MY FRIENDS—SONYA, CHARLIE, Kimberly—are all waiting in the Triangle courtyard when Dad and I pull up in the Crown Vic. Dad slides it into the spot with a rusted-over sign that says RESERVED FOR CHIEF. He cuts the engine, and the old boat dies with a croak and a wheeze.
I move to open my door, but Dad catches my arm. He’s never laid a finger on me in anger; he just gets loud, like a tornado siren, revving up and reeling in at equal bursts. But I’m more afraid of these moments right here, quiet and tense, thick with all the words we wish we could say out loud.
“You’re still going up to the Hill for lunch?” Dad asks. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the useless AC dial.
“Yes…?” There’s already a whisper of attitude in my voice. Like, of course we’re going up to the Hill, Dad. We’ve been hanging out up there since we were in fifth grade, and none of your old stories about ghosts or mysterious deaths or serial killers or whatever are going to make us afraid. So please don’t waste my time with another one.
I swallow it all back down.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Dad says.
“I know, Dad. I promise we’ll be careful, though, okay?”
“You can promise whatever you want, son.” His mustache quirks as he presses his lips together. Holding back his own tirade, maybe. “It doesn’t change the history that Dagger Hill has with this town. And none of it is good. I just don’t want to see you or the other kids become a part of that history.”
“We’re not kids anymore, Dad. We’re going to graduate next year, and then…” I trail off because I don’t know what happens after that. College, I guess. The four of us jettisoned to random parts of the country. I glance in the rearview at the others, standing around, laughing, that weird apprehension in their eyes that wasn’t there before. The Almost Nobodies are almost nothing, and I have no idea how to stop it. Maybe I’m not supposed to.
“Gotta go, Dad,” I say, and yank the door handle before he can protest.
“Gabe, wait a second—” The rest is cut off by my door slamming.
I hurry away from the chief’s patrol car, snapping on my best smile, patting my jeans to make sure I’ve still got my keys—thank god I didn’t leave them in Dad’s car. I throw my hands in the air when the others see me and yell, “Heeeeyyyy! What’s happening, Nobodies?”
Kimberly rolls her eyes, but Charlie and Sonya laugh.
“Hey, dick,” Charlie says as he slaps me five. “I thought part of acquiring a nasty nickname in high school was never calling yourself by that nickname.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, because if anyone knows how to embrace the suck, it’s Charlie Bencroft.
“It’s not a nickname,” Sonya says, draping an arm over Charlie’s shoulders. “It’s a club. And we’re its only members.”
“Aha.” I point a finger at Sonya. “That’s why nobody likes us.” We all laugh, even Kim, who seems more melancholy than usual today. I nudge her with my elbow. “You good?”
She looks at me, a little startled. “Yeah. Yeah, sure. Just got off work. You know.” She shrugs.
I glance back at the police station. Dad’s no longer sitting in his patrol car, and he’s not outside anywhere. He must have retreated back to the sanctuary of his office and his secretary Alice’s terrible coffee. For an instant, an image of Clark Webber’s cattle farm blips across my vision, and all I see are dead cow eyes watching me.
“Yeah,” I say, blinking myself back into focus. “Yeah, I know. Who’s ready for lunch?”
We all climb into the Chevelle, a gift from Dad earlier this year, which leaves me feeling especially guilty as I drive it up Main Street, out of the main part of town and across the Hill-to-Hill Bridge, which stretches across the widest segment of the canal. On the other side, Main Street turns back into Route 24 and takes us past Franklin Road, which leads to both the Dagger Hill Mobile Home Park (where Charlie lives) and the massive waterfront house (where Sonya lives) that sits by one of the narrowest, shallowest segments of the canal.
Route 24 cuts across the train tracks, then begins to wind upward and around Dagger Hill. There’s a dusty, rutted road branching off 24 that takes us higher, to a washed-out pile of splinters in the shape of a picnic table. It’s an old lookout spot from back in the days when people actually hiked up here. This is where we park the Chevelle.
Sonya grabs the cooler she brought out of the trunk, and instead of stopping here to eat, we go deeper into the trees, climb up using an overgrown strip of dirt that, according to my dad, was once referred to as Whisper Trail. We found it by accident one day almost seven years ago, riding our bikes and looking for an adventure. When I told Dad where we’d been, he completely wigged out, told us over and over again that Dagger Hill is dangerous, that people have died up there, that there’s something not right about it. But we kept coming. Who knows why. It’s just our spot now, a little clearing at the end of Whisper Trail, where nobody can find us, nobody can call us nobodies, nobody can tell us who we are or who we’re supposed to be.
Before we get there today, though, Charlie stops. He pulls his Polaroid over his head and tosses the camera to me. I catch it deftly, almost subconsciously. I don’t even know what he’s going to do until he’s doing it. There’s a huge boulder alongside the trail, as tall as I am now. Back when we were ten, it felt enormous. Charlie is pulling himself up onto it, the bottoms of his high-tops sliding and skittering.
As he climbs, Kimberly presses her hand against the surface of the rock, smooth and rough at the same time. “You remember when we used to play pirates?” she asks. She’s smiling, petting the boulder like it’s a stray dog.
“Oh yeah,” I say with a laugh. “This boulder was a lot of things when we were kids, but who could forget the SS Daggerwhisp? We thought we were very clever coming up with that name.”
“Hey,” Sonya says beside us. “I came up with that name, and I happen to think it was very clever. Albeit a little silly.”
“It was an awesome name, Sone,” I say, backpedaling. My heart begins to race, and my face grows hot.
Sonya looks away quickly, and I can’t tell if she’s actually hurt or just uncomfortable. It’s been weird territory between us lately.
“Aren’t we still, though?” Kim asks. Her focus remains on the boulder, which Charlie has nearly conquered once again.
“Aren’t we still what?” I ask.
“Kids. Technically, I mean. We are still kids. Right?” There’s a distressed, pleading look on her face as she says it.
“I don’t … I don’t know.” It’s the truth. Really, it’s been weird territory between all four of us lately. “I just got done telling my dad off about how we aren’t kids, but … I don’t know. Some days it’s hard to tell. Some days it just feels easier to pretend we are.”
Kimberly doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “Yeah.” And that’s all.
Up on top of the boulder, Charlie clears his throat, spreads his arms out wide, letting beams of sun fall down through the treetops and across his shoulders. “I need you guys to do something for me,” he says, growing suddenly serious. “Promise me we’ll always be there.”
He’s addressing us the way a king might address a battalion of knights. It’s his way, I guess. Charlie is long and lanky—if he turns a certain way, he all but disappears. But his voice carries. There’s a richness in how he speaks. The only way I’ve ever been able to describe it is that Charlie Bencroft is full. Of spirit, of heart, of passion … I don’t really know. But whatever it is, it makes us full, too.
Still, I cut him down. Maybe that’s my way.
“Ah Jesus, Charlie,” I say. “Don’t get all squishy on the insides. School only let out a day ago.” Even as the words leave my lips, my fingers twitch to the camera in my hands, Charlie’s Polaroid Sun, which he carries with him everywhere. I should capture this moment. I should put Charlie as he is now inside the white borders of an instant film picture. Preserve him somehow. But I don’t do it. I leave the camera dangling against my chest.
On my left, Kimberly digs her elbow into my ribs. When I look at her, she shoots me a glare that by now only makes me grin. The stink eye is worse than my mom’s, and my mom’s makes my stomach hurt from trying not to laugh.
To my right, Sonya barely notices that I’ve spoken, or that Kim is mothering me. She just stands there, arms crossed, watching Charlie with rapt attention. There are strings of fire in her hair from the midday sun. It’s catching in her eyes and along the glossy curves of her lips. Her skin is a deep auburn color that carries its own light. To me, she stands out as something separate from the rest of the world.
Kim elbows me a second time, crossing her own arms. She rolls her eyes, and I can see the genuine annoyance in them. I must have been gawking again.
Meanwhile, Charlie carries on, unhindered by his three friends, who, despite the naggings we all give each other, are something closer, more powerful than family. It’s not like we ever have to say it to each other—there’s no time for that when one of us is always on another’s case. We just know it.
“Promise me we’ll always be there,” Charlie says again, looking right at me. “For each other, for ourselves. For our parents, who will never, ever leave this shitty, nowhere town. Promise me that no matter how old we get, or how far away from here we go, we’ll always find our way home.”
That’s what we are. The four of us together. We’re home.
“I promise,” Sonya says. She doesn’t even hesitate. There’s this goofy smile on her face, and she’s squinting up at Charlie, one eye squeezed shut against the sun. When she turns to look at me, I’m not prepared for it. For the way her smile hits me right in the chest.
I can’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Agreed,” Kim says with a sigh. There’s a strange edge in her voice. “Can we please have lunch now?”
My eyes shift to Charlie, still standing on his rock, hands on his hips. He’s wearing a battered trucker hat of his dad’s and a red Marty McFly puffer vest. Charlie says he’s going to wear that thing every day until Back to the Future III comes out. Kim and Sonya and I all have a bet going for how long he actually makes it. Today it’s eighty-seven degrees with 90 percent humidity, and Charlie’s brow is already shiny with sweat. But he couldn’t look any happier. He’s watching the three of us from his perch with something like pride.
“Yeah,” Charlie says finally, smiling wide. “Let’s eat.” When his gaze moves from my face to over my shoulder, the smile falters. “Better do it quick, too. Looks like there’s a storm on the way.” He pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up on his nose and blinks a few times.
I turn and look in the same direction. Charlie’s right. Windale sits down in the middle of the valley, a rolling jumble of shimmering glass and church spires and pointed row-home rooftops. Past the pale blue water tower, along the top of Sunrise Hill and to the north, a mass of black clouds is pushing toward us.
As we watch, a shadow starts to unroll over town.