by Betsy Flak
You die.
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“Julia, I’ll be right in.” Mimicking Paige, you wave your phone at her. “I just need to check on something really quick.”
“Oh, um, okay.” Julia frowns at you, but heads in with the rest of the students crowding the entryway.
You turn away and weave through your classmates, battling the current flowing into NFHS. When you reach the corner where Paige disappeared, you flatten yourself against the brick wall like you’re James Bond.
But wait, isn’t this super obvious? Deciding that it is, you cross your legs at the ankle and scroll through your phone as if you’re waiting for someone.
Paige’s voice reaches your ears. “You have to be more careful. I don’t know how much longer I can cover for you… No, my friend’s dad heard of a missing person today… No, my mom didn’t say anything about it to me… I don’t think she suspects anything. I think she’s just trying to shelter me…”
Your jaw drops. Paige can’t…no, she can’t possibly be talking to…and yet…
You slide down the wall. Your limp backpack catches on the rough brick. Your fingers comb through your hair. How can this be?
You sit there, numb in shock.
Seconds, minutes, or hours later, a pair of beaded sandals appears before you. Your eyes travel up bare legs, a floral skirt, and a tight V-neck. Lined gray eyes—matching her shirt—meet you. They’re narrowed.
Paige’s hands dig into her waist. One hip juts out. “Just how long have you been sitting there?”
At her annoyed tone, indignation flows through your veins. You scramble to your feet. Your fingers wrap around Paige’s bicep. “Paige, what’s going on?” More fear than anger makes it into your voice.
She tears her arm away. “Nothing. Let’s just go.” She rushes away from you, back toward the entrance of NFHS.
You catch up to her in a single stride. “Paige, you can tell me. I promise.”
Paige’s lips press into a line of uncertainty, but her gaze remains flinty. “And if I don’t?”
“You know me. I won’t let it go. You’ll have to tell me eventually.”
Paige sighs. “I s’pose so…” Her fingers wheedle around your elbow, then squeeze. “Why don’t we chat tonight at the library?”
Your stomach flips. “Tonight? At the library?” The basement of the library is a prime makeout spot in Fruitvale. It’s second only to Corner Coffee’s back booths, which are obviously off-limits to you. But why does Paige want to talk there?
“Yeah, so you can tell your parents we’re studying. I’ll pick you up around nine. Sound good?”
You speed through your acceptance, “Yeah, sounds good.”
The school day is long and filled with boring classes that fail to keep you mind off your…appointment with Paige. When you get home, you watch mindless TV show after mindless TV show, punctuated only by a family dinner during which you say little and eat less.
Beep-beep! Beep!
“Dad, I’m heading out with Paige. I’ll be back by curfew,” you yell into the kitchen.
“Okay. Don’t forget to pick up your bike,” your dad calls as you hurry out the door.
You stop short on the front porch. You expected Mrs. Torres’s station wagon. Instead, Paige sits in an ancient black Corvette with the top down. You hop into the red leather passenger seat before the impatient Paige can initiate a second round of honking.
Paige tightens the handkerchief protecting her hair from the wind. Her hazel eyes sparkle. “You ready?” Not waiting for your answer, Paige slams down the gas pedal. The tires peel out as she whips around the corner, toward State Ave.
You suck in a breath. Your nails dig into the arm rests. Paige is not a careful driver. “W-where’d you get the car, Paige?”
“From a friend.” Paige flashes a grin. “So…do you wanna get a snack first? You hungry?”
Your stomach rumbles.
“I knew it! Don’t worry, we’ll get you taken care of.” Paige winks at you.
Almost ten blocks away from downtown Fruitvale, Paige pulls down a side street and parks the car. “Sorry ’bout the walk. You know I’m not very good at parallel parking. My friend’ll be pissed if I get even a scratch on his baby.” After caressing the scratched hood, Paige heads toward downtown.
Good luck noticing one more. “Speaking of which, who is this new ‘friend’ of yours, Paige?”
“Oh, he’s wonnnnn-derful. Dark, broody, older, all the classic romance signs. Although, I’m not quite sure he’s my type.” Despite the disclaimer, Paige extols his virtues while you meander down side street after side street, wending your way toward downtown.
By the time the streets become lanes between the backs of quiet townhomes, jealousy fills your empty stomach. You fight to keep it out of your tone. “And how’d you meet him?”
“He found me.”
That’s…weird. “What do you mean, he found you?”
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.
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.
“Of course.” With your most charming smile, you collect Davey’s mug. When your fingers brush against his, your nerves pop and fizzle. Heat crawls up your neck. As you swing toward the drip coffee station—and away from Davey—you glimpse Magda hurrying to the door. You call, “See you in Chem tomorrow, Magda?”
Magda’s hand waves over her shoulder, but she doesn’t turn around or even peek at you. “Sure thing.” Passing through the door, Magda leaves Corner Coffee.
You return to Davey’s empty cup. While you refill it, you remind yourself that Davey is nothing to you, just another coffee-addicted NFHS student.
Your butterflies don’t listen. Their wings tickle your stomach. Smothering 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 and smiles at you. Dimples poke into either cheek.
An idea forms. Biting your lower lip, you summon every speck of courage. “Hey, Sammy, I’m gonna take my dinner break now, okay?
Behind Davey’s back, Sammy winks at you. “Sounds good.”
As you untie your apron, you shift to grab your novel from under the counter, just in case.
Sammy steps between you and it, blocking you from your book. When you glare at him, he wags his index finger.
You frown, but obey Sammy’s unspoken advice. With empty hands, you stroll through the wooden gate barring Corner Coffee’s customers from the work area, then to the refrigerated racks of pre-made sandwiches next to Davey. Although you’ve already spied your favorite, you pretend to look them over. You glance over at Davey. “You want anything? My treat.”
Davey jumps. His coffee sloshes up, kissing the brim of the mug. Not one drop makes it over.
Your hand flutters in the air between you and Davey. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s fine…I was just thinking…” Davey shakes his head. His s
hort hair doesn’t budge an inch. “Anyway, what was that? A sandwich? Um, sure. What do you recommend?”
You pick through them. “Let’s see…the Italian’s pretty good. And this one with avocado and sprouts is good if you’re a vegetarian. I don’t recommend the tuna salad, though.” You scrunch your nose. “Not even the smell of coffee can overpower that tuna.”
“Italian it is, then,” Davey decides with ease.
You hand him a sub, then get a matching one for yourself.
Davey reaches the cash register before you. “Two Italian subs please,” he tells Sammy.
You rush to Davey’s side. One hand wraps around the familiar cash register. “No, no, no, I said it was my treat! Sammy, two subs on my tab.”
“No, I’ve got this.” Davey flashes a crooked smile.
Your heart triples its pace like you’re sprinting the last hundred feet of a 5K. “No, Davey, let me. I get a discount.”
Sammy’s thin lips twitch as he holds back laughter at your expense. The moment Davey looks away, he mouths “so cute.” You grimace.
Davey notices neither. “Okay, fine, you win. This time.”
Davey’s “this time” echoes through your mind while you pay for the subs. Like a field of wildflowers after a storm, hope and excitement bloom within you. You lead him to a table for two by the front window, then settle into the seat opposite Davey. Around the steaming mug, Davey studies you.
Your fingers fidget under his scrutiny. You search for a topic. “So, you just moved here, right?” You unwrap your sub if only to keep your hands busy.
“Yup.”
“And how do you like it?”
With a shrug, Davey scans the far 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 all my 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. So, since you’re the expert, what do I need to know about North Fruitvale?” He bites into his sub with his gaze pinned on you.
You swallow around the lump of nerves clogging your throat. “Well, first, you need to know about Fruitvale as a whole. Then we can get into all the specifics of North Fruitvale.”
“See, I’m learning already!” His mouth cocks into a wry smile.
You return it. Starting with your favorite haunts, you explain everything there is to know about Fruitvale to Davey. He asks all the right questions, prompting you for more and more details. By the time you finish dinner, Davey knows almost as much about Fruitvale as you do.
You peek at the clock hanging over Corner Coffee’s front door. “Well, I should pro’ly get back. Sammy and Bryce’ll want dinner.”
“Yeah, of course.” Davey gathers the trash—both yours and his—and takes it to the bin.
You drag your feet back to the counter and its gate. Behind it, you retie your apron as if it requires all your concentration. What do you say to Davey now? Bye? See you later? Please stay with me?
Sammy hops off his stool and to your rescue. “Now that you’re back, I think Bryce and I are gonna take our dinner break.” His hand lands on your shoulder and squeezes. Sammy smirks at you. “Think you can handle the shop?”
Fighting a frown, you shrug Sammy’s hand off. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Great.” Sammy turns toward the closed door of the break room, already untying his Corner Coffee apron. “Bryce, baby, do you wanna get some dinner? It’s my turn.”
The door cracks open. With a narrowed stare, Bryce scrutinizes Sammy. “Yeah, fine.” Bryce huffs and puffs out the door, then heads for the exit with Sammy on his heels. “You’ve got the shop for the next hour,” Bryce announces.
Your fingers tugging through your hair, you shift to Davey, who waits with his empty mug at the high serving counter. “Um, if you wanna hang out or something, you can get one of those chairs over there.” Your hand waves toward the bar attached to the far wall. “They do fit perfectly under this counter. And it’s probably gonna be just the two of us for a while. I mean, unless you wanna go home. It is getting late.” You can’t resist giving Davey the easy out.
Davey’s fingertips brush against yours. “Hanging out sounds great.”
The butterflies nestled in your stomach riot.
Davey wends his way through the crowded—but empty—tables of Corner Coffee. Lifting a heavy wooden chair as if it’s as light as a feather, Davey calls over his shoulder, “I take it your boss won’t mind?”
You snort. “I doubt he’ll have Corner Coffee on his mind for at least the next hour.
After easing the chair onto the tile floor without even a muffled tap, Davey climbs onto the padded seat across from you. His warm gaze finds yours.
Your heart skitters like waves over a pebble-strewn beach. Remembering your manners—even if it’s only to get yourself back under control—you gesture toward the chalk board displaying the menu behind you. “Something else or another refill?”
With a wide smile, Davey shakes his head. “No, I think two is enough for one evening. After all, I want to get to bed sometime tonight.”
Your blood throbs, but you squelch any thoughts of Davey in bed before your cheeks can redden or your mind muddy. You seize the nearest subject for conversation. “So, where did you live before Fruitvale?”
Davey chuckles. “More like ‘where didn’t I live.’”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” You drag Sammy’s stool over, then perch upon it opposite Davey.
“Well, Magda and I were born in Houston, but I don’t really remember it. We moved to Maine when we were toddlers.”
You spend the next hour or so listening to all the places Davey and his family have lived. Although you try, you can’t pin down why they move around so much. Davey’s only explanation is something about how his parents don’t like to stay in one place. You’re on the second-to-last most recent town—somewhere in North Dakota—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 slides his long-empty mug over the counter toward Sammy. “I should probably go too.” His chocolate gaze locks with yours.
Pleasant shivers sprint up and down your spine. 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 ribs shaking with suppressed laughter.
You scowl back, 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.
“Davey, is everything okay?”
He clears his throat. His hands press against his shorts. “Where’s your bike again?” His voice is rough, like he forced the words out.
You wave toward the library, waiting on the corner half a block away. “Just inside that alley.”
“Why’d you put it there?” Davey’s tone borders on accusatory.
“Because that’s where the bike racks are.” You peer at Davey. His hands clench into fists on either side.
You and Davey pass the remaining steps in silence. When you arrive at the alleyway, Davey cuts in front of you. The overhead lights flicker at the entrance. Farther in, the lights are completely out, including the ones by the bike rack.
Davey’s hand reaches toward his hip. The other arm holds you back behind him while you both stride into the alley.
The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. “Davey, what’s going on?”
“I’m…not…sure…” It’s as if he struggles to speak.
A third of the way into the alleyway, you scan the darkness ahead. Nothing but garbage, dumpsters, and the bike rack hide in the shadows. Fear threatens to strangle you, but you refuse to let it win. Instead, you tease, “What are you, afraid of the dar—”
