Page 53 of Catch the Sun

Maybe I need to make an EKG appointment.

I snap the book closed and sit up straight. “Here I am, appeasing your ominous request to meet you at the clearing after school.”

He’s still wearing his hoodie, the sleeves rolled up. “Sorry it sounded ominous.”

“Don’t be. That’s what sold me.”

His lips twitch. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

“Ooh, also ominous.” I jump from the bench, ready and eager. “Sign me up.”

A full-blown smile emerges and he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. Damn, it’s kind of cute. Especially when he pairs it with a hair ruffle while lifting only his eyes to me.

I swallow, banishing the thoughts.

Then I break away, bending to retrieve my backpack and stuffing the book inside before zipping the bag shut. A chilled breeze kisses my skin as a few sun-wrinkled leaves flutter down around us like autumn’s version of snowflakes. Max stares at me for a beat while I situate my book bag over my shoulder. “What?” I probe.

He takes a tentative stride forward and extends a hand, plucking a golden-green leaf from my tangled mane of hair. He falters a little, his fingers falling away in slow motion. “Follow me,” he says, turning around and walking away.

Instinct has me combing my own fingers through the hair he just touched before I jog after him. “Where are we going?”

“Mexico.”

“I love chilaquiles.” I look up at him as we move in tandem, taking in his pulled-back hood and dark sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Slate-gray jeans, worn and faded, encase two long legs, and his shoes are scuffed and mud-smeared as they kick up gravel beside me.

It’s newly November and the weather has cooled. Tennessee offers a wide range of temperatures in the fall, from hot and humid to cool and crisp. Today is in the midfifties, which I think is perfect. My pale skin is unforgiving in the scorching sun and my preference for sweatshirts and cozy sweaters has always been inconvenient while living in this state. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t love Mexico. Beaches are dirty and full of sweaty people and sand is nature’s cruel version of glitter.

My dream is to move to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan one day, where summers are tame, winters are cold, and snow sparkles like diamonds.

When we approach the waterline of Tellico Lake, I already know what he brought me here for. “We’re skipping stones, aren’t we?”

“Did you bring the stone from your nightstand?”

Yes—it’s in my back pocket. “No.”

“That’s fine. We’ll find plenty.” He veers toward the lake’s edge and combs the ground for stones to skip. “You said your brother tried to teach you?”

My heart skitters. He brought up the topic of my brother so easily, like it wasn’t a giant, unhinged elephant in the room charging toward us. Fidgeting in place, I nod. “He did try. He said it was like dancing—all about the rhythm and the glide.” I shrug. “I’m a terrible dancer, so the outcome wasn’t surprising. They all belly-flopped.”

Crouched down, Max glances up at me for a split second. “Tell me about him.”

“What?” I blink. “My brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…” Smoothing back my hair that’s capering in a cool breeze, I keep shifting from foot to foot, unsure how to respond. “I told you what happened.”

He seems unfazed. “That’s not what I want to know,” he says, plucking a gray-tan stone from a patch of gravel and stroking it with the pad of his thumb. “Tell me about him before.”

Before.

Nobody ever wants to know about the before. Nobody cares. They only want to know about the after…about the monster, not the man.

Monsters are interesting. Men are ordinary.

The man is the predictable narrative in the story, but the monster—

The monster is the thrilling plot twist that keeps you turning the pages.

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