Chapter 9 #2
Gage growls a little, but he leans in to kiss me goodbye before he can properly threaten Logan with his fist. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“You bet,” I say, biting down a smile as heat fills my cheeks, my chest, and parts of me that haven’t flooded with heat to date in this youthful body of mine.
We watch as Gage weaves through the crowd and disappears out the front door. And the moment he’s gone, Logan pulls me into his arms with a mischievous grin.
“Security system at the cemetery?” he muses. “That’s a new one.”
“I know, right? I don’t remember that happening the first time around, but here’s to safe corpses.”
“So, we’re altering a few things.” He shrugs. “We both know we can’t change anything major. It will all work out just the way it’s supposed to.”
A dark feeling comes over me as I glance toward the door. “You say it like it’s a good thing.”
“In the end, it will be.”
“Or maybe we’ve already changed things more than we realize,” I say with a shrug as if the possibility didn’t affect me.
A dark feeling runs through me at the thought. What else might we be changing without realizing it? Nothing major, but still. When you’re a teenager, even a sideways glance feels major.
“Anyway, let’s worry about that later,” I decide, grabbing his hand. “Right now, I believe we have a date with a three-headed hound from Hell.”
He cranes his neck past my shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” I call after him, but it’s too late. My voice is drowned out by the music, and he’s already lost in the crowd. Less than a minute later, he springs up with a frown on his face, slightly out of breath. “Why do you look as if someone punched you in the gut?”
“Wrong body part. Michelle went for my balls.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “Good thing I ducked and missed half the effort.”
“Why did you get in Michelle’s haunted way?”
“Because I needed to get that necklace off of her.”
“I hope you didn’t swallow it.” I’m only half-teasing.
“I threw it on the roof.”
“Oh good,” I say. “So, the whole house is cursed now. Let’s take off before the ceiling collapses.”
Logan gives a dark laugh. “This house was cursed long before that.”
The dragon’s head mounted over the fireplace begins to glow an unnatural shade of red, and we get the heck out of haunted Dodge.
Logan’s truck is exactly as I remember it—white, relatively new, and smelling faintly of pine and teenage angst. He opens the passenger door for me with an exaggerated bow.
“Your chariot awaits, Ms. Messenger.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Oliver.” I climb in, feeling a strange nostalgia for this vehicle that was featured in so many of our early adventures. A handful of them happy. Most of them terrifying.
The drive to West Paragon High is filled with comfortable bouts of silence and occasional bursts of laughter as we reminisce about our teenage years—now happening all over again courtesy of my mother.
And the surreal nature of our situation isn’t lost on either of us.
Paragon looks startlingly the same today as it does in the distant tomorrow—save for the fact that Whitehorse doesn’t exist yet, and neither do our children.
“Do you think we’ll ever get home?” I ask as the silhouette of West Paragon High appears on the horizon. A heavy sigh escapes me when I say it because the night seems to have lasted three years already, and honestly, I wasn’t planning on vacationing in one of my old diaries.
“We will,” Logan says with half-hearted conviction. “Candace wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble just to strand us here permanently. Besides, she’s doing this for our kids.”
“She’s doing this for Celestra,” I’m quick to correct him. “We’re doing this for our kids.” I gaze out at the familiar outline of our old stomping grounds. “Although I have to admit, a do-over doesn’t sound all that bad. Especially if we can avoid some of our bigger mistakes while we’re here.”
“Like swallowing cursed jewelry?”
“Exactly like that.”
The parking lot is empty when we arrive, and the school is dark except for the security lights that cast eerie shadows across the facade. Logan pulls around to the back lot near the gym and quickly kills the engine.
“Boy, does this ever feel familiar,” I say, gazing at the looming silhouette of West Paragon High against the night sky, and a thousand memories hit me all at once.
Logan takes my hand as we slip out of the truck and head toward the woods that border the gym’s exterior wall. And sure enough, there, painted on the outside of the building, is the massive mural of Cerberus with his three snarling heads painted onto one overly muscular canine body.
The mascot of West Paragon High glowers down at us with six painted eyes that somehow seem to follow our every movement, even in the darkness.
“Hello, old friend,” Logan says with irony rich in his voice. “Hope you don’t mind a little company tonight.”
The woods provide just enough cover to feel hidden while still being able to see the three-headed guardian watching over us with a snarl. The soft mulch of the forest floor cushions our steps as we find a spot where moonlight filters through the branches.
“Welcome to the good old days,” Logan whispers, pulling me close. “The good old days, 2.0.”
He pulls me into his arms, and for a moment, we’re just us—not a couple of light drivers trapped in the past, not parents worried about children in a distant future, just Logan and Skyla, finding a moment of joy in the chaos that has always been our life.
“I love you,” he whispers as he looks right into my eyes. “Past, present, and whatever bizarre future it is we’re creating.”
“I love you, too,” I reply. “Even when you’re corrupting school property—and about to corrupt a very young, very virginal version of me. Take it slow, would you?”
His laugh echoes in the empty night as he leans in to kiss me, and just like that, we’re teenagers again, breaking rules and making memories under the watchful eyes of Cerberus.
And we do break every single one.