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When Junior was ten years old, he was the happiest he ever was. His mother told him he made the Boys Scouts, Devon was his best friend, and his father started to bring him to the woods for runs. Junior would grin freely, chest soaring when his dad would run his hands through his hair, proud as he tells Junior “That’s my boy” every time they make a new record. He would Devon about running and the Scouts, and Devon would listen, then Devon would tell him about his serial killer of the week, and Junior would listen. Junior would be happy.
Age eleven, the day before middle school started, while they had their sleepover as per tradition, Devon almost told Junior that he was gay. Almost, because Junior knew that if the word was said aloud, everything would change. Junior knew this because the older Scouts said so, insidious stories about the boys who suddenly found it harder to rise up the ranks and get badges. He knew this because his parents would whisper to themselves, faces changing when they see Junior and Devon packed side by side. So, he stopped Devon mid-sentence, shaking his head. The walls had ears. Devon never brought the subject up again, but that didn’t stop Junior’s dad from bringing him out for more runs, more games, so much that he couldn’t see his best friend again. He joined cross country per his father’s advice, and Devon joined AV club and Forensics. Junior’s dad called it drifting apart and Junior tried not to read into the easy way he said it.
At age twelve, Junior’s closest friend was Oliver, who laughed loudly when the other cross-country boys made snide jokes about Jake and the changing room. The words to stop them stuck in his throat. He got them off Devon’s back, but he knew he was too close to crossing the line. He closed his eyes and huffed out an echo of their guffaws, the hollowness of the sound ringing through his head. He made the competing team that year and was the first to qualify for regionals on the Perry Middle team. His father was in the stands, arms crossed and lips moving to tell his neighbour that “that’s my boy”. After, he told Junior that things were going to change. Junior simply nodded, knowing that meant that more time for the Eagle Scouts would be taken away. Devon texted him later that night, congratulating his win. They would have talked into the night, Junior thought, if the voice of his father telling him to sleep didn’t stop ringing in his head.
(It didn’t stop him, though, from texting his oldest friend when he could.)
At age thirteen, Lexy was a tidal wave. Unlike him, she never had to fight her way into the school. She made her mark with the impact of hammer to stone, sending reverberations through the student body until everyone knew Lexy Cross and knew nobody should cross her. She knew her place in the world, and she looked at Junior and said his place was next to her. Lexy was terrifying, in her cruelty, but also in how easily he could lose her. When he told his parents about Lexi, five months into their relationship, his father said “That’s my boy”, and Junior couldn’t help but focus on the relief hidden the spaces of the words. Fear gripped him, and he found himself stumbling out the house in his running gear. He ran, and ran, and ran, until the fear bubbled into adrenaline in his veins, took himself past Lexy’s, past Oliver’s, past Devon’s, past Jake’s, out into the woods. Then he stopped and stumbled onto a rock, music blasting in his ears. He took in fast, shuddering breaths, and for the first time in years found himself sick during a run. It was Lexy who found him there, and it was Lexy’s terrified voice that drew him back to himself.
They were quiet for what seemed like hours after, his eyes closed and head pressed into his kneecaps, and Lexy still clutching his hands at each side of his legs. Then she talked, her voice stuttering over how her parents don’t care, how her sister hated her, how she ruled the school with an iron fist so she would always have a place. Her hands were warm on top of his wrist, so close that he could feel her pulse under her skin. He could feel her hands shaking, and realised that she was human.
“My dad thought I might be gay,” he told her, half mumbled into his legs. She paused, then nodded slowly, and Junior took a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure whether he’s wrong.”
He thought of the times he had resolutely ignored the thrumming under his skin, the places Oliver left heated, arms over his shoulders and secret smiles every time a prank succeeded. He thought of secret looks, what he thought was comparison but had realised soon after was admiration and then mortification. He had tried to ignore that, focused on the times that he felt electricity curling his arm around Lexy’s waist, joy when she would lean into his space whenever she could, warmth when she found his notes in her textbooks and turned back to smile at him.
“Do you love me, then?” Lexy asked, voice quiet.
He turned his hand from under hers and interlocked his fingers with hers. He met her eyes and realised with vague awe that he did not lie when he said, “I do.”
Lexy gave a brittle smile. “Then next time you fall like this, I’ll catch you. And you’ll do the same for me.”
“Okay.”
She leaned in and kissed him, their first.
He’s fourteen years old now, and he’s had many first times. The first time he faces death was when his uncle is electrocuted. The first time he sees a dead body is Annie, who raised him. The first time he is truly disgusted with Lexy is at the Halloween party. The first time he has an operation, his father tells him to rest, so he can still run. It’s not the first time Lexy breaks his heart, and it’s not the first time his heart is torn about Oliver. It’s not the first time he’s disillusioned with his father, but he thinks pulling strings to get him into nationals is a new low. It’s not the first time his mother keeps secrets from him, but he realises that he’s too late to save her sitting on the sofa after the therapist leaves. It’s not the first time his father makes him frustrated, but it’s the first time he feels it cloud his mind, Chucky’s voice a vice in his head, his body a puppet pulled by its strings. It’s the first time he’s killed, and he doesn’t think it would be his last.
He almost kills the woman in Chucky’s old house. He leaves Devon to die. He almost forgets Lexy, in the haze Chucky tricks him into, until she reminds him.
It’s the first time he’s stabbed, bleeding out in the Hackensack movie theatre cradled in Lexy’s arms. He thinks back on the fog of the past few years, memories that once felt so bright dimming in the realisation that he’s dying. He let out a breath, and remembers being ten years old.
He wonders, as he grows too weak to open his eyes, what it meant that he peaked so young.