Chapter 3
Bridger endured a day of school with a golf-ball-sized hole in the bottom of his shoe. He lasted through English class, in which he mooned over Leo and Astrid laughed at him when he was called on to read. Polonius was no Rosencrantz or Guildenstern, so he flubbed through the words and his cheeks burned. He kept his head down when he left, and the blush didn’t diminish until after the final bell of the day rang hours later.
Bridger hitched a ride with Astrid and she dropped him off at work. She said, with a raised eyebrow, “Seriously? Could this house be any more adult Wednesday Adams chic?”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Oh, yeah. Totes.”
Bridger climbed out of the car and low-key flipped her off as he walked up the sidewalk. He heard Astrid laughing as she pulled away.
He pushed open the front door and stepped in, hoping the slime had been taken care of. He let out a relieved sigh. The foyer was indeed clean. The burns on the floor had been erased, and the wall was spotless, as if there had never been acidic goop at all.
The foyer was also occupied by someone other than Mindy or Pavel.
On the bench along the wall sat a woman—a gorgeous woman—dressed in a tight red dress, with her legs crossed at the knees. Long, thick brown hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders and down her back. She had light brown eyes that caught the sunlight to glint amber, and full dark red lips that stretched into an inviting smile when she spotted him.
“Oh,” she said, setting the magazine she had been reading on her lap. She tilted her chin up and inhaled deeply, lashes fluttering. She furrowed her brow. “What are you?”
“I’m a high school student?” Bridger said. It came out more a squeaky question than a statement. He straightened his flannel shirt and grimaced at the smear of chocolate pudding, courtesy of Astrid, across the leg of his jeans. First impressions—not his strong suit.
“No, I mean—” She pointed at the door. “—you crossed the threshold.”
Bridger cast the entrance a critical glance. “What the hell is it with that door?”
She cocked her head like an inquisitive puppy and batted her eyelashes. “It’s warded.”
“What does that even mean? A security system?” Bridger shot a look to Mindy who was obviously playing solitaire on her computer. “Is that why you made me climb the side of this house? Because of an alarm?”
Mindy, dressed in a sparkly green blazer with random purple sequins, didn’t answer, clearly apathetic to Bridger’s confusion and to the conversation between him and the mystery woman. Seriously, how did she keep the job? Sure, she knew how to dispose of vaguely threatening flowers and how to hire clueless teenagers, but what really was her skill set?
The woman stood, and Bridger’s attention snapped back to her, and his pulse thudded in his ears like bass drums. His cheeks flushed with heat, and sweat rolled down his back. His heart pounded, sending blood and adrenaline rushing through him, and that was weird because these days he was experiencing an existential crisis in that realm of his life, but she was so pretty.
She walked toward him, but it wasn’t a walk, it was a slink. Yes, a stalk, sensual and feral, and she inhaled again. She licked her lips.
Bridger dropped his bag.
She pressed a hand to his body below his collarbone—her fingers spread, her nails sharp and red, matching her lipstick—and Bridger stepped backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall.
The brown of her eyes flashed in the light, and her breath was hot and quick on the skin of Bridger’s neck.
“Do you have a name, high school student?” It came out throaty and deep, and Bridger shivered.
“I… um… would you believe that… I actually don’t know it right now…” he stammered, voice cracking. He really wanted to tell her his name, but intuition told him he shouldn’t. He didn’t know. He was confused, so confused, but also a livewire as his body reacted to her presence in a chemical way. Heat radiated from the places her fingertips pressed into his chest in little points of perfect pain.
“Elena! Stop!”
Pavel’s voice rang out from the stairs and sliced through the haze that clouded Bridger’s senses. He swore he heard a growl and then the rapid footsteps of Pavel flying down the stairs.
“Elena,” he said again, his accent fierce and clipped. “Stop. Let him go.”
She blinked and shook her head. With a horrified expression, she snatched her hand off Bridger’s chest as if he was a wildfire.
He did feel like one, burning up from the inside.
Pavel stepped between them, which forced Elena to step back, and Bridger could breathe again. He shook, his hands trembled, his heart fluttered, the flood of adrenaline receded, and he sank back against the wall.
“I’m so sorry.” She swallowed, her throat working. “I told you something was wrong. That was why I needed to come see you. It’s waning, Pavel.”
“I know.” Pavel placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the stairs. “Go up to my office. I have tea waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” She brushed her hair back from her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing Bridger. “I’m not normally so… aggressive.”
“Totally fine,” he replied, breathless and embarrassed. His chest heaved, and sweat was drying, clammy and cold, on his skin.
“Go on up,” Pavel pushed her gently. “I’ll take care of this.”
She left, her hips swinging, but the threat was gone. Maybe Bridger had imagined it? Maybe Bridger had imagined everything that had happened since he had gotten the job? This all had to be a hallucination from the dust in the library, or from pollen in the weird flowers. It had to be, because Bridger was a firm believer in Occam’s razor, and a reasonable explanation had to exist for acidic green goo, shrill voices in walls, and gorgeous women who hit on teenagers.
“Are you okay?” Pavel asked.
Bridger rubbed his chest and felt the imprint of her nails. “What the hell? That was Elena? The woman with the dog that barks?”
Pavel lifted an eyebrow. “A dog that barks,” he repeated, softly. “Oh. The disturbance.”
“Yeah, I looked it up in the paper. Is she a little off? I feel like she might need help. I think. I’m not sure.” Bridger grasped for the correct way to say things. Astrid would smack him for not being sensitive, but all thought had left his head when she had touched him. “Is there an… uh… addiction there?”
Pavel laughed, throwing his head back.
Bridger crossed his arms and scowled.
After a moment, Pavel composed himself. “You think Elena is a sex addict?” he asked, then snickered.
Bridger threw up his hands. “I don’t know! I still don’t know what the hell you do to help people!”
Pavel smiled, his eyes crinkling. “No, she’s not a sex addict. But you aren’t wrong, she does need help.” He put his hands in the pockets of his awful plaid pants. And on a side note—who allowed him to dress that badly? He was a thrift shop horror story, wearing a vest that looked as though it was part of a steampunk cosplay over a light blue button-up shirt with a flared seventies collar. “Are you all right? You’re flushed. Do you need to… talk?” Pavel made a face that Bridger could only describe as a mixture of embarrassment and concern—the same face his mom made when she tried to talk to him about bodily functions and… oh, no.
“No! Oh, my God, no!” Mortified, Bridger picked up his bag and stuck out his chin. “I’m going to go finish organizing your library.”
He turned and headed toward the door, but Pavel’s voice stopped him. “Good instincts, by the way. Never give your name, especially when they ask.”
“Sure. Great. Makes sense,” Bridger muttered. “Weirdo.”
Pavel jogged up the stairs. Bridger huffed and ducked into the library.
Mindy whooped; she must have won her solitaire game.
Bridger checked the clock and made sure to finish with plenty of time to get home for Jeopardy. His mom was supposed to be off work, and he wouldn’t mind hanging out with her for a while before falling headfirst into bed. He gathered the note cards he was using and put them on the bookshelf by the door. He might be able to finish the task in the next few days, strange encounters aside.
He closed the library door and passed Mindy’s desk.
“Wait,” she said, looking up from the game on her phone, where she had been matching candies. She held up a wad of cash. “From petty cash.”
Bridger approached warily. “What for?”
“For your shoe.”
“It’s hush money, isn’t it? Don’t want me talking about the experimental goo that can burn holes in a variety of materials?”
Mindy rolled her eyes. “Pavel wants to pay for your shoe. It was ruined on the job, so it’s his responsibility to replace it.” She put the money on the edge of her desk. “Take it or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”
Well, that makes sense. He picked up the folded bills and slipped them into his pocket without counting. He wasn’t going to be rude. “Thanks. Have a good weekend.”
Mindy went back to her phone. “See you Monday after school.”
Bridger waved and walked to the bus stop. It was still a little early, and the Meijer was on the route home. They stocked everything. He thumbed the edge of the money in his pocket. New shoes it was.
Friday. Blessed Friday. He’d made it through the weird-ass week and now he could relax. Bridger dropped his bag and slipped off his brand-new sneakers. He wiggled his toes in his socks and slumped against the door.
He looked forward to a weekend of nothing. Absolutely nothing. Okay, not completely nothing. He needed to catch up on school work and he needed to do laundry and clean his room to find the source of the mysterious smell. He may have fallen asleep eating a banana the other night. He wasn’t sure, since he had been so exhausted yet so hungry and unable to decide if he should sleep or eat. Sleep had won, but not without a price. A piece of the banana may have fallen under the bed and died. Yeah, gross.
Bridger sighed and knocked his head against the door.
“Mom?” he called. The car was in the driveway, so she hadn’t picked up the extra shift she had mentioned as a possibility that morning. “You home?”
Dragging his bag by the strap, he pushed himself away from the door. The doorbell rang.
Bridger clutched a hand over his shirt and whipped around, heart in his throat.
Holy hell, he was jumpy.
He wasn’t completely over the incident in the office with Elena. Whatever that had been, it felt weird and dangerous. Menace had dripped from her—not literally, he thought, remembering the goo—but she had emanated threat, and Bridger’s adrenal gland had gone into overdrive. Though that could have been because she was so pretty. Gorgeous. Sublime. Like looking directly into the sun and knowing you were burning your optic nerve into dust but you couldn’t look away.
Someone knocked.
Oh, right, the door. Man, Bridger was more rattled than he’d thought. “I got it, Mom!” he called, even though he wasn’t even sure she was in the house. He opened it a crack and peeked around the frame.
His breath left him in a whoosh.
Leo.
Leo raised his hand and waved. “Hey, Bridger,” he said, as the sleeve of his hoodie slipped down his forearm—his muscular, beautiful forearm—revealing smooth dark skin.
Bridger swallowed, his throat tight. He opened the door wider and went for a nonchalant lean in the doorway.
He missed. Completely.
He slammed his shoulder into the wall, tripped over his bag, and barely managed to right himself by grabbing onto the only thing he could reach—Leo’s shirt.
Leo laughed and wrapped his hands around Bridger’s wrists to help steady him. “You okay?” he asked, voice warm and light, and, oh, God, Bridger would never, ever be smooth.
“I’m good,” he said, righting himself. He kicked his bag hard enough to send it flying behind the door.
“You sure?” Leo asked.
Breathless and glowing as red as a tomato, Bridger nodded. He still had his fists clenched on Leo’s shirt. He couldn’t get any more embarrassed. He let go and winced at the wrinkles. Bridger smoothed them; his palms ghosted over Leo’s chest. Holy God, he was touching Leo inappropriately.
He snatched his hands back and shoved them into his jean pockets.
Leo smiled—and talk about blinding. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners and he rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked in his pockets. His jeans were ripped at the knees, and not artfully, but frayed as if they were his favorites. His dark hair was shaved on the sides and then swooped up in the middle, as if he had stepped off a page from a magazine. He was the guy who made cool look effortless, even though everyone knew hair didn’t style itself. Though with the week Bridger’d had, he didn’t count out the possibility. If there was a chance that anyone in his school had magic hairstyling power, it would be Leo.
Bridger stared; his mouth dropped open. How did this guy exist? How was he even real?
Leo shrugged and toed the broken brick on the front stoop. “So,” he said, drawing out the vowel.
Oh, oh shit. Bridger shook his head and snapped back to himself. He had to salvage this situation.
“Anyway,” Bridger said, “what’s up?”
“Yeah, so, are you doing anything tomorrow?”
Bridger’s brain officially went offline.
“I… um… no? I mean, no. I am not doing anything tomorrow except probably laundry.”
“Awesome. A bunch of us are going to the lake. A last swim before it gets too cold. Do you wanna come?”
“Wow. Seriously? Me? Wouldn’t that break a cool-kid code?” Bridger asked, tugging on the end of his sleeves. “I’d hate to get you thrown out of the club.”
Leo scrunched his nose. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t read all the bylaws. Shhh, don’t tell anyone.” When Bridger didn’t answer, Leo rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to come, but I thought it would be fun.”
“I’d love to... Uh... I mean… that’s… wow. I mean, cool.” Bridger scratched the back of his neck, while his brain screamed at him to form a complete sentence.
“You can bring Astrid.”
It was amazing how disappointment could slam into a person in a real, corporeal way. It was also amazing how it could make all the fluttery awkwardness of an interaction wrench to a stop and turn something flirty and graceless into a normal conversation. The mention of Bridger’s best friend was a complete ice bucket, and the excited nervousness Bridger felt shriveled into a cold, wet ball.
“Oh, yeah. I could ask her,” Bridger said in a tone similar to the way he’d talk to his teacher about the weather or weekend brunch plans.
“Awesome!” Leo then proceeded to throw out finger guns.
Bridger raised an eyebrow, and Leo flushed brilliantly and stared in horror at his hands, as if they had betrayed him.
“Anyway,” he continued, voice weak, “tomorrow after lunch at Lighthouse Beach?”
“I’ll check my very busy schedule of household chores and homework, but I’m pretty sure we can make it.”
“Great! I look forward to it, seeing you and Astrid outside of school.”
Wow! Leo was floundering. He must really like her.
Bridger could totally relate. He threw Leo a life raft and shot out his own pair of finger guns. Empathy was a strange beast.
Leo laughed, took a step back off the porch, and flailed when he lost his balance.
“Be careful. I can’t have the football team coming after me because the star player injured himself on my lawn.”
Leo laughed again and ducked his head. “I promise not to tell the truth if I happen to twist my ankle on the short walk back to my house.”
“See that you don’t. I’m unpopular enough as it is.”
At that, Leo lifted his head and made eye contact. “Nah, plenty of people like you, Bridger. And being different isn’t a bad thing. A lot of people like… different.”
Ugh. Why did he have to be so endearing? And hot? At the same time?
The kid was a hazard.
And Bridger needed him off the lawn or he was going to do something rash or stupid… well, more stupid than he’d already been.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Bridger grabbed the doorknob behind him lest he accidentally use finger guns again. One incidence was enough.
Leo smiled, this time soft and fond, as if he was staring at GIFs of kittens. “See you tomorrow, Bridger.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Bridger stumbled backward into the house, caught his heel on the lip of the door frame, and accidentally slammed the door, because, honestly, that was his life. He watched through the blinds as Leo crossed the street and was glad he hadn’t noticed Bridger’s awkward retreat.
“He’s cute,” his mom said from behind him.
“Ack! Mom! Crap!” He spun around, and she stood behind him, an amused expression on her face.
“Is that the neighbor kid? Something Rivera?”
“Leo,” Bridger said. “And yes. Were you spying on me?”
She shrugged and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. “For a few minutes,” she said unapologetically. “His dad is nice. I met him the other day getting the mail.” She walked to the kitchen, and Bridger followed. His heart beat faster than normal. He blamed it on his mom startling him and not on talking with Leo.
Okay, that was a lie. Apparently crushes didn’t automatically disappear when the person you were crushing on was obviously interested in someone else.
“Carlos said they moved here from Puerto Rico for his job and so his son could play football. Did I hear that he asked you and Astrid to a beach party?”
Bridger chose not to comment. He wasn’t sure in what direction this conversation might turn and he didn’t know if he could hide the fact that he was interested in Leo, interested in a way his mother didn’t need to know about. He didn’t need to delve into that with her, especially since he hadn’t fully figured it out himself. Instead he activated the deflectors. “Carlos, huh? First name basis with the new neighbor. Do I need to have a talk with him?”
“Cute, kid. He’s married to a stunning woman and has a significant wedding band.” She opened the refrigerator and peered in; her mouth pulled into a frown. “What do you want for dinner? We have mustard, pickles, and something green I think was a block of cheese in another life.”
Bridger didn’t miss the forced humor in his mom’s voice, as he hadn’t missed the wistful tone when she mentioned the wedding band. Sexual identity crises and crushes on cute guys who like your best friend were insignificant and minuscule problems. His mom tended to have periods of low esteem regarding parental ability. This was one of those moments.
“Tacos,” Bridger said. He was far from the perfect kid, and his mom had been let down enough by mediocre people. He could at least offer happiness in the form of tacos. He pulled the leftover cash from his pocket. “I’m buying.”
She eyed the lump of bills, obviously wanting to ask questions, but she pressed her lips together. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask how or why you have extra money. I’m going with it because… tacos. Let me get my jacket.”
Bridger laughed. “I have a job, remember?”
“Yes. I remember. I am not a total failboat,” she said, pulling her jacket on.
“Failboat? Mom, seriously? Don’t say that. It sounds wrong coming from you.”
“What? Did I use it wrong?”
“Don’t use it ever. Or I might revoke taco privileges.” He slipped on his shoes. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, fine. But I still reserve the right to ‘mom’ you during dinner, especially in regards to school and the job and this beach thing tomorrow.”
Bridger groaned theatrically, but inwardly he was pleased. He could use a little mom-ing now and then and he was sure he’d miss it once he moved away at the end of the year.
“Fine, but I reserve the right to question you about the giggly phone call I heard between you and someone from work the other morning.”
His mom blushed and she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Not on your life, kid.”
“I swear to God, Bridger, if you don’t stop fidgeting I’m going to pull over and throw you out of the car.”
Bridger stopped bouncing his knee and stared at Astrid with wide, wounded eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
She slowed the car and stopped at a cross street. “No, I wouldn’t, but damn, dude, chill out. You’re shaking the whole car.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell,” she snapped back.
“Hey, don’t get bitchy with me. You didn’t have to come.”
“No, I didn’t, but my best friend needs support in the face of interactions with the popular kids. He might do something embarrassing and ruin my brand.”
Bridger hid his face in his hands. “This was a bad idea. I should’ve said no, but I wasn’t thinking.”
“With your brain, anyway.”
Bridger scowled but knew better than to elbow her. Astrid could snap him like the twig he was. She was almost as tall as he was, brushing six foot, and muscular and athletic. She had endured a few horrible years of being teased because of her weight and height, but she had channeled that into a sports career that a lot of students envied. She also had spent years perfecting her aesthetic, which currently included bright red hair pulled into a high ponytail, piercings in various locations, and wicked eyeliner. She was perfect and beautiful and probably as nervous as he was.
“We’re going to be so out of our depth. But we’ll be fine. We have each other,” Bridger said, swallowing. “And if not, we will Cap and Bucky it right out of there.”
“I am not falling off a train for you.”
Bridger placed a hand over his heart and gave her his best affronted expression. “I thought we were friends, nay best friends.”
She cut her gaze over to him and laughed. “Loser. I love you, but no. I have plans. While you are living it up on the warm coast, I’m going to dominate the world.”
“Nice. Do I get any special privileges when you’re Queen of the Planet?”
“You can have Australia. Be careful, though. There is a ton of shit down there that can kill you.”
“Noted.”
Astrid swung the car into a lot at the park. She cut the engine and the pair of them stared out of the windshield, across the small grassy area, to the beach. What seemed to be the entire football team had already staked claim to a stretch of the sand. The cheerleading squad was intermingled with them, as well as other kids who were cool-adjacent. All the guys were shirtless. All the girls were in tiny swimsuits or short skirts. Towels were laid out next to coolers and beach balls. One large beach umbrella cast a small plot of shade.
“It’s a horror movie set,” Bridger said in awe.
Astrid nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re right. We are way out of our depth.”
“I say we back out and drive away. We can go get milkshakes and play video games and pretend this never happened.”
Astrid hadn’t dropped her hand from the keys and she tapped her fingers on the steering column, considering Bridger’s proposal.
She waited too long.
Leo noticed them and waved, his long arms flailing; his chest was bare to the sun.
“Well, shit,” Bridger said. “We’ve been spotted.”
“You know, Bridge, you sure know how to pick them.”
Bridger raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“First Sally Goforth for junior prom.”
“She threw up.”
“I’m aware. And now this kid. Look at him.” She gestured at Leo, with his smile a mile wide, striding across the park, sticking to the asphalt path. He had flip-flops on his sandy feet and wore bright red swim trunks, and in the afternoon sun his hair was drying into a fluffy mess. A silver medallion hung from a necklace and bounced against his sternum. “He’s entirely too sweet to be popular, but I guess the hotness and the fact that he’s a football star balances that out.”
Bridger sighed. “Yeah.”
“As your best friend, do I get to stare?”
“I would not want to deny anyone the privilege.”
“Well, if you’re going to go gay over someone, not a bad choice.”
“Astrid!” he whispered hotly. “For one, I still like girls. And two, keep your voice down!”
“Fine. If you are going to go bi, not a bad choice.”
Bridger dropped his head into his hands. “Astrid,” he whined. “Could you—” He couldn’t complete his next thought, which was a good thing since he didn’t know what he was going to say, because Leo peered into the rolled-down window.
“Hey, guys. Glad you could make it.”
Oh, holy hell. So much skin. So many muscles. Bridger ducked his head and kept his gaze averted lest he do or say something completely embarrassing. Smitten. He was smitten in every sense of the word.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Astrid said, getting out of the car.
“Yeah.” Bridger’s voice came out squeaky. “Thanks.”
“Do you need help carrying anything?”
“I think we got it,” Astrid said. “Right, Bridge?”
Bridger took the cue to leave the vehicle and opened the door. Since he wasn’t looking at Leo, he swung the door too hard, and Leo had to jump back to keep from getting nailed in the knee.
Astrid gaped. Bridger smacked his forehead. Leo had the grace not to point out that Bridger had nearly maimed him.
Bridger got out and grabbed his bag, and together he and Astrid hefted a small cooler. They followed Leo to the beach and sat near the small spot of shade. Astrid spread out her beach towel and plopped down with a book. She reached into her bag and threw the bottle of sunscreen at Bridger.
It hit him in the chest and fell to the sand.
“Thanks.”
He sat next to Astrid and was surprised when Leo sat with them, despite the calls from the others for Leo to join them in the water.
“I bet this is nothing like the beaches in Puerto Rico.”
Leo laughed. “No. Not at all. But it’s not bad.”
“Don’t lie,” Bridger said. He uncapped the sunscreen and globbed it on his arms. He didn’t dare take his shirt off, yet. Too many athletes were running around and, while Bridger wasn’t self-conscious most of the time, they would make a lot of people think twice about shedding their shirt. Bridger was skinny and weak, and the only exercise he did other than running during soccer season was lifting food to his mouth.
“I’m not lying. It’s different, but you know, I like different.”
“So you’ve said.” Sunscreen sucked. It didn’t rub in all the way and it made pale people even paler. Damn it. “So why did your family choose to move here? In the middle of nowhere Midwest?”
Leo accepted the bottle of pop Astrid offered him. Damn it, she was a much better host and human being than he was.
“Because my dad was offered a job here when he retired from the Navy. I didn’t want to leave because we’d only been in Puerto Rico a few months, but you know how parents are, they convinced me. And my mom liked the school system. When I checked out the high school, I saw your sports teams sucked and I thought I could help. You could say I was called.” He winked.
How cute was that? He wanted to help the crappy sports teams. He was too good, too pure, for the world.
“And it helped that Coach and I talked a few times on the phone before we moved. He was really great.”
“Yeah, he is.” He wasn’t. At least, not to Bridger. He had bad memories of freshman year gym and a dodgeball tournament. Leo didn’t need to know that. A subject change was in order. “Is Puerto Rico where you grew up?”
“No. Navy brat. I was born in Washington State and I’ve lived in California, Virginia, and Rhode Island. My mom is from Virginia and met my dad while he was stationed there. And then they got married and then they had me, and once my dad left the military we moved back to his hometown in Puerto Rico for a little while until we came here.” Leo dug his feet in the sand. “What about you?”
“Me? I’m boring. Lived here all my life.” Bridger nodded toward Zeke who had dumped a bucket of water on a girl named Lacey. “I’ve known those two since preschool.” They were acquaintances, people Bridger had known his whole life but who didn’t know him. “Astrid and I met in middle school. My mom works at the hospital I was born in.”
“That’s cool.”
“Your definition of cool is suspect.”
Leo smiled and nudged his bare shoulder into Bridger’s arm. “Maybe.” Bridger needed a fainting couch, especially if there was going to be touching. Leo cocked his head. “But I like it here. Coach is really cool and he’s excited I’m here to play. And I’ve met interesting people.”
“Hey,” Astrid said, breaking in. “Do you speak Spanish? Because I know a few of us who are struggling in class and could use a tutor.” She gave Bridger a significant look.
Bridger wasn’t even in Spanish class. He took German. And spoke it… badly.
“My dad is fluent. I’m pretty good with it. My mom… well, she tries. She knows the words but her grammar is iffy. I would love to help in any way I can.”
“That’s great.”
“Hey, Leo, are you going sit and talk all day or are you going to come swim with us?” a girl yelled from atop a football player’s shoulders. “You’re missing out on all the fun!”
Bridger’s stomach swooped. Of course, a pretty girl in a small swimsuit wanted Leo’s attention, and that made Bridger’s insides ache. Stupid crush. He gave Leo a tight smile. “Your adoring public calls.”
Leo screwed the cap back on his drink and shoved it in the sand. He stood and held out his hand. “Well, come on.”
“What?” Bridger eyed him.
“Come swimming. That’s why you are here, right?”
Bridger shot a look to Astrid, and she motioned for Bridger to scurry along as she opened her book. He turned back to Leo and gulped before grasping Leo’s hand in his own. Leo pulled him to his feet.
“Lose the shirt, Bridge.” Astrid said as Leo took off toward the lake.
Grumbling, Bridger slid his arms through and shucked his shirt. He tossed it to Astrid and tried to hide the fact that he was conscious of his pale and undefined body. But Leo was calling for him and after a glance around, Bridger realized that no one was looking at him at all.
Huh.
“Any day now, Bridger!”
“Go have fun,” Astrid said softly. “He likes you. You can do it.”
“He likes me?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s even more obvious than you are, which, believe me, is difficult to beat.”
Bridger squared his shoulders. Astrid was rarely wrong. She was scarily good at reading people. As unlikely as it seemed, maybe Leo did like him? At least as a friend? “That’s good to know.”
“Don’t keep him waiting. You look fine. Honestly. Just go, dude.”
“You really are my best friend,” Bridger said. “I owe you.”
“That you do, Cap.”
Bridger laughed and took off, kicking up sand as he went.
The lake water was cold. He shivered as he followed Leo in. The small waves lapped up to his knees and then to his waist; his bare feet sank in the sand. He cast a glance back to Astrid to make sure she was okay on the beach. She had set her book aside and now held court with her hair shining in the bright sun and a gaggle of girls and a few guys surrounding her and talking. One of the awestruck handed her a bottle of water, and she accepted it graciously, like a queen. Oh, yeah, totally going to rule the world.
Bridger turned to find Leo had moved farther off, but Bridger stopped where the water slapped against his stomach. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest; goose bumps bloomed up and down his arms.
“Oh, my God, this is cold.”
Leo laughed. He had trudged out to where a few of the braver football players and cheerleaders bobbed in the water. Leo turned and spread out his arms and fell backward, disappearing under the water before emerging, sputtering, with his dark hair plastered to his head.
“It’s not that bad!”
“Are you kidding? I’m turning blue.”
Leo circled back and splashed Bridger. Then he swam away, laughing as he kicked enthusiastically and doused Bridger with lake water.
Bridger wiped the droplets from his face. “Oh, I see how it is. Splashing then running. Very brave there, Leo.”
Leo stood in the water to his shoulders and beckoned to Bridger with a sly smile. “I’m right here. Why don’t you come get me?”
That was flirting. Wasn’t it? That had to be flirting. Right?
“Oh,” Bridger said flushing, warming internally at the thought of Leo flirting with him. “It is on. It is so on.”
He waded in until the water was at his chest and pushed off from the bottom. He swam after Leo and splashed and laughed. The rest of the group in the water were dunking each other, and the football players were throwing a few of the lighter girls and guys around, creating froth and waves.
Bridger and Leo circled each other, splashing and diving. A beach ball landed nearby and Leo grabbed it and flung it in Bridger’s direction. It plopped near Bridger’s outstretched arm.
“What kind of pass was that?” Bridger said, gliding toward the ball. “I thought you played football?”
Leo laughed. “I’m not the quarterback. I just catch and run.”
Bridger hit the ball back. “Good to know. I’ll lower my expectations.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”
“Yes,” Bridger said. “Usually accompanied by crossed arms and a frown, though. Not many people appreciate my kind of humor.”
“I do. It suits you.”
Bridger blushed to his hairline, and it wasn’t from the sun beating down on them. They hit the ball back and forth before Bridger sent it sailing into a group of the others. A girl squealed.
“Sorry!” Bridger called.
Then there was a panicked shriek. Leo looked over his shoulder and called to his friends.
Bridger felt something brush his leg. He flinched and kicked away, startled. He looked down in the water and realized he was surrounded by lake weed, dark and light green blending together in a swirl. Long tendrils of it undulated around his legs.
His heart caught in his throat, and he shuddered. Who knows what could’ve touched him. Ugh. Creepy. Another weed swiped along his waist, and he violently brushed it off. He started to move away, to untangle himself from the slimy vines.
Bridger looked up to find Leo with the big group. The commotion reached a crescendo, and Bridger realized it was no longer playful yells, but turmoil and fear.
“There’s something in the water!”
“Get to the beach!”
And that was all Bridger needed to hear.
He tried to swim to shore but couldn’t move, halted by a strong cool grip on his ankle.
Panicked, Bridger struggled and kicked, but whatever had him held fast, and there were pinpricks of pain all along his leg up to his knee. Heart in his throat, Bridger looked back and, right beneath the surface, he saw clawed, webbed fingers with bluish-green skin wrapped tightly around his ankle. The hand was attached to a scaly arm, and, deeper in the water, Bridger could make out dark, wide eyes and a mouth filled with sharp teeth.
Oh, fuck.
“Wait, where’s Bridger?”
Leo’s voice sounded far away, dim against the mounting horror that was Bridger’s current situation.
He had to be hallucinating. Had to be. He was tangled in lake grass. That was all.
And then the creature yanked.
Bridger didn’t have a chance to scream, because suddenly he was under. Water closed over his head, and he was face to face with the thing that had him. Its mouth pulled into a semblance of a smile, and Bridger cowered away from the rows and rows of sharp teeth and the fluttering, red slits of gills in its neck. Bridger realized the lake weed wasn’t weed at all, but hair, and it twined around Bridger’s torso, crawled over his arms and shoulders. The creature flicked its tail, beautiful and scaled, and it reflected in purples and blues what little light pierced the gloom of the water.
Fighting against the grip, his lungs burning, Bridger tried to pry the hand off his ankle, but the skin was slippery beneath his fingers and the grasp was too strong. He pulled at the weed, trying to free himself, snapping the stalks. The creature made a high-pitched noise and released Bridger’s leg. Bridger pushed upward and broke the surface, sputtering and gasping for breath. He took a deep lungful of air, tried to yell for help, but was dragged under again mid-scream.
More hands were on him. More claws raked across his legs and his thighs and his back. More weed ensnared his arms.
Bridger’s chest ached for air, and the more he struggled, the more he fought against the creatures, the weaker he became. His movements were sluggish in the dense, dark water. He thought of his mom. He thought about Astrid. He thought, hysterically, that he really was out of his depth. Then he hoped they’d find his body.
He pressed his lips together for as long as possible, but finally he gasped and water flooded his mouth. His vision went black, but not before he caught a glimpse of human hands reaching down through the water.