by Nissa Leder
“You sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
I shake my head.
Tuck knows I’m lying. Cussing under his breath, he grabs my gear.
“Come on, QB, let go home.”
I follow him out the back door, hoping to avoid the crowd, and walk toward my old Wagoneer. I open the passenger door and I’m about to climb in when the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone or something is watching me.
When I turn back toward the field house, I lock gazes with a set of huge brown eyes. Familiar brown eyes. They belong to a girl clad in a raincoat and jeans. Long strands of dark pink hair protrude from the hood of her coat. My heart beats in my ears like a drum.
“Anytime now, D,” Tuck complains.
He turns the key, and the old engine rattles to life. I break my connection with the girl and slide into the passenger seat. A pulse still thrums in my ears. I can’t explain it, but I’m wondering if it belongs to me or to her.
3
“You know this is a straight-up dumb-ass thing to do.”
Tuck’s face has been set in a perpetual scowl since we left the game.
We’re supposed to be driving home, but instead, we’re headed in the opposite direction, toward The Brown House, where everyone goes to party after Friday night games. No one really knows who lives there or who actually throws the parties, but every Friday night since I’ve been in high school, we all show up by the carload to drink and talk and hook up. It’s the perfect distraction, especially tonight.
“Tuck, will you just shut up and drive? You sound like your mother.”
“Yeah, I guess I do sound like her—you know, my mother who uses her medical degree to make scientifically based health recommendations to stubborn football jocks who just got slammed into the turf and knocked the hell out?”
“Whatever, man, just drive. I don’t feel like going home.”
Tuck focuses back on the road, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. If I’m totally honest, he’s right. Dr. Tucker said to go home and rest. Lord knows, I feel the hit I took in every joint of my body. But I can’t shake what I’ve seen. What I’ve heard.
There’s no way I can just go back home to Gran and pretend everything is normal. I’ve heard the scary stories. I’ve seen all the horror movies. Hell, Tuck’s dad is a minister. So I’m pretty sure I know what I saw. I just don’t know how or why I saw it.
Whatever the reason, I’ll be damned before I go home and stare at the walls in my room, reliving that moment in my head. I keep hearing the hissing, the low, guttural growling, seeing those razor-sharp teeth dripping rancid yellow saliva. I shudder. There are really only two options.
The first is that I’m totally batshit crazy.
I don’t want to consider the other.
Tuck bites his lip as we turn off the main road and onto a long driveway enclosed by towering pines that make the darkness even darker. I can tell he’s biting back words. I wonder if he feels like something’s missing, too.
Ordinarily, Ava would be with us, singing to the radio like no one’s listening. But not tonight. Since Pops’ death, things just haven’t been the same between us. I broke it off with her a few days ago. She’s Ava, so she’s putting up a strong front, but I know she’s hurting. It’s killing me that I’m the source of her pain.
We drive through the shadows until we can hear music and the familiar wooden house looms over us. He parks the car on the grass and cuts the engine.
“I don’t like this, D,” Tuck says, putting my keys in his pocket. “Swear to me you won’t do anything stupid, and we won’t stay more than an hour.”
I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor, Mom.”
“Ass.”
I laugh and get out of the car, slamming the door shut. When I hear my name, I sweep the scene for familiar faces. Eli and Logan are on the second-floor deck, surrounded by a group of girls. They raise their red plastic cups.
“Hell of a play, Crain!” Logan yells.
“Yeah, D, get your ass up here and tell us how you pulled off that sick pass!” Eli adds.
“Later,” I promise, though I have no real intention of going up there. I need a drink. I need to forget what I saw and stop thinking for a while.
“I’m grabbing a beverage,” I say to Tuck. “Want anything?”
“Nah,” Tuck says. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He’s not looking at me, and I follow the direction of his eyes until I spot Ava.
Shit.
Of course, Ava would be here.
My pulse speeds up. She looks hot tonight. Ava always looks hot, and she was perfect for me. Everything about her was perfect for me. We’d been dating for two years and have been friends since elementary school.
But just like that, I let her go.
I still can’t explain why.
The connection I felt—emotional, physical, everything. It just disappeared. Even though I want to run to her and tell her how sorry I am, as much as I want to flip the switch and turn my feelings right back on, I won’t go to her now. Things were too intense for too long between us, and I wasn’t lying when I told her we needed some distance. She needs it more than I do, I think. It’s hard to heal if someone keeps picking the scab.
I nod to Tuck and point around the corner toward the patio where the drinks are. I walk across the sidewalk to the drink table, grab a cup, tap the keg, and down the entire thing.
Then, I do it again.
It tastes like piss, but it does the job. My head is buzzing and I walk further out into the yard and sit down on a hill in the dark. The grass is a little damp and soaks through my pants, but I don’t care.
Rubbing my face, I stare beyond the trees. From here, the entire Seattle skyline is visible. Thousands of people are out there in the middle of all those lights, driving, eating dinner, partying, going about their business. I’m up here away from it all buzzing from cheap beer and avoiding everyone I know. I blink against images of the creature. Images that may never leave me.
“Mind if I sit down?”
I feel her before I see her, and I know exactly who it is before she settles in next to me.
The girl from the stadium parking lot. The girl I’ve seen in my dreams.
Her knee touches the side of my leg. My heart pounds against my ribs.
“I’m Rachel Sharp.”
Words die in my throat.
Her dark brown eyes are wide and looking right into mine, holding them. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Dark skin, full lips, black hair with dark pink streaks. Her nose is pierced, and both of her ears are lined in studs. When I finally break away from her gaze, I notice she’s wearing black fingerless gloves and a T-shirt that says “Smash the Patriarchy”.
My brain tells me she’s a little goth for my taste, but my heart is pounding in rhythm with hers. Why the hell can I feel her heartbeat?
“Well, do you have a name, or am I just supposed to call you Fifteen or QB all night?”
“Uh, Darien,” I manage. “Crain. Darien Crain.”
I struggle for words, but I don’t want the conversation to die. I don’t want her to leave.
“Um, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” I say. “Are you new?”
“Yeah. I just moved here with my dad.”
“Oh, yeah? From where?”
“Tennessee.”
“Really?” I’ve never met anyone from Tennessee before, but she does not look like she’d be from the Volunteer state. “Like hillbillies and country music Tennessee?”
Clearly, that was the incorrect response.
Rachel huffs and rolls her eyes. “Like mountains and blue skies Tennessee.”
“So … no hillbillies?” I’m really screwing this up. I’m not sure why I care, but I do.
“Well,” she says, casting me a sideways glance, “maybe a few.”
“But not you?”
“No, I don’t really qualify for hillbilly status.”
�
��Well, you don’t exactly look the type.”
“No? Well, what exactly do I look like, then?”
“Honestly?” I ask.
“Honestly.”
“Like the lead singer of an all-girl punk band.”
She huffs and shakes her head and brings her red cup to her lips, turning it up until it’s gone. Maybe she’s just as nervous as me, but I can’t think of why. I can’t find a single reason someone like her would be interested in someone like me. I mean, we probably don’t hang with the same crowd. But I don’t care. I have to know this girl.
“So you took a pretty heavy hit out there tonight,” she says.
“You saw that?”
“Mmmhmm. It was pretty wild. You just froze, like you’d seen a ghost.”
I can feel her eyes on my cheek, and I try not to look at her.
“What if I did?” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke.
“Then I’d say you’re on the brink of knowing who you are.”
I’m staring at her, wondering what she’s talking about, but there’s no time to ask. She stands up and hands me a piece of paper. “Call me if you ever need to talk, QB.”
Wait a minute? What? That’s it? She seeks me out and then just leaves? I mean, making out did cross my mind, though I didn’t exactly expect it. But her walking off after, like, five minutes is throwing me.
“Where are you going?” I ask as she starts to walk off.
She looks over her shoulder and winks. “Curfew in twenty,” she says. “See you around.”
As she disappears into the shadows, I unfold the paper. It’s her number.
I smile. It was totally unexpected, but at least one good thing came out of this crazy screwed up night.
Then, I hear it again, behind me. That low, guttural hissing. Something that smells like the sulfur in chem lab. I look around but don’t see anything. That’s when I hear Ava’s voice drifting down from above. I scramble to my feet and turn around, looking up at the deck.
Ava is standing with Tuck, talking.
Behind her, a dark creature coils around her like a snake and squeezes.
It takes everything in me not to turn back, but I refuse to let Darien see the tears in my eyes. How can he be out there practically drooling at another girl already? It’s been two days. Two days. And we’d been dating for two years after being friends our entire lives.
“Ava,” Tuck says behind me as I walk back inside. When I’d asked him how Darien was doing, he convinced me to go ask him myself. As I walked out to talk, I saw him talking with the new girl. It might not have been a big deal if I didn’t recognize the look on his face—big, playful eyes and a half grin. The look he used to give me.
I bring my finger to my face and wipe the tears away in an attempt to disguise my pain.
Tuck walks around me and pulls me into a hug.
I lean into him and sniffle. Stupid Tuck. Always the nice guy. Here for me even if I don’t deserve it.
Tuck is the reason Darien and I met in the first place. My mom knew Tuck’s, who also knew Darien’s Gran. Five-year-old Tuck complained until his mom let him have a sleepover with both his best friends. Ten years later, Darien and I started dating behind his back. Even though he never said anything to either of us, we both suspected Tuck’s crush on me. It’s what made us so afraid to tell him when we’d crossed that delicate line between best friends and something more. Tuck, the once leader of the Three Musketeers, became a third wheel.
Hiding it from him was my biggest regret.
And yet, despite it all, here he is, comforting me as I cry over his best friend.
A drunk guy with a shirt half-soaked with a spilled drink walks into the kitchen and grabs another bottle from the fridge. When he looks at us, Tuck says, “Leave.”
The guy mumbles something but turns and exits the room, taking the stench of beer with him.
I pull back and inhale a short breath. “I’ll be fine. It just caught me off guard.”
Who even is that girl? She shows up out of nowhere to a football game she didn’t seem to care about and now she’s here at The Brown House party handing Darien a note? Screams creepy to me. But it’s probably just my jealousy talking.
I gulp back the tears threatening to escape. “Is he okay? From the hit?”
Tuck hesitates and opens and closes his mouth as if he was going to say something but decided against it. “Yeah, Mom checked him out and she said to rest and hydrate.”
“Which is why he’s here drinking beer …” I laugh.
“You know D.” Tuck sighs.
My eyes grow heavy as I fight more tears. I thought I knew him. But I never predicted he’d pull away so suddenly. “Did I do something wrong?”
God, I feel like such an idiot. So whiny and desperate. But I can’t wrap my head around it. It makes absolutely no sense.
“Of course not, V. He’s just going through a lot right now.” Tuck reaches his hand out and leans against the island. For some reason, the first day Tuck and I played together as children, he decided that Ava wasn’t what I should be called, and since that day has called me V instead.
“I know how important football is to him. I’ve never expected him to sacrifice it for me.” I try to take a deep breath, but can’t. “Forget it. If I’m so easy to push away, then I never meant as much to him as he did to me.”
Tuck frowns. “V—”
I lean in and give him a quick hug, my frame seeming so small compared to his tall stature. “Seriously … I can’t do this anymore. I won’t ruin my senior year by feeling so dejected and freakin’ miserable.”
I walk to the fridge and grab a beer.
Darien used to open them for me. But those days are over.
I wrap the bottom of my shirt around the twist-top and pop it off. “See, I’m more independent already. Now, I’m going to go have some fun. He’s clearly over me so it’s about time I get over him.”
Tuck starts to say something but stops. “Just be careful.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say before turning and heading into the living room.
Before Darien and I dated, I was more spontaneous. I’d be the one to climb the tree to see how high I could go, only to reach the top and realize I would need to find a way down. Somewhere along the way, Darien’s rule-following rubbed off on me. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so most of the time, I stayed within the lines. But now I’m free to do what I want, which is to think of anything but him. I can be whoever I want again. Someone fun.
I press the beer bottle to my lips and chug. It’s disgusting, but Fun Ava is determined to like beer. I’ve heard it’s an acquired taste. Hopefully sooner than later. The bubbles burn as I swallow, but I ignore the pain.
Claire was supposed to meet me here, but she’s nowhere in sight. I learned a long time ago that if she promises to do something, there’s a fifty-fifty chance it will actually happen. Sometimes I joke that she’s an assassin with a secret life, but really, she’s just kind of flakey. But I’m so used to it by now it doesn’t even faze me.
I lean against an empty spot on the wall, feeling suddenly like a loner. Growing up with three best friends, I’ve always had someone to chat with at parties. But with Claire MIA, Darien off drooling over some new goth chick, and me not wanting to ruin Tuck’s night with the invisible black cloud over my head, I’m alone.
I shudder as I take another drink. God, beer is gross.
Lacey, one of the senior cheerleaders, approaches me with a tray of Jello shots in her hand. Her pixie cut accentuates her large eyes and fuchsia lips. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
“Red are fruit punch and vodka, and green are lime and tequila. I made them myself.” She grins. She’s still dressed in her uniform with a blue and gold bow of ribbon clipped in her hair.
“Can I have one of each?”
“Of course!” Her eyes narrow as if asking such a silly question was ridiculous.
After I take them, she continues on her way, a
nd I’m back to being a creep watching everyone else have a good time.
I eat both, lime first then fruit punch, and walk back to the kitchen to throw the plastic shot glasses in the garbage. Normally, I’d stop and wait before I drank any more just to be safe. But tonight, I want to be so drunk I don’t think about Darien, which means another beer.
After taking another from the fridge, I head back to the living room. Someone has turned on music. With the table moved to the living room and being used for beer pong, the dining room has become a dance floor. One guy tries to do a fancy spin move on the ground and falls.
I giggle.
He plays it off and continues on as nothing happened.
I wish I had that confidence.
The alcohol in my veins makes me feel light. I spin around in place a few times, my head dizzying. When I’m back facing the dance floor, someone is standing in front of me.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all by yourself?” His hazel eyes peer into mine as a smile appears on his face, perfect teeth behind his full lips.
“I …” Words fail me as the weight that had been pressing into my back seems to disappear. “I’m not alone anymore, am I?”
Oh, cringe. Did I really just say that?
He’s cute. Tall and lean, muscly in a way that says he works out but is too cool to be obsessed with it. His outfit gives the same vibe. Dark-wash denim jeans with Converse and an olive-colored Henley shirt that accentuates the green in his eyes.
“No, I guess you aren’t.” He chuckles and moves closer to me then turns to face the dance floor. “So, what has you here watching instead of out there dancing?”
A whiff of his cologne hits me, fresh and woodsy. Instinctively, I step closer to him.
“I guess I was waiting for some gorgeous guy to ask me to dance.” I glance up and meet his gaze again. A chill runs through me. I’ve never seen this guy before in my life. But he’s striking, with beige skin and chestnut hair that’s messy in that perfect way. Somehow, I feel comfortable around him.
He holds out a hand. “You’re in luck.”
I place my hand in his, so much warmer than my own, and let him pull me to the dance floor. As I move to the music, the alcohol hits me even harder. Freeness fills me. Any earlier worries are long gone as I lean closer to mystery guy.