Page 41 of Where the Darkness Goes

CHAPTER TWENTY

GARRETT — AGE 18

The science club at school is spending the first two days of fall break at a ski lodge in Indiana. I don’t want to decide what the most depressing part of that sentence is, but there we go.

I’m still not sure what the science club is, and I don’t think anyone else knows either. For the most part, science club, as we know it, consists of about thirty students hanging out in the chemistry lab while our teacher reads a book or chats with the teacher across the hall.

It’s not a bad deal, and it counts toward extracurriculars, which I need for college next fall. Still, I’ve never been so glad to have joined the science club than I am when I step onto the bus and see Tessa there waiting for me.

Okay, so technically she’s not waitingforme. She’s on the bus that I just happen to be getting on myself, but either way, it’ll make this trip more interesting.

Willisactually waiting for me at the back of the bus, but the space on the seat next to Tessa is empty, so I hold up a finger at him and drop down beside her.

“Hey there.”

“Hello, Garrett,” she deadpans. She’s still irritated over what happened at the lake house I see. More specifically whatalmosthappened.

“Since when are you in the science club?”

She turns her head to look out the window, nonplussed. “I’ve always been in it, I just don’t go to the meetings.”

“Interesting. And what if I told you meetings are a big part of it? Kinda the whole thing, actually.”

“If you must know, the science club meets on Tuesdays after school, which is the day Mom has me volunteering at the church. The same daymy brother”—she says the word extra loud and with force, clearly meant for him to hear—“is supposed to be volunteering, but he never shows up.”

“That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“What do you want, Garrett?” she asks, turning her head finally to look me squarely in the face.

I can’t help it. My eyes flick straight to her mouth, her lips, before returning her gaze. “I wanted to see if you’re still mad at me. You haven’t been texting me back.”

“I texted you back,” she argues, mouth wide with indignation.

“Once, maybe.”

“Well, I was busy.”

“With what?”

“Homework. House stuff.”

“I saw you Friday. You don’t do chores on the weekend. And we’re on fall break. Try again.”

She sighs, but I’m right, and she knows it. I know her better than she realizes. “Fine. I’m still mad at you.”

I grin. “I knew it.”

Narrowing her gaze at me, her lips press together with confusion. “Why do you look happy about that?”

“Because I now have two whole days in the mountains to make younotmad.”

“That sounds like a horror movie waiting to happen.”

“Don’t be silly. With looks like these, I’mwaymore cut out for rom-coms.”

She pats my cheek. “Garrett. Sweet, sweet, Garrett. You wouldn’t know romance if you met it, had its babies, built it a house with your bare hands, and spent the next seventy years disappointing it in bed.”

The phrase leaves her mouth so casually, I open mine to respond but have to stop myself to process it. I chuckle. “I guess I get to prove you wrong.”

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