Chapter 1
November 4, 2025 at 7:39 PM
I stare up at the pink stucco walls, the windows gaping like the maw of some feverish animal, and remind myself yet again not to flinch, not to drop the “comfortable, curious, excited” face that I’ve spent so much time practicing. It’s even worse than the pictures.
“Isn’t she beautiful!?” My dad claps me on the shoulder and ceramic clacks together in the cardboard box in my hands. He stares up at the house as if it’s the culmination of his life’s work and not just the latest in an unending string of midlife crises. “Our own little beach bungalow. She’s just perfect, Claire bear, don’t you think?”
“Oh yeah dad, it’s amazing. It’s even better than the pictures,” I bite between teeth I hope are bared in something like a smile. I don’t remind him that it’s two hours to the nearest beach. I don’t mention the missing shingles or the putrid color or the fact that the grass is so dry and brittle I swear I can feel it slicing my skin through the soles of my shoes. He squeezes me tighter and I manage to return his proud grin. “We’re gonna love it here.” For the next few months. Until mom can’t cope with the heat or we see the bill for the roof replacement. Or maybe dad will find a cattle ranch in Wyoming he can’t live without, or some historic school house that ‘just needs someone to love it back to life’ and suddenly the beach bungalow will lose that new car smell and it'll be on to the next. I just have to bide some time.
“Cee-Cee! Steve! Come here, come meet the realtors!” mom hollers from across the scrub waste of a yard. I didn’t notice the silver beamer pulling into the drive, but it would be impossible not to see the couple climbing out of it. The man opens the passenger door and offers his hand to the most picture-perfect southern woman I’ve ever seen. Her hair is huge, caramel brown with chunky highlights that really draw attention to the orange hue of her spray tan. His foggy gray suit has obviously never even dreamt of a wrinkle, and the undershirt perfectly matches the sage green of her pantsuit. She holds his arm with one manicured hand, and the other gingerly grasps a clipboard like she’s cradling a baby in her arms. White strappy heels click across the concrete and she calls out to my mom like they're best friends.
“Oh Emily darlin! So great to finally have you here!” Her peachy sweet drawl actually does something to calm my nerves. She pulls my mom into a hug and dad trots off to join her while I stoop and place my box on the porch step. The potted succulents clink together again despite my careful movements and I cringe a little before turning to join my family. I turn just in time to watch another person climb out of the car, a boy about my age. His shaggy chestnut hair catches the sunlight as he shakes out his long limbs and stretches to crack his back. The crisp white polo he wears shows off his sunkissed biceps and a sliver of toned stomach above the waistband of his khakis.
“So pleased to see such a beautiful family move into the neighborhood,” says Mr. Suit, offering a hand to my father. “Aaron and Mindy Bellator, it’s great to meet in person after all this time. And that there is our boy Sawyer, we brought him along for a little muscle, figured he could help move some belongings while we finalize the paperwork.” Aaron’s chest puffs while he talks about his son, and Sawyer blushes with an embarrassed smile that looks a little too rehearsed. Dad’s hand wiggles listlessly in Mr. Bellator’s firm grip.
“Great, good, that’s wonderful. Any help is- well that’s great. Um, I’m Steve. I’m Steve and that’s Emily, my wife, and our daughter Claire. We’re, um, we’re happy to be here as well. Looking forward to that southern charm we’ve heard so much about.”
“And you certainly will experience some,” drawls Mindy, flashing us with a pearly grin. “Sandia Ridge is just the most precious little community. We have nothin’ but great things to say. After all, we chose this very place to raise our family!”
“Our boy here was real excited to hear about a young lady his age moving in,” Aaron chuckles and ruffles his fingers through his son’s already messy hair.
“Wow thanks, pop.” Sawyer rolls his eyes but when they land on me they are bright and mischievous.
“The kiddos here are all close, but they just love new friends! I’m sure they’ll be more than welcoming to your dear girl.” Emily looks at my mom with that ‘mothers know best’ face and I watch as she releases tension from her shoulders I hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful. Doesn’t that sound great, Claire, some new friends to show you around?” She beams at me and wraps me up in a one-armed hug.
“That sounds perfect, thank you Mrs. Bellator.”
“Of course, dear! Sawyer here can help you with your things, you two can get to know each other, and you can meet everyone else tomorrow!”
“We have a sort of annual beginning of summer party at our place,” Aaron explains. “Nothing fancy, just a little get-together for the neighborhood. Everyone will be so glad to meet y’all, and then your lovely Claire can get some quality time with her peers.”
“You know how teens can get, too cool to spend time with us but they get cranky if you keep them cooped up for too long,” Emily giggles through her rosy lipstick. This earns another fond eye roll from Sawyer.
“Oh I don’t know,” mom wrings her hands and throws a glance at dad. “We’d love to join, it’s just that nothing is unpacked yet and well, I don’t exactly have anything in the kitchen, I have nothing to bring. I’d hate to show up empty handed.”
“Oh nonsense, not a worry at all! It’s catered, dear. Can’t have the whole neighborhood fighting over who gets to bring corn bread, now, can we? No, we have the whole spread all taken care of. Aaron fixes some brisket, but that’s just an excuse to use the smoker more than anything.” Mindy doesn’t break eye contact with mom through the next silent seconds.
“Um, yeah. Okay, sure we’d love to. Sure!” Mom stutters.
“Oh, perfect! Well, we’re sure looking forward to it! The other kids are at home getting the house all ready for company.” No that she’s satisfied, Mrs. Bellator turns back to her husband. “Alright, are we ready to cover the last bit of borin’ stuff before you’re all official?”
“Sounds good. Claire, have Sawyer help you carry boxes, put him to work,” Aaron claps his son on the back and digs a heavy pen out of his breast pocket. I smile at him, feeling a blush creeping into my cheeks.
“Um, okay sure,” I mumble and turn away toward the porch with my small box of plants. The grass crunches under Sawyer’s feet as he follows behind, leaving our parents huddled around Mrs. Bellator’s clipboard. When we reach the relative solitude of the porch I turn back around to face him. “Hey, sorry, you really don’t have to help-” I start to say but he cuts me off.
“Nah, it’s all good! I’m happy to help, really! I’m Sawyer,” he flashes me his lopsided grin again and offers me his hand. “I guess you already knew that…’’he trails off. I take his hand, warm and firm.
“I’m Claire. It really is nice to meet someone, I guess,” I say and he lights up.
“Don’t worry about that, you’ll meet everyone. Mom wasn’t lying, my friends are pretty great. I told them you were moving in, well, some of them. And they’re excited so it’s going to be good.” He lingers for a moment before he pulls his hand away and turns to gape up at the house. “Let’s get some of your things inside. Make the place feel homey, ya know?”
“I mean, I guess. I only really have that and this,” I turn and grab my discarded backpack which he promptly pulls from my hands and slings over one broad shoulder. He picks up my box too, and it looks oddly small in his hands.
“Great, let’s do this! Do you know where I’m taking it?”
“Um, yeah I think so. From the pictures online.” I reach out and grip the door knob, the sun has warmed it to the temperature of a writhing animal, and push. The door sucks air as it swings. Given the general gloom, I expected the inside to have that bone-deep chill. Instead the air is hot and wet, heavy in my lungs, and the scent of mildew clings to the inside of my nose like honey. My footsteps echo on the fake plastic-wood floor of the entry way. I hear Sawyer follow me inside, heavy foot falls and heavy breathing, but I can’t pull my attention away from the yawning interior of the empty house. It takes a moment to orient myself, the pictures that mom and dad have been showing me featured a staged, cozy home with a distinctly southern decor style and warm inviting lighting. This is something else all together, to the point that I don’t even recognize the place. I shudder at the emptiness, the foreignness.
“Bedrooms are upstairs,” Sawyer mutters behind me with a deep gravel in his voice, like something is stuck in his throat. I nod, and step deeper into the house, looking for the staircase. I find it standing solemnly in the back of what is supposed to be a living room, and begin my climb.
“I’m this one up here to the right,” I say as I reach the top, and I’m greeted by the sight of a huge bay window. It takes up the entire width of the long hallway. For a moment I almost feel better. From the outside this window looked like a terrible portal into the dark empty, but now looking at it from the inside I can see why mom and dad loved it so much. The Carolina sun shines brightly through its panes, casting the entire hall in arm bright light. I can picture the bench in front of it covered in throw pillows and mom’s quilts.
“Wow,” I breathe, “It’s actually kind of beautiful up here.” I turn around to see Sawyer behind me, all color drained from his face. His hands are white claws gripping the cardboard so tight I can see the walls of the box bowing under his fingers. His lips are a thin line as he stares unblinking at the window for a long while.
“Are you alright?” I ask, and he takes a shaky breath but doesn’t pull his eyes from the window.
“Fine. I’m fine. Um, where…?” He trails off and suddenly I notice the trembling of his shoulders, his jaw.
“Here, right here I think.” I follow the hallway about halfway down and find the door that I believe is to the bedroom I chose from the floor plan. I push the door open and it whispers across the plush white carpet. I turn and watch Sawyer follow me, each step seeming harder than the last, until he finally makes it inside and closes the door behind him, exhaling through pursed lips. He stands in tense silence for a moment before speaking.
“I’m sorry. I thought I could do this. I told them I’d be fine. I thought I was fine.” I slowly step forward and lift my box out of his hands. As soon as I do, he brings them to his face, digging his palms into his eyes and grabbing at his hair. He shifts his body into a deep crouch, my backpack sliding awkwardly down one arm but he doesn’t seem to notice. “You must think I’m insane. I was gonna play it cool, I thought I could…” He trails off again then pulls his hands from his eyes and I see the slight sheen of tears smeared across his skin.
“Are you okay? What can I do?” I reach out but stop, my hands grabbing uselessly at nothing.
“No. No really, I’m fine. I’m sorry, it just caught me off guard I guess. This house.” He thinks for a moment, rises to his full height, and continues. “Some stuff happened here. Some bad stuff. I’m good, it’s just being here again, it’s harder than I expected.”
“What happened?” My parents had said something about an incident causing the Bellators to lower the price a little but I hadn’t asked any more about it. I didn’t think it could be that important, not important enough to have this boy crying right in front of me.
“It’s not important. I don’t want to freak you out or anything.” I almost giggle at the implication that I can’t handle the truth, but the look on his sheet-white face stops me.
“You can tell me. Unless you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. We can just go back outside-” Sawyer cuts me off.
“No. No, I told my parents I’d be okay. They’d be upset if they knew I lost it like this. I told them I was better.” He takes a steadying breath then begins again. “A few months ago there was this, well it started out as a party I guess but then someone got hurt. Like really hurt. A kid, our age. My friend, my best friend, he… well he died.” When he meets my eyes all I can do is stare. “It was suicide. Totally unexpected, I had no idea. None of us did. I wasn’t here that night but my sister was, and a few of our other friends too. They said it was really terrible, and totally out of nowhere…”
“Oh my god, oh Sawyer I’m so sorry! That’s so awful! Oh my god, I don’t even know what to say! What- what happened? Oh that was so rude don’t answer that I just don’t…”
“No, it's fine. He- he um, he jumped. Out the big window. Everyone heard the glass break and went running to look. They called an ambulance and stuff but by the time… I guess it was really bad. Glass and blood and everything. And he was gone. Just right on the driveway.” He digs the toe of his sneakers into the carpet and at that moment he looks so small and lost that I can’t help but wrap my arms around him and squeeze. He freezes, but then slowly lifts his arms and hugs me back. We stand that way for a while until he eventually pushes me back gently.
“I can’t believe you’re here. If it were me I don’t think I would ever be able to set foot in here after something like that.” He chuckles a little bit at that, tears still swimming in his eyes but refusing to fall.
“Ha, yeah well that’s probably a good idea but oh well. I’m okay now, really. It just shocked me for a second. We were all supposed to come, my other siblings and I, but I was the only one that could do it. Mom and dad said they’d give me a pass too, but I guess I just wanted to meet you.” He blushes a little. “We don’t get new people our age moving in too often around here and, well I wanted you to feel welcome.”
“I really appreciate that, Sawyer. You shouldn’t have put yourself through this just for me, but since you did I’m glad you’re here. It’s always nice to know one person.”
“Then it was worth it,” he says with a soft smile. He blinks the last wetness from his eyes, stands up a little straighter, and asks “What else do you need me to carry? We can get you all settled in!”
We spend the next two hours carrying boxes from the van to the house, sorting them into their designated rooms. We make easy conversation the whole time. After a few treks up the stairs he doesn’t even spare a second glance to the window. At some point his parents leave, but he insists on staying until the job is done, he lives close enough to walk home anyway. He tells me all about the party tomorrow, rolling his eyes at his parents going all out on the decorators and caterers.
“They do this every year, and every year they say it's not a big deal, and every year it just gets bigger and more expensive. Truth be told, I came here to avoid the tirade of cleaning chores at home. I’d much rather spend time with you than with my sister and a mop.” He winks at me and we both laugh.
“Are you sure I should come? I’m not really a fancy party kind of girl…” I worry, thinking about my wardrobe all folded up in cardboard boxes in my room. My limited supply of nice clothes was meant for holidays-only church in Michigan, not a mcmansion party in South Carolina.
“Oh I’m absolutely sure. My friends and I hide outside in the treehouse all day anyway, no fancy attire required. I promise, everyone will be thrilled to meet you.” His fingers brush against mine and I watch a slight blush creep into his cheeks.
“As long as you’re sure,” I conceded and he beams.
“One hundred percent. I should get going, actually. I told my parents I would clean my room and the bathroom and stuff. Not sure why, it’s not like her friends need to be snooping around my room or anything, but it’s better not to question her when she’s in planning mode,” he rolls his eyes. “So look, how about I come pick you up in the morning? That way I can show you how to get there?”
“You’re going to leave your house to come get me and walk me back to your house? Me and my parents?” I laugh as he considers.
“Yep, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Unless of course you don’t want me to?”
“You know, that actually sounds lovely.” His smile grows even more.
“Perfect. In that case I’ll see you tomorrow Claire. How about eleven?”
“Looking forward to it!”
