chapter nine

Harris

I was surprised that Seb let me drive his truck. Like, everyone knows I accidentally hit Mason Pedersen's brand new Mustang that one time. Luckily, it was only in the high school parking lot, and Mason wasn't mad after Liam hooked him up with his dealer. Probably the only time Liam came to the rescue—making sure I wasn't pulverized by some massive brute of a football player in the middle of the parking lot. (Mason Pedersen is massive. I low-key owe Liam my life now.)

Anyways, Seb's reaction probably would have been different if he knew about all those other cars I've secretly (accidentally) nicked in parking lots, but I would just like to point out that my mom's old car had no steering fluid and an issue with the brakes. So. Is it really my fault?

I drive us—without crashing, thank you—to the south side of Denton, the part where paved streets with quaint little houses turn into gravel roads with trailer parks and the occasional farmhouse. Of course Sebastian recognizes where we're headed; after all, we were here together only last night.

"We're going to Lake Franz?" he asks. Even though it's his truck, I guess he didn't think to adjust the seat, for whatever reason. His legs are stuck awkwardly in front of him, knees pressed uncomfortably against the underside of the glovebox.

"Indeedly-doodly." Which isn't entirely a lie. We are headed to Lake Franze. It's just our parking spot, though, not our final destination.

"Cool," he says quietly, which would be my response to someone taking me there too. I fucking hate Lake Franz. Bottom ten lake for sure.

Hopefully he enjoys where we end up. Hopefully.

Seb's head is resting against the window. I can't see if his eyes are closed, or if he's watching the golden-brown gravel dust puff up along the sides of the truck. The ditches next to the sides of the road aren't overgrown—for once—but they're flooded with water from a combination of last weekend's storm and the last of the winter's melted snow. Sometimes, the flooding gets so bad that the water from Lake Franz spills out, and you'll end up with fish in the road ditches, even all the way out here.

My mom had a boyfriend who would take me out trying to fish in all the ditches, seeing who could catch what. It was a wild goose chase more often than not, but we'd catch young catfish and the occasional carp every now and again. The ditches are mostly frog spawn, though, regardless of floods. Soon enough, the ditches will dry out, and either the frogs will make their way to Lake Franz, or they'll die here, just like the fish we'd rarely catch.

I used to think that the ditch fish were fascinating when I was a kid, but now I think it's just sad. I went from wondering what it would be like to end up there, to realizing what an awful fate it was. The kind of flooding that lets you get out of the pond doesn't last long. Before you know it, you're stuck somewhere else, praying for another summer storm to come, slowly starving to death while simultaneously drying out. I don't know if fish can sense impending doom, but for me, the mere thought of the ditch fish nowadays just makes me viscerally uncomfortable, and a little sad.

We wind along the last elongated turn in the road, where the gravel goes from golden to rust-red, and wooden lake cabins of various sizes begin to pop up along its sides. At the end lies a wide gravel lot, where only a few trucks are parked. People are likely out on the lake, but they won't be by here. This side of Lake Franz, the side where last night's party was, has notoriously awful fishing. It's likely a mixture of the cliffs and the designated swimming area—although who would want to go swimming here is beyond me.

I park the truck at the very end of the lot and turn to Seb. Before I can say anything though, he puts his hands up and says, "Sorry Harris, but I don't think I'm down to make out in a parking lot in broad daylight."

"What? Dude, what—no, no. C'mon, I have something to show you."

We climb out of the truck, our melting shakes in hand. I lock up behind us and toss Seb the keys, then look out at the lake's algae-covered surface, trying to process his words. Did he really think I would have brought him all the way here just to make out? Wow. Yeesh.

We're completely silent as we walk to the edge of the trail that winds down to the shore. But instead of taking it all the way, just a few feet onto the worn grass, I turn abruptly right, away from the path and into the treeline.

"Where are you going?" Seb asks, hesitating.

I look over my shoulder and grin at him. "You'll see."

He waits a moment longer; I don't stop. After a few seconds, he joins me, taking a few long strides with those damned legs of his. Didn't even have to jog to catch up, the lucky fucker.

I hold up a tree branch with my free hand and duck under. It's worse to do this at night, because you can never tell when you're about to walk into a spiderweb. Which, for me, is usually most of the time I do this at night (thanks, Liam), but oh well.

"Can I have, like, a hint or something?" Seb swats his way through a buzzing cloud of midges. "Or do you just wish for me to wallow in a puddle of anxiety?"

"Why did you say it like that?" My foot snaps a twig, and I feel it scratch my ankle.

"Like what?"

"All fancy or whatever. 'Do you wish' kinda shit. Who are you, Mr. Darcy?"

"Um, no."

"You're right." I smile. "You're much more of a Mr. Rochester."

Seb stumbles over some hidden rock in the weedy undergrowth. "Did you just Jane Eyre me?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Have you even read Jane Eyre?"

The accusation stings a little more than it should, but he's not wrong. "I just follow Sparknotes on Instagram."

"That ... really?"

"What? The memes are funny. I used to show them to Ms. Rothschild in English two and three. She gave me extra credit."

"Rothschild?"

The path begins to tilt a little more uphill as we maneuver our way between trees and around suspicious looking bushes. I'm leading us up the path that I know all too well—I'm excited to share this with him.

"Yeah, Rothschild. I was her favorite."

He sighs. I can hear he's already a little out of breath, even though it's only been about a minute. "Of course you were."

"What, you weren't?"

"Well for one," he says, "when you're in a class with Saanvi, the most you can hope for is second favorite."

"Oh, very true."

"And, no, she didn't like me. Probably because I gave a scathing review of her favorite book of all time, The Grapes of Wrath."

"Haven't read it."

"I know."

He can't see my facial expression from behind, but I'm smiling.

The incline gets just a little bit steeper, and now the pair of us are hunching forward slightly, trying not to fall but prepared to grab at anything.

"Can you please tell me where we're going?" Seb asks.

I don't even turn around. "Nope." This is fun.

"You're enjoying this, you bastard."

"Nope." Yeah, this is fun.

"Are you going to murder me? Is that it? Kill me and shove my frail little man body in the quarry?"

"That's only if you don't stop bugging me like a kid on a fourteen hour road trip."

There's silence. All that can be heard is bird chirps and the motor of a boat running off far in the distance.

"Are we there yet?"

"Plan B is seriously looking so good right now."

"Do it. Murder me. You won't."

"I will, and then I'll dump your frail little man body in the quarry to let the toxic waters dissolve your corpse like a rat in a can of Mountain Dew."

"Wait, that's so hot."

I don't even respond to him, just shake my head and smile. Besides, there's not much of a point to it anyways—we're here.

a/n - HOPE YOU'RE ENJOYING ILY finals have me dead byeeee