|17 years later|
The noise of the crowd was deafening. It was the last game of the final season. After this, it was prom, graduation, and adulthood. We all seemed to feel a sense of finality as seniors ran riot, making the most of their last days of high school.
Wilted Milkweed wildflowers curled up against the tiers of the once red bleachers, now covered in dingy orange rust. It had been the hottest summer since 1956, Labor Day weekend, or so the weather report had said. The town that had once won Best Garden State now retreated into the shadows, unable to grow anything more than hay.
Time slowed when the air was this thick. The mercury tipped one hundred degrees. The bleachers usually provided shade, but I was ready to melt as the sun dipped behind them.
"Can you believe it, Regan? This is the last time we'll be doing this," Charlie sighed, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
I thought back on all the Friday night games, late-night study sessions, endless essays, and the countless hours we'd spent together navigating the confusing maze of adolescence. Somehow, we'd come out the other side bruised but not broken.
Though I was excited about the prospect of college and new adventures, it was hard not to mourn the impending loss of our tight-knit community and the sense of belonging that came from spending years in the same classrooms and hallways.
"Come on, let's go cheer for our boys," I said, flashing Charlie a grin to mask my unease. "They need all the support they can get."
"Right behind you," she replied, her voice steady and strong as we made our way down the steps toward the front row of the bleachers.
Knowing each other since elementary school, she'd borne witness to every crush and character-building haircut I'd had along the way. It was an unspoken truth that the friendship we forged when we were seven would last our entire lives.
It seemed as if the entire school had come together for this one last hurrah before we all went our separate ways. "It's so hot. Can we leave?"
"It's our last ever game. You'll miss these days when they're gone. Apparently, they are the best days of our life, or so I've been repeatedly told. You can't leave because it's too hot."
"But I am serious. I could be in hell right now, and it would take me a good week to realize I wasn't still in high school. This heat is killing me on a soul level. And whoever said these are the best days of our lives didn't mean for us to be here today." I gestured around.
"It's hot enough for hell. I'm not sure if I'm crying or melting."
"Come on. We can still turn this around!" Charlie shouted, her eyes glued to the field as the home team struggled to regain footing.
I nodded in agreement, my hands clapping rhythmically to the beat of the drumline. Despite the losing score, the energy in the crowd was palpable, and I fed off its contagious enthusiasm.
Joel broke free from his huddle, pulling off his helmet. Looking like the typical All-American boy, he brushed his sweaty dirty-blond hair away from his hazel eyes and grinned at me like an idiot. Except he wasn't an idiot. Having sat next to him in most of my classes since junior year, I thought he could have straight A's, but for some reason, he never bothered to try.
I smiled halfheartedly and turned back to Charlie. That boy was too quickly encouraged.
"Regan, you should just go out with him again," Charlie teased. "He might be better at flirting than football."
"Very funny," I retorted, rolling my eyes. "Besides, you know I'm not interested.
"Come on, Joel!" Charlie shouted beside me, her eyes never leaving the game. I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, even when our team was barely hanging on.
"Please, let them score," I whispered under my breath, my hands clasped tightly together.
And then, as if to answer my plea, the quarterback threw the ball with all his might. The stadium erupted in cheers and groans as the pigskin sailed through the air, reaching for its intended target.
"Come on," I urged, my heart pounding as I watched the play unfold. "You can do it."
The ball soared through the air, and Joel's eyes locked onto mine briefly. His grin was infectious, and I felt my cheeks flush with color. We'd gone on one date months ago, but there had been no spark between us. Despite this, he still seemed to carry a torch for me, always attempting to impress me during games.
"Nice throw!" I called out, smiling politely. He gave me a quick wink before turning back to the game.
"Time seemed to slow down as the ball found its mark, landing securely in the receiver's outstretched hands. The crowd went wild, their screams and shouts blending into a triumphant roar.
The tension mounted as the game drew closer to its conclusion. Anxiety rose within me; every muscle tensed and ready to explode. And then, it happened – like a miracle, our team scored an equalizer.
"YES!" Charlie and I screamed in unison, our voices barely audible above the rest of the stadium.
"Go, Joel! You did it!" I yelled, waving enthusiastically. In response, he flashed me another dazzling smile and pumped his fist in the air.
"Last chance, Regan!" Charlie joked, nudging me again.
"Come on, drop it," I said, shaking my head but with a smile still tugging at my lips.
"Go and get us some drinks?" Charlie's eyes motioned to the ice cream truck at the top of the parking lot.
"Then we can go?"
She conceded with a nod. "This game is in the bag now anyway."
My eyebrows inched up, hopeful. "Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die, babes," she winked.
Picking up my bag, I strolled past the underside of the bleachers. Seniors swarmed around the ice cream truck as I took my place in the queue. A figure moved under the bleachers. It was probably a boy with his girlfriend cementing their relationship before they went off to college. I searched for the lucky lady, but wherever she was, the boy stood alone. I shuffled, moving up the queue.
I paid for two styrofoam cups of lukewarm soda. The whistle blew, signaling the start of the last quarter, as I returned with the drinks. The defeat was written on the scoreboard now for the visiting team. Earning enough points to win this late in the game was impossible.
The game's final seconds ticked down, and the stadium held its breath. Then, in one glorious moment, our team scored the winning touchdown. It felt like the earth shook as the crowd erupted into loud cheers. The once-orderly rows of spectators dissolved into chaos, bodies colliding in their excitement.
The home crowd roared and surged forward. An elbow knocked the drinks from my hand, and the sticky liquid pooled around my feet. A second jolt jarred harder against me, and I fell to the floor. The space around me became non-existent. Caught in the whirlwind, I stumbled, nearly losing my balance. My now-empty cup slipped from my fingers, disappearing into the frenzy around me. For a moment, I felt disoriented, swallowed by the mass of people celebrating our victory. Coach Davidson's whistle sounded, but it only incited the leagues of seniors in their determination to invade the field.
"Charlie," I called out.
An unfamiliar hand clasped around mine. I clutched onto it, and straight away, it squeezed back. The figure parted a route for me to follow. We broke free into a clearing, and my hand dropped away. Slumping to catch my breath, my eyes flicked up to the stranger. It was the boy from under the bleachers.
Hello, tall, dark, and... oh my god, why is he looking at me like that?
Cocking his head to one side, he regarded me strangely. His eyes took in everything about me but held a reserve that gave me nothing in return. Dried leaves whipped around my feet, and a gust of wind blew the first specs of rain onto my face. My head tilted heavenward towards a graphite sky as larger thuds began to fall.
Charlie whistled. "We've gotta go, Regan," she shouted, but her voice became masked by the first deep crackle of thunder that followed it. Turning from him, I made my way over to her.
"Nice to meet you, Regan," he called behind me.
His voice stopped me in my tracks. With a quick backward glance, his blue gaze and unblinking stare locked on me again. The wet material of his T-shirt clung to his skin, and an endearing smile crept across his face.
Rain ran down the long strands of my hair and flattened them against my face, but I couldn't look away. His eyes were watchful yet familiar.
A flash from the sky illuminated the boy. He bit down on his bottom lip and visibly swallowed hard. I shook my head, dispersing the strange feeling of taking up residency in the pit of my stomach. Turning again to Charlie, we were winners, and all hell was about to break loose.
We climbed into Charlie's car and joined the slow-moving line of cars inching their way out of the parking lot. The ride home was filled with laughter and reminiscing about past games and shared memories.
We pulled into my street. "Thanks for the ride," I said, smiling as I stepped out.
"Anytime, Regan," Charlie replied, eyes scanning the quiet neighborhood. "You sure you'll be okay here alone tonight?"
"Yeah, my mom will be back tomorrow," I assured her. "I'll be fine."
"Alright, see you Monday then," she said, waving as she drove away.
"See ya," I called back, watching her taillights disappear around the corner before turning to face my house.
My house sat off a winding tree-lined coastal road. My mom and I lived in a two-storied cottage-style house enclosed by tall pitch and scrub pines. Suffocating ivy tendrils dangled down from the trees and reminded me more of the Louisiana Bayou than the wetlands of Massachusetts.
The lack of love for our home over the last few years began to show. The near-constant atmospheric dampness peeled at the paint and gave way to the natural gray of the wood underneath. But I loved it here. When the wind was just right, the breaking waves would echo and roll into my house at night through open windows.
I cut across the lawn, guided by the partially hidden stepping stones. The rain from earlier had ceased. It was quieter than usual, and the overhead power lines' low-frequency hum filled the silence. The power station nearby served the entire coastal town and subsequently, in our favor, cheapened the properties in the annexed neighborhoods.
Fireflies danced around the garden. They had arrived precisely one week ago and were now a late-summer night staple. The brightly lit orbs stopped short of the wrap-around porch, congregating like visitors who had not yet been invited inside. With my key in the lock, I turned once and gave it the customary hard shove with my shoulder.
Walking into the kitchen, everything felt the same but different. Unfettered moonlight streamed in, repainting the walls with a lambent glow. The hanging rack of pots and pans swayed over the central breakfast bar as if someone had just left in a hurry. Twisting the ring on my finger, my eyes chased imaginary shadows around the kitchen.
There was a sense that something was about to happen. Perhaps in the next few moments, the phone would ring, or maybe it wouldn't. I dropped my keys next to the fruit bowl. My eyes were fixed on the Post-it note stuck to the fridge door.
Cash on the counter to buy dinner. Mom x
With my mom's frequent night shifts at the hospital, I was on a first-name basis with nearly every pizza delivery guy in town, but I was already past the point of hunger. With one last surveying glance, I reluctantly turned my back on the kitchen and headed for my bedroom.
It still resembled that of a six-year-old in some ways. Plush pink curtains met with wallpaper dotted with tiny lavender flowers. The only clue to a teenager's existence was the piles of clothing and orphaned socks that covered the floor. Kicking the door behind me, I emptied my pockets onto the bedside table. Proceeding to the bathroom, I switched on the lights and squirted toothpaste onto my brush when I heard a sound.
Tap Tap Tap
Dangling the toothbrush out of my mouth, I peeped around the doorway. My eyes went straight to the vent on the wall. A flutter of a wing poked out of the slatted vent. It wormed around until it fell on the floor.
The house was already falling apart, and now I needed to make a mental note to tell Mom it was also infested. Looking for something to block the vent, I crossed the room, bulldozing straight through the pile of clothes.
Without a second thought, I cupped it in my hands and went to walk over to the window, briefly tripping as I did. The insect dropped to the floor and under the sole of my shoe. The crunch that came next caused an involuntary down my spine.
Picking it up, I dropped it into the trash can. I whipped around to the sound of the TV turning on. I must have stepped on the remote!
Flashes of weather forecasters, infomercials, and reality TV blinked past at an alarming rate until it stopped, pausing only on static. The screen's bright haze cast menacing shadows to dance along the corners of my room.
The room plunged into a sudden darkness. Dread rose from the pit of my stomach, pushing past the chill in my veins.
Staring into the shadows, they teasingly bore back. On the count of three, I bolted, grabbed my cell phone, and speed-dialed Charlie. On the third ring, she answered.
"There is something in my house," I whispered. My eyes flitted across every corner of the room and then back again.
She snorted. "Like the time there was a fog outside on your lawn that had faces in it?"
"This is different," I objected with a hard shake of my head.
"Or, like the time the birds were chasing you?"
My eyes hardened. "No, the TV turned on itself, and then the lights went out." My fear of birds was not irrational; it was completely sane. They were spawns of the devil; you could see it in the well of their cold black eyes.
"Babe," she reasoned, "You live by a power station. You're always getting surges and blackouts. Listen, your mom works nights, and your imagination gets away with you every time."
I paused; a car was pulling to a stop outside, and it was too early for Mom to be home. In the darkness, I tiptoed to the window and parted the curtains. A beat-up black Jeep was parked across the street. I knew every car in our neighborhood—this wasn't one of them.
"There's a black Jeep parked across the street... It's staring at me."
"Can we not have a repeat of last week, please?" She implored. "That poor boy, I can only imagine his face when the cop car charged up, sirens blazing."
"He was acting creepy," I said, still shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.
"He was delivering pizza to your house, Regan," she said.
My shoulders finally relaxed, and I twisted the tightness out of my neck. Charlie was right; she always was.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're welcome to come around, as always. Maybe get that dog your mom offered you? Do something that's not this? It happens every time you are alone."
Nodding in agreement, I said goodnight to Charlie. Turning the bedside light on, I was relieved to find it still worked. Maybe there had been a surge or a blip in power after all, but that didn't explain why the hair on the back of my neck still stood on end, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, said to run.