Chapter 2
November 6, 2025 at 8:45 PM
My body feels wide awake in the morning despite the fact that it took me forever to fall asleep. I decide to chalk it up to lingering adrenaline from the stress of the move. The mess of the day’s emotions gnawed and chewed at my stomach for an eternity and every time I felt that sleep was within my reach some new-house sound would jolt me awake. I must have drifted off eventually though, because I remember hazy fragments of a dream. I stood in the hallway staring down at that giant window. The walls seemed to stretch and warp around me, whispers swirling into a horrible tangible thing. And that window, it looked so warm, so safe, so inviting.
I shake my head to knock loose the memory. With everything going on my tired mind must have grabbed onto the terrible story Sawyer told me yesterday. I ponder as I dig through boxes for the closest excuse I have for a summer outfit. I remember the look of fear and despair on his face as he came up the stairs for the first time. I can’t imagine how painful that must have been, to knowingly come into the place where he’d lost his best friend. To stare down the hall, just as he must have in his last moments. A worry creeps into my mind at the thought of meeting the rest of Sawyer’s friends today. Had they all been close? Am I about to walk into a mess of grief, not to mention a million uncomfortable introductions?
I make my way downstairs while contemplating calling the whole thing off. I didn’t get Sawyer’s number or address, I have no way of getting ahold of him to tell him not to come. Maybe I could get my parents to tell him I’m sick when he gets here, I think to myself as I follow the sounds of laughter and rattling dishes. Better yet, they might have a number for the realtors that we could call. But Sawyer looked so happy yesterday when I agreed to go. And I really did like the idea of knowing people here. My favorite moves were always the ones where I had a few almost-friends to kill time with before packing up my life all over again. Too much time alone with my parents, trying to pretend like I don’t hate the house or the heat or the barking dogs down the street would take years off of my life. It’s starting to look like my choices are an awkward party with a nice boy or a long lonely summer.
“Good morning Clairy beary! How’d you sleep?” Dad yells over his shoulder as he stirs at a pan of scrambled eggs.
“Morning. Fine I guess,” I say, moving a stack of folded linens off of a chair to take a seat at the table. Mom loads another two slices of bread into the toaster then comes over to plant a kiss on my head.
“First night in a new house. It’s always rough. But it’s only going to get better!” She drops into the other chair. Her messy hair is plastered to her forehead and she reaches for a glass of iced coffee like it’s her lifeline.
“How long have you guys been up?” I ask, checking the clock. It’s just after ten and the sun is already relentless. The air is stuffy and humid like we are inside a giant oven. God, I hope the air conditioning works in this old hell hole.
“Eight ish,” dad says, finally deciding that he has cooked the eggs to his liking and turning off the stove. “We’ve just had so much to do!”
“We made a ton of progress. The living room is nearly done! Same with the bathrooms. We just have kitchen stuff and some more odds and ends and then this whole place will feel like ours!” Mom looks at dad with so much love in her excited eyes that I feel bad about my disdain for this house. They get so excited about each new house, like maybe the next one will give them exactly what they’ve been looking for.
“That’s great, mom. I’m so glad you like it,” I say, and really try to mean it.
“We’re going to have to hit the beach soon. Sometime this week,” dad says, sliding a plate in front of me. I barely even look at it before digging in.
“Isn’t it like two hours away?” I ask around a mouthful of toast.
“It’s perfect! No tourists or tsunamis, but totally close enough to make a nice day trip,” mom gushes as dad returns with their plates too.
“Exactly. I’ve been thinking, and it’s time I learn to surf,” says dad, his face totally serious except for the slightest hint of smile. Mom and I roll our eyes in unison.
“Okay, sure old man. Whatever you say,” I tease, then take a few more bites. “Are you still planning on going to that party today?”
“Of course! Gotta make a good impression with the neighbors,” says dad, and mom nods.
“Probably going to go around one ish, after we finish up some more work here,” she adds. “I figured we could go through your clothes, see what works for this weather and what needs to go. We can put together a list and go shopping sometime tomorrow. And with whatever time is left we can go through your books and stuff. Dad mentioned moving the bookshelf from our room into yours so we can do that too. On second thought we might not go to the Bellators’ until closer to two…” she trails off, trying to piece together her day in her mind.
“Actually mom, Sawyer and I talked about it last night. He said he’d come here and pick me up. Pick us up, I mean. And take us.” They share a glance.
“Really? Well that’s nice dear. You seemed to really get along with that boy,” mom prompts, waiting for me to say more.
“Um, yeah, I mean, he was really nice. He offered to introduce me to the other kids so that’s cool. And I don’t know the address so how would we get there anyway?” I ramble a little, not sure how I feel about the look on her face.
“Well, that sounds great kiddo!” says dad. “What time is he coming?”
“That’s the thing, he’s going to be here at eleven.”
“Then you should absolutely go with him, and we will meet you there later. Your dad and I can handle things around here, you go have fun!”
“Are you sure? You don’t even know where it is, that’s why Sawyer is coming.”
“We got the address yesterday,” mom assures me, leaving me a little confused. Why did Sawyer insist on picking me up then? Why didn’t we consider the fact that our parents probably exchanged information? She sees my mind moving and laughs a little. “I think Sawyer offered because he wanted to spend more time with you,” she prompts.
“Oh. Um… I guess so?” I say, suddenly not sure where to place my hands. “I didn’t really think it was like… that.”
“It doesn’t have to be like anything sweetie, but he seems like a nice boy from a nice family, and he seems to like you. It wouldn’t hurt, you know, to at least consider it.”
We’ve had this conversation before. And even when we don’t talk about it, I hear them whispering to each other after they think I’m asleep. What if we’ve screwed her up, they wonder. All of the moves, the new schools, what if she can’t make a friend? It’s not normal, they say, a pretty girl my age to not have a boyfriend, not even a crush. To not have any friends beyond casual acquaintances. What if she’s broken? They ask me about everyone I meet, ask me to bring friends home for dinner, tell me long distance isn’t even that hard these days with phones and instagram. They mean to be encouraging, not realizing that I’m suffocating.
“We’ll see, mom,” I say sarcastically, but I decide to store that idea away for later. “I need to get ready. Is there soap and stuff in the shower upstairs?” I ask, finishing up my last bites and setting my plate in the sink.
“Yep. Should be all ready for you!”
“Thanks!” I run back up the stairs and into the bathroom next to my bedroom. I do enjoy when our houses have more than one bathroom, it’s nice to have my own. After a few minutes of fighting with the faucet I get the water to turn on. I spend a long time standing under the lukewarm water, letting it pull the heat from my body and the clutter from my mind. Mom had really pulled out all the stops, I realize as I find my good shampoo and conditioner waiting for me, as well as a new bottle of my favorite soap. I thank her silently, glad that I don’t have to spend today smelling like hotel soap or Oldspice. Back in my room, I towel off and pull on a short denim skirt and a plaid button up. I’ve only ever worn this outfit with thick tights underneath and a jacket over top, but today I tie up the shirt in a cute knot at my mid stomach and marvel at the thought of bare legs. I can’t remember a time when we lived this far south.
Sawyer arrives fifteen minutes early and smiles sheepishly at mom when she opens the door to let him in.
“Thanks, Mrs. Thompson. Sorry, I know I’m a little early, I just- well I didn’t want to be late. If you're not ready yet I can totally wait,” He says, eyeing the dirty rag over her shoulder.
“Actually,” I call from the plastic-wrapped couch, “They’re going to join us later. You don’t mind, do you?” Mom steps to the side, giving him an eyeline into the house.
“No, of course not, that’s fine! As long as you’re sure,” he adds, a little rushed at the end. Mom smiles and tries to stifle a giggle.
“Totally sure. Tell your parents that we will be there in just a bit, we have a little more work to get done before we’re ready.” He grins at her and nods in agreement. I finish tying my shoes and stand, smoothing my skirt before smiling up at Sawyer.
“Ready?” I ask, and his face lights up. Maybe mom was more correct than I thought about his wanting to spend more time with me.
“Let’s go!” He offers me his arm and I take it hesitantly. Mom winks over his shoulder and I roll my eyes before we head out into the driveway. An image forces itself into my mind; a broken boy, blood stains on the concrete, glass thrown like confetti. I suppress a shudder and hope Sawyer doesn’t feel it.
“How long is the walk to your place?” I ask, pulling my arm back to pretend to fix my hair.
“Just a few minutes, nothing bad. It’s a good thing too, it's already a million degrees out here.” He keeps his arm out for me for a moment longer but eventually drops it.
“Thank god you feel it too! I figured you were all just used to it down here and I’d be the only one sweating buckets.” He laughs as I fan my face and I have to shield my eyes to look up at him. He laughs so easily, his freckled face raised to the sun. I try to reconcile this image of him with the way I saw him yesterday, pale and shaking. It’s nearly impossible. The easy set of his shoulders, the relaxed rhythm of his gait, how could this boy have witnessed tragedy?
“Where is it you come from, then? Somewhere cold?”
“Michigan, before this. Then North Dakota before that, and a million other places before that.”
“Military?”
“No, nothing like that. My parents, they just don’t really like to stay in one place for too long.” I look at my feet as we walk and Sawyer’s sea green eyes burn holes into me.
“I hope this time is different.” He says after a while. I don’t know how to respond to that so I just nod. We round a final corner and I see his house. I assume it’s his house, at least. The driveway is lined with balloons and the towering porch pillars are wrapped in streamers and lights. I can hear the overlapping conversations from three yards away, and as we get closer the smell of barbecue wafts through the air. There are a few people on the porch and scattered around the front lawn. All adults, dressed in floral prints or golf polos, holding tiny plates with meats and cheeses, corn bread and cubed fruit.
“Here we are,” Sawyer says and leads me up the driveway to the open front door. He waves to a few people as we pass and gestures for me to walk into the house. I hesitate at the door upon hearing the sheer volume of voices coming from inside. He places his hand lightly on the small of my back and ushers me inside.
The house is even more beautiful inside than the outside would suggest, which is impressive. I remember Sawyer talking about decorators coming to set up yesterday, and they did an incredible job. The decor is impossible to ignore without feeling overwhelming. Every surface supports something shiny or colorful, and I can’t help but think that if I did something like this it would end up looking like a child’s birthday party. The Bellator home, however, looks decadent and festive with a palpable undercurrent of sophisticated class. The guests are no different, each of them a shining image of quiet money. The women sip white wine from tall stemmed glasses and giggle behind napkins; the men laugh with their full chests and raise half empty beers in knowing gestures. We wind through throngs of partygoers, each bumped elbow earning Sawyer another warm smile or pat on the arm. They eye me curiously, but no one asks after me. We pass through the kitchen and toward the open patio doors. One voice becomes significantly louder than the rest, her hiccuping laugh carrying over the rest of the noise. Mindy Bellator spots us as we step outside and rushes forward to greet her son.
“Oh Sawyer darlin, hello! I missed you!” She yells a little too loud and wraps him in a hug. Wine sloshes from her glass as Sawyer expertly disengages with a tight smile. She notices me and laughs again. “You brought the young lady!”
“Claire,” he reminds her.
“Yes, Claire! So good to see you again dear.” She offers her hand which I take.
“Good to see you too. Thank you again for inviting me, your house is lovely.”
“Well thank you dear, you’re too sweet. Where are those parents of yours, I’d love to introduce them to everybody!” She gestures to the open space around her. Since we began talking, everyone around Mindy had scattered, leaving the three of us standing alone. An island in a sea of people.
“They’re coming in an hour or two. They’re very excited, they just wanted to get a little more work done before they came over.” Her face falls but she quickly recovers, draping a heavy arm over Sawyer’s shoulder to steady herself.
“Oh of course, we know how much work a new home can be! Well remind them, won’t you? And tell them there is plenty of food!”
“Sure thing, mom, Claire will let them know. We have to get going though, I want to introduce her to everyone.” He gently lifts her arm off of him and holds her hand while she balances herself again.
“Right, dear, of course. You go have fun. I have to get back to my guests, too. A hostess’s job is never done!.” She looks around hopelessly at the empty space around her, then sees a small group of women and takes off, stumbling only slightly as she goes. They eye her a bit unpleasantly but quickly smile and offer compliments about the party. I look at Sawyer, a question clear on my face but he shakes his head and begins walking further away from the house. It takes a few steps before I see where we are going. Tucked into a colossal oak tree is a beautiful treehouse.
It’s not the kind of thing a dad builds for his kids on a weekend with some spare wood. It looks like someone carried a little cabin up into the tree, complete with glass windows and a shingled roof, even a wrap-around porch. Sawyer climbs the stairs eagerly, reaching back for my hand. He turns to face me at the top.
“My friends and I hang out here. Avoid the crowd, ya know? Ready?”
“Um, yeah. I guess so.” I feel my heart in my throat but I don’t get a chance to change my mind. Sawyer pushes open the door.
The inside of the treehouse is cozy. It’s still bigger than I knew treehouses could be, but between the rugs covering the floor and the furniture lining the walls, the space feels very inviting. At least it would, I think, if it weren’t for the five pairs of unfamiliar eyes. Whatever conversation they were having before stopped as soon as we entered, and now everyone just stares in silence.
“Guys, this is Claire,” Sawyer finally says after a long moment. “Claire, this is, well this is everybody I guess.” I blink up at him but he doesn’t say anything else, so I’m forced to speak.
“Um, hi?” One of Sawyer’s friends chooses then to take pity on me, a short girl with long dark hair and eyes so dark they’re nearly black.
“Hey, Claire! Nice to meet you. Sorry, you just surprised us is all. I’m Avery!” She untangles herself from under the arm of the boy next to her on the threadbare couch and stands to meet me. We stare for another moment before she awkwardly offers me her hand. I shake it, cringing internally at the cold formality of it all, but there is nothing mocking in Avery’s warm laugh. Her smile is bright and friendly, and I give her one in return.
“Sorry, I um, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Don’t worry about it, really. You’re totally fine. Here, come sit down!” She turns back to her couch and taps the boy impatiently on the arm. He slides over to make room for us, but it’s still a small couch. Avery would have to practically be in his lap to fit the three of us. I glance around. Sawyer is taking a seat on another couch beside a boy with brown hair cut short. There is a pretty girl on a beanbag leaning back against the arm of Sawyer's couch, and there are two armchairs in the back corners of the room. In one sits a tall girl with blonde hair and harsh features, her legs crossed under her. The other sits empty. I consider opting for that seat, trying not to squish anyone, but when my eyes land on it the blonde girl bristles. Avery grabs my elbow and pulls me to the couch.
“Sawyer didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone else,” mutters the boy with brown hair, kicking Sawyer’s foot.
“She just moved in! I wanted her to feel welcome and all that. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” He shrugs, clearly unbothered. He smiles at me encouragingly. My face has turned hot and I’m sure bright red. He didn’t tell them?
“The more the merrier,” Avery says at the exact same time as the blonde girl speaks.
“Moved in where?” No one speaks for a long moment.
“The watermelon house,” says the boy beside Avery, his voice barely above a whisper. “They finally sold it.”
“Oh.” That’s all she says, but I see her hands clench in her lap and she curls her legs tighter. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“The watermelon house, I get it. That’s clever.” I search for words to stave off the tension in the air. “Pink walls, green shutters. It makes sense.” I ease myself into the seat, careful not to sit on Avery. She slides over as close as she can to the boy to give me room.
“We’ve called it that since we were kids,” she explains. “This is Carter.” He offers a small wave and smiles. “That’s Lexi.” The blonde nods. “Then there’s Franklin and Talia. And you already know Sawyer.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Claire. My parents were really excited for you to move in, it’s all they’ve been talking about. Sorry I didn’t come meet you yesterday, they needed help around here.” Talia grins up at me from the bean bag. Her hair is a beautiful auburn red that falls in long waves down her back and her sea green eyes are strikingly bright.
“That’s okay. Your parents? So you’re-?”
“Sawyer’s sister.” She cuts me off. “And Carter’s our brother. Triplets.” I look between the three of them, seeing the resemblance after she points it out. They have the same eyes, the same nose. Carter must dye his hair black, I think, because the other two have the same hair as well.
“We have another little sister, too. She's running around here somewhere,” Carter adds. “She has probably eaten a whole cake by now, you know how it goes.”
“Not really, no. It’s just my parents and I.”
“Same here,” Avery says.
“Hell yeah!” Franklin fist bumps the air in our direction.
“You have a brother, dumbass.” Talia rolls her eyes and slaps him playfully on the leg.
“Yeah technically but he never comes home anymore. I’ve got the whole place to myself pretty much. I’m rocking the only child lifestyle.” he winks at me and I blush a little.
“What about you Lexi?” I ask.
“Sister.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Yeah, Penny’s about the same age as our sister Alice.” Sawyer explains, eyeing Lexi nervously. Again, the conversation lulls.
“So, um, are you guys all going to be juniors next year?” I ask.
“Lex is a year younger,” Avery explains. “But yeah, the rest of us are going into junior year.
“Finally,” adds Franklin. “Can’twaitto get the hell out of here.” Talia laughs at that and leans against his leg.
“Claire has lived all over the country,” Sawyer says, puffing his chest a bit. They all look at me expectantly.
“Yeah, I guess. Not all over, but I’ve lived a lot of places.”
“What’s that like?” Avery asks.
“Eh, nothing special. The houses change and stuff, everywhere is a little different, but it’s not all that exciting really. And school is school, no matter where it’s always the same thing.” I shrug as I explain, remembering a thousand boring hallways and classrooms and teachers and students. “It all blurs together, really.”
“Well, I think it sounds pretty cool.” Avery insists, and Carter nods. “The rest of us have lived here our whole lives.”
“Really? Like the whole time?”
“Yep. We went to kindergarten together. Most of us met before that, even. Played in the same sandboxes and shit,” says Franklin. He reaches up to stretch, his homemade tank top showing off the rippling of his biceps.
“Wow. I’ve always wondered what that would be like. To have one group of friends, you know, to grow up together. You see it on TV all the time, suburb life.” I’ve never had that. Looking around the room, I can picture their lives together. Knocking on each other’s doors, riding bikes down the sidewalks. I think of the years they’ve spent up here in the treehouse, talking and laughing, making memories. I feel so out of place it almost hurts.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Talia says, rolling her eyes. “It gets a little boring, to be honest. Nothing ever changes.”
“Like you, for example,” adds Franklin. “You moving into the watermelon house is like the most exciting thing to happen around here in months. Seriously, I think that place has been empty my whole life. I mean, who would want to live there? It’s disgusting. Not to mention haunted. What’s it like in there now, anyway? I mean, they had to do a ton of renovations and stuff you know?” Talia whips her head around and glares at him, grabbing his ankle to stop him, but it’s too late. We all watch in horror as Lexi jumps to her feet and storms out of the room, her footsteps on the stairs shaking the entire foundation of the treehouse.
“What the hell, man?” Carter demands. Avery places a hand on his leg.
“Sorry. Shit, guys, I’m sorry. I know we weren’t supposed to say anything but like, what else were we going to talk about? I mean, Sawyer brought her here, you know? There was no avoiding it.” Franklin pulls his fingers through his hair in exasperation.
“You could have been gentler about it. ‘It’s haunted, that’s crazy. You know they had to replace the carpet and the window? Wild!’ You’re such a dick.” Carter deepens his voice to mock Franklin, and then grabs Avery’s hand and exhales loudly.
“And it’s not Claire's fault, either, so don’t drag her into this,” Sawyer jumps to my rescue.
“I feel like it kind of is my fault, though. I didn’t realize Sawyer didn’t tell you all that he was inviting me, I feel really bad. I’m sorry, I can go.” I stand to leave but Avery stops me.
“No, it’s okay. She does this pretty often. It had nothing to do with you. It seems like we probably owe you an explanation.” She looks around the room, and eventually everyone nods in agreement. “This is a pretty long story.”
