All The Shadows We Made

Chapter 1 - August - Maggie

August

Maggie

I hate this place.

I hate the cornfields in the distance. I hate this truck stop. I hate working at the only fast food place in town and never being able to get the smell of fake cheese and fry oil out of my hair. I hate standing outside under these ugly golden arches staring at the sole off-ramp into Mayhew, Wisconsin, population 2486, and knowing that everyone whizzing by has somewhere better to be.

I don't have a good reason for sitting on the splintery wooden smoker's bench behind McDonalds. Maggie Ruhe doesn't smoke. I just can't stand to be inside today, pushing little icons while taking orders because apparently, we're all too stupid to read the words "double cheeseburger" and have to tap pictures instead. Today is one of those days where I can't stand to do anything at all.

"Hey, got a light?"

I whip around, getting a mouthful of blond hair for my efforts, see two teenage boys heading my direction, and add 'talking to random boys' to my list of things I can't stand to do today.

Squinting against the sun, I realize I know one of them. I think. I barely recognize him, though. You'd think people would stop growing by the start of senior year, but Jamie Kelley must have gained at least another six inches over the summer. He's definitely the tallest one in our class by now.

"Nah, Maggie doesn't smoke." Jamie answers for me and smirks, but not in a mean way. More like we're both in on a joke. As far as the resident idiots go, Jamie's one of the better ones. He's usually drunk, but he's never called me weird or made fun of me. Unlike pretty much everyone else around here.

The other guy has an unlit cigarette dangling between his fingers and aviators bunched up at the top of his nose. His pale skin is tomato red from the sun. He looks a bit like that raisin with sunglasses you used to see on little kid's snack boxes, and his all-black ensemble isn't helping the image any.

What's-his-name plunks himself down on the bench next to me and holds out his cigarette. "So, do you?"

His voice throws me. It's light and comforting, like the smell of the fresh grass drifting over from across the street, and strangely familiar. My stomach does a weird flippy thing and lands in my throat.

He lifts his sunglasses and my stomach slams down to my feet. Those eyes. Those beautiful, incredible, wonderful eyes. Dark green like moss on a forest rock, flecked with brown and a tiny bit of gold that winks in and out in the center. I've never seen anything like them. I can't look away.

"Do I what?" I ask.

"I said, pardon me, madam, do you have a light?" He affects the crappiest British accent I've ever heard. Pardon me, madam, do you have any Grey Poupon? I can't help it. I laugh.

Laughing seems to settle my stomach back where it belongs, but only for a second. It does a double flip when he smiles and any reply I might have had gets blocked halfway up my throat.

Fun fact about Margaret "Maggie" Ellen Ruhe. I'm not the best at talking to boys. Or anyone, really.

Instead I smile, or try to anyway, and pass him the lighter I've been carrying around since my best friend Kat started smoking last spring, while I sneak a closer look. He's not fat, just bulky, and has thick, almost-black buzz cut hair... I realize I do know him from somewhere, but I'll be damned if I can figure out where. Those eyes seem so familiar, though. I've seen them before. I know I have. And that voice...

What's-his-name lights up and inhales deeply before settling back against the red brick wall.

"Ah, that's better." He turns my way. "I'm Mickey. Maggie, right?"