by Angel Lawson
We pass through the ticket booth, no one really taking much notice to the fact of who I’m with. One of the teachers does a double take at Finn, then smiles at him sympathetically. I reach for him, hook my arm with his and lead them all into the lobby. There’s a table set up for snacks and drinks. Across the room is a photobooth set up.
“We can hit that later,” I say, continuing on to the gym while I still have the nerves to make an entrance.
I brace myself at the double doors, already hearing the whispers of people near us. It’s not even that people know we’re dating—all of us, that is—it’s the simple fact that this strange group is all together. Finn the handsome, athletic god; Ezra the delicious bad boy, and Ozzy, smart and mysterious. How did I, Kenley Keene, a nerdy loner, manage this? How and when?
Ezra places his hand on one door and Ozzy the other. Finn stands by my side. This is as much for him as me. The doors open, music spills out, and yeah, a lot of people look.
The gym looks great—no surprise—decoration efforts were led by the SGA and Juliette. Paper streamers twisted with shiny metallic catch the light of the mirrored disco ball hanging from center court.
Finn’s hand slips into mine, warm and steady, and we cross the threshold, outing our friendship, our allegiance, our connection to the whole school.
It’s the most perfect moment in a night that only gets better.
“Please tell me that’s not spiked,” I say to Ezra, eyeing the cup in his hand.
“It’s not—”
I take the cup from him, tip it to my lips and drain the contents. “I was so thirsty.”
“You’ve been dancing a lot.”
He reaches out and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “I probably look like a hot mess.”
“You look gorgeous.”
The way he says it makes me pretty sure he means it.
Ozzy and Finn took off a few minutes before, simply saying they’d be right back. Ezra had been leaning against the flattened bleachers, watching the room with a disinterested eye.
A slow, sappy song comes on and I hold out my hand.
“Dance with me?”
“That’s a bold move, babe.”
He’s right. We’ve made it clear we’re here together, but slow dancing with Ezra Baxter? It’s bold for him and me. I’m ready to take it if he is.
I hold my hand out for a beat more, not sure what he’ll do.
His eyes flick from my face to my hand, a decision happening in that short span of time. He takes it, threading his fingers with mine and leading me to the dancefloor. It’s no surprise that Ezra’s confidence extends to this arena as well. He’s got a constant swagger; from the football field, to the halls at school, even walking in and out of the courthouse knowing his ass is on the line.
It feels disturbingly good to be in his arms; bodies close, swaying to the music.
“Is everyone watching?” I ask, feeling the eyes of my classmates boring into my back.
“Do you care?”
“It’s just weird. No one ever paid much attention to me. You wouldn’t know what that was like.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not as invisible as you seem to think, KK. People notice you. I noticed you. Finn, Oz.” He touches my chin and forces my eyes up. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”
The song ends, and the DJ announces he’s taking a short break. Mr. Russell strides across the stage. Ozzy and Finn appear by my sides, returned from wherever they’ve been.
“It’s time for a few announcements,” the principal says. “We changed things up this year, for uh, obvious reasons. There was no announcement of who won the float contest this year or crowning a homecoming queen, but our school leadership wanted to make sure that tonight was notable all the same. So let me start off with the winners of this year’s float building contest.” He pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Senior class!”
Cheers erupt along with a few expected boos. Juliette and her cheer squad the loudest. I’m excited, though. Everyone worked hard and pulled together. I grab the guys and give each one a hug.
“I have a few more announcements,” Mr. Russell says. “Although we agreed on no homecoming court this year, or queen, it felt strange to leave a gap in the traditions of Thistle Cove. We’re more than one person, we’re a living organism that continues to thrive even when we’ve been injured. The teachers and a few selected alumni got together and created a new list of awards: the Viking Awards."
Mrs. Gimple walks across the stage, followed by another familiar face, Shannon Hughes. The two stand mid-stage, carrying two boxes.
Mrs. Gimple begins, “Tonight isn’t about beauty, or popularity, or how many votes you can get. Tonight is about honoring Thistle Cove students who exhibit the long-standing attributes of our school. Strength, truth, loyalty, courage, perseverance.”
“We have two awards,” Shannon says, face glowing from the stage lights. “One for the Viking and one for our Valkyrie. Both of these students have exemplified the characteristics that the school treasures during challenging times. Both focused on the better of the community, being a figure of strength for the rest of the school, and always determined to reveal the truth, no matter how challenging that may be.”
They take a moment to unpack their boxes, revealing two crowns. One larger than the other, but both the same design; metal woven into the shape of a twisted vine. Horns sprout from the sides of the larger one. Wings from the smaller.
Mrs. Gimple steps up to the microphone. “We’re excited to announce our first Viking and Valkyrie award to Finn Holloway and Kenley Keene.”
Finn receives instant cheers while a few stumble after hearing my name. I don’t blame them. I’m both shocked and confused.
“Told you, KK,” Ezra whispers in my ear. “Never underestimate yourself. No one else is.”
Finn, accustomed to accolades, doesn’t hesitate to grab my hand and lead me up the stairs. The first face I see is Juliette’s. I expect bitterness. I sense respect.
It’s very surreal.
Finn, ever the golden boy, easily accepts his crown from Mrs. Gimple, while I function like I’m having an out of body experience. Shannon stands in front of me and places the metal crown on my head. “You deserve it, Kenley. You’re the rock of this school. You’re the one that carries the warriors to recognition. A truth seeker, the historian, for the living and the dead.”
I look at the boy next to me and he winks, a smile on his lips, then out into the crowd at Ozzy and Ezra, who look equally proud. The weight of the crown rests on my head, down my neck and settles on my shoulders. It’s not an award, but a directive. I plan on finishing what I’ve started.
After the award ceremony, Finn takes my hand and leads me out the back door of the gym.
“Where are we going?”
“Trust me,” he says, pushing through a door at the end of the hall. It’s one of those doorways I’ve never thought much about, assuming it leads to a maintenance room or something. A dark staircase is revealed.
My fingers tighten against his, but I do trust him, and carefully climb the steps in my heels.
“Where does this lead?” I ask, halfway up. I can see light at the top of the stairwell.
“To the balcony over the gym. You know, where the wrestling team practices?”
I’ve never thought much about the wrestling team or where they practice. We reach the top and step out into a small flat room. One side has a half of a wall and railing, the colorful, twinkling lights from below casting up here, giving everything a hazy glow. Someone has also come up and hung a few strands of lights as well as shimmery balls that reflect back. Music echoes up here. Across the room I see Ezra and Ozzy, breathtakingly handsome and watching me closely.
“Although we made our grand entrance,” Finn says, “we thought maybe this would be a better way to celebrate homecoming together. I blew my chance Freshman year, there’s no way I’m doing it again.”
I’m terribly spoiled.
The
music shifts downstairs to something slower—one of my favorite songs. Ezra grins. “I may have bribed the DJ to play an extended version.”
“Of course you did,” I say, but he grabs my hand and pulls me close. Up here we don’t have to keep our distance and our bodies crash together.
He looks down at me with glittering eyes and says, “You’re so fucking sexy, KK. Every other girl out there is showing as much of their body as possible. Not you. You’re in this dress that’s adorable and hot at the same time, like some kind of pin-up fantasy.” His hands tug at my skirt and the crinoline whispers in response. “All I want is to get under this skirt, you know that?”
Yeah, from the hard bulge pressing into my lower belly, I do know it.
I tilt my head and lick my lips and thank god, he doesn’t waste another second before kissing me.
Obviously, we’ve kissed in front of one another before—that’s how all this started. But I’d surprised them that night. We were high and grieving. Up here we’re on a different kind of high—happiness—a moment of reprieve in the storm of our lives. I’m wearing a freaking tiara. It’s strangely powerful.
Ezra doesn’t hold back, his tongue is warm in my mouth, his body hard and pressed against mine. His fingers push into my hips and the need that’s been growing between us intensifies. Give us privacy and a room—a bed, a couch, even a floor--and I’ll be ready. There’s zero doubt he will be, too.
It’s that desire that makes me surprised when he releases me and looks over my head at the others. It’s not so much giving me permission to go to them—as an understanding. Together. It’s more than the two of us. It’s all of us.
Ezra’s fingers slip off my waist, but the warmth is replaced by another’s. Finn’s already there, already wrapping me in his arms, guiding me in a slow, confident dance. The crown still glints on his head.
“I didn’t know you could dance.”
He laughs. “Coach Chandler got it in his head that we needed to work on our coordination and balance. He signed us all up for a dance class last year.” Our fingers are clasped together, and he kisses the back of my hand. “It was kind of a disaster, but I walked away with a few skills.”
“Not surprising.” Yet, at the same time, he always surprises me. I thought I knew this boy so well, but there are shades of him that require looking under the surface. Finn’s greatest ability is his physicality. It’s intimidating but also incredibly sexy. He’s self-assured in his body, his movements. He knows how far he can run, how fast he can go, how hard of a hit he can take. I close my eyes and imagine that control, what he’d feel like over me, above me, in me.
“I wanted to tell you that standing on that stage with you and seeing them place that crown on your head, knowing that everyone else is aware of how amazing you are, ranks as one of the best moments of my life.”
Butterflies flutter in my belly. Finn has the ability to turn me into mush—but I don’t think he knows that.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. I want to make up every moment we lost due to my stupid decisions.”
I touch his cheek. “I forgive you, you know.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Well, I do. Although this may be a challenge for you to reconcile, I know you’re not perfect. None of us are. Everything that happened over the last three years. I really do forgive you and I’m ready to fully put it past us.”
His arms tighten around me and he kisses me on the forehead. Without notice, he sends me off in a spin where Ozzy is waiting patiently for me. He links his arms around my waist, and mine move around his neck. We sway together.
“You guys did this together?” I say, taking in his smug smile.
“It was Finn’s idea to do something special. Ezra’s to get the car. Mine to use the balcony.”
I run my fingers through his hair, amused by the fact he’s not wearing a hat. “It’s perfect.”
“You deserve it.”
“I think after the last few months, we all deserve it.”
There’s a different sort of electricity that ebbs between us now. The knowledge of one another, of how our bodies work together, what it feels like to have him inside me. It brings out a hot desire—one that knows the outcome—the rush of euphoria. Like a drug, I’ll crave him until I have him again.
“Thank you for making the night special.” We’re barely moving. More standing than dancing. He pushes his hand into the back of my hair and bends, kissing me gently. My heart pounds erratically. The kiss stokes more than quells, and a ripple of understanding passes between us—we’ll take this up again later.
The music shifts, Ezra’s playlist used up and a thumping beat starts to vibrate through the gym. I smile over to the other boys. Ezra pushes off the wall and grabs Finn’s crown, placing it on his own head. Finn laughs and reaches for my hand, pulling me to his chest then releasing me, spinning me around. My skirt flares around me.
The party rages beneath us, but up above we celebrate, happy, alone, and together.
27
Kenley
The diner out on Route 128, outside the Thistle Cove city limits, has a big neon letters proclaiming "Pie Shack" in glowing red. It’s Sunday morning—before church gets out—which means the parking lot has spaces and no line.
I stand in front of the pie case, scanning the room. Janice Hill sits in the back, tucked in a booth. She’d sent me a message first thing this morning asking for me to meet her. I was half-asleep, still basking in the fun of the night before, but I could sense the urgency in her message.
I walk over and slide into the seat across from her. I almost jump when I see her. Normally, on screen and in person, Janice is a beautiful, well-kept woman. Hair never out of place. Make-up expertly applied. Today, she looks like hell.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She laughs and takes a sip of very black coffee. “Thanks to you and your tip about Jacqueline Cates, I’ve been up for the last thirty-six hours. Fell down a damn rabbit hole.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t be. I had no idea this case was out there, Kenley. Whoever wanted it hidden did a damn fine job. It never came up in any of my routine searches, and no one ever mentioned it.” She reaches down to the seat next to her. A moment later, she’s lifting up a stack of files and drops them on the table with a thud.
“What are those?”
“Everything I could dig up on Jacqueline’s case.”
“Even though it was hidden?”
“It’s hard to keep information away from journalists if you know what you’re looking for. You gave me enough to pull at a few threads, and it didn’t take long for the whole thing to unravel.” She opens a folder. I got the police reports and a copy of the interviews. The case was dead from the beginning. If anyone knew anything, they weren’t talking. Jacqueline leaves the library, walks home. Vanishes. Found strangled four days later. Her body was clean, clothed. Although there are some signs that she’d been sexually active before her death.
“Assaulted?” My stomach twists uncomfortably.
“That’s inconclusive.” She flips through the papers. “There are a few reports that people had seen her walking that night and a couple of car descriptions.” She looks at me. “One was a blue VW.”
“Like Rose’s?”
“Not like. The same VW Bug has been registered to the same owner in Thistle Cove for thirty years.”
“Brice Waller.” My mind starts to connect the pieces. “He knew Jacqueline. Was friendly with her. I even asked him about her a few days ago, and he got very defensive.”
She nods, but her mouth is turned into a frown. “Brice has an alibi for that night. Iron clad.”
The surge of hope vanishes. “Who? What?”
“He was in a study group with a few other students.”
“Who? The football team? Because they’d cover for him.” Then and now.
“It wasn’t the football team. It was some young politician’s grou
p.” She takes another sip of coffee. “People notoriously get things wrong—like car style and color—when it comes to witnessing crimes.”
I sit back, feeling defeated. “If Brice isn’t involved, then why the big cover-up? Was it someone else? Jason Chandler? Ezra Baxter?”
She shakes her head. “All interviewed. Zero evidence of involvement or of having knowledge of the crime. To be fair, they did primarily focus on Brice back then. He had several interviews. It’s very clear he’s always had political aspirations and something like this—even the hint of a scandal—could be a deal-breaker. His lawyer shut it down quickly, and his family used their power to apply pressure on the police to quietly close the case once it went cold.”
“Kind of like calling a disappearance a suicide with no body and no note.”
She nods. “Pretty much.”
A black and white photo peeks from the edge of the folder. “What’s that?”
“Crime scene photos.”
“Can I see it?”
She grimaces. “You don’t want to look at them, Kenley.”
“I do,” I tell her, reaching for the thick, glossy paper. The image is haunting. Jacqueline looks like she’s asleep. Only the dark marks around her neck and the bruise just below her eye show that something’s wrong. I pull it forward and study the bruise. It’s a strange shape.
“Any idea what made that?”
“The coroner’s report speculates it could have happened during the struggle, or maybe even when she hit the water.”
“It has a shape, right? Like a triangle?”
Janice barely looks up. “Could be anything.”
There’s something else. A faint inverted imprint. Or maybe it’s just typical bruising. I sigh and push the photograph back over. Janice tucks it back in the file.
“I get it. Our brains are trying to create a pattern—some kind of recognizable sense out of something illogical. If we can just connect the pieces, then we can solve the puzzle.” She gives me a smile. “You’re a smart girl, Kenley. You’d make a great journalist or investigator. You’ve got all the right qualities.”
