Chapter 2 Caulder
Caulder
Panic is the enemy of victory. Panic is what takes down any team, no matter how strong, no matter how unbeatable it seems. That’s the lesson Dad’s been burning into my mind ever since I was old enough to be on my first T-ball team.
From the moment I picked up the ball, Dad was kneeling at eye level and telling me not to panic.
“Don’t let it in,” he’d say. “The fear. The worry. You tell them all to go to hell, all right? Focus on winning, not worrying.”
Was it a little bit of a dramatic message for a seven-year-old?
Sure. But like most of Dad’s lessons, I’ve taken it to heart.
I don’t panic when the bases are loaded and the opposing team’s best hitter comes up to bat.
I don’t panic when I feel the twinge in my forearm that tells me my arm’s nearly at the breaking point.
And I don’t panic now, when the Death Van swings violently to the side of the highway, nearly hurling Avery and Marlene out of their seats and into the aisle between us.
Or, at least, I don’t let the panic show. Because that’s really the trick: You actually have to panic. Just for a second. So I let it fully flow through my body so that it touches every inch of my blood and fires up my adrenaline before I take a breath and send it away.
Right now, though, it tries to stick. Because when the Death Van comes to a screeching stop, Avery stands up out of her seat, head whipping around and fear lancing through her eyes.
In all the time I’ve known Avery, I’ve only seen fear like that a few times—and none of those are memories I’m eager to revisit. Usually, Avery has an expression that tells you she’s forty steps ahead of you and waiting for you to catch the fuck up.
Point being, it’s unnerving when that look’s gone.
“Probably just a flat tire,” Mr. Jay says from the front.
Of the three teachers, he’s the youngest, freshly graduated from USC with a film degree that he apparently wasn’t able to use to get a job yet.
Either way, he’s been hired as a substitute to cover one of the teachers on maternity leave, and apparently, he’s close enough to Coach McCullough that he’s also jumped on with helping with debate team.
Still, he’s so young that it’s hard to really take him seriously, especially since he graduated the same year as several of our older siblings.
He’s even got the same curly brown hair that he had in his senior year photo—which Lucas found in his brother’s yearbook the second we discovered Jay had been hired—but I would guess the tattoos on his arms are new additions.
He’s also one of those teachers who uses his first name instead of his last name (“That’s what the cool professors do in college,” he told us), which definitely doesn’t make him feel like a legitimate teacher.
“We’ve got a spare,” Mr. McCullough replies, peeling off his headphones as he stands up. Apparently, an exploding tire is enough to wake him up.
Mr. McCullough’s not exactly old, but he’s obviously not as young as Mr. Jay. His wavy red-brown hair is just receding a bit, and his slang is only about ten years off. As he walks up to the front of the van, I slide out of my seat and follow him.
“Are you sure that spare’s still good?” Ms. Dorman asks. She’s McCullough’s age, though tonight, she could almost pass for a student in her oversize sweatshirt.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Mr. McCullough asks.
Ms. Dorman looks pointedly at Mr. Jay, as if he knows exactly what she’s talking about. Then she glances over McCullough’s shoulder to where I’m standing, looking like she doesn’t want me to hear what she’s about to say. Too bad that in the Death Van she doesn’t exactly have a choice.
Mr. Jay’s neck goes red. He rubs it, smiling sheepishly.
“Ah,” he says. “Right. Someone might have borrowed the van for a project over the weekend and run over a nail and didn’t get the spare replaced.”
Ms. Dorman’s nostrils flare, and Mr. McCullough’s face pales.
“You’re kidding,” he says. “Jay, we talked about stuff like this.”
“What?” Mr. Jay says. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“What’s going on?”
I turn to find Kaitlyn standing with her arms folded over her chest, Javi right behind her.
Javi’s not as tall as me, but he’s close.
Now that baseball season’s over, his black hair’s longer, currently sticking up on the side from sleep.
He meets my eyes and raises his eyebrows, and even if I hadn’t spent years reading his facial cues and hand signs as a catcher, I’d still know exactly what he was asking me: What bullshit now?
“Flat tire,” I say. “We don’t have a spare.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Mr. McCullough says, holding a hand up. “Let’s take a look first.”
“Did we hit something?” Emerson demands, pushing past Javi and Kaitlyn and me to get to the front of the van. He tilts his chin up and glares, his entire demeanor dripping with the air of someone who’s used to asking for the manager and getting his order comped.
“No, we didn’t hit anything,” Ms. Dorman says with a sigh. “Jay, Gerard, why don’t you go outside and check what happened and look at the spare. The rest of us will stay put.”
I look at Mr. McCullough. “Need help, Coach?”
He smiles at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Caulder,” he says, then slides open the door, revealing the downpour waiting outside. Mr. Jay slips out of the front seat and grimaces, and Mr. McCullough moves to step outside when—
“Wait!” Avery yelps, holding up her hand like we’re in class and she’s got the answer to a question.
Of all the things that haven’t changed about Avery, this is the one that’s the most obvious.
In fact, if I could close my eyes and somehow block out the storm and the forest and everything else, we might still be kids in the same fifth-grade class, and she would be waving her hand in the air for the teacher’s attention.
While everyone else would blurt things out and get scolded, Avery always remembered the rules. Even now. Even after an accident.
“What is it, Avery?” Mr. McCullough asks, and I don’t miss the barely concealed irritation in his tone.
“I saw something out there,” she says, tapping her window behind her. “It went into the woods.”
“Sick,” Lucas says, immediately standing and grabbing his handheld tripod for his phone. “Was it a bear?”
“I don’t know,” Avery says. “I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“I highly doubt it was a bear,” Ms. Dorman says. “Probably a deer.”
“But—”
“Now’s not the time for dramatics,” Ms. Dorman says crisply. “Everyone in here will stay calm. Jay, Gerard, let’s move quickly.”
The two men exchange looks but nod and disappear out into the rain. As I slide the door shut behind them, I can hear their shoes squelching in the mud, their muffled voices.
Avery edges around Marlene to get to Ms. Dorman, who’s taken her seat back and has her phone out. I try to listen to what Avery’s saying, but Lucas pushes around me and takes the empty seat next to Marlene, immediately popping his phone into the tripod and pointing it at the window.
“I can’t believe this,” Emerson says, annoyance ringing through his voice as he takes one of the empty seats. “Can this school do anything right? They’re lucky my dad doesn’t sue.”
I fight to keep from rolling my eyes as I sit down next to Javi.
I know the only reason we’re able to be on this trip in the first place is because Emerson’s dad covered the majority of the competition cost and sprang for the bougie-ass Airbnb we’re staying at tonight.
And yeah, it sounds great and all, but there’s always a hidden cost with Emerson.
Strings and judgment and a holier-than-thou attitude that make it really, really fucking hard to be happy about it.
“It’s just a flat tire,” I say. “Could’ve happened in any van.”
“It’s Jay’s fault anyway,” Kaitlyn says, eyes narrowed in Emerson’s direction. “Or did you not hear that part?”
Jay is close with Emerson’s older brother, and it’s already been made clear that Emerson’s a favorite, which is why I’m not surprised when Emerson pretends he didn’t hear Kaitlyn and instead opens his phone to Google Maps.
“You know, it’s actually not that far if we walk,” he says. “I’d have to change into my beaters—these are suede—but it’s less than a mile if we cut through the woods.”
“Uh, didn’t you hear what Avery said?” Javi says. “About seeing something outside?”
“Yeah, a deer,” Emerson says, rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure we can handle that.”
“Aren’t we near Cambria?” Kaitlyn asks, leaning from where she’s still standing in the aisle to peek over Emerson’s shoulder at the map. “Isn’t this, like, the murder capital of the state?”
There’s a thump from below us that makes everyone except me and Javi jump.
“Pretty sure that’s Los Angeles,” Lucas says. “You know, all the Manson murders.”
“But wasn’t the Golden State Killer from here?” Kaitlyn insists, eyes cutting to the windows. “I could’ve sworn that’s what they said in that Netflix documentary I watched.”
“That’s Santa Barbara, I think,” Javi says. “Which, close, but not that close. And a long time ago.”
I shake my head. “You all watch way too much true crime.”
“Right,” Kaitlyn says, blue eyes locking on me. “And you don’t because you’re better than us, right, Caulder?”
I should’ve been ready for one of Kaitlyn’s barbs, seeing as I’ve been a target ever since we broke up. I can tell by the way she’s watching me that she’s thrilled to have landed a hit so effortlessly, but before I can reply, Avery’s walking down the aisle toward the rest of us, rubbing her arms.
“Ms. Dorman’s pretty sure it was a deer,” she says, avoiding looking at me. “Nothing to worry about.”
Emerson smirks. “What did I tell you? Next time, you should listen to me, captain.” His eyes dart over to me before continuing. “Oh, right. I meant co-captain.”
Avery tenses, her hand at her side twitching as if she’s about to curl it into a fist.
“Speaking of,” Emerson says, dragging out every vowel. “Caulder, do you think—”
The door slides open, cutting him off, and Mr. Jay and Mr. McCullough appear, drenched and covered in black smears.
“Bad news,” Mr. McCullough says. “Our tire’s definitely toast, and the spare’s not an option.”
He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, streaking it with grease.
“We can walk,” Emerson says, puffing out his chest. “I’ve checked. It’s less than a mile if we go through the woods.”
Our three chaperones exchange a glance. I can tell they’re trying to think of any way to avoid walking through this storm, but aside from spending the night in this metal nightmare, there aren’t any good options.
“Show me the map,” Mr. McCullough says, holding his hand out to Emerson. Emerson hands his phone over, and Mr. McCullough examines it before passing it to Ms. Dorman.
“I suppose it’s actually not that far,” she says with a sigh. “Everyone, get your bags. I’ll get the emergency kit. I think there are some flashlights in there.”
She looks over at me and then Avery. “You two, make sure nothing gets left behind and see that everyone stays together. Then follow me.”
Avery nods as if she’s been given a war assignment, finally looking my way to meet my eyes. Outside, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating her in the darkness and making her green eyes spark.
Even after everything, there’s an intensity to her gaze that hasn’t changed.
The difference? Before, she used to look at me with trust, with secrets in her eyes that only the two of us knew.
Now that’s gone. Now she looks at me like she wants to pull me apart, dissect me, and tear open my scars for the rest of the van to see.
A reminder that she’s never going to forgive me, and I know exactly why.
“Of course,” she says, gaze boring into mine. “I’ll take the lead. If Caulder doesn’t mind, of course.”
It’d be funny, maybe, if I didn’t know Avery’s hatred for me ran as deep as it does. If I knew how to fix this gnarled, messy thing between us.
But I don’t, and something tells me I never will.
So, instead, I nod, letting her head to the front of the group while I focus on making sure everyone grabs their stuff and gets off the van to follow her.
Avery Winslow.
Emerson Butler.
Lucas Rollins.
Kaitlyn Bendix.
Javi Machado.
Marlene Carlos.
I tick them off mentally one by one as they dig their bags out of the pile, thunder rolling through the distance. It feels like a warning, a reason to panic, but I push it aside and step out into the dark with the others, letting the rain and the night swallow me whole.