by Angel Lawson
“Blech,” Kenley says. “It’s hard to look at him after hearing him creep on Kayla like that.”
I sense her stiffen as they walk closer.
“Ezra,” Coach says, thrusting out his hand. I shake it. “Kenley, I see you’re showing your house colors tonight. I expect some purple and gold tomorrow.”
She gives him a tight smile, her eyes flicking over to Monica, who barely glances our way.
They walk down to the fire pit where my dad, the Wallers, and a few other parents are standing around.
“Ugh, he makes me want to take a shower.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve got twin heads up in my room.”
Her cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink, and she smiles shyly. That’s what kills me about Kenley. I’ve had two incredible sexual encounters with her where she’d been anything but shy, but out here? She looks like she may crawl under the float and hide.
“Ez,” Finn calls, drawing my eyes away from KK and up to the trailer. “You have any duct tape? I think we used all of the rolls from the store.”
“Yeah, let me go check.” I turn to Kenley. “Want to come with me?”
“And get away from the wind, the creepy football coach, and the terrible music the dance team keeps playing? Yes, please.”
We go through the garage, into the back door. Once inside, I grab her fingertips and squeeze, just wanting to touch her. There’s a floor to ceiling cabinet where we keep a few tools and cleaners. I open it up and start looking for the duct tape.
“Shit,” I say, “maybe it’s in the laundry room. I know we had some, I used it the other day. Maria always puts things where I can’t find them.”
“Oh, boo-hoo, your housekeeper cleans up after you. Poor thing.”
I grab her hip. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”
“Rotten, actually. Entitled, too.”
I bend down and kiss her mouth, sliding my tongue between her lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Hey,” she says, grabbing my arm. “Maybe once all this is over, we can go take a ride on your bike?”
Fly through the hills with Kenley holding onto me while a powerful machine vibrates between her legs? Fuck yes.
“Why wait until it’s over?”
She shakes her head—loyal to the cause out in the yard.
“Because you’re hosting, and I’m really supposed to be taking pictures for the yearbook, not sneaking off to kiss you in the kitchen.”
I couldn’t give a fuck if we stay or not—I just want to spend time with her—but my impulsiveness is the reason I spent the last three years in and out of trouble. Following Kenley’s lead is probably the smarter way to go.
“After, okay? Promise?”
She nods, and I leave her in the kitchen, trying my best to keep my impulses under control. It may not be easy, but I know one thing for certain. She’s worth it.
21
Kenley
I wait in the kitchen for Ezra, feeling a little guilty about being inside while the rest of my classmates hustle to get the float finished. Not guilty enough to go out there though, it’s cold and Ezra’s kitchen is cozy and warm. Plus, if I hang around long enough, maybe I’ll get another kiss.
That boy does something to me, like strips away my inhibitions. I mean, I seriously gave him a hand job in the storage closet at school. Me! Kenley Keene, good girl, responsible, excellent student.
It feels good to put on a different hat.
I lean against the cabinet, next to the Baxter’s sub-zero refrigerator. The whole kitchen is wasted on two bachelors—one who is barely ever home. On the wall I see a board—the kind you see in almost every house. The Viking football schedule hangs on it with a marble-shaped magnet, along with a sheet with orderly phone numbers and passwords. A small cubby is affixed to the board, filled with business cards. My nosey nature takes over, and I pick up the cards, starting to look through them when the back door opens.
Busted, I rush to put them back in the slot, but fumble, tucking them in my back pocket instead.
“Oh, Kenley,” Mr. Baxter says, strolling into the room holding two red party cups. “Do you need help with something?”
“I’m just waiting on Ezra. He was looking for duct tape.”
He nods and walks to the refrigerator, opening the door and pulling out a bottle of wine. I shift over, feeling obtrusive, but he doesn’t seem bothered by my presence as he fills the cups.
“You know,” he says, corking the wine. “I’ve missed having you around here.”
“Oh really?” I had no idea he noticed. “I’ve enjoyed hanging out with Ezra again. He’s a good guy.”
He chuckles. “Good may be an overstatement, but you’ve always seen the best in people.”
“Not always,” I admit. “I was worried about Ezra for a while. He really seemed like he was struggling.”
“Selling weed to high schoolers isn’t really struggling. It’s called poor life choices.” He takes a sip of wine. “He was acting out in reaction to the divorce and the fact he had to man-up for the first time in his life. He’s a talented athlete. I just hope he didn’t waste too much time fucking around.”
His eyes dart to mine, like he’s waiting to see how I react to his language. I don’t.
“That’s in the past—or so I hope,” he continues. “You should come out on the boat some time, get some sun.”
“That sounds nice. I’ve seen pictures of you guys—with the Wallers and Chandlers. It looks like a really good time.”
He takes a step closer. “Make no mistake, Kenley, my son’s success is important to me. The next two games are the most important in his life—after that, it’s just icing.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to hide the nervous tremble in my voice.
“All high caliber athletes need a…release…before or after a big game. Helps steady the nerves and channel extra energy.” His eyebrow raises. “And if that’s why you’re hanging around, I’ve got no problem. But if you’re looking for something more serious? Long-term? You need to go elsewhere. Ezra needs to be one hundred percent in the game, do you understand?”
“Uh,” I swallow, speechless.
He tilts his head, making the sharp lines of his face even more distinct. “Or are you here for a hook up? Adderall to keep those straight A’s? Weed to soothe the anxiety, like your friend Rose?”
Heat burns at the tip of my ears, and I open my mouth to respond. He cuts me off.
“Either way, dating my son is off-limits.” He raises his cup. “But, I hear Finn Holloway is single, maybe give him a shot.”
Ezra’s footsteps pound down the stairs and he strides into the kitchen, the silver roll of duct tape in his hands. “Found it.”
His dark eyes flick between the two of us. “Everything okay?”
“Sure,” Mr. Baxter says, easy grin appearing. “Just telling Kenley she should come out on the boat with us some time.”
He holds my eye, like a dare, almost begging me to say something. He’s probably drunk and spoiling for another fight with Ezra—something I won’t let happen.
“Come on,” I say, turning toward the door, trying to hide my shaking hands. “Finn’s waiting on that tape.”
I step outside, feeling the cool air slap my heated face. Ezra’s hand fists in my shirt.
“Did he say something to you?”
I look into his dark eyes—worried and strained. I never knew until right now exactly how much of an asshole his father really is. I reach up and touch his cheek, understanding the lost boy standing in front of me a little bit more. “Nope. Let’s get this float finished so you and I can go take a drive.”
He nods, unconvinced, but I lead him back out in the driveway, focusing my energy on completing the float and not the sensation of Mr. Baxter watching me. It’s hard not to look down by the firepit, and not be a little afraid of the smiling, confident faces of the men and women that carry the secrets of Thistle Cove’s past as well as hold the power over our futu
res.
22
Kenley
Friday finally rolls around and the school is at the peak of spirit week. Freshman are the most excited—it’s new and different—their first “real” dance a day away. Seniors are caught in a mix of senioritis and nostalgia. Regardless, it’s hard to not feel the energy with the cheerleaders, dance team, and marching band walking around in either their uniforms or matching T-shirts. The football players are dressed in white button-downs and have matching purple and gold striped ties. Even I made my staff wear their Valhalla shirts today.
I will say, Ezra and Finn look very handsome in their ties.
The class schedule is shortened because of all the activities at the end of the day, and right after lunch I’m in the yearbook office organizing some papers. Alice walks in with a form in her hand. “A check from my dad for his ad.”
“Thanks.” I take it and add it to the file to submit to the bookkeeper. “And tell him we appreciate it. I’ll make sure he gets a prime spot.”
She nods and looks at folder on the desk. “What’s that?”
“That’s a memorial page we’re adding to the yearbook.”
“For Rose?”
I shake my head. “For a girl named Jacqueline Cates. She went missing in 1991 and was found murdered a few days later.”
She blinks. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Nope.”
She picks up the file and opens it, looking at a few photos we found in the archives. “She looks cool. How come we never heard about this? I mean, even thirty years apart, two missing girls from the same small town is kind of a notable event.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” I lean back in my seat. “You know, she worked at Kendrick’s.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, you should ask your dad about her. Maybe he remembers her.”
This is the first civil conversation the two of us has had in weeks. Go figure it’s over a dead girl.
“Are you wearing that blue dress to the dance?”
We’d found dresses over the summer at a thrift store in the city, with plans to wear them to the dance—together.
“I haven’t had time to find something else, so yeah, I think so.”
“Are you going with Ozzy?”
Am I? Honestly, we haven’t discussed it. Ozzy and I go to the games together because the guys are playing. But the dance? Ozzy isn’t my only boyfriend right now. There’s no way to show up with three guys as your date, is there? Would they even want to do that?
This is where things get complicated.
“I’m probably just going to meet up with some people there. You know how it is.”
She nods, and thankfully doesn’t ask me to go with her. I’m not ready for that, either.
The intercom sparks to life, breaking up what was turning into an awkward moment.
Excuse the interruption, but it’s time to head out to the parking lot for the parade. If you’re walking, riding, or participating in any way, please head to your meeting spot right away. If you’re not, find a good spot to watch!
I lock up the office and meet Ozzy in the main room. We wait until Alice gathers her stuff and leaves before heading out ourselves and closing up the room.
“What was that all about?”
“Business, but she saw the memorial file on Jackie. I told her to ask her dad if he remembered anything about her since she worked at the shop.”
The hallways are packed with everyone headed out to the parade. The band walks through carrying their instruments, trapping me and Ozzy by one of the trophy cases. I look up at him and laugh. “We should have left five minutes ago.”
His hand slips around my waist, using the chaos to pull me close. A guy holding a tuba lumbers down the hall, and I turn toward the case to make sure he doesn’t knock my head off. There are dozens of trophy cases around the school, the most prestigious awards up by the main office for everyone, particularly visitors, to see. Every few years they rotate them, pushing the older ones downstairs. The ones down here in the Arts hall are more of a hodge-podge of plaques and ribbons from the past. I press my head against the glass and something catches my eye.
I tap on the case. “Oz, look.”
The side of his head touches mine as he looks down.
“That plaque, do you see it?”
“Holy shit.” His fingers tighten around my waist as he reads the engraving aloud. “Debate Team—Tri-State Competition, 1991. First prize, Thistle Cove High School. Team: Brice Waller and Jacqueline Cates.”
The band finally passes and we’re alone in the hall.
“Brice and Jacqueline knew one another,” I say, feeling pieces of a puzzle snap together.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ozzy says, but there’s an edge to his voice. “We don’t think Rose’s dad did something to her.”
A weird feeling twists in my stomach. “No. I don’t think so?”
“He had a booth at the bonfire that night, remember.”
“Yeah,” I stare down at the plaque, “maybe he didn’t have anything to do with it, but finding this opens the door for us going to him for an interview.”
“I thought we were already interviewing him for the fact he’s running for mayor and was on the state-winning team.”
“We are,” I say, starting to walk down the hall, “but now I have a lot more questions, and for once, I expect some answers.”
The parade starts at the high school, winds down Main Street, and loops back around to the football field. The floats will stay there until the game tonight.
Ozzy doesn’t walk with me in the parade, instead riding on the underside of the trailer to assist with the required “movable” part of the float. Our Viking roasts a tiger on a spit, and a mechanism that Ozzy moves under the base keeps it spinning.
I’m lost in thought as I walk with the other kids on the Valhalla staff, barely aware of the crowds gathered in front of the storefronts. The football team—at the very front--throws out small plastic balls for the little kids watching. Mr. Waller has a car, a black BMW convertible, in the parade, plastered with his campaign signs. Red, white, and blue streamers fly off the back. Rose should be riding in that car wearing a sparkly dress and sash diagonally across her body. Instead, it’s tagged as an alumni vehicle, Mr. Baxter driving, Mr. Waller in the passenger seat and their spouses in the back. Monica has on her homecoming queen crown and sash. Regina, a smaller tiara—princess status.
The vines of the past tighten around my neck.
We couldn’t have a court this year out of honor of Rose, but the alumni? They have no problem taking center stage. I wonder what Juliette thinks about her mom right now.
Back in the parking lot, everyone hangs around and I see Mr. Waller walking around shaking hands. There are a lot of seniors that can vote for the first time—he’s definitely covering his bases.
I decide to take a shot on getting some information while he’s in a good mood.
“Mr. Waller,” I call, walking up behind him. He turns and smiles when he sees me.
“Kenley, how are you?” He spreads his arms, giving me little choice but to accept his hug.
“I’m good,” I say, extricating myself. “I’m doing a few alumni interviews for the yearbook. Do you have a few minutes?”
“For an interview with the editor? Absolutely.”
Mr. Waller has dark hair like Rose and the same piercing blue eyes. She got her mother’s other features—the slim but curvy body—the soft heart-shaped lips, but there’s enough of her dad in her that I find it unnerving.
“Obviously everyone knows you were part of the State-winning team your senior year, but it’s come to my attention you were also involved in another first-place event, debate.”
He smiles, obviously pleased that I found out about his talents. “Ah, yes, that was the year we won the Tri-State tournament. Football held my heart, but debate fueled my mind. It was a great event, and I was proud to represent the
school.”
“You had a partner, didn’t you? Someone else was on the team?” He looks at me blankly, but I see the small tug of a twitch at his eye. “Jacqueline Cates?"
“Right. Jackie. She was an excellent partner. Very spirited—could argue with a brick wall.”
“It must be weird that she suffered a similar fate to Rose.”
He blinks. Twice. Mind spinning behind his eyes. “That was very different.”
“Really?” I say, acting calm while my heart races. “They both vanished in the middle of town, both involved searches in the water. I know Rose’s body was never found, but Jackie—”
He holds up his hand. “Jackie’s death was a tragedy, a terrifying time for everyone in this town. It’s something we’ve put aside. Rose—my daughter was a troubled young woman who made a rash, heartbreaking decision. There are no similarities.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird no one mentioned Jackie’s death when Rose went missing?”
His eyes shift above me, like he’s looking for an escape. His lips form a thin line and his voice lowers. “I’m disappointed in you, Kenley. I know you and Rose had your troubles, and you feel significant guilt over the fact you didn’t listen when she came to you for help, but that’s no reason to come to me with a bunch of cockamamie conspiracy theories. Both of these girls were lost to us in tragedies, but there is nothing that ties them together other than living in the same town, thirty years apart.”
“But there is something that ties them together.” I speak over the lump in my throat.
“Really? Because I remember Jacqueline as an edgy-alternative girl with few friends and a bad attitude. She rebelled against the system, longed to get out of this town, and probably flirted with whatever dark force she encountered that night.” He exhales. “Rose was a ray of sunlight, with dozens of friends, proud teachers, and a sharp eye on the future. Tell me what you think the two of them have in common.”
I hold his eye, the one that looks so similar to my ex-best friend, and speak the truth.
