Page 63 of Lotus

“You underestimate me.”

Another pathetic eyelash flutter, my lip jutting out with impressive effort.

“Dammit, Sydney.” His resolve falls like a lone meteor, crashing and burning at our feet. My subsequent wink pulls a smile from the rubble. “Come here.”

I’m yanked into a firm hug, Gabe’s chin resting on the top of my head as he wraps his arms around me. My anxiety dissipates, knowing I have my friend back. “I’m sorry,” I murmur into his pink polo.

“Me, too,” he sighs. “You’re my ride-or-die, Syd. We’re not allowed to fight.”

Agreeing with a nod, I pull back, relief brimming in my eyes. “So, you don’t hate my tongue?”

He chuckles through his eye roll. “Your tongue is fantastic. But that’s what I’m worried about…” Gabe pops his thumb over his shoulder at the door, his implication clear. “Just tread with caution, okay? I know you’re both adults. I know you care about each other and always have. I just worry something will break him apart before he’s even fully put back together.”

Even though my defenses spark to life, sharp words creeping up my throat, I understand why Gabe is concerned… and IknowI never should have kissed Oliver in the first place.

Oliverisimpressionable. Heisvulnerable. Heissusceptible to raw, human emotions, and I had no business toying with them, despite my noble intentions.

I swallow my pride and lift my chin. “I won’t hurt him, Gabe.”

Gabe gives my shoulder a light nudge with his fist, his smile wistful as he reaches for the door handle. “I know you won’t mean to.”

F I F T E E N

THERE IS A RACCOON.

It’s a baby—that much I can tell.

It is alive and staring at me between the stalks of corn, its eyes curious, but no more curious than mine. I stand stiff and still, processing this discovery after taking an exorbitant amount of time adjusting my eyes to the hazy midday glow. How is this raccoon alive, breathing in these toxins? Are animals immune to the chemicals in the air?

It has a friendly face with a black mask colored across its onyx eyes—like Westley inThe Princess Bride. Its paws are clasping a piece of food, nibbling on the treat as it studies me. I must look like quite the sight in my hazmat suit, and my own peculiar mask.

But it does not appear afraid.

I share a moment with the creature, brief but poignant. This raccoon has been the only living being I’ve encountered in nearly twenty-two years, aside from Bradford. If I make it through this, I surely won’t forget this precocious friend with beady eyes and a tail made of stripes. Its paw lifts, almost like a wave, while I continue on my journey.

As I glance up at the flock of birds soaring overhead, a discerning feeling pinches me. Something feels wrong. That lived-in bedroom. The little wooden house with plumbing, fresh food, and miscellaneous luxuries. My heart hasn’t stopped thundering inside my chest since I climbed up that ladder, a mix of fear and doubt coiling in my gut.

But I need to press on. These corn stalks appear to be endless, and I have no knowledge of what I’m doing or where my travels will lead me.

When I continue forward, pushing through the tall stalks, breathing heavily through my mask, an unusual sound drifts into my ears from behind me, and I turn around. I can’t see much. My mask is full of fog and my nerves are making me feel dizzy, but there seems to be a steady stream of motion in the opposite direction, in the far off distance. I think I heard a beep, or a siren, or a shrill horn. A signal to alert the others, potentially. The movement is connected to a winding, gravel trail—a long driveway. Perhaps this is a maze.

I feel compelled to follow it.

There’s activity ahead, and that must be where I can find the others. My mind made up, my hopes higher than before, I turn around and begin my trek into the strange unknown.

When I glance back to wish the raccoon farewell, I realize it has vanished.

I am alone.

Summer fades to fall as the months press on, and it’s a delightful transition. The air turns crisp, the leaves golden, the smell of bonfires lingering amidst every subtle breeze. My morning runs have become far more enjoyable as the sticky heat dissolves into milder temperatures. I even keep the window open in my bedroom, especially when I work on my comics. The drafts that spill through are mollifying, and they quiet the thoughts in my head, assisting my focus.

“Knock-knock!”

My smile is instant when her voice captures my ears.

There may be alternative reasons for keeping my window open.

Spinning around in my desk chair, I spot her leaning forward on her arms as she grins at me from her office window. Her hair hangs over her shoulders in tangled waves, dancing to the silent song of the autumn wind. I approach my own window, my skin already buzzing with warmth when we face each other—the way it always does when she smiles at me. “Who’s there?” I call back.

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