❝Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.❞

-Marthe Troly-Curtin

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If there's one thing both connecting and separating downtown Ashdown with the outskirts, it's Route 7, a.k.a. Ethan Allen Highway, a winding stretch of interstate that leads over the New Haven River, through The Hundred Acre Woods, and up to the Canadian border. It's also home to Ashdown's franchise of Cumberland Farms, one of New England's favorite convenience store chains and the quickest place for me to get ice cream.

The Monday after the big football game - which ended in humiliation for the Jackals - we had a teacher in-service day, and I planned to spend the Sunday before it finally reading over the script for Ashdown High School's next theater production: Hamlet.

When Mr. Summers, the drama club adviser and my homeroom teacher, announced it at the club meeting on Wednesday, I think everybody was pretty disappointed. Out of every play, every dramatization, every possible act we could've put on... we were doing Shakespeare. A few freshmen were excited at first, but when our resident primo uomo, Jordan Costello, dismissed it as cliché and overdone, the rest of the club quickly followed to agree.

I know if Will were here, he wouldn't care what the production was - he'd just be excited to act. Being a football player, Will was constantly having to act tough and athletic, but he'd once told me the stage was the one place he could just have fun without caring about the results.

His absence in drama club was the elephant in the room, the cause of stale air and stiff expressions, but nobody acknowledged it. And hardly anybody even acknowledged me, and I couldn't tell if they simply didn't like me anymore, or they were too afraid to offend me in the slightest.

Still, I wanted to at least try to be in the play. The thing was - suffering through the script required some fuel. And so, around 1:00 pm, I found myself wandering through the retro aisles of Cumbies looking for the freezer section.

Above me, fluorescent lights fizzle and spark, letting shadows dance over the sagging shelves and cracked, white, linoleum floor. A few other people are milling around, including the high school's stern principal, Ms. Harmon, but I avoid eye contact. Outside, the sky is overcast and gray, perfectly fitting my mood. A draft of cool, mid-September wind blows through the cracks in the store, making the stands of Bic lighters and 5-hour Energy™ rattle.

Today's an "up" day for me, which simply means I don't feel completely lifeless. That being said, I still feel hollow and empty inside. My heart isn't hurting, because I can't feel it. If my days with Will were heaven and my worst days were hell, I'm now somewhere on the deep side of purgatory.

I make my way down the snack aisle, past bags of pretzels and packages of Snickers and Twix, toward the freezer wall of ice cream at the far end. When I turn, my heart skips a beat. In the corner where the coffee sits, apparently getting herself a 99¢ cappuccino, is Macy.

Nope, nope, nope, I think. I'm not dealing with this today.

Ever since she declared the news of the defunding of the music program to me, Macy and I's relationship had become progressively more and more awkward. The last time I talked to her, we only said 5 words to each other. It was on Friday, after a mandatory pep rally, and it was comprised of me saying, "Good luck at the game," and her not even having time to reply before the cheerleading squad dragged her away to do whatever small town high school cheerleaders do.

I duck back into the snack aisle, only to come face to face with Mor, leaning against a display of all-natural trail mix and peering at the Nutrition Facts of a Baby Ruth bar.

"Did you know," he intones as way of greeting, "That this has 280 calories and 13 grams of fat? Too much chocolate."

It sounds like something both Will and Kat would say. Will was always more of a maple candy guy, and never cared for chocolate. Kat, on the other hand, is your stereotypical Student Athlete, and though she likes pastries, she elsewise refuses to eat anything unhealthy.

I narrow my eyes, glancing at his thin frame hidden by curtains of cloak and finely tailored suit, then at his scythe, leaning idly a few inches away. Hesitantly, I ask, "Do you even eat?"

"No." His tone loses its snark and gains a hint of finality. "But we're not here to discuss my daily life, if I may use that word. I'm here to tell you that I cannot help you on your next task."

Mor lifts his head up, tossing the Baby Ruth back onto a random shelf and grabbing his scythe, and stares me straight in the eyes.  He's trying to unnerve me, I can tell, but after this many interactions with him, I'm starting to become numb to it.

"And what's that?"

He must've finally figured out the concept of organization, because without skipping a beat or stopping to search, he pulls the list from his suit pocket and reads lowly, "Have an all-nighter with Macy."

My eyes widen, and quickly I glance in the general direction of Macy, hoping she didn't hear. "Be quiet!" I hiss, "She's literally right there, getting coffee."

"I'm aware, dear. No need to patronize me."

"Then why don't you-" I stop, because I know it's a futile fight. "Never mind."

Have an all-nighter. What is that even supposed to mean? I probably wrote that when I was 12 and my curfew was 9:00. The only all-nighters I'm familiar with now are cramming for Mrs. Delgado's brutal Calculus tests or staying up all night to avoid flashbacks in my dreams. This is the romanticized vision of teenagehood I had as a child, imagining I'd have endless energy and endless freedom.

Perhaps I did have those things, once. I can name a few times in 8th and 9th grade that Will, Veronica, and I stayed up all night running around, creating mischief and having fun.

Will really loved those endless summer nights. I really loved him.

Mor must agree that it's juvenile, or otherwise not understand, because he says, "What exactly does this entail?"

"I'd say staying up all night."

"Hm. Fascinating."

"It also requires me talking to Macy, which I'd rather not do."

"Why not?"

"Because... it's weird between us." I flicker my eyes to the cracks in the shelving and just barely get a glimpse of Macy, who has moved on from filling up her coffee to dumping in way too much creamer for my taste.

"Why?"

He sounds like a little kid, asking his mother why the sky is blue and the grass is green, or perhaps a grown man mocking said little kid. I don't give him an answer, because I know he's just fishing for me to spill my guts.

"I know you're terrified of being happy, Lila," Mor starts, "But you only have so much time left. Just keep that in mind."

Oh, I keep it in mind, all right. It's why I've become so resigned to my fate - because I know that no matter what happens, soon, this will be all over, and I'll be seeing Will again. I wonder how our reunion will go down, if we'll live together in a house made of clouds or if Heaven's much more metaphysical than that.

I realize the one thing I do know is that I don't want to see Will again with only the news that nobody in Ashdown except for Kat and Mama will miss me. I know Will would've wanted me to make up with everybody, including Macy, instead of leaving the town empty-hearted. It's just like what Erika advised me back in 2005.

    Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and turning back to Mor, I start to say, "I'll see what-"

But Mor's not there. And Macy's standing at the edge of aisle, a cappuccino in hand.

"Lila!" Macy exclaims, her voice laced through with sweetness like the cream in her cup. "Hi! Sorry I didn't get to say hi to you on Friday."

"Oh!" My mind goes blank. I know Mor would've had to leave, or else be noticed by my acquaintance, but it's hard to shift the tracks of my train of thought so quickly. "Uh, heh, it's fine. I was just trying to wish you luck."

"Well, it didn't quite work," she grimaces, "But I appreciate the thought!"

    We stand there for a moment, wrought with the awkwardness of friends drifted apart. I don't know how many seconds pass until Macy turns to the display of candy, starts picking through, and meanwhile asks, "So, what's up, anyway?"

    "Nothing. I just came to, um, get ice cream," I reply, deciding to leave off the ultimately depressing reason why I'm getting food  in the first place: I'm going to sit at home all day, read Shakespeare in the dark, and gorge myself on The Tonight Dough™!

    Macy's natural dark hair bounces on her shoulders as she laughs, her body just barely shaking. "I mean, like, what have you been doing lately?" She runs her hand along the shelf before it lands on the bags of candy corn and eagerly picks one up.

    Maybe I'm the oblivious one, I think.

"Nothing," I repeat, because it's not as if I'm going to tell her about my adventures in 2005 and 1881 and Finland. "Mostly just preparing for the play. We're doing Hamlet."

Macy, coffee in one hand and candy in the other, turns back towards me, her eyes narrowed. "Veronica told me about that. Personally, I'm not one for old-timey literature, but to each their own, I suppose."

She says this as if I didn't already know. She acts as though we've just met. Macy, I know you like art and cheerleading and being happy; I know you're obsessed with the holidays and hate English class and don't care for music all that much.

No need to make a big deal out of the fact that we're as close as strangers.

"Anyway," she lifts the candy corn up, "I'm planning on spending the day watching all the Halloweentown movies. Except for the fourth one - when they changed out Marnie's actress, it all went downhill."

    I raise my eyebrows, even though this is the way she's been since we were kids. "It's September 10th. It's technically not even Fall yet."

    "All the more reason to watch them now!," which is, again, something she's believed since we met. "I have to get in the spirit early! Do you want to join me?"

I'm almost taken aback by the offer. Sure, she's promised several times before that we'd hang out again sometime, but I didn't expect it to come to fruition. I suppose, to complete that goddamn bucket list, it would've had to, but yet... this is almost too easy.

"Sure." It's a hesitant, not fully there answer, but Macy doesn't notice. She just grins, her deep brown eyes flooding with light.

"Perfect! Halloween, here we come!"

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And just like that, I'm sitting on Macy's brown leather couch in the living room of her white Federal house, which is right across Route 7 from the convenience store. Macy's parents, the police chief and an elementary school teacher, are nowhere to be found, but her cat, Bass, is curled up on my lap nearly the instant I sit down.

I eat my ice cream - I ended up getting some generic brand version of Neapolitan - and Macy attempts to get Bass to play with her by throwing pieces of candy corn halfway across the room and murmuring, "Fetch!" We watch all 3 Halloweentown movies, and then we decide to watch the 4th one too, and I realize Macy's right in her opinion of its inferiority.

It's nearly 7 o'clock by the time we're done, and shadows are descending upon Ashdown like a corpse set into a grave. The cat disappears up the plush carpeting of the staircase just as I hear a car pull into the driveway.

"Oh, shoot," Macy exclaims, her eyes filling with surprise. She leaps up from the couch and turns the TV off in an instant. "My dad's home. I told him I'd be studying with Veronica all day!"

I want to ask her why she's not with Veronica, but instead I just suggest, "Just tell him you came home early."

"I can't do that. I'm a horrible liar," she replies with a grimace. She gestures for me to get up, and hesitantly, I do. We hear the jingle of keys in the door, the scratch of Captain Kenneth DiMaggio's k-9 running against the steel entry, and wide-eyed, Macy takes my wrist and drags me out the back door.

    We vault across her porch and through her grassy backyard. The block Macy lives on is also home to the police station almost right next door, and next to that, the local pizza place; running past their gravelly lots, we take a sharp turn until we're in the side yard between two houses.

Here, Macy lets me go and slumps against the chimney of the house on the left, attempting to catch her breath. I tip my head back, hoping to support my own lungs.

"Sorry," my friend says, almost giggling like a schoolgirl. "I just knew if my dad saw me, he wouldn't let me leave the house for the rest of the night. I feel like a robber caught in the act."

I'd say that's a delusion of grandeur, but not wanting to argue with Macy and her ideals, I just chuckle along with her.

"Mace, babe, is that you?"

Both of our heads whip to see Trevor, Macy's boyfriend and Will's ex-best friend, leaning out of the window of the left house. He's wearing a worn black Ashdown football tee I've seen him wear many times before and his locs are tied up in a bun of sorts.

When he sees me, he raises his eyebrows. "Lila?"

I feel equally as surprised. I haven't looked Trevor in the eyes since the funeral, when both of our visions were blurred with tears. For a moment, I feel myself being drawn back to that time - a time of black clothes and cloudy skies and meaningless condolences, but I plant my feet firmly in the ground and say, "Hi, Trevor."

"Hi, Lila," he says slowly, like he's too astonished to see me to even speak. Aware that I spent the whole summer bathed in the darkness of my room, I understand his surprise. To Macy, he asks, "Babe, can I ask what you're doing?"

"I'm... catching my breath." Proving her point, she takes a deep breath of the cool evening air.

"But why is that necessary, Pepper Spray?"

Now, all three of our heads turn to the opposite house, a brick foursquare with black shutters. Here, a window almost directly across from Trevor is propped open with difficulty, revealing the smug, tan face of Michael Ballinger - Ashdown High School's resident class clown and nickname-giver.

I can't help but groan. Michael has been ruining moments and gifting horrendous nicknames since he moved here from New Jersey in the sixth grade, when some upperclassman teased him about his name and ball-like curls by calling him "Meatball". He took the name in stride and used it as an excuse to call people the strangest things. Like so:

1. Macy's been called Mace since we were kids, and mace is commonly misthought as a type of... Pepper Spray.

2. Will's last name, Nyquist, has a strange phonetic similarity to one of the most common cold and flu medicines... NyQuil.

3. Lila is almost a girl version of Lyle, the protagonist of a 1960s children book series about a... Crocodile.

"Meatball!" We grumble in unison.

"Crocodile!" he replies, only to me. A cold breeze blows through, making his hair shake like a tumbleweed in the desert wind. "Finally out of your swamp, I see."

My eyes narrow, but he laughs it off.

Trevor, Macy, and I stare at him until his emotions flatline. "What's going on, anyway?"

"That's what I was trying to figure out, flatlander," Trevor groused, "Before I was so rudely interrupted."

"Christ, Angelina, I was just trying to say hi. Youse are making a lot noise out here, so I figured something was going on-

"Nothing's going on!" I exclaim, cutting off Meatball in the middle of his sentence. I'd rather not spend an hour hearing two of Will's old friends bicker like an old married couple, as if this was some normal night. I know it is a normal night for them, but for me... I'm already feeling overwhelmed, like a fish out of water. I rub my head, trying to ignore the slowing adagio of my heart and the sweat gathering on the back of my neck, and continue, "Macy and I were running away from her father so she didn't have to stay inside. That's literally it."

They're making a deal out of nothing. But I do the same thing all the time, so I keep my lips pursed with those last words.

The three of them glance at each other, then back at me, and Trevor says, "Okay. Thank you, Lila. I need a break from re-watching the film from the game, so I think I'm going to come out and join you."

"Me too!" chimes Meatball.

"Great!" Macy claps her hands. "We can all walk around and hang out."

"Great," I echo. "Great, great, great."

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A/N: I keep going through here and cutting off chapters because they're too long! Part two of this chapter is up next.

Until next time, positive vibes! Stay awesome!

xoxo, Athena

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