by Belle Malory
Pulling the napkin apart, he pulled out two warm squares covered in sprinkles. One of them he offered to Kennedy. “Pop-Tart?”
They’d been best friends ever since.
“They’re so obvious,” Hunter said under his breath.
His voice drew Kennedy away from the old memories, pulling her back to the present. “What are you talking about?”
He pointed to the wall where a news broadcast was on display. Kennedy couldn’t make out what the anchors were saying, but the headline read: DOE’S SEARCH FOR TWELFTH CONTINUES.
“That’s what these tests are for,” Hunter explained. “They’re trying to play it off as school immunizations, but everyone knows that’s bull.”
Kennedy arched a brow. Immunizations were nothing more than exactly that, immunizations. “Is this another one of your conspiracy theories?”
It was no secret how Hunter felt about DOE. For years he’d theorized that particular branch of the military was doing everything from planning the first war of the worlds, to trying to integrate humans with other life forms. Sometimes Hunter’s theories sounded plausible.
But most of the time he sounded batshit crazy.
“Think about it, Kenn,” he started.
Here we go.
“Most kids get their immunizations in seventh grade, and not again until college. We’re in the middle of our sophomore year.”
Kennedy shrugged. “Apparently they came out with new ones.”
He tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if she were stupid. “Okay, well then what about that weird kid that lives down the street? The one in the blue and white house?”
“His name is Simon Galinski.” She twisted her metal brace, idly circling it around her wrist. “And he’s not weird. He’s autistic.”
“Beside the point.”
“Which would be…?”
“He has to get the immunizations too.”
She still failed to see what he was getting at. “So.”
“He’s homeschooled, Kenn.”
She shook her head, refusing to believe another one of Hunter’s theories. She’d gullibly listened to him one too many times before. Many nights she’d even caught herself standing in front of her bedroom window, staring up at the stars, trying to catch a glimpse of the space station. Olympus was too high up to spot with the naked eye, but Kennedy still found herself staring…staring and wondering whether or not the things Hunter had told her were true.
Perhaps there were things going on up there the rest of the world could only imagine. Things that sounded crazy. But what if they were true?
Nope. Not going there again.
“They’ve been searching for years, Hunter. If the twelfth was alive, they would’ve found him by now.”
“You mean her.”
“Huh?”
“Most likely the twelfth is a her. It would make an even male to female ratio. Six males. Six females.”
“Ah ha,” Kennedy said, catching a kink in his theory. “So if they’re looking for a girl, then why are you here? Why would they waste money testing the boys?”
Hunter smiled subtly, as if he’d already worked every possible detail out in his head. “DOE wants to stay inconspicuous.”
Oh boy. “Honestly, Hunter, you’re impossible.”
A tall kid sitting in front of them turned around. “It’s true,” he whispered over the back of his chair, apparently having eavesdropped on their conversation. “My dad told me the same thing. The immunizations are DOE’s cover. But it’s really just a ploy to find the twelfth.”
Hunter looked happy to have found someone to support his wild claims. “See, told you so.” He held up his hand to the kid in front of them. “Props, bro.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes as she watched them bump fists. She still wasn’t so sure she believed DOE was looking for the twelfth, but maybe it wasn’t as farfetched as she first thought.
Heavily emphasizing that maybe.
A moment later, Hunter’s name was blasted over the intercom. He was up next to see the physician.
“Time to be their monkey.” He stood up and stretched his long arms behind his head. “I’ll wait for you,” he said to Kennedy.
She nodded, wishing he didn’t have to go. Hunter had managed to take her mind off of the whole “about to be stabbed with pointy needles” thing.
Crap. Back to that again.
~ ~
One more shot to go.
Kennedy took a deep breath, trying to keep in mind that it was almost over. The physician hovered the last one over her arm. Slowly lowering it. And lowering it. Until…
Ouch.
Kennedy winced, squeezing her eyes shut as the needle worked it’s way into her flesh. Cold serum pumped into her arm, sending chills down her spine.
“Okay, sweetie,” said the nurse in a sugary voice. “All done.”
Kennedy opened her eyes and saw the needle was no longer embedded in her skin. The nurse smiled at her and disposed of the syringe in a metal wastebasket. Weakly, Kennedy returned her smile.
“You can leave now.”
Best. News. Ever.
It was over. No more stupid shots to worry about. No more vaccinations, not until college anyway. Thank God.
Shakily, Kennedy stood up, remembering that Hunter was waiting for her in the hallway. She walked towards the door, heading his way, but stopped short. Rooms weren’t supposed to spin like this one was.
She looked down at her feet. They were…swaying?
Weird.
It felt like they weren’t connected to the rest of her body. Kennedy ignored the strange feeling and rounded the corner into the hallway.
“Kenn, are you okay?” asked Hunter. His voice sounded miles away, but he was standing right there. Looking extremely freaked out. Wait, why was he freaked out?
“Whoa,” Hunter said, jumping in front of her. He shouted for the nurse.
Confused, Kennedy looked up, realizing she’d fallen into Hunter’s arms. How had that happened?
Within seconds, the nurse was also there at Kennedy’s side. “Pale as a ghost,” Hunter said, his voice edged with alarm. His arms trembled around her.
Did he just say I’m as pale as a ghost? Okay, officially time to panic.
“Let’s bring her back inside.” The nurse held the door open for them.
Gently, Hunter guided Kennedy towards the nearest chair and lowered her into it. The nurse held some sort of flashlight with the tiniest beam of white light in front of her eyes, inspecting each iris.
“She’s fine.” The flashlight clicked off. “A bit woozy, but fine. Probably a result of the blood sample we took. Some people don’t have the stomach for it.”
Hunter looked back at Kennedy. “You okay, Kenn?” He needed some kind of reassurance.
She managed a slow nod. Now that she thought about it, some of the disconnect she had been feeling before had faded away. “I-I think I’m better now.”
The nurse dampened a paper towel in the office’s sink and handed it to her. “Put this on your forehead, sweetie. In a few minutes you’ll feel as good as new.”
The nurse’s words held true. After a few minutes had passed, Kennedy felt better, as if nothing had happened.
Except now she was really, really embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she let herself get so worked up, worse than a two-year-old. Lollipops and princess Band-Aids were out of the question—she hadn’t even shown that much grit.
Hunter sat across from Kennedy, lounging on the patient’s table. Something glinted in his eyes that looked suspiciously like humor.
Wonderful.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” Kennedy warned him.
Careening his expression into a serious one, Hunter said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I mean it.” She stood, pointing her finger at him. “Months from now, and I do mean months, you’re allowed to laugh and make fun of me till your heart’s content. But not today. Not right now. Do you understand me, Hunter
Thompson?”
Hunter nodded, a sharp, severe nod. “No jokes,” he promised.
Two
Out in the parking lot, Jake Thompson, Hunter's dad, pulled up beside them in a rusty, old pickup truck. “Hey, kids,” he said. “What took so long?”
Hunter shuffled his feet against the cement. “Sorry about the wait, Dad. Kenn had a little trouble…finding the door.”
Kennedy caught traces of a smile forming at his lips. What a little traitor. “Hun-ter,” she growled. One more word, and she swore she would sock him upside his stupid, grinning head.
Hunter wouldn’t look her in the eye. Tilting his head skywards, he avoided her gaze while his body shook with laughter that he was not doing such a great job of containing.
Kennedy rolled her eyes and turned back to Jake. “Mind if I catch a ride with you guys?”
Ashley had called to let her know she was running late—shocking news there—something about Reagan’s graduation pictures taking a long time.
Kennedy felt bad for asking; she bummed rides off of Jake all the time. Then again, he never seemed to mind.
“Sure. Hop in,” he said. “Oh, and uh, mind the mess.”
Kennedy pushed an old toolbox aside and settled into the truck’s cluttered backseat. It smelled like musty wood and old leather inside, but the scents didn’t bother her. They were familiar, homey even.
Ginger, as Jake called the truck’s voice, greeted them and prompted Jake for an address. Ginger’s system was even older than Barney’s; Jake had to shout the word “home” loudly into the receiver on the dash. It took three tries before Ginger understood him and set into motion.
Unlike her mom, Jake could afford a newer vehicle if he wanted one. But he loved his old truck. He even loved it when Ginger’s system went haywire and he had to operate it manually. “This is how kids used to drive back in my granddad’s day,” he’d boasted once before. “Everyone should learn how to drive without relying on a system. It’s fun.”
Car crashes were one of the leading causes of death back in those days. And Jake said it was fun? Absolute craziness. She was content with staring out the window and enjoying the view, thank you very much.
Kennedy did just that, leaning her head against Ginger’s window, relaxed now that the day’s big events were over. The truck passed through the historic district, and she watched people stroll along the sidewalks, coming in and out of the boutiques, art galleries, and outdoor pubs that lined the street. No one seemed rushed or hurried. Everyone took their time, pleasantly enjoying the outdoors. Kennedy liked that about Amelia Island. There was a breezy, mellow atmosphere here that contrasted against the backdrop of her on-the-go family.
Jake cleared his throat. “So how’s your mom doing these days, Kennedy?”
“She’s good.” Kennedy pulled her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Running around like a chicken with its head cut off most days, but otherwise, good.”
“Still working the three jobs, huh?” He hated seeing single mothers struggle, and could relate, especially since he was a single dad.
“Actually, she’s only working two now. Just the hospital and the retirement community. The mall job was seasonal.”
“Oh, well, that’s probably a little easier, right?”
Kennedy shrugged. “She misses the paycheck, but she’s happy to have Sundays off. Missing church makes her feel guilty.”
“Good, good.” Jake scratched his lightly bearded chin. “And ah, you let Ashley know if she ever needs anything done around the house—yard work, a leaky faucet or anything—I’d be happy to help.”
Oh boy. Sounded like someone had a crush.
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll pass that on to her.”
He smiled, his rugged face softening. In that moment, he looked like an older version of Hunter, which made the thought of him crushing on her mom all the worse. Way too weird for her to think about.
Hunter wouldn’t let Kennedy get away without a final taunt when they pulled into the driveway. “Don’t forget to eat something with sugar and to get plenty of rest,” he said in a high-pitched squawk.
Hilarious. “Thanks, Hunt.”
“Just trying to help.”
“I’ll bet. See you later, loser.” Kennedy started to walk towards her house, thinking Hunter might never let her live such a wuss-out moment down. So long as they were friends, he would torment her with it. She stopped short. The whole deathly fear of needles reminded her of something else. Something worse.
She turned back around. “Hunter,” she called over the hedges.
“Yeah?”
“Reagan’s birthday is on Sunday. My mom wants us to celebrate together, Reagan’s choice.” She paused to roll her eyes. “Guess what she wants to do?” There was no helping the unmistakable twinge of bitterness.
He winced, looking as if he felt sorry for her. “She wants to take Lady Liberty out, doesn’t she?”
Kennedy nodded, exhaling a shaky breath at the thought of it.
Lady Liberty was their dad’s old boat. Reagan knew how much that boat still haunted Kennedy, but her sister didn’t seem to care. Out of all the things she could have chosen, that was what she wanted to do on her birthday.
What made it even more frustrating was that Ashley was big on birthdays. The Mitchell kids didn’t always get the latest gadgets or designer clothes, but when one of their birthdays came around, Ashley pulled out all the stops. The moon and stars were at Reagan’s disposal. But no, they weren’t enough.
“Your mom isn’t making you, you know…” Hunter stopped before asking the whole question, as if he felt her fear of it, too.
She half-smiled. Maybe he wasn’t such a horrible friend after all, tactless jokes aside. “No, she’s not making me go too. I’ll probably wait on the beach until they come back. Then we’re supposed to grill out and play games.”
“Is this my invite?” His arms waved back in forth in the air as he did a crazy little dance that made her laugh.
“Don’t get too excited. It could be pretty lame.” She cupped a hand around her mouth and dramatically whispered, “Reagan’s friends are going to be there.”
Hunter laughed. It was a warm, friendly sound. Kennedy had always loved hearing it.
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
Kennedy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You’re the best.”
“There better be hot dogs though. I can’t deal with Reagan’s friends without hot dogs.”
“You better believe there will be hot dogs,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’ll even get my mom to bake those brownies you like. The ones with the chocolate chips.”
“Double score. I’m coming for sure.”
She smiled, walking towards her house. “See you later, Hunt.”
“See ya, Kenn.”
Kennedy paused in the doorway to catch a glimpse of Hunter disappearing inside his house. Not such a horrible friend at all, she thought. Days like today reminded her that not so very long ago, she had thought moving into this house had been the worst thing that could have ever happened to her. It felt nice to be proven wrong.
Three
Kennedy ate breakfast at the kitchen table, half-heartedly watching the news on the morning of Reagan’s birthday. The search for the twelfth preoccupied the headlines as usual. Seemed no one could escape keeper news these days. She didn’t bother flipping to cartoons. The channel had nothing to do with her inability to focus.
Out in the living room, Reagan’s chatty friend Hannah gossiped about school and boys while braiding Reagan’s hair. They were both excited about taking Lady Liberty out to sea.
As for Kennedy…not so much.
Knots of frustration churned in her stomach. It felt so wrong. Why didn’t anyone else seem to feel it too?
She stopped crunching her cheerios and pushed the bowl aside. Reagan’s voice chirped from the living room, sounding lighthearted…carefree. Every tiny inflection
grated on Kennedy’s nerves; every innocent giggle clawed at her insides. She felt the urge to stampede over there, grab her sister by the collar, and demand to know why she was acting like such an insensitive brat.
She did no such stampeding though. Outbursts weren’t really her thing, for one. And for another, it wouldn’t have done any good. For all of Reagan’s book smarts, she could be as dense as a cow, and stubborn besides. There was nothing anyone could do to change Reagan’s mind once she’d made it up.
Kennedy frowned into her orange juice. The wave of self-pity was cut short when a dozen or so flying cheerios ricocheted off of her face and arms. She’d closed her eyes just in time.
Her baby brother tittered and banged the top of his high chair with his small fists. Distraction, thy name was Lincoln Mitchell.
“Thanks, little man,” she said, picking cheerios out of her hair and smiling. “I needed that.”
The metal hinges on the front door creaked as it swung open. “I’m home!” Ashley shouted. Grocery bags filled one of her hands, and a clear bag full of what looked like water was in the other. Was that a…fish?
“And I brought a goldfish!”
Reagan and Hannah, both wearing matching French braids, pranced into the kitchen, giggling like they weren’t about to board the very boat that killed Kennedy’s father.
“One of my patients, Mrs. Calvert, sent it for you,” Ashley said, handing Reagan the bag.
Reagan held it up, watching its passenger swim to and fro. “She sent me a goldfish?”
Ashley set the groceries down. “Mrs. Calvert has Alzheimer’s. I told you about her, remember? Anyway, she thought you were turning eight, not eighteen. Isn’t that funny?”
“Um…yeah, if you say so, Mom.”
Ashley pulled out a glass bowl from the cabinet. “Anyway, I figured my little Linky-poo would appreciate the gift even if you didn’t. Here, put him into this, Rea.”
Reagan held the bag at arm’s length as she poured it into the bowl. Any kind of pet that didn’t have fur grossed her out. She shoved it onto Lincoln’s high chair. He oohed and aahed adorably, mesmerized by his new pet. “Look, mommy. Fishy!”
