It’s one of those moments in life, when you look back on it, that will be set to music in the memory. As my eyes trail up, hitting every part of his long, lean body, a sorrow-filled, haunting melody plays in my ears. The kind of tune that departing lovers dance to before they’re separated. A harmony with only one note of hope thrown in at the end, only a singular note of uplift.
I swear, I almost lose my balance when my face is level to his.
Because there are dozens of people on the street now. His parents are practically sobbing over him. My own mother is calling his name, yelling her congratulations. The army officers are murmuring to him, and I hear the slamming of doors as I know that local reporters must have rushed to get the news on the missing hero who has just returned.
But Everett is only looking at me.
The whole world might as well have vanished, that’s how soul-deep his exploration of me is. My feet are rooted to the ground, every cell in my body completely paralyzed by the direct, familiar gaze he’s pinned on me.
I look at him, trying to memorize every pore. Yes, he resembles the boy who left to serve his country. But this man is no one I truly recognize.
And those eyes, the blazing green clovers that I’ve daydreamed about for years, are … dead. In them, I see only ghosts and horror.
Everett Brock is back in Brentwick. And nothing will ever be the same.
2
Kennedy
“He’s back.”
“Did you hear how he came back?”
“I wonder if he was tortured …”
“Is he some kind of maniac now?”
The whispering in the hallways as the first bell rings for homeroom is almost too much for me to handle.
I slam my locker, biting my tongue because if I don’t, I might lose it on all of these people. No one here really knows him, not like I do. Jesus, half of these freshman have never even seen Everett Brock in the flesh, so maybe they should just shut their mouths.
“Already fed up with school a week in? Me too, let’s ditch.” A flash of red hair sidles up next to my locker, accompanying the voice that leads the Brentwick High School choir.
“Yeah, right, Kenny would never ditch. She’d melt into a puddle of guilt and shame before she walked out of those doors before the final bell rung.”
My two best friends, Rachel and Bianca, stand on either side of my white metal locker, staring into the abyss filled with books, extra clothes, a stray granola bar somewhere and pictures of the three of us littering the door.
“That’s right, get a good laugh at the expense of your very dear, wonderful, incredible friend.” I pretend to wipe away a tear.
“Oh, stop it. We’re just busting your balls. Because we know you have them. You may be the goody two-shoes of BHS, but you’ve got steel cojones under that skirt.” Rachel pretends to flip up the hem of the denim skirt I wore today.
I swat her hand away. “Don’t you dare!”
“Live a little. I showed my undies to a boy in the bathroom this morning, and it really brightened my day.” Bianca suggestively wiggles her dirty blond eyebrows at me.
I roll my eyes. “That boy is your boyfriend, and I still don’t understand why you two can’t just go at it in your cars if you insist on foreplay before first period. Nonetheless, that doesn’t quite count as randomly flashing the student body in the hallway.”
“Foreplay before first period. Sounds like a great porn movie.” Rachel giggles.
These two have been my best friends since the time we all decided to shove tampons up our noses at cheer practice in fifth grade. Someone told Rachel it would stop the bloody nose that were sometimes caused when we flew, the thing cheerleaders did when other members of the squad launch them into the air using nothing but their collective hands. So, giggling like morons, we tried it. And took about seventy-three hilarious selfies, one of which is still hung up on the inside of my locker.
Ever since that moment, we’ve been inseparable, though we all play our roles. Rachel is the wild child, the redhead who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is, or try something that could potentially end with us in the emergency room. Though, she is the one with the longest relationship, she and her boyfriend, Scott, have been together since the beginning of sophomore year. The contradiction, of her big, open heart, and the daredevil within, makes being friends with her like an extreme sport. One I thoroughly enjoy, though aside from cheer, I’m not much of an athlete.
Bianca is the sweet one, a natural charmer with Disney princess-sized blue eyes and gorgeous blond curls. She’s the extrovert of us all; whereas I don’t mind interaction but prefer quiet, and Rachel is an obnoxiously loud introvert, Bianca could talk her way through a football field of people and genuinely never have one mean thing to say. Then, she’d ask to do it all over again. Rach and I always joke that after she graduates college, she’ll be some kind of social worker, customer service rep, or salesperson; Bianca will work in a job where rejection is copious and other people would cower at the mere thought of their ass being handed to them by whoever they were serving. But not our Bianca.
She’s also dating a fellow senior, Damien, who shares her affinity for public hookup spots.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” I cluck my tongue at her, but loop my arm through hers as we all walk toward our homerooms.
And me? Well, my best friends already hit that nail on the head. I’m the straight-laced, academic one. The nerd.
Brentwick High School is much like any other high school in the suburbs of New Jersey. Or any other suburb around the country for that matter. You have your rich side of town, your nice middle of town, and the affordable housing units the township was contracted to build due to state law. Not that I roll like that; I have friends from all walks of life. I’m just saying, that’s how it is.
I may be the head cheerleader, if you want to call me that, but I’m also an honor student, an EMT on the local rescue squad, and have been volunteering with my mom at our local church since I was in middle school. No, I’m not trying to brag or sound like a goody-goody … okay, so maybe I am a goody-goody according to Rach and Bi. In fact, if you talk to some of the kids at school, they’ll probably sneer and call me some uptight perfectionist or something.
That’s all right. I know who I am, have from an early age. Maybe it’s the side effect of being an only child with a type A personality, or parents who instilled self-confidence in me. Either way, I’ve developed some kind of Teflon armor when it comes to how cruel the high school world can be. Something I’m both thankful for and cursed with.
Sometimes, I wish I could be more of a teenager. My dad swears that I’ve been an old soul since I arrived in the world, blinking up at the doctors with a wise look on my face instead of crying. While my friends are mooning over boys, drinking warm beer in cornfields, and generally being reckless and eighteen, I’m standing in the background wondering why I can’t do the same. Something inside has always held me back from completely letting go, from letting mistakes happen, from letting the crazy take over.
“It’s permanently stuck there, I can’t help it. Someone has to think of questions to shock you when we’re playing Never Have I Ever. Who else could make you chug an entire can of beer in one sitting.” Rachel gleams proudly.