AN
Yes, I am unashamed of using Dylan O'Brian as my main protagonist and other various TW cast as the image I've created. No regrets. I blame this story on the beautiful face of Dylan O'Brian, because he made me want to write a book about a pretty boy and back roads and small towns and suspense.
ALSO, book has undertones of BxB
ALSO, this chapter is long and very boring. I'm sorry.
ALSO, pay attention guys. I ain't spelling it out for you, use your mind. Please.

Skinny, lithe arms reach out from where they sat folded in the old shit-car; one hand reached for the bitter gas-station coffee bought for eighty-seven cents, and the other smacked at the offending, big hands of the skinny boy's best friend since seventh grade.

"Don't touch my caffeine, this is the only thing that keeps me from killing you," Asher Bravermen snaps at the driver from his passenger seat. The chair he sits in is nothing but cracking old leather. He can literally see the road the old Chevy is racing over between asunder floor-boards, the air-condition doesn't work, either; instead, it just rattles for a few seconds before coughing dead bugs into Asher's face.

Meaning, there isn't any heat in the truck, and he's forced to huddle over his coffee like a furnace in the cold weather of Louisiana- which feels almost alien. It hardly drops past forty in December, but now Asher's teeth are chattering because the weather forecast called for Friday's highest temperature 2 degrees below freezing.

It's going to suck ass when he's stuck in the stadiums watching and flashing 'Go Gladiators!' signs at Tyler and Tommy, the stars of Hollow Grove's only noteworthy event to most: Friday night football. The only social experience all generations of Hollow's High produced for themselves, keeping a good-enough team almost every year to be in the semi-finals until December.

Because it was game day, Tyler wasn't allowed to drink the 16 ounces of coffee Asher was chugging, and instead stuffed a protein bar down his throat as a substitute- it didn't actually look appetizing, according to his scrunched up nose and gagging noises that choked out of his throat.

Asher would've felt bad- but he isn't an athlete, and he chooses to be bone-skinny and look every inch of the teenage garbage he is instead of following Tyler to the gym after seventh hour. And it's every single day, with Tyler chugging oreo-and-vanilla flavored protein shakes each morning- which didn't really taste like oreo and vanilla, it was more like chalky icing and mushy hour-old cereal, at least when Asher had tried it. He talks about lifting weights and benching and other sins like sports and exercise, at least until he turns his head to see a horrified Asher staring at him.

Tyler usually shuts up then, laughing as he tells Asher that metabolisms won't work forever, and it won't be cute when he's forty and still scrawny with a beer-belly.

It's the honest truth, though. But Asher plans that one day very soon, science is going to make a discovery- for scrawny kids like him, who can eat three plates of dinner a night and still look below one-fifty. Some kind of muscle enhancers or robotic arms will be willed into existence to make him look less like a boy and more like a man.

Tyler, on the other hand, looks like a twenty year-old who was held back three years. But, Asher knows this isn't the case- before either of them hit puberty, they were both scrawny and short. Apparently Tyler stole all of Asher's thunder and left him to only gain twelve pounds and three inches.

"Only a semester and a month, Tyler," Asher hummed around his coffee as he stared past the top of the plastic lid to Hollow's High crumbling parking lot.

Hollow Grove was ancient, one of the first towns settled in Louisiana. Some of the inhabitants' families had been here for generations- Asher's mother and father were direct descendants to the first settlers in the town. Something that his grandmothers on either side never ceased to bring up every single Founder's day.

"One more semester of having to deal with your annoying ass," Tyler told Asher with his blue eyes rolling; he turned into the lot, letting his fingers raise up from the steering wheel to wave at the students who were crowded around the Chevy's usual parking spot.

The students scrambled, leaking to the edges of the lot and to the sides of cars to let Tyler's truck ease into park and crowded back again, this time- the heavy sound of teenagers climbing into the back of the bed of the truck and the sound of washable car-paint stuck to Tyler's back window.

It was like this every Friday. It was almost tradition for the twenty-one seniors to huddle around their classmates' cars to graffiti on cheap paint encrypting 'Go Gladiators!' and '2 down- 3 to go!' It must be hard, sarcasm intended, for Tyler to be the golden boy of the football team. He wore it with pride, liked that he had offers from the first time he played freshman year to his last season at Hollow's High. He was the 'All American Boy', the teachers' favorite pet, the coach's ticket to state, the freshmens' main topic of man candy- with an inch above six feet and light blond hair he inherited from his father. Tyler had a face that made it hard to say no.

"Cocky, much?" A voice, high and sure, rung from the driver window. Two amber eyes blinked from Tyler to Asher, a thick smile made out of two red slices of lip opened to show a set of blinding white teeth- sometimes it hurt to look at Rina Prescott.

Alright, it did hurt. It physically hurt to look at Rina. She wasn't perfect, she didn't stand at just-the-right height, sometimes her voice could crack it went so high, and most of the time, she forgets that her vocabulary stretches far above most of Hollow Grove's inhabitants- meaning she has to either dumb it down, or tell them to look it up. (She usually goes for the latter.)

But, she had everything together. This chick, Asher freaking knew, was absolutely going somewhere. And he didn't mean a good job from nine to four, he meant White-freaking-House material. It was scary to see her, to know that she basically had a Yale acceptance letter in her back pocket, when Asher didn't even know what he wanted to do with his life.

If he was honest, he'd probably stay here- become either one of the three default jobs that was supported in town: teacher, farm-hand, or employee of one of two corner stores that gave a paycheck to one-third of Hollow Grove's parents.

There wasn't even a movie-theatre here, or fast food. If he wanted a greasy, cheap burger with lukewarm fries, he'd have to drive forty-five minutes on the highway. The only burger-joint happened to be Reilly's Diner, open from seven in the morning to eight at night- on Friday nights, though, midnight- when all the students and parents who didn't celebrate on some back-road with alcohol would stuff themselves full of grilled burgers and a side of curly fries.

"Cocky, but comes with the territory," Tyler grins, turning off his truck and propping open the door to slip through.

Asher ignored the way his friend's eyes basically blew up to big, blue hearts at the sight of Rina- who he harbored a not-so-secret crush for since he moved to Hollow Grove. On the first day of seventh grade, he had quickly befriended Asher, but their friendship probably wouldn't have blossomed so quickly if it wasn't for Rina's constant presence in Asher's life.

Marked ones seem to stick with each other.

They don't talk about it much, they don't like talking about it- no one does. Tyler doesn't ask questions, he just assumes what the scars on his two friends' throats means something bad and forbidden- meant to be forgotten. There are only five Marked.

Rina usually doesn't even acknowledge it, when she's questioned- she shakes her head, covers up her neck with the palm of her ebony hand, and keeps her head down. Which is out of character for her, she's in-your-face, always-there, never-sated. She's smart, because she knows when to keep her head down, something Asher has never learned.

When he's asked, it can either go two ways.

He can laugh it off, tell a story about how he wishes it happened, and make anyone wide-eyed with his fantasy.

But, sometimes, he remembers. He can't make it up, can't lie- can't even talk. If he was pasty white before, he was a chalky ghost then. His lips would quiver, and sometimes- if he couldn't snap out of it, he'd have a panic attack. His eyes would shut; his hands would tremble; the calamitous beating of his chest would force him into a nightmare, but he wasn't- isn't, in a dreamland. This is reality, and sometimes, he forgets that his worst nightmare has already been played out in front of his own two eyes.

So, they don't talk about it.

But that doesn't mean that others don't.

This is a small town. This is a place that doesn't know anything but the constant same- the constant river of gossip, the constant filtered lies, the constant traditions, and the constant of how life in this town must go. That's why they don't talk about it. Because any shred of normal was ripped away when four innocent people died, and five kids were given mercy eight years ago.

And sometimes, different is bad, even if it's the new normal.

*

"Ya' goin'ta eat your potatoes?" Asher was staring down at the untouched pile of food on Rina's tray, her fork poking it in disgust as she put more interest to the book in her hand than anything or anyone else in a yard's radius.

"We're eating after school, Bravo," her amber eyes manage to glance up to her friend before going straight back to the sleek book her attention is being pulled to. "Eat potatoes now, won't be able to eat as much fries then."

She was referencing to Reilly's. In less than three hours, the two of them would be disgustingly full of mediocre fast food.

"Well, you're not a teenage boy... and don't call me Bravo, God, I hate that," Asher digs his fork into the under-cooked potatoes with as much gusto as a starving man would reach for a five-course meal.

"I'm a teenage girl, Ash, I think I may have it worse," she tells him with a smile. His friend propped her book up with her thumb as she studied him.

It was second lunch. Unfortunately- or maybe fortunately, the only seniors who happened to have the same lunch period was the two of them, and Tommy.

He was sitting on Asher's left, obvious attention to the essay he forgot to write for last period, but he chugs down the same orange-flavored protein shake that all of the boys on the football team were basically force-fed by the coaches. The curly-haired kid kept his eyes on his pen's ink, swirling out big, loopy cursive, but his ears were obviously on the conversation.

Sometimes his eyes would flicker up to Asher's, and because Asher tiptoed around this game between them, he'd try to smile before stuffing potatoes into his mouth as a default to shield off the fact one day he'll have to face their budding relationship.

Tommy could play football. Good. Like, nationally acknowledged good. The kid was quiet, most of the time- until you put a cute teenager in his eye sight or a bottle- either will do, both together? Even better.

"Why? Because you have a menstrual cycle?" Asher cocks one of his thick eyebrows to the top of his forehead- almost challenging Rina while shoveling a mouthful of cafeteria gunk that can hardly pass as food.

"If you had a week of eating everything in a mile's radius every month, you'd shut up right 'round now," she sniffed.

"I have that every day of my life, Rina," he told her; his fork stopped in the mashed potatoes, raising up to the challenge of proving who had a bigger appetite: Asher, or the teenage female population.

"Times that by ten, Bravo, baby. Just because I have eating standards doesn't mean I'm not going to buy out the snack machine," Rina smiled, the book in her hands settling next to her as she found their conversation in more need of her attention.

"Asher, you're going to lose," Tommy piped up, his hazel eyes leveling with Rina as she grinned a mega-watt smile that could only ever belong to her. "Like arguing with a wall, Ash."

"No," she frowned at the quarterback, they were always at odds- ever since he had ran against her for student council president and had almost won. "It's like arguing with an educated human being, and that's why, Ashy, why you can't ever win an argument with me."

Asher glanced up from his mashed potatoes, voice muffled by lukewarm food as he shot her a defensive glare. "My grades are the same as yours!"

"But is your IQ?" She grinned; the chuckle of Tommy gave Asher enough sense to know that the two overachievers were bathing in satisfaction by picking on the little guy.

"Now you're going to brag about your IQ- sorry," he stopped, fork dangling out of his mouth as he let his dark eyebrows knit together in thought. "I didn't see your fedora underneath all your ego,"

Rina shook her head, letting out a huff of a laugh in acknowledgement for the burn. "I haven't had my IQ tested, yet. But, for some strong reason, I feel like it will be higher than the man who once asked me how elephants are born," her lips quirked, dimples dotting thumbprints into her dark skin. "They don't hatch."

"Oh my God," Asher whined, amber eyes screaming you-cruel-woman-you. "It was a friggin' valid question, Rina!"

"In what way is that question-- you moron," Rina's head tilted to the side, as if she was trying to understand a skittish fawn than a 147 pound teenager. "I'm sorry. But, you're dad is a retired zoologist, no excuse. No excuse."

"No excuse, Asher," Tommy laughed out, his eyes flickering up for half a second as Asher still felt the sizzle of Rina's comment.

"Oh, shut up, Tom, no one asked for your input," Asher's voice was filled with no malice. The defensive tone was feigning and he held no real candle to the abuse his two friends were handing out to him. They were teenagers. They were friends. Therefore, they're all assholes to each-other. "Go ahead and finish your essay, and Rina- your book. I'm excusing myself, to go and cry in the boys' bathroom," Asher paused, dramatic pause in his words as he stood up from the cracking plastic table. "I'll come back, with a cup of boy tears, because I know that is your favorite thing, Kid Genius, and you can drink it with Star Boy, and when you're finished- I'll refill your cup."

"Ashe-" Tommy began, voice almost apologizing before Asher cut him off with a loud, flamboyant shout.

"And when I'm dehydrated," he threw his hand on his face. "Because of all of the tears you've forced out of me, and I'm... I'm like dead, don't bother coming to my funeral."

"Good, you couldn't pay us to come," Rina laughed, rolling her eyes at the teenager's tactics.

He feigned a gasp. "Love you both, too. So, so much,"

"Whatever, dork," Rina settled back into her book, fingers slipping over her pages as she crossed her legs underneath the lunch table and began a goodbye to Asher. "Meet at my car after Reynolds, all right! Or I'm leaving without you!"

Asher picked up his empty tray, after swiping the last forkful of mashed potatoes from Rina. "You wouldn't leave me even if I was an hour late!"

"Want to test that theory, Bravo?"

He was too out of ear-shot to hear the huff of laughs behind him.

*

Out of the seven classes that Asher was forced to take- he was a senior, and most of his classmates had half-days because they acquired all their credits, but he stuck around for French III and being the librarian aid for two periods- he absolutely despised his last hour.

It was with John Reynolds- a young teacher who only Asher seemed to be in the tune of hating. The rest of them loved him, after-all, it was basically a period of going-on and on about his own golden streak when he was in Hollow's High. He would never shut up about his last game, when they won state for the first time in ten years, but blew out his knee.

Asher hates this for two reasons.

One, he comes to school to learn. Anything attainable for Asher's brain, he retains it. Which means he knows Reynolds's story of 'that-one-time-I-crashed-my-car' or 'the-first-time-I-met-my-wife' or 'when-my-brother-was-born'.

Second: Asher Bravermen was the main character in 'when-my-brother-was-born'. Asher didn't exactly have bad blood with his brother- or, as John likes to repeat to him, over and over again, every damn chance he gets- half-brother, but there was a difference between listening to 'teachers' tell stories and well-cultured human beings reliving their greatest hits and sharing real, heavy things with half a class of crack-heads, two future criminals, and the rest either mediocre students or knowledge hungry kids.

Teachers like his English teacher for third hour, who has experienced almost everything under the big, yellow sun- not, though, like John. His stories get about as interesting as static on the radio, messing up Asher's favorite song.

He walks in the door with his Jansport hanging off of both of his shoulders, his feet automatically going to the middle of the class- where John is less-likely going to call on him. He has a tendency of either indulging his favorites in the front, or wringing out answers to the students in the back- who are probably here for the same reason Asher is- they were told it'd maybe look good on a college resumé.

But, Asher is almost positive Hollow Grove: History isn't an actual class. John probably made up the class, considering the school couldn't just hire him to be a coach, and his wife was the daughter of the superintendent.

"Bravo," Asher heard that horrible nickname from behind him, in the voice of his older brother, and he winced- hopefully internally, but because of the sympathetic look one of the juniors shot at him, he knew he hadn't manage to mask his emotions.

"It's Asher," he gritted out, but grinned at John. He could have his good times, but most of the time- it was just his bad. The twenty-six year old could give their mom a killer smile, he even acted like a freakin' human being when Asher and their middle brother, Oliver, would come back from LSU for vacations. But, Asher had never truly liked him- the first time he ever told the teenager they were only half-brothers, it was the day Asher had been Marked.

And, being half-brothers wasn't the problem. But the way John had said it- like it makes their relationship less valid.

Asshole.

"Mom called," John began. He's staring at the papers on his desk, football plays for tonight's game litter across the wooden pillar next to family pictures from last Spring- the ones that their mother forced them to take together. John is smiling with his wife, she's a pretty girl- and his hands were holding up their four-year old. Beside the sickly-domestic trio, Asher had been forced into a white-button up and holy jeans, leaning on Oliver and his mother, his father out of the picture because he was more than camera-shy. "Maybe if you answered your phone--"

"We can't have phones on during school hours- remember?" Asher yawns, stretching out his neck as he plays with the cup of pencils on his brother's desk. "You're the one who took it away from me three weeks ago."

"For your own good," he tells him. Bullshit. John confiscated it because he took any chance to humiliate Asher, he loved to make the boy uncomfortable, anything from taking his beloved smartphone to asking at family dinners why he didn't like football- 'Because he doesn't like it, John, now shut up,' was the constant growl of Oliver, who might be more protective over Asher than their mother.

"Fine, my own good," he rolled his eyes because he knew that John was paying more attention to reviewing his final plays. "She called?"

John nodded, breathing quickly as if he was stressing out because of the 'x's and 'o's that littered over his plays, arrows following them and circles highlighted in red were being erased and re-drawn by the older man. "Yeah, she wanted to know if you're eating at--"

Asher cuts him off. "Reilly's Diner, tonight. I'm using my card, but I'm coming home to drop off my backpack- I'll just tell dad then," he explains, eyes going up to find the middle aisle is being filled up. He prays to God that the spot he populates every day isn't taken.

John doesn't look up. "Good, good."

"Great," he whispers, turning on his heels to go to the last middle-seat. It's beside the weird freshman girl, but Asher kind of likes weird, so he nod-grins at her because- hell, he's weird, too.

She smiles back, but clearly scoots away after she lets her eyes flick over him- she's calculating Asher, and when she saw the Mark on his throat, she subconsciously pushed him to the bottom of the food-chain.

He rolls his eyes, hand going to the Mark on his neck as he glares at weird-girl.

Fine. He's a freak. He gets it. He does. Really.

*

After fifty minutes of tapping his pencil on his notebook and re-reading the slide John left his smart-board on, Asher was finally free of school for the entirety of the weekend- and he had a football game to look forward to.

He pulled up the strap of his backpack, racing from the middle of the class to the door- he was always the first out of the room, for some reason, even the delinquents liked to hang around John. But, they weren't Marked, like Asher. There wasn't hesitance in his brother's voice when he spoke to them, he treated them like humans.

Asher didn't bother to run to his locker, he had everything he needed- the jacket his mom had forced him to bring to school earlier this morning was pulled onto his shoulders, the study guide for the upcoming test in English was tucked in his backpack right next to any other homework that he hadn't managed to finish in class.

Everyone was running in gold and red; the distant sound of howling students from the football field echoed to the high school parking lot. He tugged on his own gold beanie- which was more yellow than anything- over his short, brown hair, leaning himself up against Rina's Ford truck, content with his jacket and hat. He could really go for a cheap coffee again, just to warm up his fingers, but Rina's aunt was a mechanic-- which meant she had heating and air.

"Wait long?" Rina asked, her hands were empty save for the keys that dangled in her fingers- the extra credit project Asher knew she was working on was probably stuffed inside her bag. Behind her trailed her younger sister, Dove, who was a freshman- but hardly looked like a teenager. She smiled at him, eyes dropping to her feet the way they always had whenever she leveled her gaze with the male species.

"Only a few minutes," he told her, slipping into the passenger seat after Rina unlocked her car.

"Good- before we head off to your house, I gotta drop off Dove to the football field- she missed the bus," Rina explained, pulling out of the parking lot while simultaneously cranking her heat dial to the highest setting. The leather seats were flipped on, and the Styx played in the background, leaving a cool silence between the trio of teenagers.

Asher leaned back, head getting lost in the music. He didn't care if he was a freak by weird-girl standards or his half-brother's. Tonight was the big game, and for the rest of the day- to his friends who were seniors, to the people that knew him before the Mark, he was just Asher Bravermen.

Not Freak-boy.

*

"Next time, Dove, you're walking. I don't care if mom says I'll get grounded for a month- this is the second time," Rina's voice is low in warning as she stops her Ford at the entrance of the chain-link fences that lead to the cheerleaders' locker-room.

"I know, I'm sorry," Dove replies, her hair is in a tight bun- she put it up in the two minute drive from the high school to the field, using Rina's rear-view mirror as reference to what looked good and what didn't.

"Whatever, bye," Rina tells the fourteen year old- but she's distracted by her friends- the ten other girls who are stuck in the cold weather tonight to cheer for the team are waving at her to come on in and get changed.

"Still think we should've tried out," Asher says, a grin that says he's joking appears on his face and Rina snorted at the sight of his smile.

"I don't even think they would allow boys on the team," she replied, rolling her eyes as she turned onto the street that was a direct road from the field to Asher's home. "And we don't have hand-and-eye coordination- remember? T-ball? We were both seven and discovered Satan came in the form of cheap, plastic balls?"

"You're correct," he said, snorting at the memory. They had both been enjoying first grade summer, before It happened, and they had bonded over their shared hatred for anything that required moving. Asher enjoyed video-games and books, he liked sitting on his dad's lap and listening to him read fairytales.

And, Rina, she liked anything that she was good at. Which was basically everything. Except T-ball.

*

The Bravermen's home was a trilogy of a house that stood at the utopia of the town, a block away from the four schools of Hollow Grove that lined up from the youngest to eldest. It was the fifth oldest building in the town, first on the street.

It was inherited from his father's ancestors- the Bravermen side of the family had happened to like big houses that would become the highlight of creepy stories to anyone who managed to pass the home. It was ninety-two years old, painted white thirty years ago, only to be plastered a deep red on Asher's mother's persistent request.

"Dad," Asher called, unlocking the front door with Rina behind him, shivering in the cold December afternoon. Three more hours and they'd have to secure a seat in the small football stadium benches. The door creaked open with the teenager's fist tight around the brass knob- another thing about living in an insanely old house, everything was made out of heavy wood and brass.

"In the kitchen," he called out.

Sebastian Bravermen was currently elbow's deep in sink water. Because his wife, Ashlynn, was the sheriff of Hollow Grove, he became the embodiment of a stay-at-home parent instead of Asher's mother. He liked it, too. Staying at home, making himself a constant presence in the house because he had a social anxiety that made his extravert wife seem like a goddess to man-kind- or, at least, him.

"Good afternoon, Seb," Rina came into the kitchen first, immediately going to the cabinets beside the sink to grab two thermos that would hold the teenagers' much-needed hot chocolate.

He nodded to Rina with a smile before turning to his youngest son. Asher was arms deep in the fridge, searching for anything edible and ready to eat, when Sebastian spoke. "You have money tonight?" He asked, the same shocking-amber eyes that Asher had inherited flashed up to glance at the boy

"Yeah, dad, mom gave me my paycheck last night," Asher grinned at his dad. He worked at the police station, doing any odd jobs that his mother and the rest of the police department seemed fit. Which, most of the time, was running to their homes if they forgot their files on the counter or picking up their kids from practice, or mopping up spilled coffee.

He liked to brag that he got the most juicy secrets from working at the department, instead he just knows Mrs. LaHaye thinks it's appropriate to call 9-1-1 on her husband for letting his cat eat her last muffin.

"Don't go out to Chandler Road tonight, Asher. You either, Rina," Sebastian scrubs on a plate from this morning, his thick hair scraping just beneath his chin as he watches the two teenagers at the reaction of his words. Chandler Road, much like the Bravermen Manor, was constantly gossiped about.

But instead of holding ghost stories that were made up by Asher, Chandler Road was a flurry of folklore created by the first batch of tipsy teenagers that Hollow Grove ever had. It was a five minute walk from the old tracks that cut the boundary line of the good side of town and bad side of town in half. The old fire-pit that became Chandler Road's infamous trademark was two feet deep, surrounded by broken glass and ashes- it was the inferno for any evidence that teenagers couldn't stuff in the bed of their trucks.

"Chandler Road? Dad- I'd never," Except he has. Many times. He stopped counting after the time he woke up in the bed of his brother's truck next to Tyler with nail-polish sloppily stamped to his nails, and Rina beside him, sleeping on his stomach holding a bundle of dry moss to her chest, wearing a ski-mask as gloves.

"Don't 'I'd never' me, I know exactly what teenagers do-"

"Because, believe it or not, I was a teenager once too, I know dad. I know," Asher finishes for his father, smiling at the glare Sebastian sent him before giving an apologetic shrug.

"I don't care if the team wins, I want you in bed by eleven, sober," Sebastian tells his son, paying more attention to his dishes instead of the seventeen year-old. "Your mother is going to be there, patrolling, and if Tyler or Rina can't drop you off, don't bother trying to go home with them. She has a car that will fit you and your teen angst in just fine," he sent a smile to his youngest son as Asher groaned.

"Fine, I'll be back by eleven- no Chandler Road, because apparently you don't want me to have a life!"

"You're right, I'm horrible! What kind of parent wants their child back in bed by eleven instead of doing God knows what?!" It was easy to say that Asher inherited his sarcasm from his father- and he did. The comment was finished with Sebastian leaning up against the counter to level his gaze to his youngest.

They were definitely father and son. Anyone could see it, in the way that dimples were crevices in their cheeks and beauty marks spread through-out their face like a constellation of stars instead of freckles. They had the same crooked grin, the dry humor, the 'blink-fast-and-try-not-to-cry-angry-tears-damn-you' quirk that made both of them definitely Bravermen.

"Thanks, pops- love you, too!" Asher rolled his caramel irises, grabbing the two thermos that Rina filled to the brim with hot chocolate and managed to give Sebastian a hug, even if his elbows were sopped with soapy water from the sink of day's old dishes.

"Be safe. The both of you!" Sebastian rose his voice over the volume of the two teenagers' clunking feet. They didn't bother to look back at the father standing in the corner of the kitchen. The town called men like Sebastian, who hid in the shadow of his family and in the crevices of his home, liars.

Sebastian wasn't a liar. But he did have secrets.

*

It's crowded in Reilly's Diner, they were lucky to even get a seat if they were being honest. The two teenagers sat in the booth in the corner of the room, where Rina and Asher knew no one would see them- which meant no would bother them. It was separated by a thin sheet of wood- a wall that was never completed- it was supposed to be a closet for staff- but it had became infamous for white-boy graffiti of 'J+S' and 'Greg loves Hanna 4ever'. Countless people had sat in this booth to make out, which Rina had done herself- on a freshman study session with Tyler.

But, the two friends were very content with staying in their own bubble and talking.

They liked to be out of the limelight. The Marked never get left alone, anywhere they go, they're oogled at. That's why Rina has made a habit of wearing her hair long and Asher usually sports his high-collared navy blue jacket even on the warmest days.

Privacy was always given in the left corner of Reilly's Diner.

"What do I feel like tonight?" Asher whispered beneath his breath, scanning over the worn menus that he knows by heart. He's been coming here every Friday since he was quite literally born. The first article of words he could read happened to be the 'Meat Lovers Specials' section. His mother had been quite proud when her three year old had read all by himself, and he had been rewarded by a banana split.

"I dunno- maybe the same thing you've been eating for the past seventeen years?" Rina tells him, sipping her sweet tea while reading over the Friday special.

"You'd think I'd have gotten tired of a double cheeseburger with a side of fries and green beans," he tells her, knowing that she'd order the same she always had: pickled okra, the ranch bacon chicken wrap and the caesar salad- extra almonds please. It was almost tradition- every kid in Hollow Grove picked a certain dish they liked, and kept to it until they died or decided to leave town.

"You'd think, but when have you ever been normal Ash?" She laughs, sitting down her menu for the final time- as if she didn't walk in knowing exactly what she'd order and had finally deduced exactly what she'd eat.

He laughs, pale hands clasping together as he leans his cheeks on white knuckles to look at her. Rina was smart- sometimes constantlyhimself

A loud disgruntled voice that surely belonged to Mr. McAdams, the widower who ran the feed store, interrupted Asher. He was always a very stout man, in the way he looked and the way he spoke- strong and forceful. "Who the hell is back?"

From the corner booth, the two kids were kept out of sight- pausing in their conversation, caught between a 'keep it down, well-ya?' and half a thought to keep quiet.

"Thane Hale, remember?" He was being followed by his only daughter- she had a deep voice for a woman, inherited from the more-than-middle-aged man. "Thought he was dead- he's back, apparently. Remember? Used to be about four feet tall? Tiny boy. Played little league with your grandson," she told him. Her name was Catherine- Asher, unfortunately, has known her all of his life. She was just as loud as her father, and while the late Mrs. McAdams had had a soft voice, Catherine shared her father's trait of gossiping at the loudest volume possible.

"And you're telling me that man out there was the same boy?" Mr. McAdams and his daughter were getting settled on the other side of the wall, where a booth was flush to the dry-wall. The two teenagers could hear them perfectly, and with wide eyes from Asher, Rina smiled at him with the pad of her finger rising to her lips in a 'shhhh'.

Catherine slid in the booth, the clunking noise of the seat told anyone with ears that it needed to be screwed back in, tightly. "No doubt in my mind," this time- she almost lowers her voice. Her words aren't any less audible- but it's quiet for any family of the McAdams. "Boy has his mother's eyes."

Rina raises her eyebrows, crossing her own pair of amber irises in the attempt to make her cross-eyed. It works, and Asher has to muffle his laugh into the heel of his palm.

There's a pause- and Asher quiets- frowning, because he's afraid he may have just ruined their fun-- until Mr. McAdams snorts. "Cold, blue, and dead?"

Catherine laughs, Asher can imagine it. She's probably leaning forward, hands in her face as her entire body shakes with it- that's what the tall ginger usually did in the presence of Asher's mother. "I'd call it pale blue, but yeah- practically the same thing."

"And what," Mr. McAdams isn't amused, his voice is tight on the other side of the drywall. "Now he's popped back up again? Off the map since... since July Night, and he's just suddenly back? Half the town is murdered-"

"Four people died-" Catherine begins to say, sounding almost offended- but for once in Cathy's life, she drops her voice. Because it's forbidden. July Night is off limits. Regardless if you're a loud sixty-two year old- not even the kids at school; not Asher's mom, who was a first responder at the time; not even Asher, who still had a scar that scraped from the top of his spine to beneath his collar-bone, spoke about it.

"Four people died, five of our kids were mauled by a wild animal," Mr. McAdams huffs. He pauses, like he's taking a drink of the vodka everyone pretends they don't know he hides in the sleeve of his jacket. "And you think this is normal?"

"Why wouldn't it?" Cathy's voice is still quiet, collected... careful. Asher imagines, on the other-side of the wall, she's watching the other thirty customers, trying to pay attention to the chipped red-tiled floor instead of her father. "Maybe the kid is getting back down to his roots."

There's a huff from McAdams. "Maybe he's stirring up trouble, Catherine."

Asher catches Rina's eye, and the two try to pretend that they don't want to hear more- that this mysterious blue-eyed monster wasn't what suddenly became their person of interest.

"Maybe," Rina grins as she whispers, mouth going to her straw as she sipped up sweet tea. "We just found a little bit of trouble ourselves, Mr. Bravermen."

AN
Hnngh, comments below, feedback is sooo welcome. Ah.