by Sarah M. Awa
From the reflection of her own golden eyes.
Melanie had woken up whimpering in fear. Thank goodness Pam had been in the shower already and hadn’t heard. Mel didn’t want her friend worrying about her. She was fine. This PTSD, or whatever it was, would go away soon enough.
It had better.
At least her classmates were no longer teasing her. And most of the taunts and snide remarks had been aimed at Timmy anyway. Once people had found out he’d been ditched by his camping buddies and had gotten terribly lost in the forest, Timmy had become a laughingstock.
Serves him right for blabbing, Mel had thought at first. It totally backfired on him. Ha! What did he expect?
But her anger toward him had cooled with the mid-October weather and had turned into pity. She swelled with gratitude that he’d toned down his loud-mouthed boasting—the last few Sentinel meetings had been a lot quieter and calmer.
The newsroom’s layout table was where Melanie sat on this sunny but chilly Thursday afternoon. Editions of the Sentinel came out biweekly, and articles were due every other Wednesday. Since many of the writers habitually failed to turn in their assignments until midnight, Mel usually didn’t start looking over the articles until Thursday.
This issue’s batch is a bit sloppy, she thought as her eyes and pencil roved across a printed-out article. It looks like I’m going to be here for a couple of hours again. Eating a late dinner had become an every-other-Thursday tradition for her.
No one else was in the room, which Melanie preferred. The temperature, lighting, ambient noises, and comfort level of her chair were perfect for promoting concentration. But she couldn’t focus. She shifted in her chair, moved it an inch closer to the table, and then an inch back. Random images flew into her head. Then the words began to swim before her eyes, undulating like a desert mirage.
What the heck is going on? Setting down her pencil, she shook her head rapidly, trying to clear it. She read another paragraph, and then the random images pushed back into her mind. The muscles in her lower legs spasmed like a tap-dancing routine.
Melanie dropped the pencil. Am I developing ADHD? Is that possible when you’re past your teenage years? Whatever this is, it’s not good. If it keeps up and prevents me from finishing my work on time . . .
It was probably just stress; a timeout should help calm her nerves. Standing up, she stretched her arms, legs, neck, and back, then strolled around the room. Her circuit brought her to the office’s computers. Absently, she moved their mice to clear away the screensavers. Sentinel folders had been left open on two of the screens. A schedule of upcoming volleyball games greeted her from the third monitor.
Tomorrow night there was a big game against Wellsboro’s rival. It was a home game, the first of two matches that the Wellsboro Lady Knights would play against the Lady Eagles of Brookside College. “Lady Eagles Soar up to Challenge the Lady Knights on their Royal Court,” the headline would read. Mel grinned to herself, and then her thoughts turned to Shari Quinlan.
Shari was Melanie’s other suitemate and Jocelyn’s roommate. Mel had no idea why Shari and Jos had decided to room together, since Shari was a perky, bubbly blonde—a type that usually annoyed Jos. They’d decorated their room in an odd mishmash of pinks, pastels, pictures of kittens, and boy-band posters on one side and black, crimson, deep purple, and posters of dragons and dark fairies on the other.
Shari was also Wellsboro’s star volleyball player. This entire week, she’d been chattering about nothing but Friday’s game, begging the girls to come and cheer her on. Mel and Pam had assured Shari that they’d be there and drag Jocelyn along.
Melanie unconsciously drummed her fingers on the back of a chair. Thump, thump, thump-thump, thump. Faster and faster she tapped out a rhythm. Little throbs of pain pulsed above and between her eyes, and her heart kept time with her fingers’ manic beat. Images of volleyball players, nets, and a cheering crowd swirled through her mind along with other, more frightening images—glowing yellow eyes in a dark cave, white fangs gleaming, jaws foaming and stretching open—
She whimpered and then jumped as a click and a loud creak sounded behind her. Panting and clutching at her chest, Melanie spun and saw that it was only her “boss” entering the room. The ancient door of this office never opened quietly. Sheesh, calm down, Mel told herself.
The Sentinel’s editor-in-chief, Dawn Fincher, was a stocky college senior with a no-nonsense air. She strode in confidently. Her typical expression of mild annoyance was on her face, and a load of papers and books was in her arms. When she saw Melanie, she said, “Hey, Caldwell. You fed up with those articles already?” She grinned and dumped her stack of stuff onto the layout table near Melanie’s papers.
“Not exactly,” said Mel, smiling faintly. Twinges and prickles shot through her arms and legs, begging her to pace, but she gritted her teeth and kept as still as she could. “I seem to be distracted today. Thought I’d walk around and clear my head.”
Dawn narrowed her eyes at Mel, but said, “You should try sticking your head out the window in the cold air. That’s what I do, this time of year.”
“Hmm, good idea,” said Melanie. She walked over to the nearest window and cranked its rusty, recalcitrant handle, slowly pushing the lower pane outward and letting a chill breeze rush in. She stuck her nose through the gap, like a canine on a car ride, took several deep breaths, and began to feel refreshed.
“That worked pretty well,” she said to Dawn—and then she noticed the wind had scattered her papers everywhere. “Oh, crap.”
Dawn chuckled. “Don’t get all flustered on me. You look kind of jittery today, Melanie. Did you switch from decaf to regular or something?”
Mel shook her head. “No,” she muttered. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on with me.” But whatever it is, it had better not stick around much longer. She had important things to do—and there were people, like Dawn, counting on her to do them well.
“Go, Lady Knights! Wooooo!” Pam cried as she bounced through the door to their bedroom the next evening.
Melanie looked up from her computer and grinned. “I see you’re pumped up and ready to head over there. Game doesn’t start for half an hour.”
“I know. Gives me plenty of time to put on some red-and-gold face paint. You want any?”
“No, thanks. That stuff makes me break out.”
“Yikes,” said Pam. “Okay, no paint for you. By the way,” she continued casually, rummaging in her dresser drawer, “I didn’t see you at dinner tonight. Did you skip out?”
Mel bit her lower lip. “Yeah. I wasn’t hungry; my stomach’s been feeling kind of weird today.”
“Oh, no. I hope you’re not getting sick again.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” said Mel.
What she didn’t tell Pam was that she’d felt antsy and fidgety all day, just like yesterday afternoon in the Sentinel office. She’d had to force herself to sit still during classes and not jump up and pace around like she’d wanted to. What the heck is wrong with me? she thought. If this doesn’t stop soon . . .
I need to finish my freakin’ homework and editing! To her annoyance, she was only halfway done with both.
Pam left the room carrying tubes of face paint, and Melanie heard her bustle into the bathroom. She returned her eyes to her computer screen, but the library e-book open on it wavered and danced before her eyes. Was the monitor acting up?
She leaned in closer and squinted at the text. The sentences were long and complex, and she hadn’t clicked to the next page in what seemed like hours. What an obnoxious thing to have to read, she thought, and yawned. Blood rushed in her ears, and it felt like someone was pinching her forehead. Massaging it, she made another attempt to read the onscreen textbook. The words had stopped undulating, but now they looked like Latin.
“Dammit,” she said, and pushed back her chair. “I can’t take it anymore!”
“Can’t take what anymore?” said a smooth voice from the
doorway.
“Oh! Jos, hi.” Melanie blushed as she stood up and her suitemate walked in. “Um, just stupid homework. Y’know. They’ve been giving out a ton of it lately.”
Jocelyn Beaumont nodded, twirling one of her black curls around a long white finger. “My profs aren’t going easy, either.”
I have to persuade her to come to the game, Mel remembered, groaning inwardly. It would be easier to take a cat for a walk around the block. She racked her brain, trying to find the right words to say, but then Pam pranced back into the room.
“How do I look?” she crowed, striking poses like a model and framing her face with her hands. The left half of it was scarlet, the right half gold.
“Whoa,” said Jocelyn, raising an eyebrow. “Um . . . yeah. Pretty awesome, Pam.”
Melanie grinned broadly. “Shari will love it.”
“Are we ready to go?” Pam beamed, obviously delighted with her appearance. “Are you coming along too, Jos? Please say you will, this time. Please!”
Jocelyn gave a loud sigh. “I suppose. Otherwise, I’ll have to endure my roommate’s reprimands for the rest of the semester. Let me get my shoes and coat.” She drifted out of the room.
“That was surprisingly easy,” Mel whispered to Pam, pulling on her own jacket.
Minutes later, the three girls climbed into Melanie’s car, and Mel drove them across campus toward the athletic center. The large, square brick building was visible from quite a distance away, its floor-length windows blazing with light against the backdrop of inky sky. Clusters of people sifted in through the main doors, and the parking lot was already packed. “Wow,” said Mel. “What a turnout. Looks like a lot of Brooksiders are here too.”
“They’re here to watch their team get crushed!” said Pam. She giggled. “Besides, what else is there to do on a Friday night around here?”
A line of pedestrians crossed in front of the Honda, which had only been moving at five miles per hour. “I’m gonna drop you guys off at the door and then try to find a place to park,” said Mel. “Maybe we should have walked.”
“Okay. We’ll save you a seat,” said Pam.
She and Jocelyn scooted out when they got close to the front of the building. An impatient honk sounded from the car behind them. Mel gritted her teeth and kept her fingers—including the middle ones—clamped around the steering wheel.
After she finally found a parking spot, she hiked back across the lot, threaded her way between a dozen groups of milling people, and strode into the gymnasium.
It felt like someone had shoved a basket full of old, sweaty gym socks right under her nose. Melanie staggered. A tidal wave of rubber, face paint, and perspiring bodies rushed over her. It took her a moment to recover. Geez, she thought, holding her breath. Did everyone pick today to skip their shower?
The bleachers on the right-hand side were quickly filling up with the home-team crowd. Mel scanned the sea of faces for Pam and Jocelyn. She spotted them about ten rows up, sitting with several music-major friends of Pam’s. Jocelyn saw Melanie and waved, and Mel climbed up to join the group.
“Whew,” she said as she plopped down next to Jos. “Sure is crazy out there—and in here.” Ugh, someone nearby is wearing about a gallon of musky cologne. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe through it.
Jocelyn nodded, immune or oblivious to the malodorous atmosphere. Her smartphone was out on her lap, and Melanie could see that she had already been texting someone. Mel grinned. Typical, crowd-phobic Jos, she thought.
The Wellsboro and Brookside teams jogged onto the court, and thunderous applause erupted from the crowds on both sides of the gym. Ostentatious, hyped-up announcements boomed from the commentators, and the first of three fifteen-point matches began.
Shari was one of the starters. She played fiercely, diving and making a spectacular save only four plays into the game. Melanie enjoyed watching her friend, but after Shari rotated out, she grew restless and found herself itching to stand up and walk around. The air had grown even riper and hotter, and she thought she might puke or pass out if she stayed there much longer. “I’m gonna get a drink at the water fountain,” she told Jocelyn. “Be back soon.”
“Mmm-hmm,” said Jos, and returned her attention to her phone.
As Melanie squeezed her way to the aisle and started climbing down the bleachers, she glanced across to the other side of the gym. Her steps slowed, her attention drawn to a young man at the edge of the Brookside crowd.
Leaning against the wall by the lobby doors, he had a distinct air of separation from the other students. Dishwater-blond hair fell nearly into his dark eyes; he was rather thin and pale but very attractive. Mel stared for a moment, then blushed as he suddenly looked up and met her gaze. His eyes widened.
Flashing an embarrassed smile, Melanie looked away. She reached the gym floor and pushed through the nearest door to the lobby. Relief rushed over her with the cooler, fresher air. She sucked in deep breaths, wiping sweat from her forehead.
A door clicked open at the far end, the away crowd’s side. Of course, it was him. Mel ducked her head and veered toward the water fountain. After taking a long drink, she turned and almost bumped into him. “Excuse me,” she said, at the same time he said, “Sorry—hey, have I seen you somewhere before?”
Heat crept back into her cheeks. “Um, I don’t think so.”
The way he studied her face put her ever so slightly on edge. “I’m Gavin,” he said after a pause.
“Melanie.”
“Nice to meet you,” they chorused.
“May I?” Gavin gestured at the fountain, and Mel scooted out of the way. He took a couple of big gulps, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That hit the spot. It was getting really hot in there.”
“Yeah. Feels much better out here.” And smells better too.
Mel shuffled her feet, mind racing but failing to come up with clever conversation. Why do I always freeze up with cute guys? Pam would know how to break the ice.
Mel was about to say that she should get back to her friends—although she’d much prefer to leave the stuffy building instead—but Gavin spoke first. “I just feel like we’ve met before, or . . .”
She raised her eyes to his; they were almost as rich of a dark brown as hers were. At the connection, his body tensed and jerked. His eyes grew wide, glassy, and unfocused.
“Hey, are you all right?” Mel’s hand automatically lifted to steady him, but he came out of it after only a moment.
The color drained from his face. An expression of pain replaced the blank one. “Impossible,” he whispered.
What the heck? thought Mel. This is getting a little freaky. She took a step backward, definitely ready to return to her friends.
“Wait, Melanie,” Gavin said, and held out a hand as if to stop her from leaving. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you think I’m weird, but I have to ask you an important question. Have you gone camping recently?”
How is that important? “Yeah, about a month ago. Why?”
He gave a long sigh. His shoulders drooped, and his eyes looked haunted. “I need to tell you something, something absolutely crucial.”
Mel raised an eyebrow. A snarky comment popped into her head, but she stifled it and said, “What do you mean?”
Gavin glanced around the lobby. A dozen other students stood in groups, chatting and laughing together. “Do you mind if we go and talk somewhere more private?” he said in a low voice.
Alarm bells rang inside her at the word “private.” Fat chance, Captain Creepy. “Why do we need to do that?”
“Shoot,” he said, “that didn’t sound quite right. I don’t mean we should go find a dark alley. Just outside the building is fine; there are benches by the front doors, aren’t there?”
“Yeah.” Night had fallen, but plenty of bright lamps illuminated the perimeter of the athletic center. The building had a lot of windows too, and most of the benches could be seen from the lobby. “Okay.”
She and Ga
vin headed for the front doors. Melanie unwrapped her jacket from around her waist and pulled it on, expecting the October air to bite her like an ice puppy. Instead, she found it to be more like a calm, lazy old dog. I thought it was supposed to get down into the forties tonight.
She walked over and sat on the best-lit, most visible bench. Gavin joined her, leaving a couple of feet between them. Stars twinkled overhead, and the large, round moon hung above the eastern foothills. The quiet night was broken only by the sound of distant cheers and tennis shoe squeaks filtering from the building as if muffled by cloth.
For a long time, Gavin stared down at his hands. He wore a light jacket and no gloves, and she noticed that there was a fragile quality about those hands, although not a feminine one.
“I don’t know where to start,” he murmured. “You’re not . . . going to like hearing this at all.”
“Hearing what?” Her voice came out more harshly than she’d intended. The suspense was killing her. A million unlikely possibilities raced through her mind, and she found it difficult to sit still.
Gavin apologized again before she could. Then he looked straight into her eyes and asked, “Did you go camping at a national park called Pine Groves?”
She blinked. A cricket chirped. The wind rustled the branches of a nearby tree.
“How—?” she faltered. “How did you . . . ?”
“Did you go inside a cave at night?” he pressed.
Ice trickled down her spine. “How could you possibly—”
“There was something in there, right? It bit you.”
Golden eyes flashed in her memory. Melanie flinched, recalling her most recent nightmare. She opened her mouth to demand that he stop messing around and freaking her out, but her throat constricted, choking off her voice.
Gavin’s expression softened, and his hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and grip hers but had thought better of it.
She couldn’t meet his eyes any longer. The festive sounds emanating from the gymnasium called to her, and she stood up. “I gotta go.”