot Memorial Library, the air was sixty degrees and completely dead.

Emma was almost at the bench before I reached her.

Emma crossed the wood chips before I could catch the thought that had made her move.

The wind picked up off the post-oak ridges, carrying the sharp scent of cedar shavings and tractor diesel.

Emma was halfway to the crying man before I reached her.

The gravel road leading from the lower grove to the county irrigation canal was washed out in two places from the winter rains, forcing me to push my mountain bike through the dry silt.