Young Writers Society

Abram made his way deeper into the heart of Westbrooke High, every step making him all the more angry. His parents had gone on and on about trusting him and then they went and gave him a glorified babysitter? He was so angry he was ready to annihilate some lockers. How could they say that they trusted him when they had sent Ben to observe his every move? He hadn’t felt so betrayed since Sumner had turned his life upside down.

His sister caught up with him finally, and he was facing her before he even realized it.

“Abe, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m not mad at you, Willa. Mom and Dad gave that speech about giving me back control over my life and they gave me a stalker!”

“Look, I know they didn’t tell you everything but they’re just looking out for you. Having Ben around isn’t ideal, but they’re just making sure that what happened with Sumner never ever happens again.”

Abram took in a chaste breath. He hadn’t realized how hard this had hit his family until he had returned home. What happened with Sumner was tragic, and obviously, Abram had felt the brute of his reign six months ago.

Steeling himself, Abram looked into his sister’s eyes. “I guess I can be nice to the guy, for my family.”

Willa gave him a quick hug. “It’s just for a little while. Plus, he’s a pretty nice guy. He seems to know Bridge.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that about?” he laughed. “Speaking of, you and Bridge seem close.”

“He’s been going through a rough time lately.” Just when Abram went to ask about it, Willa shook her head. “It’s not my place. You’ll have to talk to him about it.”

“We have to get to class anyway. Let’s get this day over with.” he laughed.

She looped her arm with her brother’s, mimicking his laughter. “You still have to tell me what it was like being in a crazy house.” When he laughed even more, she smacked him spiritedly. “I’m serious! You’ve never told me.”

But Abram just cackled again as he walked down the hall he used to own, his sister by his side as he tried to ignore the abundance of stares and whispers that came from every direction.

x

Mercer walked into his first period class and quickly took a seat in the back of the room as a few kids whispered in his direction, causing him to roll his eyes. Last year, he and his friends had been the envy of Westbrooke. Nobody ever gave them shit or gossiped about them, at least not to their faces, like they were now.

He glanced to his right, where the last seat sat next to the window, looking over the sedimentary object with delayed perspective. It’s where Sumner would have sat when the five of them had a class together, always needing the escape to look out into the world beyond the confines of the classroom. Mercer cursed himself as more kids piled into the room. He hated himself every time he missed Sumner, or at least the friend he used to be to him.

Remembering the first time he had met Sumner, Mercer found himself back in freshman year of Westbrooke. It was the first day back from winter break, and Mercer and his friends were meeting up in the cafe for breakfast, like every other morning. He was just going to stop by his locker before he met them. He remembered sifting through his locker when a stranger had approached the locker to his right, next to a huge window. The guy had molasses dark hair and wore clothes straight out of a GQ photoshoot. Mercer was sure Bridge would be all over the new guy, causing him to smirk. Mercer walked over to the new guy, slamming his locker shut after grabbing his biology book.

“Welcome to Westbrooke,” Mercer grinned, watching the stranger jump slightly at the intrusion, causing Mercer to put his hands up, laughing. “Sorry, man. Just wanted to say hello.” he put his hands down. “You wanna join me and my friends at lunch?”

The kid shut his locker, biology book in his hand too, and gave Mercer a sarcastic smile.

“Drop dead.”

The guy walked away defiantly, leaving Mercer to wonder what he had done to piss the guy off.

The second bell brought Mercer back to the present. His history teacher, the overly effervescent Mrs. Mortimer, told everyone to take their seats as a leggy blonde sauntered into the classroom. Mercer’s gaze stuck to her as she began talking quietly to Mrs. Mortimer. He’d never seen her before. Her blonde hair was styled upwards in a pixie cut. She wore earrings with tiny polaroid cameras dangling from them, among her other ear piercings. Her vibrant green eyes shone as she smiled at Mrs. Mortimer. She wore a black leather jacket over a plain white tshirt and skinny denim jeans with imitation suede wedge heels that accentuated her legs. Not that Mercer was staring or anything.

“Class,” came Mrs. Mortimer’s bubbly tone. “We have a new senior joining us this year. This is Kirby Wheaton.”

Kirby regarded the class in a very sarcastic way. “I look forward to ignoring each and every one of you.”

Several kids laughed as Kirby smiled at the crowd. Mercer couldn’t help but smile himself.

“You can find a seat, darling.”

Kirby nodded, surveying the room until her eyes landed on the seat next to Mercer, the one right by the window. Mercer steeled himself as she sat down next to him, setting her things down on her desk and leaving her purse by her feet.

“Starting your senior year at a new school. That must suck.” Mercer blurted out in a hushed voice. She gave him a grin, further blushing his cheeks.

“It’s cool. I’m totally adaptable.” She leaned in closer to him. “Plus, if I was still in Maine or Manhattan, I never would have met you.” she winked.

Mercer laughed, thoroughly enjoying her playful confidence. “You traded Manhattan for Armor Falls? Trust me, New Hampshire doesn’t even compare to New York City.”

“I’m actually from around here, sort of.” She paused. “I’m originally from Salem, New Hampshire. My mom decided to move back to our home state.”

Nodding, he extended his hand out to her. “I’m Mercer.”

Kirby giggled lightly as she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

The class went by lazily after that, Mercer helping Kirby when she had a question about the whereabouts of the school as Mrs. Mortimer went about summarizing what their year was going to look like. It was nice to have a conversation with someone who didn’t know who he was or what had happened to him six months ago.

Five minutes before the bell was set to ring, Mercer decided to spark conversation with Kirby that didn’t have to deal with school.

“So, are you into photography?”

She laughed, nodding. “How’d you guess?”

“The earrings,” he smiled, gesturing towards the tiny dangling cameras. “Just an assumption.”

“Yeah,” Kirby confirmed, her fingers gracing her earrings absentmindedly. “I have a more modern camera, but my favorite is my restored Polaroid. I don’t use it all the time, but it’s a classic.” She reached down and rummaged through her purse and pulled out several polaroids with one single date written on all of them. “I took these last night at the cemetery.”

Looking at some of the photos, Mercer raised an eyebrow. “Armor Falls Cemetery?”

“Surprisingly good lights on the grounds,” Kirby confirmed. “I know it’s weird, but we just moved into that house just around the corner from it, the one through the woods? Anyway, I’ve always enjoyed the quiet, dark beauty of the place where the living come to remember the dead.” Seeing his reaction, Kirby began to gather up her pictures. “But it’s not for everybody.”

“No, no, I think it’s cool.” Mercer insisted. “Just have some not so great memories there.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” she said, clearly thinking the worst. “

It’s not like that. It’s just...complicated.” he laughed awkwardly.

The bell vibrated loudly around them, dismissing the rest of the class as students raced to be the first out of the door.

“Maybe if I haven’t fled the premises, maybe I’ll see you at lunch?” Kirby said as she stood up with her belongings.

“Uh, yeah,” Mercer said hesitantly, a watted grin brightening his face. He hadn’t even thought about what he was doing about lunch since he wasn’t speaking to his friends. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Kirby started to leave as Mercer gathered up his things when something caught his eye. He glanced over at Kirby’s desk to see that she had forgotten one of her polaroids. He looked up to call her, but she was already gone.

Sighing, Mercer intended to just slip the photograph into his pocket and find Kirby later to return it, but the curiosity got the better of him. He reached for the polaroid and flipped it over, seeing that she had titled the picture “Cemetery Boy 8/30” as he took in the scene the picture displayed. That’s when Mercer screamed and almost dropped the photo.

Because in the polaroid was Sumner.