Chapter 12
After locking Bennie inside, we return to the woods. Whitley leads the way. Her bushy hair collects dead leaves and bugs from the thickening tree canopy. Rays from the setting sun periodically bounce off her rifle butt and into my eyes.
As I grab a spider from her hair, she starts to hum, tracing her fingers gently along the trees bordering our path.
“Way down in the valley, lies Stillwell High,” she sings.
It’s the opening verse of our high school alma mater.
“Let us raise our voices for all to hear, over the hills and into the sky. Our ancestors came upon this land, a place of faith, honor, and tradition most grand.” She stretches out her right arm, waving it over the ground.
“We promise to serve and pledge our love,” I continue. “To always look out for thy neighbor and put Penango above.” Twigs crunch under my shoes along to the melody of the song. “For the lessons of life to us impart, knowledge to aid that can never be taken apart.”
Whitley inhales, then takes over the next line. “So adorn our hearts with the striking silver and black.”
I clear my throat. “For we have found victory here!” My voice amplifies. “And will live out the virtues to always give back.” I pump my fist into the sky.
“Wait!” she yells, and puts her hand over my mouth. “We should be quieter. We’re going to scare away the coyotes. We can’t let that sucker know we’re close. Let’s camp out here.”
I nod, then lower my arm. “You’re right,” I say.
We sit beside a fallen tree. Silence settles over us like a midnight snowfall. We wait and search for any movements.
I tap my fingers along my knee, between flicking flies off my legs. My vision wanders from the coyote-absent horizon to the area around me. Whitley’s phone rests on her lap. A notification banner showing eight missed calls from her dad flashes across the screen.
“You okay, Whitley?” I ask. She inspects the split ends of her blond hair.
“Yeah,” she says. “What do you mean? We got to be patient. It hasn’t been that long.”
“I mean besides the coyote.” I nod at her phone.
She swallows, then swipes away the notifications. “I’ll be better once we get the coyote and Bennie is safe.”
“If you ever want to—” I start, but Whitley holds up her hand to silence me.
“Shhh,” she slurs. “Look.”
A coyote stands in a clearing by the river. It’s maybe fifty or so yards away. Its tail is black, but I can’t tell if it’s missing a chunk of its ear from this distance. Whitley slowly lifts her gun. She puts her eye to the scope.
“You going to take the shot?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” she says, licking the corners of her mouth. “That’s him. Ear is gone.”
The coyote’s head twitches in our direction. I freeze every muscle to avoid making noise.
“This one’s for Bennie,” Whitley mutters, then pulls the trigger.
The shot breaks the forest’s stillness like a morning alarm. A flock of dormant crows erupts into the sky.
“I missed!” Whitley yells. She stands, then sprints toward the coyote.
“What?” I shout after her. “How do you know?”
“I saw him run away rather than drop dead. Come on!” She waves me along.
I follow Whitley’s trail. We come to a screeching halt where the coyote stood. Our heads spin in search of its escape route. My chest heaves and Whitley’s mouth is wide, sucking in air.
“I blew it,” she groans.
“Yeah, I don’t see it anywhere,” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun with my forearm.
“Dang it.” She kicks the dirt.
“It’s okay, Whitley.”
“It’s not!” She huffs, then pulls her hair into a tight ponytail. “At least we scared it.”
“We also have all summer to catch it, since you won’t leave Penango any earlier than August.” I force a sarcastic grin.
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “He better not stay free all dang sum—” She lifts her palm to my face. “Wait, do you see that?”
“Wha—”
“Paw prints! Come on!” She breaks into a sprint.
“Whitley, wait!”
I attempt to follow her but only complete a few strides before a set of familiar branches reaches above the next hilltop, then a line of neon words spray-painted across a cement pipe—the Ardor Tree.
“No . . . No . . . No,” I whisper, dragging my feet to a stop.
I thought this summer would be a celebration. I just turned eighteen, got into college, and graduated high school. My teachers kept telling me to prepare for new opportunities, asking over and over how I was handling all the excitement. I should be running toward the horizon, not away from it.
But this summer just feels like it’s going to be my last. Penango has other plans for me.
I turn to head back to Whitley’s house but slam into something warm and sticky.
Blinking, I take a step back and realize it’s Xander’s bare chest, slick with sweat.
His defined pecs rise and fall with each deep breath, swelling like overinflated balloons.
The contours are impressive. Too impressive.
My fingers twitch with the impulse to trace them, but I lock my hands behind my back instead.
“She’s quick,” he says.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” I step around him, trying to focus on literally anything else.
“Not when it’s pushing one hundred degrees and humid. Usually, I don’t wear anything at all. No one has been able to see me. But now that you can, I’ve been rotating through my favorite swim trunks.”
My cheeks burn.
I wish he wasn’t in his trunks. But I don’t say that. I can’t even believe I’m thinking it. I’m attracted to a ghost. My taste in boys is horrific—they’re either emotionally dead or literally dead.
This is so sick and twisted.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I lick my lips. “Your body is hot, sure. Maybe I’ll have time for your workout routine when I’m not being chased down in the woods by a ghost.”
“Oh.” His bushy eyebrows shoot up. “I meant what do you think of my swim trunks.” He tugs at the purple waistband.
My face has to be just as purple at this point.
“But hey, if you think my body looks good, I’ll take it. It’s my first compliment in ten years. Another first with you!”
I nod. “You’re welcome.”
“Can I see yours?”
“My what?”
“Your body.”
My jaw falls open. “Are you insane? Why are you here?”
He frowns. “Are you not happy to see me?”
A part of me is. I’ve never been this close to another boy’s body besides Murray’s.
The other day at the pool, Xander’s lips were as plump as his chest is now.
I like how he just says what he feels instead of shooting looks, giving the silent treatment, or just flat-out ignoring me, like you-know-who.
His expressions are more colorful than his swim trunks.
But the other part of me is terrified. The more I see him, the more I worry that these hauntings won’t stop when I leave Penango. If Xander has nothing to do with Murray, then he has everything to do with me. And the more I run into him, the closer I get to facing what that really means.
“Let me back up,” he continues. “I should probably tell you that I’m gay too . . . or was, depending on how we’re thinking about things.”
I cross my arms. “Is that a joke?”
He pouts his lips. “If it was, it wouldn’t be a good one. Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all. I’m just . . . surprised by the chances. You’re a gay teen ghost in Penango?”
He shrugs. “Gay for sure. I’ve thought about it for over ten years and am certain at this point.
I am hypothetically a ghost. But ever since you showed up on the scene, I’m questioning that hypothetical.
I came here so we could get started on solving this mystery.
It’ll be like queer Clue! What killed the gay kid at the queer camp with the—”
“Hold on,” I say, waving my arms in front of him. “Why didn’t you say anything the other day when you found out I was gay?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It was on the tip of my tongue but . . . you’re the first person I’m coming out to, so I got scared and swallowed it.”
My eyes widen. “Oh no, really? My reaction sucked, then. I’m sorry. Congratulations.”
“Thank you! Another first! What is that, number three or four?”
“Why didn’t you come out in high school?”
He laughs. “Things were a little different in 2015. Someone needs a history lesson. But this isn’t the time or place. Let’s start talking about how you can bring me back to life this year.”
“Fine. But I have a lesson for you. Telling someone to take their shirt off in the woods might work on some guys, but not me.”
He laughs again. “Noted. But maybe that’s something we can work on too. It would be much better than this boring, black polo shirt you’re always wearing.” He picks at my shirt’s thick, cotton fabric.
“It’s my work uniform. I’m usually just in a white tee.”
“That’s not much better.”
He drapes his arm around my shoulder and starts walking, guiding me forward. My body tenses, but I don’t pull away.
Instead, I let him lead, knowing I can’t navigate this situation on my own any longer.