Prologue

My sneakers pounded hard against the ground as I fled the gaining authorities, my heartbeat quickening with every step. I skidded around a sharp corner, making me stumble, and I nearly fell over. I sighed in relief as I regained myself, glancing behind me to see if I had outrun them. Nope. Light flooded the large, dark, and empty tunnel, alerting me that the officers were on my toes. It smelt faintly of gasoline, making me wonder what these tunnels were even used for.

I was fast. Very fast, but so were they. There was a loud, ear-piercing cry of pain; it didn’t sound like any officer.

            Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

            “Colby!” I screamed, my heart lurching at the thought of Colby, the most innocent person alive, getting hurt. Policemen surrounded me, all pointing their blinding flashlights in my face. “We have to help him!” I stopped running and whipped around toward the men, my eyes pleading.

“Hands in the air, kid!” One of them ordered, but I kept on screaming. “Colby!” I repeated. “Let me go! I need to find Colby!”

“I said, hands in the air!” He roared, and I complied, raising my arms up over my head and choking out a small sob of “Please.”

A large, muscled policeman walked behind me and grabbed my arms, forcing them down roughly and behind my back. A click was heard, and then I was no longer free. I hung my head in defeat as I was escorted out of the tunnel by two of the men. I clenched my jaw and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall.

Colby is one of those people who will apologize a million times just for running into you in the hallway. You can’t help but wonder if they’ve had a traumatic experience as a kid involving being trampled or something, and it makes you feel extremely guilty, even though it was a small mistake. Colby Brown, President of the AV club and the D&D (Dungeons and Dragons) club, would never do anything that would result in him, or anyone else, being arrested.

That’s why all of this was my fault.

Now you’re probably wondering how I got myself into this situation, right? Well, stay tuned, since I’m going to start from the very beginning…

Chapter One

It was a typical Monday morning, mainly typical because I couldn’t get out of bed again. I was too busy dreaming of being a part of, and winning, the Super Bowl.

“Logan!” My mother called up to me, her voice sweet and kind. The scent of warm chocolate chip muffins wafted into my room somehow, which would usually get me out of bed, but in this case it did nothing.

“Logan, Sweetie, it’s time for breakfast.”

“Coming,” I called back weakly, my voice unusually husky. I trudged down the stairs as it was one of those days.

My mom got one look at me and gasped.         

“Honey, you look awful!”

“Wow, thanks, Mom,” I said sarcastically, adding an over-the-top eye roll for effect.

“No, I mean you look sick. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied, striding into the kitchen. Although everything was not okay. The night before, I had gone over to Miguel’s house with Colby and eaten a huge box of donuts as the result of a dare. Not that I had minded at the time, but the donuts were apparently prodded by Miguel’s younger sister Erica after she had been in the playhouse at Chuck E. Cheese. This information was not disclosed to me until after I had eaten the entire box. Thanks, Miguel.

“Logan, don’t lie to me.” My mom stared at me with the look that only mothers could manage to pull off, and then I caved in with a sigh.

“Fine,” I groaned, then told her the story. Her eyebrows were knitted in a look of pure concern the entire time, making me feel a tinge of regret.

“Go back to bed, Hon. I’ll bring you up some muffins later.” My mother gave me a loving smile and walked away swiftly.

I sighed and spun around, practically dragging myself back upstairs and onto my bed.

Sure enough, when I woke up again, there were chocolate chip muffins perfectly placed on a tray by my bedside like they were there to be photographed for a baking magazine. I sat upright and my head pounded, especially behind my sore, brown eyes. I pulled my blankets further up on my body, suddenly feeling very cold and shivering like a chihuahua. Good thing my mom made me stay home today.

I laid in my bed for a while before taking out my very ancient DS and playing Mega Man X, since it was what was already in there. I got really far on one level before I died, cursing under my breath.

My phone buzzed loudly, so I jumped in surprise. It was a text from Miguel.

Miguel: Hey! Just wondering where you were, since you missed first and second period with Mr. Lancaster, and I had to do a whole lab on my own

Logan: Sorry, I just woke up sick and my mom’s not letting me go to school today

Miguel: Aww man that sucks! Hope ya feel better

Logan: Thanks dude

I put my phone down and gazed longingly at the muffins before taking one. I scarfed it down in seconds, grateful to my mom for putting them there in the first place. “She probably went to work,” I mumbled to myself, crumbs falling out my mouth as I did so. “Otherwise, she’d be in here worrying over me.”

Hours passed, and so did my entertainment. I thought about watching tv, but I couldn’t get myself up to do so. I told myself that it was because I was too sick to walk, but I knew in my heart that I was just really lazy. I rolled over so my back was to my door, and I noticed my (very large) walkie talkie lying next to me.

It looked very inviting, so I gave in and turned it to the right channel. Colby, Miguel and I all had them so we could be like the kids in Stranger Things, and I think it’s just cool in general. I held down the button on the side and put it up to my face.

“Colby? Miguel? Do you copy?” I croaked, sitting up in my bed. No response. “If you can hear me, meet me by Cornwallis after school, 3:15. Over.” Picking up my phone with my free hand, I checked the time; 1:47 pm. I would have to wait a while. I put down my ‘talkie and slowly slid off of my bed, making my way over to my window and opening the curtains.

The sun was blindingly bright compared to the dim light of my bedroom, and it seemed to reflect off of everything. It made the chocolate brown of my room look almost tan, and it hurt to look at my pure white furniture. I squinted against the sun and surveyed the empty streets of my neighborhood, feeling a strong desire to get on my bike. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the multi-colored houses made my street look like an illustration from a children’s book. I was just itching to get out of the house, my boredom overpowering my sense of judgement. I decided to go with my boredom.

I zoomed down the stairs and out the door, scurrying over to the garage where my bike was kept. The door opened at the touch of the button, and I snagged my bike and helmet, throwing one of them back into the garage. And I can tell you for a fact that I did not throw my bike. I hopped on and pedaled down the smooth driveway and onto the bare streets. I knew my way around by heart, and I used this to my advantage.

The trees swayed rhythmically against the autumn breeze, their leaves bright red and orange. A few leaves fell gently down to the ground, some blowing right in my face and disorienting me for a split second. I swerved a bit before continuing to go straight, avoiding any other falling leaves. Why did the leaves have to fall, why can’t they just disintegrate instead of bothering me and killing the grass they land on?

Once I made it to the school, I cycled up to the bike rack and locked my bike in safely. Last time I forgot to, and somebody decided to take it for a ride instead of asking me first. Now I know! Would you look at that, I learn from trauma!

I snuck around to the back of the building and peered in through one of the windows. Yes! There he was, Miguel, being bored to tears by Mr. Pepino.

At least, that’s what we call him. His actual name is Mr. Peppa, but one of the Spanish classes thought it was funny to call him “Mr. Pepino” (Mr. Cucumber, for those who don’t know Spanish), and the name stuck ever since. Man, it never gets old.

Miguel was conveniently seated next to the window I was by, so I tapped lightly on the glass in morse code. I watched him look over at me in pure shock, but of course he couldn’t say anything. Dash dash. Dot. Dot. Dash. I continued until I had tapped out ‘MEET ME AT CORNWALLIS’. Miguel nodded in understanding and showed me a scribbled out ‘okay’ on a light blue sticky note. He and I smiled mischievously, and then I tapped ‘I’LL GET COLBY’. Miguel nodded again and pretended to listen to Mr. Pepino.

Colby was harder to reach. He was in History with Mrs. Weppler, Miguel’s  mother. Sure, she was kind and motherly at home, but the moment she’s in the school building it’s like she’s a completely different person.

“Very uptight,” Mr. Pepino used to say. “You crazy lot could use the discipline.” I used to think that was bull, but now I kind of understand. Tough love, I guess. However, intended or not, Mrs. Weppler was definitely a pretty scary woman. Miguel acts like her sometimes, and it’s a real change compared to his normal behavior. That’s how you know he’s not messing around.

Anyway, Mrs. Weppler was terrifying, so I decided against going to Colby just yet. I reached my hand into the pocket of my dark jeans, feeling around for my wallet. Bingo! I pulled it out swiftly and checked inside. I had a fifty, a twenty, and then a bunch of singles. I could definitely afford some lunch.

There was a small, shabby, rundown diner right across from the school where I sometimes stopped for a bagel or two. Their food was cheap, and I could get something for my dad, who worked long hours in a smelly factory. He loved... I couldn’t even tell you the name of it, since all the paint faded on the worn out sign for the place.

I quickly (and carefully) crossed the street, jogging up to the entrance and pushing the old, greasy glass door open. When I stepped in, I was immediately hit with the delicious scent of the bakery goods, and I forgot what it smelt like to breath fresh air. The air was thick and warm, but hey, at least it didn’t smell like the gym locker room.

“Logan!” A very thick Italian accent called to me. The owner’s name was Giovanni, and he knew me by name.

“Giovanni! How’s it shaking, amico?” I responded, sitting down on one of the bar stools that sat in front of the glass food display. Giovanni loved to teach me some Italian while I waited for my food, and some of it actually sticks. He looked very pleased and gave me a toothy smile, leaning against the counter casually.
            “Cosa posso fare per te?” The dark-haired, mustache-wearing man asked, and it took me a moment to translate it. Since I’m assuming many of you are like me and are not fluent in Italian, he said, “What can I get for you?” But if you are fluent in Italian and I’m wrong, then I apologize. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, let’s be real here.

“Um, can I have four bagels? Two blueberry and two french toast, per favore.”

“Coming right up!” Giovanni slowly turned around and shouted something in Italian to one of his workers, but it was too fast to catch. That same worker yelled something back, and then brought Giovanni my order.

Reaching back into my pocket, I started to pay, but then Giovanni refused.

“No no no, it’s on the house, amico. You come here very often, yes.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Thanks, man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I hope so.” Giovanni handed me the bagels and I started back toward the exit, a smile plastered on my stupid face.

-Molly MacDonald