The Impossible Adventure

by Betsy Flak

  Paige wears a sad smile. “Listen, I am sorry about this.”

  “Sorry? What—”

  A body slams into your side. You crash onto the rocky asphalt. Talons slash your abdomen, tracing your ribs. Daggers of pain stab through your torso, then radiate through your body. Every breath is agony. Tears spring to your eyes.

  Rough hands flip you onto your back. Your skull bounces off the unyielding ground. Stars in the night sky swirl above the townhomes looming over you.

  A man with greasy locks blocks them out. His pitch-black eyes swallow the lamp light. Canines almost an inch long poke through his lips. They shine so white it hurts your eyes.

  Like a boa constrictor, fear winds around your torso and squeezes. It’s the same man from last night.

  He leers at you, then darts to your neck. The movement is nothing but a blur. Twin knives puncture your throat.

  Your life drains away.

  Oops, I forgot to scream.

  You die.

  To continue, click here.

  Spinning on your heel, you sprint away from the figure and back toward the entrance of the alley. All those reports from over the summer—all those missing people—bounce around your mind. You push your legs even harder.

  The silhouette’s footfalls come faster.

  You beat it to the opening. There, you’re faced with a choice. Do you turn right to race to Julia’s house, a few blocks away? Or do you turn left and hope that Sammy and Bryce haven’t closed Corner Coffee early?

  If you turn right and head to Julia’s house, click here.

  If you turn left and head to Corner Coffee, click here.

  You ignore Magda’s order and dash to the bat.

  The man becomes a blur surging at you.

  So does a ball of fire. It whooshes by, only a couple inches away from you. Heat sprays across your face.

  His heels digging into the damp asphalt, the creep skitters to a halt. The fiery lump skids over the ground. An orange blaze spreads to every piece of debris the fireball grazes, forming a barrier of flames between you and your attacker.

  With a growl, the man shifts toward Magda. Her fingertips pulse in and out of a ball of trash. When he steps to the side, Magda mirrors him, maintaining the distance between them.

  Your breath hitches, but you bend down and grasp the naked handle of the bat anyway. The metal is as cold as ice. Blood pulses in your fingers and toes. A frenzied energy flows through your veins.

  Magda’s chin dips. Her gaze darts toward the garbage gathered in her left hand. Tongues of fire obey her unspoken command, licking over the trash, tickling her fingertips.

  The man stops with one foot hovering in the air. His beady eyes latch onto the blaze swirling in Magda’s hand.

  Time slows. An inner voice whispers Now!

  You launch the bat into the air. It whirls end over end toward your attacker’s head.

  He ducks.

  Desperation engulfs you. Your nails bore into your palms. You beg the bat to move with him.

  A gust of wind sweeps down the alleyway. It pushes the bat down and to the side. Straight into the creep’s temple.

  The man drops like a rock.

  Magda whips around. Her eyes shine more red than brown in the firelight. They’re wide with shock. She drops the fireball into the blaze, then rushes to your side. Magda’s hands wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. “Are you okay?”

  Your jaw falls slack. Your tongue trips over your words. You can’t believe what you’ve done. “M-Magda…I…I k-killed him.” You peek around the line of flames, seeking the dead body to prove your guilt.

  Magda embraces you. She whispers into your ear, “No, you didn’t.” Holding you at an arm’s length, Magda forces you to meet her steady gaze. “It won’t stay down for long, though. We should go.”

  Your muddled mind can’t comprehend her words. “It? Won’t stay down?”

  “Yes, but just a sec, okay?” Keeping one eye on you, Magda hurries to the happy blaze. Her fingers flow through the fire from one end to the opposite end. The flames sputter, then fade, a quick death. When she returns to your side, Magda grabs your hand. She drags you back toward the alley’s mouth.

  “But what about my bike?” You twist around.

  Magda’s fingers dig into your palm. “We’ll get it tomorrow, okay?”

  “But how…” Your brain freezes, replaying the incident in the alleyway on a loop.

  With gale-force winds blasting your hair every which way, you and Magda turn onto State Ave. It’s dotted with people fighting to keep their shopping bags, their light sweaters and jackets, their purses—anything the least bit aerodynamic—from blowing away.

  Magda tugs you underneath the awning of the long-closed bookshop. Her crazy curls brush against your temple when she leans in and murmurs, “Listen, you’ve got to stop.”

  “What do you mean?” Your hands clench and unclench at your sides.

  Magda’s eyebrow arches. “The wind.”

  “Yes, I know, it came out of nowhere.”

  “Not out of nowhere.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Magda juts her chin toward you.

  You pair Magda’s implication with the sudden arrival of the wind, timed perfectly to move that bat into your attacker. “Magda, you can’t mean…that’s crazy…”

  The click of familiar heels against the sidewalk interrupts you. You swivel around. Paige strides toward you from the direction of that alleyway. Her birdlike features twist into a scowl. Her hands close into fists.

  You go to her side. “Paige, what’s wrong?”

  Her hand captures yours. Her grip crushes your fingers. “C’mon, we’re leaving.” She glares at Magda.

  Magda glowers back.

  You wheedle your hand out of Paige’s. “No, Paige, Magda was just…” Your voice trails off as the wind buffets you. The more agitated you get, the wilder the wind blows. Is it just a coincidence?

  Tilting her forehead toward that creepy alley over a block away, Paige adopts a flirtatious tone, “Walk me back to my bike?”

  “Oh, um…” Heat curls up and around your neck. Paige will never believe your story.

  Paige reaches for your hand, ready to lead you away like a naughty child.

  Do you allow her to do so, trusting in your years of friendship? Or do you dodge Paige’s hand and choose Magda?

  If you go with Paige, click here.

  If you stay with Magda, click here.

  It hasn’t been that long, so you take a chance and turn left. In a haze, you race back to Corner Coffee, dodging the couples on their romantic strolls and the hurried loners alike. All hurl disgruntled, confused, or concerned looks at you. A few yell at you to slow down.

  You don’t register any of it. All you know is that you have to escape, that you have to make it back to the safe haven of Corner Coffee. When at last you arrive in front of the familiar glass door, you tug on the handle.

  The door doesn’t budge.

  Panic surges within you like a tsunami. You shake the door against its frame, then peek over your shoulder, back toward the alleyway. The Fruitvale citizens walking by give you weird looks, but that terrifying silhouette has disappeared. For now. You start banging on the glass.

  “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” Sammy emerges from the back room, dragging his Corner Coffee T-shirt over his six-pack. His straight brows collapse into a scowl. When he sees you at the door, it deepens, but he unlocks the door and lets you in with a grumble. “You know I have to make things up to Bryce right now.”

  Your hand wraps around his muscled forearm. “I know, but listen. There’s…” Like a slap to the face, it hits you. You’re being stupid. You just ran away from a random figure in an alley like a scared toddler.

  “There’s?” Sammy prods. He crosses his arms and juts one hip out. Impatience—not empathy—oozes from his pores.

  You sigh and run your fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, I guess I just freaked out.”

  “You freake
d out? About what?” Bryce leans against the doorway to the back room. His cheeks are flushed.

  You wave off his light concern. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” Still, the thought of walking back to that alleyway alone, of riding your bike home alone, sends fear pumping through your veins. You steady your voice, then ask, “Would you mind driving me home, though? I’ll pick up my bike later.” In the daylight.

  Bryce sighs, but gathers his keys from a wooden drawer beneath the counter. “Sure, let’s go.” His finger wags at Sammy. “And you’re coming in early tomorrow to clean up before we open.”

  Sammy raises two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” As soon as Bryce turns toward the exit, Sammy tilts toward you and shakes his head with a mischievous smile.

  You smirk, your fear fading away. At least Sammy can make you feel better. As you follow Bryce and Sammy to the car, you text Paige. She doesn’t answer, not during the drive back to your house, not while you get ready for bed. Sitting in your pajamas with your hair still wet from a supposedly soothing shower, you resort to an actual phone call. You call Paige twice, three times. She never answers.

  Giving up on hearing from her tonight, you curl up in your bed, but sleep is hard. No matter how many times you tell yourself you’re being stupid, that creepy silhouette haunts your dreams. When your alarm goes off in the morning, it’s almost a relief. At least you don’t have to try to sleep any longer.

  Your dad drops you off at school with more than a few reprimands about being responsible and not leaving your brand new bike in a random alley overnight. You ignore his lecture. It’s not like you wanted to leave your bike there.

  After waving goodbye to him, you hurry to your usual spot. Just like yesterday, Paige waits for you, perched on the same picnic table, sucking on a new lollipop. One bare leg extends into the weak morning sun.

  You climb onto the table to sit next to her. The stone chills the backs of your thighs, even through your jeans.

  Paige beams at you. Her shoulder bumps against yours. “Sorry I never returned your call last night. I was busy.”

  You lie, “It’s okay.”

  “Was it about anything important?”

  “Nope.” Something about what Paige just said bothers you. Yesterday being the first day of school, you didn’t get any homework. And Julia’s dad is strict about curfews, both for Julia herself and for her friends. “What were you busy with?”

  Paige bops your nose with her lollipop. Her hazel eyes gleam. “I don’t kiss and tell, silly.”

  Confusion wrinkles your forehead. Paige always kisses and tells.

  “Hey, guys.” Julia pops onto the tabletop next to you, her loose waves tied back into a shiny ponytail. “Did I miss anything last night?”

  “Last night?” You didn’t tell anyone about your…episode last night, so what is Julia talking about?

  Julia shoots you a relaxed smile. “Yeah, last night. When you and Paige were hangin’ out in Corner Coffee after my dad kicked her out. Did you forget or somethin’?”

  In the corner of your eye, Paige shakes her head. She uses your body as a shield between her and Julia.

  Now you’re more curious than ever. What was Paige doing last night? Guess I’ll just have to ask her later. “Yeah, no. I mean, nothing of interest happened. Just the usual, you know.”

  “Gotcha.” Julia’s phone buzzes. She checks it, then rolls her eyes. Without a word, she hands her phone to you.

  Out loud, you read the text from Julia’s dad.

  Stay safe, there’s a rumor that someone went missing last night.

  Paige rips the phone out of your hand and hunches over it.

  You laugh. “Whoa, overreact much, Paige?”

  With a wrinkled brow, Paige stares at the screen. Her front teeth worry her glossy lower lip. At last, she gives the phone back to Julia. “No, it’s nothing…just, where exactly does your dad get his information, Julia? I mean, my mom shoulda told me…”

  Julia shrugs. “I dunno.”

  The warning bell rings. All three of you hop off the picnic table. When you approach the stairs of the main class building, Paige peels off. You move to follow her, but she wriggles her phone at you. Apparently, she has to make a call. Before classes. At eight in the morning.

  Something’s off with Paige. You’d like to know what it is.

  If you follow Paige, intending to listen to her phone call, click here.

  If you mind your own business and follow Julia into North Fruitvale High School, click here.

  “You want a refill?” you ask.

  “Sure.” Davey flashes a crooked smile.

  Your nerves pop and fizzle. “Coming right up.” Your fingers brush against Davey’s when you grasp the mug. Heat crawls up your neck. While you refill his coffee, you berate yourself. Davey is nothing to you, just another coffee-addicted NFHS student.

  Your butterflies don’t listen. Their wings tickle your stomach. Ignoring them, you slide the full cup over the counter toward Davey. “That’s a lot of coffee for one evening.”

  Davey shrugs around a sip. “It’s good. Besides, I’m a night owl.”

  You smirk. “Maybe that’s just because you drink so much coffee.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Davey leans one hip against the counter.

  Your hand waves toward the bar attached to the far wall. “You know, those bar chairs fit perfectly under this counter. And it’s probably going to be just the two of us for a while. You know, if you want some company while you continue your caffeine drip.” Your eyebrow arches and your lips sneak a smile, but alarm bells shriek in your mind. Paige would not like this.

  You silence them. What Paige doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

  “Won’t your boss mind?” Davey’s inky brows crouch over his dark eyes with their curled lashes.

  You gesture to the empty counter, then to the empty café. “I don’t see any boss. Do you?”

  Davey grins. A dimple shows in either cheek. “No, I don’t.” He sets his coffee on the counter, then wends his way through the crowded, empty tables of Corner Coffee. He picks up a heavy wooden chair as if it’s a light as a feather and brings it back to you. After easing the chair onto the tile floor without even a muffled tap, Davey climbs onto the padded seat. Around his steaming mug, he studies you.

  Your fingers fidget under Davey’s scrutiny. You search for a topic. “So, you just moved here, right?” Keeping your hands busy, you straighten the items on the shelves beneath the counter.

  “Yup.”

  “And how do you like it?”

  With a shrug, Davey scans the back wall with its chalkboard, hanging mugs, and pounds of coffee beans in labeled paper packages on labeled shelves. “It’s all right. But that’s enough about me. After all, you heard my life story back in Chem. What about you?”

  “Me? Oh, um…I dunno, I’ve lived here my entire life.”

  “And how do you like it?” Davey’s brown eyes—as warm as a friendly puppy’s—shine.

  You tuck a stray lock back into place. “I dunno, I haven’t lived anywhere else. I mean…I guess, it’s okay. But I still wanna get out and see other places, y’ know?”

  Davey nods. “I get that.”

  You’re about to ask Davey where he lived before Fruitvale when the bells attached to the front door jingle. Both your head and Davey’s snap around.

  A smug Sammy strides through it with Bryce behind him. They make a beeline for the counter.

  Bryce’s fingers comb through his messy waves as they pass through the gate. His moss-green eyes skim over Davey, then settle on you. “Busy tonight?” “Not any more than usual.”

  Bryce checks his watch. “There’s only an hour or so till we close. You can go if you want. Sammy and I can handle things from here.”

  With your front teeth gnawing on your lower lip, you glance at Davey. Any other night, you would leap at the chance to skip out early. But not tonight. “Um, sure. Okay.”

  Davey slurps down the rest of his coffee, then slides his empt
y mug over the counter toward Sammy. “I should probably go too.” His chocolate gaze locks with yours.

  Your heart skitters like waves over a pebble-strewn beach. You gulp. Your fingers fumble with the ties of your apron. Refusing to so much as peek in Davey’s direction, you focus on Sammy. “Sammy, you workin’ Wednesday too?”

  “Yupper.” Sammy grins at you, his lips twitching while he holds back laughter at your expense.

  You scowl at him, then grab your backpack from the back room and shove your book inside. Exiting through the gate, you call to Bryce and Sammy over your shoulder, “See you later.” Only with a Herculean effort do you walk—and not run—to the door where Davey lingers.

  The moment you reach him, Davey pushes the door open with one arm. He gestures for you to pass through first. As you do so, a stupid grin plasters itself across your face.

  Once outside of Corner Coffee, Davey asks, “You want me to walk you to your car? It’s getting late.”

  You shake your head.

  Davey’s friendly smile melts away in the light of the street lamp.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! “No, I mean, I didn’t drive. I biked here.”

  His smile returns. “To your bike, then?”

  Even though you don’t need an escort to your bike—no matter how late it is, no matter the recent missing people—you accept his offer, “Sure.”

  You lead Davey along State Ave, wishing that you’d parked your bike farther away so this stroll would last longer. “So, where did you live before Fruitvale?”

  “A little town named Juniper. It’s by Florence, if you know where that is.” Davey’s hand brushes against the small of your back, protecting you from a moony-eyed couple staring only at each other.

  Goosebumps follow his fingers. You spit out, “That’s on the east side of the state, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how did you like it?”

  “Fine.”

  At Davey’s second monosyllabic response, you glance askance. Davey’s bushy brows crouch over a narrowed gaze. His full lips flatten, forming a tight line.