by Ryan Dalton
Valentine giggled as they stepped across the threshold. “Remember, they’re just as scared of you as you are of them.”
“Yeah. Don’t make eye contact, and play dead if they charge you.”
Fred appeared behind the twins and wrapped them in his lanky arms. “Hey hey, you made it!”
Pulling them through the gigantic foyer, he strode to the balcony overlooking a living room the size of the school gym. A sea of their classmates danced along with the pulsing music, dimly lit by strobes, colored spotlights, and a massive disco ball hanging in place of a chandelier.
“Hey!” Fred called out to the crowd. “My new favorite twins are here, yo!”
He grinned at Malcolm, then longer at Valentine. The twins smiled back, and Malcolm silently wondered if Fred realized he was a walking stereotype.
“Consider yourselves cool by association. Come on.”
He led them down the curved staircase and through the crowd of dancers. Veering to the right, he cut into one of several broad hallways.
“That was where we get our dance on, obviously.”
He pointed into side rooms as they walked. “Here we got a couple rooms to chill out. Video games and whatever in that room. Drinks and food in the kitchen, theater’s across the way, billiard room’s on right. Go anywhere you want, it’s all good.”
“Thanks for having us, Fred,” Malcolm said. He elbowed his sister.
“Oh,” she said, forcing a smile. “Yeah, um, thanks. This is really nice.”
Fred beamed at her. “Hey, it’s cool. Small towns suck without friends, but your boy’s gotcha covered.”
Valentine turned away and suppressed a laugh. She caught a glimpse of Winter in one of the chill-out rooms.
“So anyway,” Fred continued, “Outside—”
Wordlessly, Valentine peeled off and entered Winter’s room.
Fred paused. “Oh.”
“She must’ve seen, um, cupcakes or something,” Malcolm covered. “Can’t resist them.”
Fred recovered quickly. “No prob. Come on, I’ll take you to the big show.”
They backtracked to the main room. The mass of dancers parted for Fred as he strutted toward the three-story back wall, made entirely of plate glass.
Sliding doors opened to the backyard, where another crowd lounged on padded chairs or splashed in the Olympic-sized pool. Swimming didn’t seem like the brightest idea to Malcolm, considering the increasing presence of lightning in the sky. A clattering noise echoed from the half-pipe adjacent to the pool, where someone had just wiped out.
“Nice move, Luke!” Fred joked at the skater, then glanced at Malcolm. “If you get this one jump right, you can land in the pool. You skate?”
Eyes wide, Malcolm shook his head.
“You all right, dude?”
“I guess I didn’t expect all this. You know, small town and everything.”
Fred followed his gaze around the patio, confused. “Oh!” he said finally. “You mean the house. Yeah, guess I’m used to it. My dad owns some malls and part of the power plant outside town. Builds a buttload of houses, too.”
Malcolm perked up at this. Maybe Fred’s dad could shed light on his little mystery. “Do you know if he built the houses on my street? Or would he know who did?”
“Not a clue, dawg.” Fred pulled out his phone. “I’ll text him and ask.”
Malcolm nodded his thanks and resumed marveling at the huge party. “I didn’t know our school had this many students.”
“It doesn’t, but your boy gets around.” Fred said. A moment later his phone beeped. Its glow lit his face as he read the screen. “My dad built four houses on your street, newer ones. Someone else built five. The other two are way old. Dad says someone built ‘em before they started keeping records.”
Malcolm’s pulse quickened. “Which two?”
Fred exchanged another series of texts while Malcolm sipped on his drink, awkwardly searching the party for anyone he knew. You’ve barely met anyone. Who are you expecting to recognize?
“Yo, check it out.” Fred slipped his phone into Malcolm’s hand. His dad had sent an aerial photo of Pleasant Point Drive with two houses inside a red circle. Malcolm studied the screen and shook his head in disappointment.
Oma Grace’s house—his house—and Walter Crane’s house next door. The house with no doors wasn’t even in the photo.
“I know these are old, but what about the place across the street? The abandoned one with no doors.”
“Oh that’s right, your urban legend.” Taking his phone back, Fred tapped another message. He received a swift reply. “Naw, man, sorry. My dad’s pretty sure there’s nothing else on that street.”
Malcolm’s brow furrowed. He resisted the impulse to start shouting until someone acknowledged he’d actually seen the house. Had everyone in this town made some secret pact to pretend it didn’t exist? Or was he just being crazy?
Fred’s arm clamped around his shoulder. “You know what’s a shame, bro? You been here for months and still don’t have a nice Midwestern girl to kick it with.”
Malcolm forced a chuckle, suddenly uneasy. Fred pulled him forward and aimed for the pool.
“Come on, let’s see what we can do ‘bout that.”
Valentine approached the group lounging around the plush room’s empty fireplace. Clad in variations of dark-rimmed glasses and ironic clothing, they appeared to be the town’s young intellectuals. Four of them gathered closely around Winter as she reached the crescendo of a passionate diatribe.
“Sixty-three percent of the school’s program budget goes to sports! Until they learn there’s more to the world than football, we’ll always be a backwater town with zero relevance.”
The group nodded collective agreement. Valentine opened a soda can with a snap-hiss, drawing Winter’s attention.
“Val! Meet the newspaper team. Guys, this is Valentine Gilbert. She’s from the city, has a brain, and—get this—she actually uses it.”
Valentine stepped into the circle with an embarrassed smile, feeling as if four pairs of eyes were weighing and measuring her. “Hi. But how do you know—”
“Oh, I read your transcript,” Winter said as if it were nothing. “The firewall at school sucks. Right, Patrick?”
A mop-topped boy in a Firefly t-shirt nodded with a smirk. Valentine thought she recognized him from her Intro to Chemistry class.
“That’s Patrick Morgan, our computer geek.” Winter gestured at each member of the circle. “Nathan’s our cartoonist and pop culture guru. Carly knows all the gossip anywhere, anytime. And Brynne is so cute, no one has ever refused an interview.”
Each of them tossed a lazy wave at Valentine—except the bubbly Brynne, whose blonde ringlets bounced as she squeaked an excited greeting.
“We mustn’t forget the ringleader,” said the fifth member, a thin boy with shoulder-length black hair that fell halfway across his face. He leaned back against the stone fireplace and adjusted his tinted round glasses. Deep brown eyes peered up at Valentine. “Winter Tao—alpha geek, wordsmith, and professional scary girl.”
Valentine’s gaze lingered on this one. His vibe felt different somehow—calm, not desperate to party his brains out like most of the others. His posture, expression, and tone of voice all radiated quiet confidence.
Winter gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “This is John Carter, the conscience. Not technically on the staff, but he has a talent for keeping me in line. I truly hate him. Anyway, open discussion, so feel free to jump in.”
Winter resumed an authoritative stance and continued her speech. Valentine sat against the fireplace, feeling awkward in the unfamiliar group. A series of flashes drew her attention to the windows—yet another storm was coming, and growing quickly. What is going on with this town?
She tore her thoughts and attention a
way from the lightning. It wouldn’t do for the new girl to spend the party gazing worriedly out the window. Her gaze slipped to the boy at the other end of the hearth.
John Carter glanced at her from behind his hair, looked away, then back again. Then away. Finally, he leaned toward her.
“Hello, Valentine,” he said. “Welcome to the largest congregation of teenagers in the state. Be certain to go see the small lake they call a swimming pool.”
“Thanks,” Valentine laughed. “I just want to avoid getting lost in this house.”
“I did that once. Somehow I kept walking into closets. Just keep making right turns, you’ll escape eventually.” His eyes shifted to the silver pendant around her neck. “I like your antique. Where did you find it?”
“My, um . . . someone gave it to me. A long time ago.” Valentine tried to say more, but the words refused to come out. She looked away, reddening.
“You moved from Chicago?” he said, mercifully changing the subject.
“Yeah. You don’t sound like you’re from here either. Did you move from somewhere?”
“Probably.” John shrugged.
“Oh, a man of mystery,” she teased.
“Oh yes.” Eyes narrowing, he looked around with mock suspicion. “I’m here incognito. Have you seen a man named Villefort?”
Valentine stared at him. “That’s my favorite book.”
John smiled. “There’s no book I’ve read more than The Count of Monte Cristo.”
A butterfly of excitement fluttered through Valentine’s stomach. She pushed it away. Stop that, she told herself. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Unlocking it, she read a new text and covered her mouth, laughing.
“What is it?” John asked.
“I’ll forward it to you. What’s your number?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
She gaped. “You don’t have a phone?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I’m behind the times.”
“Well, let’s just say my brother needs backup.”
Valentine stood to leave. Three steps away she hesitated. Walk away. She turned halfway back around and stopped again, chewing her lower lip. WALK AWAY. The doorway loomed at the edge of her vision. Just go. It’s better for both of you. She forced her insides quiet. No. This is a fresh start—we all promised that.
She looked back at John. “Um, do you want to come?”
John sat up with surprise. He glanced over at the rest of the group.
“Oh, that’s okay,” she said quickly. “You’re with them and—”
“Yes.” He stood. “I would like that.”
Slipping away, they made their way out to the pool. Valentine stood on a lounge chair and peered across the patio.
“What’s happening with your brother?”
She caught sight of Malcolm and laughed again. “Only his worst nightmare. Come on.”
She jumped down and picked her way through the crowd, John following. Fred’s voice rose above the noise as they reached a clearing, the center of which had drawn a sizable audience. There stood Malcolm, staring at the ground as if he’d rather be six feet under it. Fred marched around him, calling into the crowd with his arms in the air.
“He’s brand new from Chi-town and lookin’ for love! Now, which one of you fine honeys wants to take my man here on a date? Come on, look at that face!”
Valentine turned to a stout blonde. “Ten bucks if you volunteer.”
The blonde’s hand shot into the air. “Over here, Fred!”
“We have a winner, folks!” Fred announced. He patted Malcolm on the back and pushed him toward his “date.”
Malcolm approached the blonde as if she were a guillotine. Grinning, Valentine slipped a bill into the girl’s hand and stepped through the dispersing crowd. At the sight of her, his shoulders sagged with relief.
“Well, that was interesting,” she said. “Have fun?”
“There are things I’d rather do,” Malcolm replied. “Like face a firing squad, or an angry bear. Or a firing squad of angry bears.” He noticed that she wasn’t alone.
“Oh, right. John Carter, this is my brother Malcolm.”
The two of them shook hands. Malcolm shot her a questioning glance, which she ignored. Mercifully, he let it go and turned to the blonde.
“Thanks for the rescue. Think I’ll find a quiet corner and, you know, kill myself.”
“Hold on, now.” The blonde pushed the cash back into Valentine’s hand. “You’re cute, and I claimed you fair and square. You’re my date tonight.”
She wrapped a muscled arm around Malcolm and pulled him away. “You got a nice accent. Come tell me ‘bout the big city.”
Malcolm cast a pleading look back at Valentine before disappearing into the crowd.
“And they never saw him again,” John quipped.
Valentine burst into laughter.
“Should we rescue him?”
“Probably.” They began to walk. “But we’ll let him handle it this time. A night with actual people will do him good.”
“He’s more of a loner?”
“Loner, bookworm, geek. We both are, I guess. He has trouble doing things and being with people these days. And he’s afraid to talk to girls.”
“All guys are, a little bit,” John said. “They just never admit it.”
“Does that include you?”
“No, I meant all guys except myself,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, of course you did.” She pushed him playfully.
“So, you are brother-less for a while. What will you do for the rest of the party?”
Valentine stopped short, suddenly self-conscious. All at once she felt her insides slam shut, as if they’d just realized what she was doing. “Oh. Um, well, I’m not sure. I guess . . .”
She fell silent, searching the party as if desperate for an exit. A huge burst of lightning cut across the sky, making her jump. She realized her heart was racing.
John nodded, a faint smile playing across his lips. “I should probably join back with my group,” he said. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Valentine.”
She watched John’s back as he slipped through the crowd, not sure whether to feel relieved or kick herself. Her heart wouldn’t stop beating a thousand times a minute. Was she anxious? Upset? Worried? I don’t even know anymore. She clutched the back of a chair for support. Why am I such a mess?
A crack of thunder split the sky and rattled the house, drowning out the stereo. Then the house went dark. No lights, dance music, nothing. Cries of alarm echoed through the party, especially inside the house.
Fred appeared through the crowd, arms in the air and waving. “Chill out, dawgs, we got a backup generator! Ain’t nothing to worry about.”
Seconds later, a machine-like sound rumbled to life and the house woke up again. Lights came back, music thumped, and in no time at all the party was back in full swing. Though the lightning storm raged on, their momentary fear was forgotten.
Stopping at Valentine’s side, Fred sighed in relief. “Now that was lucky. I was just guessing.”
She gaped at him in disbelief. He just shrugged and grinned. “Good thing my dad actually did put in a generator, huh?”
Back home, Malcolm leaned against Valentine’s doorframe while she gazed through her window, peering up at the angry sky.
“More lightning tonight,” he said. “Storm was even bigger this time.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Can you believe how quiet this town is? They practically roll up the sidewalks at night. Even the gas stations were closed.”
“Mm-hm.”
Malcolm grinned. “Wow. Johnny Hipster must be smoother than he looks.”
Valentine looked at him now, reddening. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t. S
ince when do you give any guy that much attention?”
Valentine bristled. “I do talk to people, you know. It didn’t mean anything. How was your date with Country Strong?”
“Well, I learned about cattle farming, and it turns out my eyes are ‘just darling.’ So that’s exciting.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
They both fell quiet. Malcolm rested his head against the doorway. At that moment, it all seemed more real than it had before. Their life was here now.
With a sigh, Valentine sprawled onto her bed. “I can already tell high school’s going to be complicated.”
In the deserted town square, darkened shops bathed in the light of the moon and a handful of street lamps. Dried leaves skittered across the ground on a warm, gusting wind.
Frantic footsteps echoed on the pavement as a boy dashed across the square. Panting, he swerved into a shadowed alley between two buildings.
The dark corridor was littered with overflowing garbage containers—he struggled to keep running between the debris. Fifty paces in, the alley cut sharply to the left. As he neared the bend, glass shattered behind him and the glow of the street lamp winked out.
In the sudden darkness, his feet struck the corner of a heavy box and flew from underneath him. His body smacked into the pavement, crushing the air from his lungs. A smear of mud stained his Firefly t-shirt. Pushing against the pavement, he begged his stunned body to move.
Come on come on come on, get up get up!
A garbage can flew overhead and split against the wall, raining trash and debris down on his back. With a cry, he heaved himself up and dove deeper into the network of alleyways.
An oversized metal dumpster sat at the meeting point between three alleys. Gasping for air, he crouched on the dumpster’s far side and flattened against the brick wall. In the refuge of shadows, the fear quieted and his breath slowly returned. He strained his ears for the slightest rustle, while a chill crept into the night air.
Shivering, the boy dared to wonder if he was now alone. If it was safe to move. He poked one eye around the edge of the dumpster, where only darkness and garbage greeted him. Sighing in relief, he stood and inched forward. He could see his own breath in the cold now.