Four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-eight—that was the number of people that had gathered beneath the stadium lights, awaiting the procession of students who'd somehow managed to make it to their highschool graduation in one piece.
It was nothing short of a miracle in a town like Greenwitch.
"You're going to do fine," Cooper's mom told him for what had to be the seventh or eighth time since leaving the apartment. She anxiously smoothed down the back of his hair.
"Mom," he scolded her, softly swatting her hand away. "Stop that."
"There's nothing to be nervous about."
"I," he emphasized, "am not nervous."
A lie. But really—what did one little lie matter these days?
She tugged at the sleeve of his black gown. "You look so grown up."
"I look like I'm wearing a garbage bag with holes in it."
His mom smiled at him a bit ruefully. She'd pulled out all the stops for this night, donning the little black dress he knew she liked to wear for what she dubbed special life events. She shifted in her heels, scanning the crowd ahead of them uncertainly. "I should go sit..."
"Go," he urged her, pointing to an empty section near the concession stand. "Meet me on the field when I'm done."
But she didn't go. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. He sighed, allowing it. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered, and only then did she release him and totter off to find a seat among the multitudes of other anxious relatives.
Neck burning, he turned and ambled back to the parking lot. The graduates were gathering in the gym before the ceremony—a rather unfortunate turn of events, given all that had happened there. But life in this town marched onward, undeterred.
"Cooper! Wait up."
He did not wait up. Instead, he picked up the pace. But Vincent had always been able to catch him, no matter how fast or how far he ran. Cooper laughed when he finally got close enough to sling an arm over his shoulder. "We made it, man!" Vincent crowed.
Cooper couldn't help but grin. "You thought a couple serial killers were going to stop us?"
They laughed—laughed despite the horrors they'd endured, time and again. Because they were here, sweating in these ridiculous polyester gowns and preparing to turn the page, closing the only chapter of life they'd ever known.
It was terrifying. And it was exhilarating.
"Hell nah." Vincent smirked up at the highschool. A steady stream of students in graduation gowns were crowding the stairs into the gym. "This is it. One more summer. One more summer, and we're free of this town and all the shit people in it." He brightened. "You think your mom would let us throw a going-away party?"
"In this lifetime?" Cooper scoffed at the idea. "Absolutely not."
"Eh. It was worth a shot."
They slowed as they approached the queue that had gathered outside the gym. A warm breeze stirred Cooper's hair, threatening to disrupt his mom's masterpiece. He quickly smoothed back the cowlick that had been plaguing him all day. "Vincent?"
Cooper watched him grin and wave at someone further ahead in line. "Hmm?"
"You plan on seeing your old man before you skip town?"
Vincent's smile fell somewhat. "Oh." He shrugged, straightening the neckline of his gown. Like Cooper, he held the matching cap in his hand, stubbornly refusing to put it on until he absolutely had to. "Maybe. Don't know yet. Haven't heard from him since...y'know, everything. I guess I still need to grab some things from my room..."
Cooper grimaced. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Vincent shrugged. "It is the way it is. Always has been. Always will be."
Maybe that was true. He knew Vincent had always held out some sort of hope for his father—that the old man would sober up and keep a steady job, that the rift that had grown between them might somehow mend after so many miserable years. But the drinking had only gotten worse in recent weeks, and with the drinking came the drunken rages, the unintelligible ravings of a man who'd lost at life and had nothing left to give. Not even for his own son.
Sometimes, all there was left to do was let go.
"If your mom needs me to bounce—" Vincent started, red-faced.
"No," Cooper cut in. They both stepped forward, following the crowd up the concrete steps. "Are you kidding me? You can crash on the couch all summer if you want. You know she loves having you there."
Vincent tried to hide a smile. "Thanks, Coop. I'm glad..."
He faltered, unable to say the words. I'm glad we didn't lose this. Cooper clapped him on the shoulder. "I know."
They brushed aside a curtain of silver streamers and stepped into the gymnasium. A host of familiar faces turned to beam at them, including the twins. Mike was the first to approach, and though the bridge between them had long since mended, Cooper couldn't help the burst of nerves that fluttered in his stomach as they clasped arms.
He knows her secret. He knows the truth.
But Mike had kept his silence, as had his brother. Maybe because they knew it was for the best. Blake wouldn't risk his scholarship, and Mike...well, Mike was Mike. His policy had always been easy to forgive, easier to forget. Neither brother seemed eager to disrupt the tentative peace that had fallen after Stephanie's downfall.
And for now, that had to be enough.
Cooper dusted off his paranoia and grinned, turning to embrace classmates whose names he knew only in passing. No one could be a stranger in a town this small. But today, they were more than strangers, more than childhood friends and tentative allies.
They were a family.
Speaking of family, he mused, eye snagging on a flash of red in the press of black fabric. Calla stood apart from the rest, observing her classmates with an air of surprise. As if she'd never imagined this day might actually come.
Cooper leaned against the wall beside her. "No tearful goodbyes?"
"Maybe later." She folded her arms, faintly amused. "This is really it."
"Did you decide where you're headed after this?"
"Home, probably." He shot her a blistering look. She grinned. "Cornell."
"Holy shit." He raised his brows, impressed. "You're going ivy."
She shrugged. "I like a challenge."
"Cornell," he repeated, staring down at his shoes. "Penn State's only, like, four hours from there."
"It is." When he looked up, she was smiling her Cheshire cat smile at him. "Planning to visit often, are you?"
"Oh, shut up," he grumbled, shoving her shoulder. "One of us has to. And we both know you won't put in the effort."
"I don't have a car."
"That's beside the point."
"Cooper." She shoved him back. "You don't have to come visit me. You'll have Vincent to keep you company. You're going to be fine."
But now the words were out, laying there between them like so much broken glass. Cooper knew he should shrug it off. Chalk his anxiety up to an uncertain future and the electric thrill of change. Instead, he asked the question he'd been avoiding for weeks now. "And who will you have? Are you going to be fine?"
He already knew the answer.
She sighed and bumped her shoulder against his. "Of course I'll be fine."
She'd be more than fine, he realized. Calla knew how to adapt. She knew how to survive. And a fresh start—maybe that was exactly what she needed. He remembered the look on her face that day at the cemetery, her skin alight with the glow of the fire at their feet, black smoke curling in her hair, burning their eyes.
He'd felt it then, as he'd felt it every day since. Something had changed in her. And he didn't think there was any going back. Not now that the flames had died out, leaving nothing but ash in their wake.
So she would be fine, and he would be fine—they would all be fine, nursing their scars and their memories until they were nothing but ash, too.
"It's for the best, Coop," she said quietly.
"What is?"
"You, going to Penn. Me, going to Cornell. All those miles between us." She shrugged again. "It'll be a fresh start. We can go about our lives. Pretend none of it ever happened. Move on."
He stared at her. "What are you talking about? Pretend none of what ever happened?"
She wouldn't meet his eyes. In the silence that followed, he understood.
She wanted him to forget—forget the cat and the oak tree, and the girl in the ballerina costume. Forget the stolen case files and the roadtrips to the city and all the rest.
She wanted him to forget about the psychopath next door.
He tried to clasp her shoulder, panicked, but she shuffled away, out of his grasp. "Where is this coming from?"
She huffed, exasperated. "This doesn't have to be a whole thing. It's simple. You'll have class and homework and football games. And I'll be busy, too. I just don't want you to be surprised if things between us...fall to the wayside."
He stepped in front of her, forcing her to look him in the eye. "We're friends—"
"I ruin everything I touch," she snapped, surprising him. "Everyone I touch. Including you."
His throat ached. "Calla—"
She glared at him. "I'm the problem. You have to see that by now. If you've got any shot at a normal life, you've got to do it without me."
"What if I don't want a normal life?"
The words were out before he could take them back. Calla said nothing. Around them, their classmates had started to organize into alphabetized clusters. An administrator glanced their way, clipboard in hand. No doubt they were about to be scolded for holding up the ceremony.
Cooper opened his mouth to apologize—silly me, of course I want a normal life, now let's go before I psychoanalyze this moment any further—but then Calla snatched his graduation cap out of his hand and shoved it on his head, brushing aside his hair with rough fingers.
"Ow," he complained, swatting at the green tassel dangling in his face.
"Don't be so dramatic," she muttered, sliding her own cap into place. As she did so, he noticed a piece of paper bundled in her left fist.
"What's that?" he asked, desperate to change the subject, to pretend their last conversation never happened and never would happen.
She smiled without humor and tucked the note into the fold of her cap. "Don't worry about it."
# # #
Cooper hated the spotlight. Maybe that was why he'd dreaded this moment for so long—walking across a wooden stage in front of thousands of people, his hand slick with sweat as he accepted a blank diploma cover, all while smiling at a faceless crowd and wanting only to scurry away as quickly as humanly possible.
He heard his name echo across the field: Cooper Daniels. Heart racing, he mounted the stage, praying to whoever or whatever might be listening that he wouldn't make a fool of himself and fall flat on his face. But then the moment passed. He thought he heard his mom somewhere in the crowd, but he couldn't be sure. It was hard to make out anything beyond the sparkling flash of cameras.
He stepped off the stage. The next name was called. And just like that, it was over. His entire life had amounted to this moment. Stay out of trouble or you'll never graduate, they'd warned him. Make good grades. Work hard. And now here he was, diploma in hand and feeling none the wiser for it.
But it was something. He'd carved out a future for himself. The path that had once felt so impossible, so far out of his reach, was now a shadow on the horizon—one that grew clearer with each passing day. University would open new doors, new possibilities.
A normal life.
The principal said a few words. And then, as one, he and the rest of the graduates stood. A great cheer rose from the attending crowd. Black caps and green tassels soared overhead. Cooper—heart still bursting with adrenaline from his brief walk across the stage—let himself be swept up in the madness of it all, laughing and posing for pictures with his classmates, never lingering in one place for too long.
We made it. The words were a whisper, a shout, a celebration and a lament for those who had been lost and could not say the same. We actually made it. We're getting out of here.
Time blurred. Cooper reunited with his mom on the field and laughed as she held him, sobbing. She wiped at the mascara that had started running down her cheeks and insisted on taking an unreasonable number of selfies. He let her. His smile grew when she somehow managed to rope Vincent into the ordeal, smoothing down his hair every other shot.
The sheriff approached them at one point, mid-selfie, to offer his congratulations. When Cooper shook his hand, he couldn't help but wonder at the bittersweet pride in the sheriff's eyes. Maybe he was imagining what this moment might have felt like in a different life—and the pride he would've felt as he watched his own son walk across that stage.
The sheriff mumbled some excuse and vanished into the swarm of bodies packing the field. Cooper expected to feel a pang of sadness as he watched his classmates bid each other farewell—something to signify that they'd reached the end of the road. But this didn't feel like the end.
It felt more like a new beginning.
"Let's get out of here."
Cooper turned. Calla had somehow found him in the chaos. Rosalind stood behind her, phone at the ready.
"Not before I get a picture of you two," she insisted.
Over his shoulder, he heard his mom gasp in agreement. "Absolutely. Cooper, Calla. Scootch in, you two. And smile!"
Cooper sighed in defeat. "They'll hold us hostage until we do," he warned her.
"I know." Calla slipped an arm around his waist. "Smile for the camera, moron."
He grinned until it hurt. Vincent watched them from the sidelines, expressionless. Cooper had hoped they'd finally moved to a better place after dodging death together, but Vincent and Calla had remained as distant as ever these long weeks, pointedly ignoring each other and making Cooper's life far more difficult than it had any right to be.
At least they weren't trying to kill each other.
Calla surprised them both when she pointed at Vincent. "You. Get in here."
Something very like happiness buzzed in Cooper's veins. "Come on," he urged. Vincent rolled his eyes and skulked forward, gown billowing around his calves.
Cooper ended up sandwiched between the two, just as he had that day on the back of the ambulance. In her heels, Calla was easily two inches taller than he was. He rested his head on her shoulder for the last picture, eliciting a laugh from Vincent and a grin from his mom.
"Time to bounce?" Cooper asked, eyeing his mom. Relief swept him as she pocketed her phone, apparently satisfied.
Vincent shrugged. "Let's do it. One more ride in the old Mustang."
"She's coming to college with us," Cooper reminded him.
Calla scoffed. "No chance that old piece of shit makes it in one piece."
He ignored her and waved down his mom. "We're going for a joyride," he called.
"Be careful," she warned, wagging a menacing finger. "I want you boys home by midnight."
Vincent groaned, but he looked pleased to be included nonetheless.
Cooper planted his hands together, pleading. "One-thirty? Please? It's a special occasion."
She considered them. "Fine. One-thirty it is."
"One-thirty," Rosalind agreed, hurrying over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. Cooper and Vincent gawked, astounded by such a casual display of affection. "Be safe. Make good choices."
Not likely. Cooper pulled his keys from his pocket. "Come on."
Vincent carved a path through the crowd, Calla trailing after him effortlessly despite her heels. The rest of their classmates lingered on the field, refusing to acknowledge the threat of stars lingering on the horizon.
For the first time in weeks, the Mustang's engine roared to life as soon as the key hit the ignition. "That has to be a good omen," Vincent observed from the backseat, looking more at ease than he had—than any of them had—in a good long while.
"Where are we going?" Cooper asked, rolling down the windows. He circled the parking lot, savoring the warm air against his skin. He thought of Pennsylvania then, of blustery winters and heavy down coats. It's only four years, he reasoned, turning onto Main Street. After that, I'll head west. Out to the coast, maybe. Somewhere with warm beaches and endless summer.
Calla turned her face to the open air. "The overlook."
Cooper nodded and started to cruise through town, one arm dangling from the open window. From the backseat, Vincent began to sing off-key to music blasting from Calla's phone—a better alternative than the static on the radio. No one complained about traffic or the whine of the Mustang's engine. Not today.
For once, they had all the time in the world.
The sky had turned a brilliant shade of orange by the time they reached the overlook, grown over with weeds and wildflowers. One by one, they settled down on the curb by the roadside, knees drawn to their chests as they gazed down at the town below.
Vincent stood abruptly and circled back around to the Mustang's trunk. From it, he withdrew a six pack and a fifth of whiskey.
"Whiskey?" Cooper asked, affronted.
"It was all my old man had," Vincent said with a shrug. He plopped back down on the curb, jostling Cooper's shoulder. "Beggars can't be choosers."
"Watch me." Cooper grabbed one of the beers. Calla did the same.
Vincent shrugged and uncapped the whiskey. "More for me."
"Wait." Cooper held his beer aloft. "We should make a toast."
"Right," Calla said, nodding. "Because that worked out so well last time."
"I'm serious." He looked between them, somber. "This might be the last time the three of us are together like this. Vincent's going to be some big-shot quarterback, winning championships left and right—"
"Don't jinx it," he blurted, panicked.
"—and I'm going to be a lawyer or social worker or something. I don't have that part figured out yet. And Calla..." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.
"Calla is going to medical school," she supplied.
"Really?" His brows lifted. "Alright. Vincent the quarterback. Cooper the lawyer. And Calla the doctor. Saving lives, left and right. Which is seriously ironic—"
"This is the world's worst toast," she muttered.
He lowered his beer, exasperated. "Fine. You give it a shot, then."
Vincent leaned forward, brandishing his bottle. "Did someone say shots?"
Calla lifted her beer. Cooper and Vincent did. the same, the latter a bit reluctantly. "Alright. Here's a toast for you. We've cheated death twice. So let's go and do whatever the fuck it is we want to do with our lives, and try to find some goddamn peace for once. Let's be happy." She contemplated their upturned faces, awash with the orange glow of sunset. "Maybe we deserve that."
Cooper didn't question the haunted look in her eyes. There would be time enough for that later. "To happiness, then. And to new mistakes," he added.
They laughed and drank and watched the sun sink beyond the horizon. And at last, Cooper dared to hope.