The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,3

felt his face flush deeper. He knew why he’d been acting differently lately, but he hadn’t figured out a way to tell Stuart without breaking his promise to his parents. “Look, just forget it,” Timothy said. “I’ll see you later.”

“Whatever,” said Stuart, before turning around and walking away.

Timothy closed his eyes for a moment, trying to shake away the horrible sensation in his head. But he didn’t have the energy to think about Stuart and all his stupid crap.

He was about to head into his math class when someone grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop. Abigail Tremens stood behind him, glaring with her deep brown eyes. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

“So … you think you’re, like … my boyfriend now?” she mumbled.

Timothy felt like she’d slapped his face. “Uh … no.”

“Good. ’Cause I don’t need a boy to rescue me or anything. I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need a friend. I don’t need anything. Okay? I’m fine by myself.”

“Mr. Crane said we all needed a partner. Now you have one. What’s the big deal?”

Abigail stared at him for another moment before saying, “Just stay away from me.”

3.

At the end of the day, despite the drizzle spitting against the school’s front doors, Timothy purposely missed the bus home. He simply waited in the boys’ bathroom until a little after three o’clock, when he knew the long line of buses would clear away from the main entrance of the school. He couldn’t imagine sitting next to Stuart for the entire ride back to Edgehill Road.

For a while now, their friendship had felt weird; the shape of their history was a puzzle piece that no longer fit the empty space Timothy knew was inside him. It was odd—they both still liked to play video games. They watched the same television shows. Their comic books had become so mixed-up over the past few years, it was no longer possible to distinguish which belonged to whom. Together, the boys attended swim-team practice three nights a week and every other Saturday morning. And their parents had always been close, at least until recently.

Everything had changed when Timothy’s brother Ben’s unit had been sent away. The Chens didn’t understand how the Julys could let Ben enlist during such dangerous times. The Julys didn’t think it was their neighbors’ business.

When Timothy asked his brother about his decision, Ben explained that, though he was terrified to go, it was his way of finding a sense of order in all the world’s chaos. This was something Ben could do: find a little light in the darkness. Make a decision. Accomplish something. It was Ben’s way of dealing with his fear, with the uncertainty of war and politics and all those other big ideas that Timothy hadn’t yet begun to think about.

After Ben went overseas, those words had become like a mantra to Timothy. Find order in chaos. The little light in the darkness. The words were a comfort. They gave him hope.

Timothy opened the bathroom door and peered into the hallway. A few footsteps echoed through the now-quiet corridors of the school, but he couldn’t see anyone. With nothing and no one to stop him, Timothy zipped up his jacket and hiked his book bag high onto his shoulders before making his way toward the school’s front entrance and out into the wet afternoon.

Paul Revere Middle School was a redbrick Victorian monstrosity of a building that sat on the edge of downtown New Starkham, well away from the river and the bridge, past College Ridge, bordered on the east by numerous factories and warehouses.

As Timothy pushed his way into the blustering wind up Johnson Street, he could see the silhouettes of the seven gothic spires, which marked New Starkham College, peeking over the hill’s horizon. New Starkham students passed Timothy on the sidewalk in small clusters, bundled against the unseasonable chill. They laughed at nothing in particular as they made their way up the street.

In a couple of weeks, their final exams would be done. For the college students, graduation happened at the beginning of May. Lucky, thought Timothy. Classes at Paul Revere didn’t let out until the end of June. As he turned right onto Edgehill Road, Timothy shuddered at the realization that only a year ago, Ben had made his own trip across the stage in the high school auditorium to receive his diploma. So much had changed since then.

Timothy trudged several blocks along the tree-lined street, continuing up the hill,