1
Ozzy
“Who wants to read the first chapter?” Mrs. Gimple asks. For some reason, our AP Lit teacher is convinced that by forcing us to read aloud, we pay more attention. She’s wrong. Listening to Walker Lewis fumble around Victorian English is mind-numbing.
Lucky for me, I have the perfect distraction. I sit right behind the girl I’m falling for, Kenley Keene, and count the freckles sprinkled on the back of her neck. Weeks ago, when school first started, it was warm which allowed for more skin to be revealed, but now fall has hit, bringing out layers and skin covering clothes. It’s a bummer, at least in AP Lit. When we’re alone, she lets me see a little bit more of that creamy, pale flesh.
A cough breaks my daydreaming, and I glance over at Ezra Baxter, school rich boy and delinquent. He’s also my friend? Ally? Partner in what Kenley would call a “non-traditional, consensual, ethical, non-monogamous relationship.”
His eyebrow shoots up suggestively, revealing that he definitely knows what I’m looking at and thinking about.
I shift in my seat, eyes scanning the room. After the memorial, Finn moved from his old seat, taking the one next to Kenley. The name Holloway stretches across the back of his jersey. He holds his dog-eared copy of Moby Dick in his hand, glancing over at Kenley every few seconds, like he’s trying to make sure she’s real.
It’s a valid reaction. He waited years to express his feelings to her and only did after his ex-girlfriend went missing. I’d be paranoid, too.
“It is not down on any map. True places never are—” Dave Reynolds reads. His next words are cut off by static echoing through the room.
“Excuse the interruption, teachers and students,” Mr. Russell says over the intercom. “Please turn on your televisions for a special live-stream from our Student Government president.” I glance over and see the empty seat across the room. Juliette Chandler didn’t come to class today. Seems like she had class president duties to perform.
Mrs. Gimple flips on the TV and a moment later Juliette Chandler’s face fills the screen. Her long, red hair hangs over her shoulders. “Fellow Vikings! Homecoming will be here in ten days! Our theme this year is One Hundred Years of Thistle Grove High, in celebration of our centennial celebration. We’ll have our traditional float building, parade, and the big game next Friday night. The dance is on Saturday—tickets available in the cafeteria! We do have one important change,” her tone shifts, turning softer, “as you all know, my very best friend and class leader, Rose Waller, is tragically no longer with us. Rose was a shoo-in for homecoming queen, and it feels terribly awkward to replace her so soon after her death.” She takes a deep breath and adds, “Because of that, we’ve decided not to have a court this year and instead dedicate the night to celebrate the past queens of Thistle Cove High.”
She continues on, announcing the locations of float building for each class, information about the dance and whatever else she can to do capture the school’s attention for as long as possible. One thing catches my attention; I look at Ezra.
“Did your dad really volunteer your house for float building?” Float building is a huge Thistle Cove tradition. Seven straight days of tissue paper rolling, cardboard cutting, and chicken wire molding. The classes are highly competitive, to the point that some years the kids attempted to destroy the other floats. Two years ago, the seniors' float was doused in gasoline. The offending class was disqualified, causing a major upset. After that, Principal Russell made it clear that any sabotage would result in suspension.
“Yeah,” Ezra says, leaning back in his seat. “His family hosted his senior year. The homecoming game was the night they clinched region.” His eyes flick to Finn. “He’s hoping that if we recreate events, the fates will look down on us and we can win again and head to state.”
Kenley laughs. “I didn’t know your dad was that superstitious.”
The guys both shake their heads. “Everything about sports is superstition,” Finn says, “from socks and underwear, to pre-game rituals. Coach Chandler’s been driving us nuts the past few weeks. Every win we have, every good play, he takes notes of the circumstances around it and tries to replicate it.”
“I think everyone in Thistle Cove has lost their minds.”
Since Rose died, she doesn’t say, but the implication is there.
The town has changed since she vanished. We’ve changed, which is exactly why people like Coach Chandler and Ezra’s dad and even Juliette will do anything to get it back on track.
2
Kenley
It’s been a month since Rose died, but that doesn’t keep everyone in school from watching me and Finn walk down the hall.
It’s probably fair. We didn’t speak for three years, and my “break-up” with Rose was well known. What wasn’t as well-known is Finn and Rose’s break-up was two days before she vanished and allegedly took her life. That information has been kept quiet for Finn and Rose’s sake. This is why, even though it’s obvious Finn and I are friends now, we keep it like that in public. Just friends.
None of these people know the lines we cross when we’re alone.
But the looks, the glares and stares, the curiosity makes me think they wonder exactly what’s going on.
“Have you talked to her at all?” Finn asks while we’re standing at my locker before lunch. It’s obvious who he’s talking about. Alice Kendrick, my other former best friend.
“No. I’m still not okay with how she threw you under the bus like that.” Among other things. Alice is loyal and fun. She’s also hella jealous of anyone that I get close to, which is why she went out of her way to show a video of Rose and Finn fighting across the street from her family’s ice cream parlor, hoping it would ruin his reputation. I feel bad for her, but there’s no way I’m letting her get between me and the boys.
“She looks rough.”
I glance over my shoulder and see Alice at her locker across the hall. Her hair, that she usually dyes fun, vibrant colors is washed out, with brown roots showing at the top. Her skin is pale and the bags under her eyes are noticeable.
“You and Alice were never friends. Why are you worried about her all of a sudden?” I ask.
“You’re a good person and friend, not like,” he grimaces, “other people we know—or knew—if you’re truly upset with her and need some space that’s fine, but don’t do it on account of me. I’m okay.”
I look into Finn’s brilliant green eyes and feel his truth and compassion. For too long he was tied up in Rose’s anger and pettiness. “I’ll get over it,” I say, “but I need space for a little while longer
.”
“Understood.”
I grab my lunch and close my locker door. When I face him again, he’s staring at my lips. My stomach flips, dying for a kiss, but there’s no way that’s going to happen. Not in public. But tonight? When we meet outside our windows on the rooftop? I’m gonna kiss the hell out of that mouth.
Since the first three weeks of the year had everyone occupied with Rose’s disappearance, it felt like we were behind in everything. Tests and homework piled on, and I’d severely neglected my yearbook duties.
“I’m sure you all heard the announcement this morning about the centennial celebration,” I tell my small staff that afternoon. Besides Ozzy and Alice, who surprisingly showed up although she’s sitting in the back corner alone, there are eight other kids. Several are underclassmen, but Bryant McMillian and Sadie Upton are also seniors. “The school has asked that we follow this theme with the yearbook.”
“How do they want to do that?” Sadie asks.
“I came up with a few ideas,” I reply. “The yearbook committee has kept pretty good archives through the years. We’ve got photos going back to the 1920s. The school has lists of alumni that we can use. I’ve been thinking we can add pages in each section with photos and small interviews with alumni—doing a small comparison with how things are now. Similar photos, clothing, cars, the floats…that kind of thing.”
“That sounds cool,” Bryant says, pushing up his glasses. “I don’t mind going through the archives.”
Sadie nods. “I’ll reach out to alumni and see who would like to be interviewed.”
“Great,” I say, feeling relieved it’s all coming together. “Ozzy, will you do the interviews? You’re our best writer.”
“Sure.”
“If you didn’t get an extra assignment,” I say to the others, “don’t worry. We still have to put together our normal yearbook with class photos, clubs and everything else. There’s plenty to do.”
There’s twenty minutes left in class, and everyone splits to their regular assignments. I head to the small office in the back corner—a perk of being the editor. I sit down and open my laptop, going to the photos that I’d already taken that year. It’s best if I process them quickly and archive the ones we don’t need. A tap on the door draws my attention.
Alice stands in the doorway in her favorite pair of jeans that have strategically placed holes—keeping her from getting dress-coded.