Fall, 1987
Rick Greene was late.
June leaned up against the oak tree—their tree. Her fingers traced the carved initials, J.M. + R.G, ’87, as her eyes flicked to her watch. Each passing minute Rick wasn’t there felt like a sharp stab of disappointment. Where on earth is he?
June’s fingers drummed against her watch, simmering with impatience. She felt her stomach churn with worry as she imagined the worst. A car accident? A sickness? Is he seeing someone else? June sighed heavily. Don’t be dramatic, she reminded herself. But the anxious feeling crawled up her spine. Rick was never late.
Of course, she’d sprung the idea of meeting by the tree at the last minute. She’d called him from her cordless phone, and he’d picked up on the first ring because he was a man, not a boy, and always about business.
“Aren’t you going to your homecoming?” he’d asked.
“It’s not my thing anymore,” she’d said, trying to sound grown up. “Dances are for little girls. Can you meet me by the tree at six?”
“I’ll be there,” he’d promised.
Except he wasn’t and now it was six-thirty. The sun would set soon. Despite the warm September day, a familiar New England chill was settling in. June pulled her jean jacket tighter over her turquoise satin dress as she breathed in the crisp air. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves reminded her that, soon, the woods would burst with color. It always amazed her that people traveled for miles to see the parade of red, brown, and golden hues. The tourists came like pilgrims, as if spotting the autumn display would reveal the secrets of a good life, like the supposed ones masqueraded in Nonna’s Norman Rockwell prints. But June knew the truth; the only promise autumn offered was that winter was on its way.
June let out a weary breath. She knew her truth, too. Deep down, she wanted to go to homecoming. She wanted to show up and be everything that everyone expected: cheerful June Mitchell. June Mitchell with the cheerleader smile. June Mitchell, Lowridge High’s favorite homecoming queen, noted by the sash diagonal across her body and the crown perfectly placed on top of her blonde, Aqua-Net-sprayed hair. But that was the thing; the sash, the dress… none of it felt like her anymore. She was ready to move on, to get away from all that high school drama. Of course, there was also the fact that showing up for that crown meant she’d have to stand next to Bruce Martin like they were still a thing. The scene replayed in her mind as if she’d already lived it. They’d announce her name, his name. He’d drape his varsity jacket over her shoulders as they walked up to the stage, as if to claim her his. Except June wasn’t his. She couldn’t stand the thought.
June rummaged through her backpack. She took out her lip balm and smoothed it over her dry lips as the distant sounds of the dance drifted through the air.
I don’t belong there, she thought. Not anymore.
She loved Rick. At twenty-five, he was anything but high school. He was going places. June was sure of it. Of course, she knew her parents would disagree. That was why she’d snuck seeing him all summer; ever since meeting him that day at Nonna’s. It was fate, after all, because after that day, she ran into him twice at the grocery store while running errands for Mom. Even Rick agreed. When he asked her out for ice cream, she couldn’t say no. How could she? There was a certain charm in the way he flicked back his Tom Cruise hair that set her heart on fire. Not to mention his toothpaste-commercial smile. One look from Rick, and she melted faster than her mint chip ice cream. It didn’t matter if her parents would be upset. It didn’t even matter that she already had a boyfriend. Rick was worth the risk, and not just because he made her body tingle and her heart pound fast. He was interesting. Intellectual. He talked about important things like deals, commissions, and art. He loved to talk about art.
Boys my age are so dull, June thought. They just talk about sports, video games, or brag about beer kegs. June felt a wave of irritation flush over her as she thought about those boys. The ones that flexed their puffed-up, steroid-induced muscles in the gym mirror as if they’d worked for their physiques. Worse, they boasted about which girls they’d laid and spread rumors about the ones they wished they had. Predictable little boys. She exhaled an annoyed sigh.
June put the cap on her lip balm and stuffed it into her backpack. Above, a crow cawed, the wind picked up. She looked back at her watch. She swore it was mocking her.
June shut her eyes and rubbed her fingers over their engraved names in the tree once more. Engraving their names had felt liberating. Like they’d both taken ownership of their secret. How could she date a high school boy ever again?
I’m probably being unfair, she thought. Not all high school boys are cocky pretty-boys like Bruce. She reminded herself that she’d noticed the nerds. They were always engrossed in conversation, huddled at the cafeteria table next to the exit, as if they were planning their escape. She’d also eyed the headbangers with long hair, concert t-shirts, and various renditions of heavy metal band names drawn on their brown-paper-bag-covered textbooks. Jerry, she thought, as her lips turned to a smile. He was the headbanger she considered dating once during freshman year. The only problem was he never noticed her. He’d been too busy tapping the beat of Motley Crue’s Too Young to Fall in Love on his desk as if he was Tommy Lee himself.
I’m so over it. June thought. I need a real man. A man I can marry and have kids with. What was wrong with that? She knew her parents wouldn’t approve. They always acted like there was something wrong with the idea of marrying young. Who were they? Hadn’t they married young? Mom talked about women’s liberation, but wasn’t the point of women’s lib to give women choices? I want to settle down, she thought. The idea of sharing a tiny dorm room with a stranger for four years while spending weekends waiting for more boys to grow up as they downed booze in funnels did not sound appealing.
Besides, Dad had said it himself; Rick could sell anything to anyone at any time. He could sell a house at a funeral. He’s got grit. Dad admired grit.
June kicked the dirt with her converse shoes, the ones she’d put on in the car after slipping her heels off, just after she’d left her fifteen-year-old sister Sylvie at the dance. Just thinking about Sylvie now made June’s skin boil. How could she tell Dad about Rick? Clearly, she didn’t understand anything about sister code. June knew that Dad might like Rick’s grit, but that didn’t mean he wanted the twenty-five-year-old dating his seventeen-year-old daughter. Sylvie had to know that too. She’s not that dense. June thought. Why couldn’t she just mind her own business?
June felt a tight knot grow in the pit of her stomach. Thinking of it all was a harsh reminder; she’d have to face Dad about her secret sooner than planned. The thought of it shook June out of her delusion, reminding her why she was here at this tree and not at the dance. It had nothing to do with her feelings about outgrowing high school. She needed to see Rick before she faced Dad. Rick had to know her secret first.
Ugh. June moaned as she stepped away from the tree again, her heart racing faster by the minute. The sheer nerve needed for what she had to say was dwindling away, lodging a lump in her throat. It was something she couldn’t say on the phone or in a letter. Still, she wrote a letter anyway and stuffed it in her backpack in case she lost her nerve. A flash of gratitude flushed over her now, thankful she’d written the letter because her courage was dissipating. She paced at the very thought of telling Rick. The more she paced, the faster her heart thumped. What if Rick’s angry? What will he say?
June’s howling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the morning. Though she had drunk two Capri Suns before showing up. Not a smart move, she thought. Now I have to pee.
She glanced around to see if she could find a spot to go as she envied boys. They could pee anywhere.
June spotted a large boulder in the distance, perfect for hiding her bathroom break. As she walked toward it, she couldn’t help but think about Sebastian. If he were here, he’d inform her that the boulder was left over from the glaciers. He always knew stuff like that. June swore that, at just eleven, he was smarter than both her and Sylvie combined. Sometimes, June worried he was too smart. An old soul, as Nonna used to say.
When June was done, she looked back at her watch. Thirty-five minutes gone. Still no Rick.
The not so pleasant reality was clear. She might not tell Rick, not today.
June headed back toward the tree. She’d wait another fifteen minutes.
He’s on his way, she thought. He’s just caught up at a house-showing. Or stuck in traffic. Maybe he stopped to buy roses? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care at this point. She just wanted him here.
June leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes. The sound of the tree frogs settled her anxiety, if only a little.
That’s when she heard it.
There was a rustling of the leaves and the snapping of sticks as someone or something stepped on them. She opened her eyes as she exhaled, expecting to see Rick.
But no one was there.
She paused. Listened again.
The noise was gone. The sound of frantic chirping birds filled the air, followed by a faint train whistle, and faded beats of a pop song lingering from the dance. It’s probably just a squirrel, she thought. Still, her shoulders tightened.
A stiff wind picked up. It blew straight into her bones as if it was sharing its own long-lost secret. June shivered from the shift in the air. The evening glow faded, replaced by a somber gray that spread across the woods like a disease.
June looked up at the sky. It was turning a shade of purple she’d never seen before. Was a storm coming? She didn’t remember the weather reporter predicting one.
I’m going to have to go home.
She picked up her backpack, swung it over her shoulder, fretting that not only would she have to keep her secret another day, but she’d have to face Dad before seeing Rick. The thought terrified her.
Just as she was about to step forward, she heard the sound again.
Another shuffle, the crunching of leaves. A dark shadow cast across the ground, looming over her. Then, a familiar voice.
“June,” the voice called, loud, demanding.
June spun around.
The killer was too close and too fast. June only saw the glint of the knife. She gasped for air, unable to scream as the panic rose from her belly to her heart. As the knife pierced her skin, she felt the universe fall away in one last breath.
Her blood left stains on the leaves.