Monday, August 21st, 6:33 AM. Chloe walks down market, the sun
barely up, a pale, washed out light casting shadows over the
empty streets. Everything's quiet.
The town's still asleep, the only sound the occasional rustle
of leaves skittering in the trees.
All the stores are closed, dark like they've been abandoned for
years, Except for Alley Cat, of course, it's warm glow spilling
out onto the sidewalk, the only sign of life this early.
She pushes open the door, the smell of coffee and something
sweet hitting her immediately. The place is empty, just the
barista behind the counter, a guy with tired eyes and a faded
tattoo snaking up her arm. Chloe orders without thinking,
her voice flat, detached. Black coffee and a cheese
Danish. The transaction is fast,
mechanical, and it feels like they're both just going through
the motions, the brief exchange so predictable it's almost
comforting. She steps back outside, the
coffee warm in her hand, and heads towards the corner of
Market and Oak. The J Ellis Gallery looms ahead,
dark and imposing, its doors locked like always at this hour.
The stoop in front of it is empty, just the way she likes
it. Chloe sits down, the cool stones
seeping through her jeans, grounding her in a way she needs
right now. She takes a sip of coffee, the
bitterness sharp against her tongue, and instantly she wants
a cigarette. It's a reflex, the need for
smoke to balance out the coffee, the two things forever LinkedIn
her mind. The lighter clicks, the flame
small and flickering in the morning breeze.
She inhales deeply, the first drag filling her lungs with a
familiar burn, the smoke curling around her like an old friend
she's missed. She exhales slowly, watching the
smoke dissipate into the air, thinking about how many days are
left until graduation. 175 days. It feels like a lifetime, but
she knows it'll go by in a blur, just like everything else.
It's that vague, distant hope. She clings to the idea that once
she's out, things will be better, whatever that means.
A movement catches her eye, and she spots Bobby trudging up from
East Market, his hoodie pulled low over his face, his hands
buried deep in the pockets. He walks like he's already
exhausted, like the day's already beaten him, even though
it's barely begun. Chloe doesn't bother with
pleasantries, just gives him a nod, a small smile that doesn't
quite reach her eyes. Hey.
She says, the word hanging in the air, barely loud enough to
be heard. Bobby looks up, his expression
blank, eyes dull. He just rolls his eyes when she
asks if he's ready, and she knows he's not.
None of them are barely awake. He mutters, pulling his hoodie
tighter around himself as if he could just disappear into it.
The way he looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here
makes Chloe chuckle softly, even though she feels the same.
Summer's over and the reality of it hits them both like a punch
to the gut. Anything sounds better than
being stuck in Washington High for seven hours.
She adds, her voice carrying the same mix of dread and
resignation. They both know what's coming.
The endless monotony of another school year, the same faces, the
same pointless conversations. It's also predictable, so
suffocating, and they're both just counting down the days
until they can get out for good. As they sit there, more kids
start to drift towards the bus stop, moving in small groups,
their conversations just background noise.
Chloe and Bobby don't acknowledge them, don't even
glance their way. These people don't matter,
they're just part of the scenery, extras in a movie
that's already started to bore them.
The bus pulls up eventually, the loud rumble breaking through the
stillness. Bus 74, the black letters stark
against the yellow paint. Washington County Schools, it
reads, a reminder of everything they're trying to avoid thinking
about. Chloe takes one last drag of her
cigarette, feeling the heat as it burns down to the filter, and
then stubs it out on the step, the embers flaring briefly
before they die. She stands up, adjust the strap
of her bag over her shoulder, and gives Bobby a look that says
everything. They're both feeling Ready.
She asks, but they both know the answer.
No one's ever really ready for this.
Bobby sighs, long and heavy, and pulls himself up from the stoop.
They join the small group waiting at the bus stop, the sun
now fully up, casting harsh light over the town.
The bus doors creak open, and with one last look at the quiet
streets, they step on, knowing it's the beginning of another
year, another round of the same old routine.
Tuesday, August 22nd, 4 O 5:00 PM Beethan sat on the wall,
skateboard propped against the stone beneath him, fingers
drumming lightly on the rough surface as he stared blankly at
the street Gage lounge next to him, his own board resting in
the same manner, both of them exuding a cool indifference that
barely masked their restlessness.
The sidewalk was a slow moving blur of people, parents with
strollers, couples walking too close, the occasional old man
who had nothing better to do but glare at kids hanging out.
The noise of the town felt distant, like it was coming
through a bad connection. They exchanged a silence that
wasn't uncomfortable, but it was loaded, like they were both
waiting for something to happen, something to break their
boredom. Beethan glanced over at Gage,
who shrugged, a mutual acknowledgement that they were
both bored as hell. Somewhere in the distance, the
sound of a car backfiring cut through the air, but neither of
them flinched. Across the street, Bobby was
making his way down Market, head down, hands shoved deep in the
pockets of his cargo shorts, trying to gauge who was already
at the wall. Bathan spotted him first,
raising a hand in a lazy wave before calling out Bobby.
His voice carried, slicing through the low hum of the
street. Bobby hesitated just a beat
before nodding and crossing over, his steps slow,
deliberate, like he was trying to convince himself that he
wanted to be there. When Bobby reached them, Bethan
gave him a once over and asked what's up.
In that nonchalant way that made it seem like they hadn't been
existing in separate universes just moments before, it was an
easy way of pretending like nothing had changed, nothing
much. Bobby mumbled, his voice low,
trying to play it cool but not quite pulling it off.
The conversation had never been his thing, but the invitation,
even a half assed one, was something he wasn't going to
pass up. He hopped up on the wall,
mirroring their poses because what else was there to do?
The alternative was going home to stare at the ceiling, and at
least here he wasn't alone. Alone sucked.
The distant rumble of an engine caught Bethan's attention,
pulling his gaze up the street. A white bus rolled to a stop at
the end of West Market, the doors hissing open with that
familiar, almost mechanical sound.
A group of teens stepped off, all of them dressed in the
sharp, rigid lines of Saint Clair's uniforms, the Navy
Blazers, the Plaid skirts, the Insignia on the left breast that
seemed to announce they were better than everyone else.
At the back of the group was Sadie, her steps light, almost
bouncing as she scanned the street.
Beethan felt something stir in him, something visceral as he
took in the sight of her in uniform, the pleated skirt, the
knee high socks, the whole preppy package.
His breath caught, his brain short circuiting for a moment as
she caught sight of him and broke into a run, her face
lighting up with a smile that seemed to punch him in the
chest. Hey guys.
Sadie was all breathless energy as she launched herself into
Beethan's arms, the impact nearly knocking him off balance.
Gage, playing the part to perfection, made a gagging
noise, rolling his eyes in exaggerated disgust.
Bobby, caught between awkwardness and the need to fit
in, let out a nervous giggle before quickly stifling it, as
if the sound might betray something he wasn't ready to
admit. Can't stay dance practice.
Sadie chirped, barely touching down on the ground before she
was waving them off, already halfway back down the street,
leaving a wake of electric energy that lingered in the air.
Bathan watched her go, trying to play it cool, but the faint
ghost of her touch clung to him, making him feel like a live
wire. Bathan's hand slipped down to
his skateboard, the urge to move, to do something, anything,
surging through him. He dropped the board onto the
sidewalk and pushed off, letting the wheels carry him down the
stretch of pavement that called to him like a drug.
But just as he picked up speed, someone, a faceless obstacle,
stepped into his path, forcing him to slam his foot down,
stopping short. Frustration flared up in his
chest and he kicked the tail of the board, sending it spinning
into his hands as he turned and stalked back to the wall,
annoyance written all over his face.
Man, screw this. Gage muttered, pushing himself
off the wall with a bored flick of his wrist.
We should smoke, I've got some weed back at my house.
Beethan rolled his eyes, the thought of walking all the way
to Stony Ford already weighing on him like a lead vest.
I'm not feeling a hike today, he grumbled, already dreading the
idea of trudging through town just for a high.
It was like the universe decided to cut them a break, because
just then Franklin's beat up Taurus came into view, pulling
into an empty spot like it owned the place.
The car looked like it had been to hell and back, dents and
scratches covering every inch, but the sound of the killer's
hot fuss blaring from the speakers gave it this weird
defiant coolness. Like it was saying I'm a
disaster, but I've still got spirit.
Franklin leaned out the window, grinning like he knew a secret
no one else did. Wah SOP.
He yelled, dragging out the word in that way that never failed to
get a reaction. Gage didn't need to be told
twice. He was already heading over to
the car, shooting a grin back at Bethan and Bobby like the day
had just flipped a switch. Come on.
He urged, popping the passenger door open with a satisfying
click. The invitation hung in the air.
Golden. Bethan was halfway to the car
before he turned back to Bobby, who was still perched on the
wall, half expecting to be left behind.
You coming? Bethan's voice was casual, but
there was something in it, an unspoken offer of inclusion that
Bobby had been craving. Bobby blinked, a flicker of
surprise crossing his face. He hesitated only for a second
before nodding and sliding off the wall, his steps quickening
as he closed the gap between them.
The simple gesture being asked not forgotten, lit something in
him, something close to happiness.
They piled into the car, the music turned up just enough to
drown out the rest of the world. As Franklin pulled away from the
curb, hot fuss still blaring through the open windows, Bobby
let himself relax, the gnawing emptiness in his chest easing
just a bit. He was one of the Bros.
Friday, August 25th, 9:52 PM Oscar Coleman lived off River
Rd. in a split level house perched on a hill.
It stood alone, a dark silhouette against the night
sky, its edges sharp against the backdrop of distant stars.
From the back porch you could see the Potomac winding through
the valley below, the water glinting faintly in the
moonlight. Tonight wasn't a back to school
party, not officially, but it was close enough.
It was more of a gathering, a way for everyone to vent the
pent up aggression that had been simmering under the surface all
week. The air was thick with tension,
the kind that needed release, and this was as good an excuse
as any. A few people stood out front
smoking cigarettes, the glowing embers of their smokes the only
real source of light. Outback Dakota sat on the porch
at a glass patio table, chain smoking her way through a pack
of Camel Blues. The table was a graveyard of red
Solo cups, crushed beer cans, and a half empty bottle of vodka
that leaned precariously to one side like it had already given
up. Chloe, Lottie, Seren, Bobby and
Cam were scattered around it, each lost in their own world.
Dakota's voice cut through the haze as she complained about her
history teacher, her words dripping with disdain.
Total creep. She muttered, flicking ash onto
the ground. I swear, he looks at every girl
in class like he's undressing them with his eyes.
Chloe nodded, her face a mask of feigned interest, her mind
clearly elsewhere. Lottie, sipping absently from
her cup, stared out at the river, her gaze distant, like
she was searching for something in the dark water that would
never be there. Bobby and Cam were locked in
their own conversation, their voices low, punctuated by short
bursts of laughter that didn't seem to belong to either of
them. Bobby was pretty sure he was
slowly becoming friends with him, and the thought was a small
comfort, like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as alone as he felt.
A few people leaned against the railing, lost in conversation,
their voices blending into the night.
Inside the house, the kitchen was a blur of activity.
Beethan and Eric were locked in a flip cup battle on the island,
their focus so intense it was like nothing else in the world
mattered. Marina and Joey were their
opponents, the Clash of cups and the Victoria shouts echoing
through the space, mixing with the bass heavy music that
thumped from the living room like a second heartbeat.
But even as Beethan's eyes stayed on the game, his mind was
miles away, circling around the fact that Sadie wasn't there.
She was at some party at Charlotte Mcallister's place,
dragged there by her friends, slumming it with the Saint
Claire's crowd. The thought gnawed at him, made
him feel like he was missing something, like the night would
have been better, perfect even, if she were there with him
instead of wherever she was. But instead, he was stuck here,
with Washington High's finest emphasis on the high.
In the living room, Owen, Bergen, Gage, Franklin, and
Kayla were sprawled across the couches, the air thick with the
pungent scent of weed as two blunts made their way around the
circle. Owen's hand rested casually on
Bergen's leg, a silent claim staked by the Cannibal Corpse
hoodie. She was wearing his hoodie, the
one she never gave back. There was a kind of quiet
understanding between them, something unspoken but obvious
to anyone who bothered to look. Downstairs, the basement was
dimly lit. The makeshift beer pong table, a
door off its hinges precariously balanced on two saw horses, was
sticky with spilled beer, the floor a mess of crushed cans and
crumpled napkins. The only light came from a
string of Christmas lights tacked haphazardly along the
walls, casting a sickly multi colored glow over the scene.
Oscar was there, caught up in the middle of the game, his
focus unsteady, his laughter too loud, too forced.
Someone stumbled out the side door to smoke, the screen
slamming behind him with a sharp crack.
He fumble with his lighter, his hands shaking slightly, his
frustration growing with each failed attempt.
A girl was already out there, leaning against the railing, a
cigarette dangling from her lips and a Smirnoff Ice clutched in
her other hand. She eyed him with mild annoyance
before sighing and offering him her lighter.
Here. She said flatly, holding it out
to him. He snatched it from her, his
movements clumsy, and finally managed to light his cigarette
as he handed the lighter back. He slurred out.
Thanks, sweetie. His breath heavy with the stink
of beer. He stared at her chest for a
moment too long, his eyes glazed over with a drunken lust that
made her skin crawl. Then, without warning, he
reached out and grabbed her, his hands clumsily groping at her
breasts, his cigarette dangling dangerously close to her neck.
Hey, get off me. She yelled, shoving him away,
but he stumbled forward, his grip tightening as he lost his
balance. Before she could shove him
again, a wet, hacking cough from above cut through the moment,
followed by a splash as vomit rained down from the porch
above, soaking the guy in a mess of alcohol and regret.
He recoiled, letting go of her, too shocked and disgusted to do
anything but stumble backward. Retching, the girl took one last
drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke in his direction
before flicking the butt into the bushes.
Serves you right, asshole. She muttered, not even bothering
to look at him before she turned and walked back inside, leaving
him to deal with the mess he'd made of himself.
Back on the porch, Dakota lit another cigarette, the tip
glowing bright in the dark. This place is a fucking zoo, she
said, her voice carrying that same mix of disdain and
amusement, the kind that made it clear she didn't care one way or
the other. Thursday, September 7th, Malai
Aindemupatamundre Bathan's kitchen was filled with the
steady drone of the hand mixer, the beaters whipping together
sugar and cane butter into a smooth, creamy mixture.
He cradled the mixing bowl in the nook of his arm with the
precision of someone who'd done this 1000 times, but maybe never
with this much at stake. The sweet, earthy scent of the
infused butter filled the room, a pungent reminder of the
meticulous care he'd taken last night.
Hours of decarboxylation and slow infusion, each step
executed with a chemist's precision.
The satisfaction of getting it right, of seeing the green
tinted butter blend perfectly with the sugar, was a high in
itself. Across the kitchen, Gage sifted
flour into another bowl, his movement slow, deliberate, as if
the only thing that mattered was the fine white powder cascading
through the sieve like snow. The kitchen was a bubble of
silent collaboration, the clinking of metal on glass, the
steady hum of the mixer the only sounds breaking through the
quiet, a stillness that felt fragile, like it could shatter
at any moment. In the living room, Sadie and
Bobby were doing their best to keep Bethan's little sister,
Abby entertained. The TV blared, an episode of
SpongeBob SquarePants filling the space with a manic energy
that clashed with a calm. In the kitchen, Abby was on the
edge of the couch, her eyes glued to the screen, giggling at
the antics of the animated sponge.
Bobby, meanwhile, was leaned back on his arms, more relaxed
than he had felt in a while. It had been years since he'd
spent any real time with Sadie, but now, sitting on the carpet
in front of the TV, it was like no time had passed at all.
There was something comforting about it, something that made
him feel more at ease here in the kids area than anywhere
else. He didn't mind being there, away
from the pressure of fitting in, the unspoken expectations that
always seem to follow him everywhere else.
But then Abby hopped up from the couch, and the fragile calm that
had settled over the house threatened to break.
Bobby's eyes widened slightly, his body tensing, but before he
could react, Sadie was on her feet, moving quickly to
intercept Abby before she could enter the kitchen.
Where you headed, munchkin? Sadie asked, her voice light,
playful, masking the undercurrent of urgency as she
gently steered Abby away from the danger zone.
I need to pee. Abby replied, her voice
innocent, unaware of the storm she had almost walked into.
Sadie sighed in relief as she watched Abby toddle off to the
bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
She leaned against the door frame, shaking her head at the
unnecessary burst of adrenaline that had just shot through her
system. That was close, too close.
She turned back towards the kitchen just as Beethan was
pouring the thick, dark batter into a square pan, his hands
steady, movements controlled like he was trying to exert some
form of control over the situation.
The smell of the batter, a mix of sugar, butter, and that
unmistakable earthy undertone filled the kitchen, making her
stomach rumble. Something smells good.
Sadie commented, stepping into the kitchen as beef and began
tapping the pan on the counter to level the batter.
The sound was rhythmic, soothing, like a heartbeat.
Beethan flashed her a quick smile, the kind that didn't
quite reach his eyes. There was a mix of excitement
and caution bleeding through his expression, revealing his inner
conflict. This is the only time we'll be
able to get away with this. He said, his tone low and
measured, as if trying to convince himself as much as her.
His mom and Rick were out in Richmond for a conference,
leaving the house to Beethan and Abbey for two days.
And as it happened, Sadie had already spent one of those
nights over. He set the pan down, reached for
the kitchen timer, and twisted the dial with deliberate care.
The timer ticked softly, counting down to what he hoped
would be a perfect batch. But just as the timer clicked
into place, the front door swung open with a sudden force,
slamming against the wall with a loud, echoing thud.
The noise ricocheted through the house, shattering the fragile
calm and jolting everyone out of their respective worlds.
Corey stumbled into the entryway, his face pale, eyes
wide and unfocused, like he'd just seen something he couldn't
Unsee. The atmosphere in the house
shifted instantly, the light heartedness evaporating as
everyone registered the look on Corey's face.
It was like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving
a vacuum of silence and rising tension.
Gage was the first to react. He walked into the entryway, his
brow furrowed in concern. Corey, you all right, man?
He asked, his voice careful, probing, like he wasn't sure he
wanted to know the answer. Corey didn't respond
immediately. He just stood there, his chest
heaving, breath coming in short, shallow gasps as if he were
struggling to get enough air. It was clear that something was
very, very wrong. Sadie moved quickly, her
instincts kicking in as she guided Corey to the Ottoman in
the living room, her hand gentle on his arm, trying to anchor him
to something, anything. Sit down, she said softly, her
voice steady even as her mind raced.
Bobby, who had been watching the scene unfold with growing
confusion, exchanged a worried glance with Sadie as Corey sank
onto the Ottoman, his body trembling slightly, like he was
about to fall apart at any moment.
By now, Beethan had emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on
a dish towel, a deep frown creasing his forehead.
He looked around the room, taking in the tense faces, the
silent panic in Corey's eyes, the way the energy in the house
had shifted so suddenly, so completely.
What's going on? Bethan asked, his voice filled
with unease, a dark edge creeping into his tone as he
tossed the dish towel onto the back of a chair.
Corey opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his
throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he
swallowed hard. Finally, he lifted his head,
eyes glassy, voice barely above a whisper, heavy with shock and
disbelief. Lottie's pregnant.
Friday, September 15th, 8:42 PM. Bobby's 16th birthday slid by
with the sort of deliberate indifference that defined most
of his life. There was nothing special about
the day, nothing that begged for attention, which was exactly how
Bobby preferred it. Attention made him squirm, made
him feel like his skin was 2 sizes too tight, so the day's
lack of spectacle felt like a relief, an easy exhale after
holding his breath for too long. There was dinner with his
parents at that kitschy Italian joint his mom liked, the one
with the red checkered tablecloths and cheap Chianti
bottles stuffed with melted candles.
They ordered the same dishes they always did.
Spaghetti for him, lasagna for his dad, chicken parmesan for
his mom. Conversation skimmed along the
surface of things, never dipping below into anything real.
School was fine. His weekend plans were vague
enough to avoid further questions.
His parents acted like they were satisfied with that, but Bobby
knew better. The flickering candlelight cast
shadows across their faces, but the light never touched their
eyes. Later, Ben called a quick check
in a birthday acknowledgement that felt as obligatory as the
dinner had been. Bobby could hear the life Ben
was living in the background, the murmur of voices, the
distant thud of bass heavy music.
It was all so far removed from Bobby's world, a reminder that
his brother was out there living while Bobby was stuck in place.
The call ended with a promise to catch up soon, though Bobby knew
it would probably be another few weeks before he heard from Ben
again. There was talk about doing
something that weekend, maybe a gathering at Gage's place.
They called it a birthday thing, but Bobby knew the truth.
His birthday was just the excuse, a reason to get everyone
together, drink, maybe get stoned.
It wasn't really about him, and that was fine.
But there was one thing that did excite him, something that had
been at the forefront of his mind for weeks.
His license. The little card that meant
freedom, or at least the illusion of it.
He'd been saving up for a car for nearly a year.
Every tip from his job, every birthday check from relatives he
barely knew, all of it going toward one goal.
A car. A few weeks before his birthday,
he found it. A 1990 Volvo station wagon, the
same year as him. It was a bit of a junker, sure,
but to Bobby it was perfect. The car had a history, a pass
that felt strangely parallel to his own.
The previous owner was Jay Ellis's partner, and when Bobby
first saw it, something clicked. The worn leather seats, the boxy
frame, the way the engine growled to life when he turned
the key. It all felt right.
The car understood him in a way no one else did.
Driving it for the first time was transformative.
He wasn't just a kid who needed rides anymore.
He had his own car. The world expanded, opened up in
ways it hadn't before. There were roads he could take
now, places he could go on his own terms.
Sitting behind the wheel, inhaling the musty scent of the
old Volvo, Bobby felt something shift inside him.
This was more than just a car. It was a marker of change, a
small step toward independence, toward something resembling
adulthood. There was no need for a big
celebration or a party to mark his birthday.
The Volvo, with its dented Fender and creaky doors, was all
the acknowledgement he needed. Bobby wasn't just a kid anymore,
and that realization settled in him with a quiet satisfaction.
He was moving forward, even if it was at his own pace.
The car was proof of that, a tangible sign that he was coming
into his own, slowly but surely.