The swing isn’t moving. Not an inch.
I’m not crazy. I didn’t just dream this. I didn’t sleep walk. I’ve never sleepwalked in my life. I don’t bother trying to be quiet. I want Mom. I charge up the stairs and into her room.
“Whaa? What is it? What’s happening?” Mom sits up with only one eye open.
“I want to sleep with you.” I feel like I’m six instead of sixteen. This is also not a request. I lift the covers and nudge her over with my hip.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes looking at me but not really registering.
“I’m fine, just scoot over.”
2
Annie
I bolt upright in bed and for a split second, I can’t remember where the hell I am. Then it all comes back to me. I slap my hand over my face and flop back onto the covers. I don’t remember falling asleep. I take a moment to revel in my survival, but then the shame starts creeping in. Mom’s going to wonder what that was all about last night. What am I going to tell her?
Pancakes. I smell pancakes. Oh mercy, and is that bacon? Thank God. That late night greasy spoon crap didn’t stick to my ribs.
I plod almost bashfully down the stairs, buying some time, coming up with a story. I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell Mom the truth. Maybe because there’s a chance she won’t believe me. Or maybe because she wants this “new start” so desperately that I don’t want to tell her I already hate this place.
“Morning, Munchkin!”
She stands by the stove flipping a pancake. Her chestnut hair is pulled up in a sloppy bun. Her eyes are sparkling; her skin is smooth. Even in sweat pants my mother is beautiful. She could easily pass for thirty instead of forty. I’ll never understand why Dad left her.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You hungry?”
“Starving.”
She stacks three pancakes on top of each other, slathering butter and syrup between each one. She puts the bacon on the side and plunks the plate down in front of me.
She didn’t have to put syrup on my pancakes, I’m quite old enough to do that myself, thank you. But this is a loving gesture on her part. A way of babying me. It’s one of those things that goes unnoticed until it slaps you in the face.
I throw an arm around her and kiss her on the brow. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby.” Her eyes search my face. “Are you okay?”
I know what she means by “okay.” She wants to know why I crawled into bed with her, because we both know that is totally unlike me.
I pull away from her and start cutting my pancakes. “I’m okay. I just kept hearing a squeaking noise last night and it kept me awake. That’s why I crashed with you.”
“Oh,” she says. Her tone suggests that she doesn’t quite believe me, but doesn’t know what to think, otherwise. “It was probably a mouse—we’ll set some traps.”
We finish breakfast and I help Mom with the dishes. We make a playlist of songs we can both agree on and get down to business. We scrub, we spray, we soak. We pull possessions in the house and it gradually starts feeling like a home.
By noon, I’ve worked up another raging appetite and asked Mom to call in a pizza.
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it!” I scream towards the kitchen. Mom’s cleaning the kitchen floor while I unpack linens. I’m not scrubbing the floor where somebody may or may not have croaked. Mom can have that little red wagon.
I open the door to find a very cute pizza boy on our dilapidated front porch. When I look into his sun-seasoned face, his lips stretch into a smile. He has the most unusual shade of eyes, not quite hazel, not quite green. Instead, they’re an interesting shade of amber. I’m equally stunned and embarrassed that I’m meeting my first hot guy in this town in raggedy sweat pants and a t-shirt.
“New kid on the block, huh?” he asks, offering me the pizza.
“Just arrived late last night. My name’s Annie.”
The boy points to a gold name tag on his shirt. “Copper. The name’s Max Cooper, but my friends call me Copper.”
I bet it’s because of his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Copper. I’d invite you in, but I’m mortified with how my house looks at this current moment.”
Copper laughs, light and friendly. “Honesty. I like that in a neighbor.” He points to the cemetery. “I live with my uncle at the next farm on the other side of the woods.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” I look towards the forest as if I could see the farm through the trees.
“Well, I better go. Geno is a slave driver.” He grins at me expectantly.
“Oh, right! I need to pay you…” I dig several Lincolns out of my pocket. “Here you go.”
He takes the bills in his brown, calloused hands. “Thanks,” he says with a nod. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Small town,” I grin. “Kinda have to.”
“Ah, sarcastic too.” He winks at me as he climbs onto the back of a shiny, black scooter.
I’m swooning. I can’t believe I’m swooning. Stop it!
He hesitates a moment, then calls to me in a low voice. “Listen, there’s going to be a party at the far end of the cemetery tonight, if you’re interested. I can pick you up, but it’s kind of a hush-hush sort of deal. There’s booze involved, so the parents don’t know about it.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool.”
“Is that your window there?” He gestures to the bedroom with the large bay window.
“Yeah, that’s mine.”
“Awesome. I’ll signal you when I’m here.”
“Great!” I smile and hope I don’t look too eager.
He turns the key in the ignition and smiles again, this time revealing a dimple in his left cheek. Halfway down the driveway, he throws up his hand in farewell. I return the wave and watch him until he’s out of sight.
Mom comes up behind me with a playful grin on her face. “Well, wasn’t he scrumptious?”
“Mom!” I gasp, horrified.
She laughs and goes back in the house.
3
Annie
What does one wear to a cemetery party? I spent thirty minutes rummaging in the dark trying to figure that out. Considering this is a secret thing, dark colors are mandatory. There’s a nip to the air this late at night, so I decide to be warm instead of pretty. I throw on a pair of jeans that compliment my assets and tug my Psychedelic Starfish hoodie over my head. It’s black with jagged grey lettering. Despite the colorful sounding name, it’s rather gothic.
I’ve barely tied my hair back when a beam of light swishes rapidly across the window. There’s my signal.
I tiptoe down the stairs and out of the house in the same fashion as I did last night. I give the swing set a hard look as I hurry past. When I round the corner, I see Copper. I also see his friend.
“You brought a horse…” I whisper.
“Yeah, I kinda had to,” he whispers back. “I have a scooter, an old ford jalopy, and a rickety ATV. They all tend to moan a lot louder than they’re supposed to. So yeah, I brought my quietest form of transportation.” He rubs the creature’s neck affectionately. “Her name is Checkers.”
“Hi, Checkers…” I say warily. I was never one of those girls that dreamed of owning a pony. It’s not that I dislike horses. I’ve just never been around them.
The animal pins her ears back and stares at me.
“Don’t be nervous,” Copper coos, and I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or the horse. “Horses are keenly aware of people’s emotions. If you’re nervous, she’ll start to wonder if maybe she should be nervous too.”
Okay, don’t be nervous. Just pretend you’re riding a gigantic dog…
Checkers snorts.
Okay, that doesn’t help.
Copper slides from the horse to help me.
After a few failed attempts and some unladylike grunting, my butt is properly in the saddle. I take the reins and hug the horse tightly with
my legs.
“I’m guessing this is your first time on a horse?”
“Umm, yeah. How could you tell?” I ask sarcastically.
He chuckles softly and swings himself onto the horse. Nothing awkward or self-conscious about Copper. He leans back and admires my hoodie.
“Nice band. Dripping Roses is the best.”
“Really? That’s my favorite song.”
I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I feel him smiling.
He clicks softly and the horse starts walking.
Oh, crap.
I grip the reins until my knuckles turn white.
“You’re doing fine,” he whispers, his breath soft on my neck. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I barely know this boy, but for some reason, I believe him.
The horse plods along a few yards, and there’s a sack in front of me that keeps trying to slide off.
Feeling more confident, I let go of a reign and slip the object from the sack. It’s a mason jar with clear liquid inside.
“What’s this?”
“Moonshine.”
“Ah, can’t say I’ve ever had that.”
I feel him grinning again. “It’ll knock you on your keister. Sneaks up on you like a ninja if you can manage to get it down your throat.”
“Nice.”
The horse navigates her way along the outer edge of the cemetery as if she’s done this many times before. She weaves her way among the stones, giving low branches a wide berth, respectful of the riders on her back.
Halfway through the cemetery, Copper pulls the horse to a stop in front of a tombstone belonging to Henry McAllister.
“I bet you didn’t know that we share a grave,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“Our property lines split this guy right down the middle. Your folks’ own half of Henry, my folks own the other half, although technically he’s your ancestor instead of mine. My family and yours have been neighbors for generations.”
“That’s cool. I’m going to have to explore this place in the daytime.”
“You should.”
Past a small cluster of pines is a gradual slope that leads to a clearing. We approach a small group of kids sitting around a fire. Candles burn atop headstones like mini tiki torches, while classic rock hums softly from someone’s IPod.
Copper ties Checkers to a tree beside a small creek a few feet away from the cemetery. She helps herself to some water as Copper helps me to the ground.
Before we have a chance to approach the group, a very large boy blocks our path. I’d bet money he’s some sort of football player. When school starts, I guess I’ll find out. Even in the firelight, I can see the rosacea on his chubby cheeks. He stares at me a few more seconds than I deem comfortable, then his eyes shift to Copper.
“It’s alright, Eugene. She’s with me.” Copper waves the jar of moonshine in his face.
Eugene narrows his eyes at me, then steps aside.
“Well, that was intense,” I whisper to Copper.
He smirks. “Eugene is the self-appointed bouncer. If you come to the party, you’d best not show up empty handed.”
“Gotta pay the toll, huh?”
“Exactly.”
He leads me by the elbow to the center of the group. “Everyone, this is Annie.”
My eyes gravitate to a busty brunette in a flowy pink dress perched atop a tall, skinny headstone belonging to an Edward Plum. If Plum is looking up from beyond the grave, he’s getting an eyeful. Apparently, she doesn’t share my motto of comfort before beauty. I don’t know how she’s not freezing in that dress.
Following my line of vision, Copper grins. “This is Susan, the minister’s daughter. She’s also the life of the party.”
“Well, you don’t have to phrase it like that,” Susan winks. “But he is telling the truth.”
Next, Copper points to a handsome Italian with icy blue eyes. “That’s Zane. He can bench press three hundred, but don’t you dare show him a spider.”
Zane tilts his devilishly dark head to one side and says, “Really man, that’s your description of me?”
Copper laughs, exposing that delicious dimple.
“Ciao,” Zane croons, and blows me a kiss.
Copper reaches down and slaps the back of a boy bent over the mouthpiece of a purple bong. His hair is long and greasy, hanging limply beneath a beanie. “This here is Milton, otherwise known as Moof.”
“Sup,” Moof coughs and flashes me the peace sign.
A beautiful girl with black, curly hair smiles warmly at us. “This is Bella; her mom makes the meanest cinnamon buns. On. The. Planet. You must try one—no joke. She owns the café downtown and Bella here is a helluva barista.”
“Mom makes me,” Bella laughs and grasps me by the hands. “It’s so good to meet you!”
I like her instantly. Her smile is as honest as sunshine.
“And of course, this is Dawson, our supplier, our instigator, our bubba that repeated the sixth grade…”
“Hey! Only once. My brother had to do it twice.”
He’s joking. At least I think he’s joking. Like Eugene, he’s a brute of a boy, with a shock of unruly red hair. He grabs my hand and kisses it, sizing me up like fresh meat. Copper stiffens beside me. Dawson doesn’t seem to notice. Copper throws an arm around my shoulders and spins me in the direction of the last remaining guests: a raven haired girl sitting amongst the confederate dead, and a boy with his arm around her waist. If I had to describe the couple in one word, it would be “brooding.” She’s completely absorbed in drawing a skull across the toe of her white sneaker, pointedly ignoring us. The flaxen-haired boy staring back at us would be cute if he didn’t have a scowl on his face.
“That’s Aria and Bentley. They’re a pain in the ass, so I’d steer clear of them.”
“If they’re assholes, then why were they invited?”
“Aria is Dawson’s cousin and Bentley is her boyfriend, so they get invited by default,” he shrugs.
“Gotcha.”
A scream breaks out in the cemetery.
We whirl around.
Eugene has a scrawny boy draped over his shoulder. The boy is as rail thin as Eugene is beefy.
“Look, look, I’m sorry! I didn’t have anything else! I’ve stolen so many packs of cigarettes from my mom, that now, she hides them from me.” The boy is pleading and wriggling like a toddler on his daddy’s back for what good it does him.
Eugene tosses the boy from his shoulder, sending him sprawling in the dirt in front of Dawson. “He brought jerky,” Eugene says disgustedly, tossing a sandwich bag at the boy’s feet.
“Jimmy, Jimmy,” Dawson clicks his tongue, “you know if you bring something as pitiful as beef jerky, you have to bring enough for all of us.”
“But it’s not beef jerky, it’s deer jerky, you can’t get that just anywhere!”
I don’t know anything about jerky, but even I can tell he’s grasping at straws.
Dawson snaps his fingers. “In he goes!”
Moof looks away from his pipe long enough to grin. “C’mon man, we all pay our dues.”
“C’mon, fellas! Cut a guy a break!” Jimmy pleads. He doesn’t fight when Eugene hefts him up like a sack of potatoes and throws him back across his shoulder.
I glance at Copper. There’s a mixture of pity and humor on his face.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, wondering if I should be alarmed.
“You’ll see.”
Eugene heads for a mausoleum that’s tucked against the side of a hill. It’s a family crypt that must’ve cost somebody a small fortune back in the day. It’s padlocked from the outside, but there’s a crack in the ceiling. A large enough crack to throw a person in.
“Oh, good grief,” I mutter.
Copper bursts out laughing.
Eugene tosses Jimmy into the hole and an audible thump is heard from inside.
“Damn you, guys!” he screams.
Ev
erybody in the group laughs.
Copper tugs on my elbow. “C’mon, I’ll get you a beer.”
“Sit by me!” Bella taps the ground next to her.
I’m grateful. Eternally grateful. Other than Copper, Bella is the least intimidating of the group.
“So, you’re new?” she asks by way of conversation.
“Yeah, I just moved in to Ruby McCallister’s place last night.”
“Oh, nice! I live at the bottom of the mountain, the blue house right before the turn to your place. You should come down one day and I’ll give you the tour of Vein River.”
“That’d be great, thank you,” I smile.
Copper pops the top on a Bud Light and hands it to me.
I hate beer, but I drink it anyway. What I’d really kill for is a smoke. I think of the Winstons I have hidden at the bottom of the ancient dresser in my bedroom. I haven’t been able to sneak away from Mom long enough to light one up. I glance longingly at Moof.
“Hey, newbie,” he grins. “Want a puff?”
“I’d love one.”
He passes the bong to Bella, who in turn passes it to me. I take a long drag and hold it in my lungs. I find myself relaxing instantly.
“Hey, check it out!” Dawson pulls a box from his backpack. “A Ouija board—let’s do it!”
Susan Miller slides from atop the headstone and eyes the board suspiciously. She crosses her arms over her ample bosom and shakes her head. “I do a lot of crazy things, but this ain’t one of them. My daddy hears I’ve been messing with a Devil’s board; that’s one sin he’ll never forgive.”
Dawson places the board on a flat patch of earth, arranging candles around it in a wide circle. Copper leans over the board to get a better look. Letters and numbers sprawl across the cardboard in gothic script accompanied by the words “yes” and “no”. He frowns at the planchette and leans away from it.
“Not backing out, are you Copper?” Dawson smirks.
“Afraid so. I promised my uncle I’d stay away from all things “supernatural.”
Vein River Page 2
