Games We Play

by Angel Lawson

  Regina, always the one to take the higher road, smiles and says, “Kenley, is there something you need?”

  “I was sent down to talk to our mentor.” I look at the woman and offer her my hand. “I’m Kenley Keene.”

  “Shannon Hughes,” the woman says, shaking my hand. Although her face isn’t familiar, her name is. I scan my memory trying to place it. “Just catching up with some fellow alumni. Your group probably has more collective knowledge on Thistle Cove traditions than any other class; I doubt you need me much.”

  “It always helps to hear it from someone that’s not a parent,” Monica says. “They just tune us out.”

  I nod. She’s right about that. “Any input is appreciated. Those guys are so excited about using power tools that I’m not sure they’re paying attention to the rules.”

  “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

  On the way back to the driveway I ask, “Do you have kids in another grade? Your name is really familiar.”

  “No, I don’t live in Thistle Cove anymore, although I do have two kids—they’re in college. My dad passed away a few months ago, and I came back to help my mom move into a smaller place.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear about your dad.”

  “Thank you. He was a great guy. Staying with my mom is nice, but when the alumni group was looking for mentors I figured it may be a good way to get out of the house a little.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” I frown. “I swear I’ve seen, or heard, your name before.”

  We get to the trailer where Juliette is standing. She has a purple three-ring binder in her hands.

  “Hi,” she says, thrusting her hand forward. “I’m Juliette Chandler.”

  Shannon looks her over. “Jason’s daughter?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “I was a year behind your parents at Thistle Cove. Everyone knew Jason Chandler.”

  I fight rolling my eyes, although from the dirty look Juliette gives me I feel like she sensed it anyway. “I’m sure you’ve heard my dad is back as the new head football coach.”

  “Actually, I did hear something about that. I’m sure he’s eager to continue Viking tradition by leading these guys to state.”

  Juliette grins. “You really do know my dad.”

  Shannon gives her a tight smile and points to the binder, “Got your design in there?”

  Each class has to design their own float, and then get it approved by a school representative. If you change your float in any way, you can get disqualified. The overall theme is Thistle Cove Through the Decades, due to the centennial, and we specifically got the 1980s. While Juliette goes over the plan, I unzip my bag and pull out my camera. With such a good crowd tonight, it may be the best time to snag a few photos.

  I walk around and grab pictures of the different groups, most in tiny circles rolling balls of tissue. A few girls from the dance team aren’t doing anything but fussing with the playlist, trying to find something suitable. I even get a shot of the chaperones huddled around the fire. Before I realize it, I’ve walked back over to the trailer where Ozzy, Finn, and Ezra build the frame.

  “Smile, boys,” I say, getting their attention. If anyone else had asked, they’d probably refuse, especially Oz, but for me? I can get them to do almost anything.

  “That’s Ezra Baxter’s son, right?” Shannon asks. “Looks just like his dad.”

  “Right?” I say, looking back at the shot. Ezra’s sharp cheekbones and pouty lips make a striking profile. “It’s a little unnerving.”

  “Tell me about it,” she mutters. “You like taking pictures?”

  “I do, but these are for the yearbook. It’s more like work than pleasure.”

  “Ah, the Valhalla,” she says, fondly. “I was the editor junior and senior years.”

  “That’s where I’ve heard your name!” I exclaim. “I’m the editor! I’ve seen it on some of the old paperwork and stuff in the office.”

  “That’s awesome. I really loved working on the yearbook. I even joined the staff when I was in college, too.”

  “Oh,” I say, an idea popping into my mind, “Since you’re in town and you have some free time, maybe you could help us with a project we’re working on.”

  “Sure. What kind of project?”

  I explain to her how we’re going through the archives, looking for old photos to use in the current yearbook to celebrate the centennial. “Since you’re already familiar with the archive system and everything,” I say. “It’d be fun to have you on board, too.”

  “That sounds great.” She gives me a curious look. “You know it’s weird, but I heard about your classmate, the Waller girl? We had something similar happen to someone in our class.”

  “Someone committed suicide?” I ask, my voice low. The last thing I need to do is get Juliette riled up or upset Mrs. Waller.

  “No. A girl went missing, but they actually found Jaqueline’s body.”

  “Jaqueline?” I repeat. “I swear I’ve never heard that name or anything about this before.”

  Shannon chuckles darkly. “I’m not surprised. Thistle Cove likes to keep its secrets buried, and Jaqueline’s death was a dark mark on the town.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “The cause of death was strangulation. They found her body down by the water’s edge.”

  “In the cove?” She nods. My stomach flips nervously. “Did they arrest anyone?”

  “No. It was a dark time for the town. Everyone was very freaked out. People started locking their doors. The city council enacted a curfew. It happened in the winter, and the last half of our senior year we were all on lockdown. They even cancelled our senior retreat.”

  “Senior retreat?”

  “They still don’t do that?” She looks thoughtful. “Wow, that’s something I figured they’d add back in once the panic died down.”

  “What was it?” I ask. “Specifically.”

  “Each year, the senior class would all go to a lodge up on Silver Lake and spend the weekend. Kind of a way to blow off steam before finals and graduation. It was a huge tradition, but they stopped when Jacqueline was murdered and didn’t restart it the next year when I was a senior. I guess they never did.” Her eyes flit over to the chaperones. “I guess not all traditions carry on in Thistle Cove.”

  “They’ve announced they’re not having homecoming court because of Rose this year. I have a hard time believing that one won’t come back.”

  She laughs. “I think you’re right about that.”

  The boys on the trailer are goofing off more than working. “I may go try to get them back on track. Please feel free to come by the yearbook office whenever you get a chance. We’d love to have you just visit or help out if you have time.”

  “That sounds great, Kenley, thank you.”

  She walks across the driveway toward some of the kids, and she stops to give some advice on how to properly roll a pomp (trust me, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it.)

  I should be surprised that Thistle Cove has secrets I don’t know about, but the murder of a student isn’t something I expect. The bigger coincidence, I think as I look down at Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Chandler, and Mrs. Wells by the fire pit, is that they were here both times a girl from town went missing.

  7

  Ozzy

  It’s colder than it was the first game we attended together, and coats, sweaters, and gloves are noticeable everywhere. Even the cheerleaders wear hoodies and leggings. Not that I’m looking at the cheerleaders. My thigh is pressed discreetly against Kenley’s, and our shoulders keep rubbing against one another. It’s tiny, benign stuff, but since the place I first kissed her is right under my feet, my brain and body can’t help but respond accordingly. I want to do it again. I have done it again. Right beneath us, in the relative privacy under the bleachers. It happens every game, home or away, by halftime my body starts ticking like a timebomb—knowing privacy is just under our feet.

  Tick, tick, tick
/>   We don’t start down here, like that first night. Kenley likes to get here for the pregame announcements. “To support Ezra and Finn.”

  She’s right. We should support them. So instead of succumbing to our hormones, we smush close together on the edge of the student section and half watch the game while half fantasizing about those full, pink lips.

  “Ouch,” I say, watching Ezra take a particularly hard hit. He’s down on the ground for a minute. Kenley’s gloved fingers thread with mine and clench tight.

  “Is he okay?”

  I half stand, but he’s already back on his feet. “That was a hard hit; he probably just needed to catch his breath.”

  “Football is so dangerous,” she says, releasing the tightness of her grip, but not her hand from mine. “Why can’t they play something like soccer?”

  “Still dangerous,” I say. “Concussions and torn ACLs are a huge problem. Surgeries lead to painkillers which is a whole other level of sports-related issues.”

  She shakes her head. “You know, it’s okay if you don’t know the facts and data to everything.”

  “I can’t help the fact that I read something, and it sticks in my head.” I nudge her shoulder. “I’m just saying all sports are dangerous, but you’re right. Football is especially so, but it’s a major focus in the town. I don’t see it changing any time soon, if ever.”

  I look down on the field where Coach Chandler paces the sidelines. We’re up by seven, but that’s not enough for him. He likes big wins. Across the stands, with the cluster of adults, is Mr. Baxter and Mr. Waller. Ezra’s dad watches his son carefully, like he’s assessing him for any noticeable injury. Mr. Waller has on a baseball cap with his campaign slogan, “Thistle Cove: The Town to Beat!” Across the front. The election is the week after homecoming. There’s little doubt he’ll win in a landslide.

  “Oh,” Kenley says, releasing my hand and pointing a few feet away from the men, “there’s Shannon.”

  I see the woman from float building tucked in among the other adults. Kenley told us about the former yearbook editor last night—well, not much about her—but about Jaqueline Cates. None of us had heard of another student being murdered before.

  “I did a little digging on Jaqueline today,” she says, unsurprisingly. “There’s not a lot of information, like, nothing about her being very involved in school activities. It listed her as being on the debate team. She was last seen at the library on Main Street. She didn’t have a car, so she walked everywhere. She disappeared somewhere between the library and her house.”

  “Did she have to cross the bridge?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Her house was just a few blocks from the library, one of those older ones in town, but they searched for her for a week. Full effort, kind of like Rose. Dogs, helicopter, divers, search teams. They were about to give up when someone found her body on the shore.”

  “And you said she’d been strangled?”

  “Marks around her neck,” she replies. “There were a lot of newspaper articles about it for a while, but after a few months they dried up. They had no real leads from what I can tell, and the police never found who did it.”

  “Maybe it was just someone passing through town. It does happen.”

  “Or whoever did it was really good at hiding evidence.” She sits straight. “Oh, one interesting tidbit I found out is that Chief McMichael was a beat cop back then.”

  The crowd around us perks up, and we both look up at the field. Finn’s got the ball and pulls his elbow back, launching it down the field, two seconds before getting hit. The ball flies, swirling through the air, and lands perfectly into the receiver’s hands.

  “Touchdown!” the announcer shouts and the stands explode with excitement.

  In the chaos, I take the chance wrap my hand around Kenley’s. Looking at the board, we’re up by fourteen, and halftime is three minutes away.

  “Hey,” I whisper in her ear, “wanna go warm up?”

  She smiles, slow and sly, making my stomach twist into knots. “I think no one will notice if we take off for a few minutes.”

  We work our way through the stands, heading down to the ground level. We huddle close, as much for heat as anything else. There’s a break in the crowd, and I start toward the underside of the bleachers.

  “Kenley!”

  She stops and I look around, searching for who called her name. A waving hand lifts above the people milling around. It’s Shannon Hughes.

  “Shannon! Hi!” Kenley says, sounding completely thrilled to see the woman. “I saw you up in the crowd.”

  “Decided to come out and see a game—they’re looking good. Did you see the arm on that quarterback?”

  “He’s pretty impressive,” Kenley says, holding back a grin. She glances over at me. “I don’t think you got a chance to meet Ozzy last night. He’s on the yearbook, too.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  She smiles and then says to Kenley, “Oh, I have something for you.”

  “You do?”

  “After we talked I did a little digging in my old bedroom. I knew I had a box of old things.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a thick envelope. “A few candids that were never used in the yearbook.”

  Kenley’s face lights up. “Oh wow, this is perfect! Thank you.”

  Few things get my girl excited like an envelope of old pictures.

  The buzzer sounds from the field, signaling the end of the first half. Shannon grimaces. “I better run to the restroom before I get stuck in a long line. Good to see you.”

  “You too,” Kenley says, waving as she walks off. She flips open the flap on the back of envelope, but I grab it from her. “Hey! I just wanted to look at them.”

  “Later,” I say, tucking the envelope into my pocket. “Right now is about maintaining the Ozzy/Kenley tradition of a hot make out session under the bleachers.” I pull her close and appeal to the unconventional side of Kenley, the one we all know lurks just beneath the surface. “You know you like hooking up with your secret boyfriend, right under the feet of every person in this town.”

  Her eyes flare and without another word she slips under the bleachers. I follow her in, heart pounding, hands itching, this girl…she may be the end of me.

  When we reach our favorite spot, the one with the wide pillar to press against, I tuck my fingers under her jacket and feel her flinch from the cold. The move sparks a rush, and her hands curl around the back of my neck, pulling my face to hers. When her lips brush against mine, I feel a relief that I’ve been holding onto all damn day. When her tongue slips into my mouth, I shudder. I push her back against the wall and press my hips into hers, tasting her exhale from our bodies being so close.

  There are a couple other things that excite Kenley Keene other than old pictures and making out just out of other people’s sight. I plan on finding out each and every one.

  8

  Kenley

  The football game afterparty turns into a float building party as kids trickle to Ezra’s house. A new group of parent volunteers sits by the fire pit.

  “Good game tonight,” I say to Finn, when he appears fresh from a shower. “That was an amazing throw.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “Coach was going to lose it if we let them get any points on the board.”

  “He just wants everyone to know how good you are.” I’ve heard the rumors about college scouts being in the stands. Finn is definitely in consideration. His good grades, leadership, and skills make him an excellent candidate for any of the major schools. As excited as I am for him, it also makes me a little sad thinking that in a year we’ll all be separated. I just got him back in my life.

  We’re tucked in a dark corner of the garage behind Mr. Baxter’s Range Rover. The other side, where the BMW is usually parked, is empty. Finn takes a quick look around, and when no one is looking gives me a quick kiss. It hasn’t been long since I was just with Ozzy under the bleachers, and kissing Finn is like stoking an already l
it fire.

  “Although I’d rather kiss you all night, Ozzy and I are going to finish up with the frame tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. God, they love power tools—just a little less than they like kisses. “I’m going to go check on Ezra, be out in a few minutes.”

  He squeezes my hand, and I enter the house through the garage door. Part of the float rules are that we aren’t supposed to go in the personal sections of the house, but Ezra’s has always been the party house, so people feel comfortable going in and out.

  I walk into the spotless kitchen, through the living room, and up the main staircase. The house is quiet, any noise coming from outside, and I feel a bit like an intruder.

  It’s not until I’m on the top landing that I hear raised voices.

  “Are you fucking with me, Ez? Are you really telling me you gave it your best tonight? You look like a pussy out there, taking hit after hit.”

  “Dad, we won the game, and Coach gave me a lot of playing time.”

  I press my back against a large chest in the hallway and hold my breath. Mr. Baxter’s tone is vicious. And Ezra? He just sounds tired.

  “Well after that display, I doubt he will next week. You know that the recruiters from the university were there tonight? Finn gave them a hell of a game. They’re probably writing blank checks with his name on it right now. They’ll invite him up for the weekend, wine and dine him, give him two cheerleaders to fuck, and a bag of expensive athletic gear to take home. And you? You’ll be lucky to get into a fucking community college with what you showed them out there.”

  “You know what?” Ezra responds, voice lifting. “Maybe I don’t want to play this fucking game anymore. It was a hell of a lot easier when you were busy chasing money and women out of town. If having you around means I have to listen to your non-stop bullshit about football, then go. I don’t want you here anyway.”