Screams tore through her, echoing in her mind like a distant wail she couldn’t shut out. The earth beneath her feet shuddered, each tremor leaving her unsteady and breathless. Flames erupted from the crop circle in a blinding flash, their heat pelting at her skin as blackened stalks crackled and snapped. She stumbled backward, shielding her face. The ground erupted with a deafening roar. Chunks of earth and debris shot skyward, blotting out the sun. Something immense—otherworldly—forced its way up from the darkness below. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She could only watch as the impossible tore its way into existence.

Rose snapped her eyes wide and awake from the terrifying image that had flashed through her mind a dozen times since her presentation earlier in the afternoon.

She breathed deeply as she focused on the present.

The sharp tang of oil and vinegar drifted up from the plate, mingling with the faint metallic scent of the fork. She hovered it near her mouth, the crisp green glistening, as if the salad itself waited for her to make the next move.

How long had she been in that position?

“You alright?” her mother asked from across the wooden slats of the dinner table. In any of her friends’ homes, this would have been an outdoor picnic table…But not in Sheriff Branter’s home.

“Fine.” Rose took a bite of the salad and chewed. All seemed normal.

The flickering flame from the kerosene lamp hanging on the wall cast long shadows. The big, black, pot-bellied stove dominated the kitchen. Bossy-Boss sat at her feet with big black eyes filled with hope of a dropped scrap or even a pitty-nibble.

“Not tonight, Bossy.” Rose petted the head of the grey and white mini-Shepherd. “Salad’s not for you.”

“Judy was asking about you today,” Sheriff Mom said.

“How is she?” Rose asked.

“I think she’s doing better now that she dumped that guy.”

“I didn’t like him.”

Her mother studied her as if ascertaining the validity of a statement from one of her suspects. “You never said that.”

“Yeah, there was just something about him. I dunno.”

“Well, apparently, Judy ended up agreeing with you.”

Rose stood and picked up her dish as well as her mother’s.

“Wanna ride with me tonight?”

Facing away, Rose closed her eyes. She had prepared all day to answer that question yet still hated the reply she had to give, especially during these last few months at home. She loved spending time with her mother riding their horse. And once Rose left for college, her mother would not only ride alone but eat at an empty table. But Rose had no choice. “Sorry. I’m working on a new project for school.”

“I thought the report was the last one.”

“Yeah, well, something new came up. And it’s kind of a big project.”

“How did the presentation go, by the way?”

“Fine.”

“What does that mean?”

“Good. It went good.”

“I’m always concerned when you intentionally mis-grammar things.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I be intentionally ‘mis-grammaring’ thangs for I can fit in with my small-town hick friends.”

Her mother chuckled and put on a terrible Southern drawl of her own. “As the sheriff of this here town, I won’t be havin’ any mis-grammarin’ in these here parts.”

Both women laughed, then fell into silence for a moment.

“So,” her mother said. “How did it go? And ‘fine’ is officially banned from the dinner table.”

“You can’t ban words. Ever heard of freedom of speech?”

“She asked, trying to steer the conversation off track again.”

Rose sighed. “Mom, why do you ask questions you don’t want the answer to?”

Her mother asked gently, “Want to talk about it?”

Rose’s stomach sank, and her gaze dropped to the table. Her mother wouldn’t let up until she heard the details. “I fell apart again.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Mom, it’s not. I have a problem when I have to speak in front of an audience. In front of…anyone.”

“Everybody gets nervous, honey.”

“I don’t know how to respond to that.” She raised her eyes to meet her mother’s. “You mean well. You love me. But…Saying something like that just shows how little you understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“I can’t, Mom.” She stood. “I’ve got some work I have to do.”

Rose headed toward her room, fighting her watering eyes.

No way she could describe the darkness, the terror she went through every time she had to speak in front of people. But this project…this project might change everything.

#

Principal Curlow’s massive circular office consumed the third floor of Gothic High’s west turret, like an unsettling anarchistic throne room enshrined in posters, pennants, and assorted paraphernalia worshipping the Los Angeles Clippers.

Rose spoke with a passionate fire, landing a palpable impact on the short, balding, bi-speckled, and riveted principal. Ms. Evans sat beside her with lips curled into a proud smile. The more Rose described the project, the more the principal’s eyes lit up. This was a chance, she told him, for the students to have voices—for the town to have a unified voice. The excitement would sweep through the school like a tsunami. They would show the world their substance.

At least that’s what she said. Fact is, she would say anything to paint the picture that what she was doing was simply slice-of-life high school stuff. Instead, underneath it all, her plan was quite different, but she had to sell this surface level first and make it both convincing and appealing. She had hardly slept last night. The images of Beckinfield exploding kept her awake, and yet she continued to wrestle with the sense that she could prevent it. But in addition to the principal’s blessing, she needed money for servers and computers and things.

When she finished her presentation, Principal Curlow commended her on her ingenuity but declined. He explained that it was too late in the school year. Perhaps she should broach the subject when she got to Stanford.

Despite her preparation, Rose anticipated the negative response. So, she simply thanked him for his time and stepped out. She had laid the needed groundwork with him. On the way down the stairs, Ms. Evans complimented her on the presentation, but Rose heard none of the consolation. Her “Plan B” loomed, and she nearly pulled the trigger before the meeting. But no matter—Curlow would jump on board within the week.

Rose stepped into the library.

Martin pored over two open textbooks at the far corner table.

Where else would he go? Over their nearly four years in Gothic High, they had spent hundreds of late afternoons on opposite ends of the common area and rarely spoke. Today, though, she made a beeline to him.

Martin looked up. “Hey, Stanford. Welcome to my side of the—”

“Yale, I need your help.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’re that easy?”

“You’ve never asked before. Whatever it is, I figure, A, you need my help. And, B, you know that I can help.”

“Yes, to both.” She pulled out the chair across from him and dropped her various notebooks on the long table. Then she flipped to the back of her primary notebook, tore out the last page, and slid it across.

“I need you to type this out, take it over to Clarksville, and give it to one of your journalist friends to have them print it in the paper.”

Martin glanced down at her cursive writing.

“And I’m going to get you a job,” Rose said.

“Doing what?”

“What you love. Building a website. One that is going to explode.”

“An exploding website?” he asked, crinkling his eyebrows. “I love it already.”

Rose smiled. Then she laughed. “Not literally.”

Martin grinned. “I was kidding.”

Rose had known him since elementary school—about time they shared a laugh.

“I mean, explode in popularity. But I can’t persuade Curlow to sign off until that gets published.”

“Blackmail?” said Martin, leaning in with a grin.

“No. Truth.”

“So, it is blackmail?”

“It really isn’t.”

“Why don’t you ask them to publish this yourself?”

“Because if word gets back to him that it came from me, Curlow won’t give us the money to combat it.”

Martin began reading the three-hundred-word article. Halfway down, he looked up at Rose. “How is this supposed to get a website launched?”

“Got that part covered.” Rose stood.

“Okay. Don’t know how long it will take, or if they’ll be into it at all, but I’ll run it by them.”

“Act surprised when we approach you about building the site.”

“What is the site?”

“This is going to change some lives.” Rose smiled. “Probably even yours.”

She headed toward the door as Martin mumbled, “What makes you think I want my life changed?”

#

Kicker swam in lazy freestyle form as the early morning mist rose from the brisk water of Hidden Star Lake. Each time his head swiveled for a gulp of air, Lisa's eyes met his as she matched his moves breath for breath and stroke for stroke even though he was four inches taller.

One of the benefits of dating a swimming champion was that he didn't have to compromise his own workout to let her keep up. Instead, they swam, dated, and lived in perfect sync.

She even changed technique this morning to breathe on the opposite side. As they both turned their heads to face each other and gulp down air, her eyes seemed to smile back at him.

She's as into this as I am. Finally, his life was settling into the foundation for a future he could visualize. He wouldn't fall into the Beckinfield trap like his stepdad. Though Kicker battled the same violent demons, he would never give in to the rage his stepdad so freely let loose. Instead, he and Lisa would create their lives in gentle, if powerful, synchronized strides.

Something about the crackling air in this town dared people to become more than who they should be and promised a future of excitement, adventure, and surprise. But when someone failed the test, they had to settle for whatever was left. Like those King Arthur novels he used to read as a kid. It was as if this town of legends constantly searched for the next chosen one, then abandoned all who didn't deliver. Kicker's stepdad tried to pull the figurative sword from the stone once and suffered the humiliation of failure. And it turned him into a bitter, angry, violent man. No way in hell Kicker would let that happen. So, instead of trying to impress college recruiters, he intentionally lost the last three games of the season and avoided the pressures and choices of where to play. That sword looks perfectly fine sticking out of that stone.

Powering through the center of the lake, he could not see beyond her face during each breath. The mist engulfed them to create an isolated world of their own.

The moment belonged to the two of them. Perhaps when they reached the other side after such a long, exhausting swim, they would have a make-out session in the cave and maybe even take their relationship to the next level—finally. This could be the morning.

He turned to breathe, but this time Lisa's chin greeted his eyes—she inched ahead. He glanced to the rocky walls only about two hundred feet in front.

The sprint to the finish began.

He thrust his hand into the water and pulled. To take advantage of his muscular domination, he shortened his reach to increase his repetitions. His head popped out of the water to eye her.

Lisa's practiced form appeared effortless.

She might be more streamlined in her technique, but his strength crushed hers.

He powered his legs to double his kicks. Yet, her lead continued to build. He took a deep breath and held his face under the water as he pulled and kicked, straining his trained muscles to their limits.

The mist cleared, and the rocky wall came into view.

Thank God. His body ached. Soon they would be resting and snuggling together in the cave.

But just up ahead, Lisa flipped, pushed off the rock wall, and gracefully swam by him, back the other way.

"I'll slow up a bit if you want," she said as she effortlessly cruised by him.

He reached the rocks panting for breath.

Ah, shit.

He shoved off and headed back toward her as she slowed to let him catch up.