The Reaver

By Constance Ann

Mitch hasn't had a nightmare since middle school. When a warped memory wakes him up in a cold sweat, he brushes off the remembrance. He has better things to worry about, like his potential tennis career and his little brother, Ridley. However, as nightmares continue to wake Mitch at odd hours of the night, he starts to think that soggy cereal isn't the culprit. 

 

Through his nightmares, Mitch meets the Reaver, a man with the ability to manipulate minds and reality, who wants to teach Mitch his skills. The Reaver works with the Anonymous: an organization dedicated to the powers of the mind and a realm called the dream-state. Opposite of them lies TRANCE, their sole combatant. The Anonymous recruits Mitch to fight TRANCE. 

 

Mitch is battered by the demands of high school, his needy brother, and the call of the Anonymous. When his family suffers a collapse, the lines between himself and his newfound ability begin to blur. With TRANCE ready to snatch him up, and the Anonymous offering to protect him, Mitch must decide which side of the battlefield he wants to be on. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Constance Ann
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393895848

Constance Ann

Constance Ann is a Washington State native and has been writing since middle school. Her love of reading and writing sprung from all the time she had available to her while living on her farm home as a child. She resides in the small town of Waterville, WA, and works as an elementary school teacher in Wenatchee, WA. The Reaver is her debut novel. 

Book preview

For everyone who helped me along the way...

CHAPTER 1

Mitchell Holliday was experiencing what is universally known as a bad day.

He would have preferred to call it a crappy day cursed by karma but his mother would have had his hide if he dared to utter the dreaded C-word within earshot of his two little sisters, Mia and Eve. The duo had a habit of repeating whatever escaped their older brother’s lips. After dry cereal, a misplaced assignment and a walk in the rain, Mitch developed a sniffle and a general dislike for the human population by the time he reached his Literature class.

By lunchtime, Mitch had suffered a scolding from Mr. Frank, a pop quiz in Science and a punishment of running laps during P.E. Finding an empty table in the lunchroom, he slammed his tray down and slowly sank into the seat, as a grumpy cat might settle into its blankets. Normally, he ate outside in the courtyard, but the rainfall had increased and Donny and Ernesto, his best friends, both opted for the second lunch period.

Across the table sat Ridley, Mitch’s younger brother. With a two-year age gap between them, the pair were easily recognizable as brothers. Both had olive skin and round brown eyes, like muddy puddles. However, Mitch had a head of brown curls, whereas Ridley’s hair was lighter and wavy. Mitch always wore a flat cap, but Ridley had consistently worn long-sleeves and cargo pants for the last three years of his life.

Ridley slumped in his seat and picked at his food aimlessly. Mitch stared vacantly at the blob of white and red vomit, cleverly disguised as pizza.

What? Mitch demanded. Are you having a bad day too?

Ridley shrugged. Eh...

You got picked on again, didn’t you?

Eh, Ridley repeated.

The little brother had a stocky build, not even close to chubby, but the other kids were often cruel. Insecure know-it-alls had trouble coping with those who appeared comfortable in their own skin. Ridley had suffered the ridicule of other children for most of his middle-school and high school experience.

Do you need me to handle it for you?

No, Ridley sighed. You’ll get in trouble. It wasn’t that bad, honestly.

Mitch was dubious of Ridley’s claim to honesty, but left the matter alone. He suffered from OBS, Overprotective Brother Syndrome, but he attempted to keep it in check for Ridley. Mitch knew it was embarrassing to have your older sibling fix all your problems for you. Mitch himself suffered worse: MI, Mom Interference. Mitch sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.

After class, the brothers met up in the front of the school and stared out at the downpour. Water collected in the sunken parts of cement while students ran towards their cars. Some girls screamed as they crossed the street. Windshield wipers swished and tires sprayed water over the sidewalk, splashing Mitch’s shoes. Ridley ran a hand through his hair as he checked his phone, causing tufts to stick out in all directions, as if he had stuck his head in an air tunnel.

Mom says she needs a gallon of milk, granola bars and graham crackers.

Pfft, Mitch grumbled. He wished he hadn’t wrecked his car last week.

Ridley and Mitch darted into the rain and raced towards the local grocery store.

Oka Canyon proved a mediocre hometown. It had a mall, chain stores, two theaters, a bowling alley and multiple playgrounds. Orchards comprised of mostly apples and cherries dotted the edges of the city and colossal fruit factories perpetually pumped out smoke to accommodate the produce processing. Two bridges, one for cars and one for pedestrians, spanned a misty blue river that rose and fell with the seasons. The pedestrian bridge, an ominous black structure cutting through the midway point of the canyon, was originally built to carry irrigation water, but as orchards were replaced by housing developments, the pipes were left to rust.

The brothers passed a house with a willow tree and the adjoining Oka Junior High to reach the miniature grocery. By the time Mitch and Ridley ducked through the automatic doors, their hair dripped and their clothes clung to them. Mitch coughed and sniffled. His mother had told him to bring a jacket.

Tony’s Market suffered from poor lighting, ancient linoleum and shelves that leaned. Established in 1970, posters of orchards and Oka Canyon history plastered the walls. The freezer systems frequently failed, having not been updated since Richard Nixon resigned. Despite the miracle that the store managed to survive the resurgence of Doc Martens, Mitch and Ridley visited the store weekly. All the teens in the valley liked to buy cheap pizza and stale Pop Rocks.

A total of two employees manned the store. Aisle Two had been closed off on account of fallen merchandise, a common occurrence at Tony’s.

I’ll get milk, you get crackers, Mitch planned.

And granola, Ridley added.

Mitch weaved through the narrow passages and selected a gallon of milk. As he stepped around an older lady with curlers in her hair, another person smacked into him, pinning him against a stack of rice and causing him to drop the milk. With an oof! the plastic carton broke and liquid splashed all over the floor.

Shoot! Mitch cursed as milk doused his already rain-soaked shoes. The older lady took one look at the mess and hurriedly retreated down the aisle with her frozen peas and carrots.

I’m sorry! the stranger squeaked.

Mitch shook his shoes and glanced up at the cause of his accident. The stranger was short, with smooth skin and black hair that hung down to her waist in a loose ponytail. Mitch guessed her to be either Samoan, or Native American; possibly a mixture. He wondered why he had never noticed her around town before.

I’ll get a mop, Mitch announced. He found the nearest employee by the freezers and told her of the incident. The employee, Flo, appeared irritated, as if she hadn’t counted on actually doing anything that day, but she obliged the teenager and left to find a mop. Mitch jogged back towards the mess, careful not to knock into any more shelves.

The girl had collected the shards of plastic and thrown them into the nearest bin ten feet away. She returned and glanced at the milk, then at Mitch, her hands dripping with white liquid. 

Who’s gonna pay for this?

Mitch blinked. He hadn’t considered that. Um...I don’t know. You bumped into me.

The girl raised an eyebrow. You weren’t looking where you were going.

Really? She was going to blame him? Well, neither were you.

The girl narrowed her eyes. You know what? I’m not paying for this.

Oh no. No one challenged Mitchell Holliday. He was an experienced argumentative champion and always had the last word. Really? I bet—

Ridley appeared around the corner with granola bars and graham crackers in hand. He had taken longer than expected, but wasted no time with his exclamation.

"Holy Tony’s Market, Mitch!"

Mitch frowned at him. Why did little brothers always have to butt in?

I got it! Flo grumpily announced as she descended upon the scene with a towel, a bucket of slush, a mop and a Wet Floor sign. It seemed she had realized that paychecks came with sacrifice.

You can go ahead and check out. I’ll clean this up.

Do I have to pay for this? Mitch’s jaw clenched. Flo shook her head.

No, it was just an accident. You’re fine, honey. Say hi to your mom. Mitch twisted his lips at the endearment, but thanked the lady and left the mess. The girl glared at Mitch one last time before following suit. Ridley’s attention shifted from Mitch to the girl with slight confusion.

Did I miss something?

No. Mitch bit the inside of his lip, anger simmering in his stomach. Who did that girl think she was? She was lucky that payment wasn’t necessary, because it was her fault entirely. He marched to the front, bubbling with indignation.

Ridley gathered the items and grabbed a new gallon of milk before catching up to his brother.

Mitch! Ridley jostled Mitch’s elbow. Noticing Ridley struggling with the items, Mitch transferred the snack boxes into his own arms, his anger forgotten.

Sorry, he muttered. I was ticked.

Really? Ridley said innocently.

Shut up.

Setting the groceries down by the cash register, Mitch fished around in his pocket for his wallet. He handed a few bills to Jeremy, the cashier, and waited. Jeremy flipped through the paper bills purposefully.

Sorry, Mitch, but you’re a bit short, Jeremy said politely. Mitch patted his pockets.

That’s all I got. Are you serious?

Jeremy seemed apologetic, but failed to disguise the slight irritation in his voice. Teenagers were so incompetent. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you the items until they’re paid for.

Mitch ran a hand across his face. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Meekly, Ridley reached over and handed over two more dollars. Jeremy grunted and took it before quickly bagging the items. Mitch didn’t say anything, but Ridley knew he was thankful. What would Mitch do without Ridley?

Probably light a house on fire.

The boys raced the rest of the way home.

The Holliday house was a quarter mile away from the high school at the top of the hill. The squat building stood at the corner of the street, like an enormous brick among the houses, with a fenced backyard, trimmed bushes and partial stone siding. Sayer Rock, named after the capital of the state, rose above the city and cast shadows over the house’s windows when the sun set. Mitch used to lay on the lawn and put his hands around the rock, as if he were holding the megaton stone against the mountain. Ridley or his little sisters usually jumped on his stomach in the middle of his daydream.

Mitch punched in the code for the garage door and both boys crouched below the rising door. Ridley slid around the minivan while making a repetitive shoosh sound with his mouth and slipped inside the house.

A carpeted stairway on the left led to the unfinished basement, where the boys slept, and a bar with three wooden stools stood on the right. One stool’s third peg had a notch in it, due to an irate thirteen-year-old Mitch, and wobbled whenever you sat on it. Beyond the bar, a black and white checkered kitchen surrounded a small window looking out onto the street. The living room beside it was entirely brown, as if a mudslide had rumbled through it. Glass doors led to the backyard. Past the living room, a short hallway led to a bathroom and two bedrooms.

In the living room, Mia and Eve screamed at each other. Four-year old Mia jumped onto the lumpy couch and raised a toy-truck above her head in triumph while her little sister, Eve, scrambled up after her and began the chase over the love seat, the rocking chair and back to the couch, completing a ring of chaos.

Ridley set down the gallon of milk and jumped into the scuffle. He grabbed the toy truck from Mia’s hand and darted towards them with a roar. The pair squealed and retreated behind the couch. Ridley playfully lumbered after them.

The two girls resembled their brothers by having russet brown eyes and olive skin. A tangle of sable curls bounced on Mia’s shoulders, and Eve’s blonde coils sat in a jumble upon her head, like a little bird’s nest. Mia liked to talk, play with dolls and tell everyone that she knew the alphabet. Evie preferred to order adults about and steal cookies from the top cupboard. No one in the house could figure out how she had discovered the thin mints on the top shelf.

Mitch stashed the bars and crackers in the cupboard as his mother stepped into the kitchen. Becca Holliday stood significantly shorter than Mitch with dyed brown curls tucked into a bun. Her hair was naturally as dark as Mia’s, but she had dyed it since Ridley’s birth. Seeing Mitch, Becca crossed her arms and searched his face with tawny eyes. Mitch worried she could see right through him.

Mitch, I need to have a talk with you.

Conversations that started with those words proved troublesome for Mitch. Not once had those words been followed by being told he had won the lottery or a month’s paid vacation to Maui. With that said, Mitch gave her the most logical answer.

What?

Did you leave the garage door open this morning?

I don’t know, I was in a rush.

Becca shifted her weight to the other leg. Well, someone did, because three of our bikes are missing.

What?

She nodded. My bike, your bike and Ridley’s are gone.

Mitch turned around and entered the garage, cold air swathing his legs. He checked the corner where the bicycles were normally stashed. She was right. All three bikes had vanished.

Mitch placed his hands on his head. I didn’t leave the garage door open, I swear.

Are you sure? Because when I got home, it was open, Becca said, leaning out of the doorway. Ridley walked to school this morning, before I left for work. You were the last to leave the house.

Mitch replayed the morning. Maybe he did leave it open. He couldn’t remember.

Becca sighed. You’re going to have to help pay that back.

What? Mitch protested. It wasn’t my fault!

Mitch, Becca said sharply. Do not argue with me. I have warned you many times to double-check the door before you leave. This is the third time something has been stolen because you weren’t paying attention.

That is completely unfair, Mitch argued. I woke up late! Someone must have broke it open. They could— Becca shook her head wearily and slipped back into the house. She didn’t want to quarrel again.

I don’t even need a bike! Mitch called out as the door closed. He fumed. How could he have known that was going to happen? If Ridley had left it open, she wouldn't have punished him! Scowling, Mitch retreated to the basement.

Rugs like ratty dreadlocks covered the polished cement and were caught under the worn sofa in front of the television. Mitch kicked the video games and controllers scattered across the floor. Behind the furnace, it was like a cave, with the washing machine tucked into the corner and an office space for Becca. She would sit at the outdated computer for hours typing in computations while the machine lagged. She worked as a hotel manager and dealt with unreliable employees and the constant bustle a hotel yielded. During her work hours, it was Ridley’s job to keep the girls busy, and Mitch’s job to make sure Ridley didn’t break anything.

Cold air rose from the cement as Mitch ducked through hanging clothes in the cave. Ridley emerged from the bathroom just as Mitch passed the furnace. Did you get in trouble?

Mind your own business.

Did you leave the garage door open again?

Mitch ground his teeth. Ridley knew exactly which buttons to push. Shut up. I said it’s none of your business, so back off. Go annoy someone else.

There is nobody else, Ridley said matter-of-factly.

Yeah! That’s because you have no friends.

The moment the words left his mouth, Mitch regretted them. Ridley stared at him with dead eyes before withdrawing to his own room, closing the door with a bang! Mitch knew he had gone too far. With someone else, he might have gone further, but with Ridley, everything was different. Why couldn’t he just keep his big mouth shut? In a futile attempt, he knocked on Ridley’s door.

Ridley? I didn’t mean it. What I said wasn’t true. I was just... What? What did you mean when you said that? Mitch asked himself. Ridley?

No reply.

Slapping his hand against the wall, Mitch retreated to his room.

A twin bed rested in the corner with unmade covers and an empty shelf hung on the wall above it. Beside his bed, a tiny table held his lamp and charger, plus the other things he extracted from his pockets before bed. Kicking his shoes off into the closet, he tossed his wallet onto his drawers. Homework packets, unworn bracelets and knicknacks covered the top, along with a scorpion encased in resin. His dad had given it to him on his tenth birthday.

Mitch dropped onto his bed and turned on his phone, digging his nail into the nick at the top of the case. If Ridley didn’t want to accept his apology, there was nothing else he could do. Why did Ridley have to be so sensitive? Mitch skimmed through his playlist until his eyes began to droop. Before he knew it, he fell asleep.

***

Mitch was eleven or twelve years old. He recalled the outer space themed bedspread and the lizard tank on the desk. The day at school wasn’t good. He had talked back to the nuns of the elementary and been sent to the principal’s office. Sister Elena had been less than pleased.

Knuckles rapped on the door.

It was Dad. He had returned from war with all his limbs intact. As a soldier, time at home was precious. Mitch loved it when he was home, but he had heard his parents talking. Dad planned on returning to the fighting. Dissatisfied, Mitch refused to answer.

Dad entered the room and stood by the side of the bed with his hands in his pockets. Patrick Holliday was a muscular man, with buzzed hair and round brown eyes, just like Mitch. He wore a green T-shirt that said U.S. Army and Mitch could see his tattoos peeking out from underneath his sleeve.

Mitch knew what he was going to say. I heard you were smack talking your teacher today... I expect a little more of you... you’re the man of the house when I’m gone... Dad would drop the serious face and smile.

He would drag him outside where they would play football with ten-year-old Ridley. Dad always let Mitch and Ridley win.

That’s not what happened at all.

Dad leaned in close and grinned. "Better wake up before you forget how."

***

Mitch woke up abruptly. Propping himself up on his elbow, he surveyed the dark room. There were the coins on his tiny table, and clothes, hats and shoes littering the floor. He perceived no space themed bedspread, no lizard tank. That lizard had died six years ago. He tapped his phone to check the time: three in the morning. Many hours until school.

The dream had completely twisted reality. Dad had never done anything like that, in real life or a nightmare. Not to mention, he dreamed as a younger version of himself. Mitch wondered if missing dinner had played a part.

Twisted dreams... like a movie, or a drug induced hallucination from a crime TV show. One of his old classmates always talked about dreams... Sage. Sage Henfield had been his friend in middle school, three years ago. The kid had claimed someone was controlling his dreams. Mitch told him that was bogus, and Ernesto had seconded the opinion. He had heard girls say you would see your soulmate in your dreams.

Mitch had experienced nightmares before, although the last serious one had been when he was nine. Dad had told him that he needed to man up and learn to sleep through it. Build up his spine. Mitch had done as ordered, and dreamed about burgers and fries.

Go to bed. Mitch glanced at his phone as he hunkered back down to fall back asleep.

Shoot!

He forgot to do his homework.

Mitch groaned and clambered out of bed, still in his jeans and T-shirt. He climbed the stairs from the basement for a midnight snack before tackling his mathematics. With Cheez-Its in hand, he shrugged away the memory of the dream. 

CHAPTER 2

Dude, you probably just ate something bad.

Donny Lachlan finished off his juice box and tossed it in the bin. Sunshine streamed through the skylights into the school courtyard and clumps of teens occupied every other patch of cement. Some finished up homework, most scrolled through their phones and a couple read novels. Mitch rested in the shade next to his friend, who munched constantly. Mitch had neglected to pack a lunch and had used his extra coins to buy milk the day before. I should’ve grabbed those coins on my desk.

I don’t know. It was weird, Mitch sniffed. It felt so surreal.

I don’t think I remember any of my dreams, Donny mused as he bit into a Rice Krispies Treat. He handed Mitch a turkey sandwich. I packed two.

Mitch and Donny had grown up attending the same church service, and the three older Lachlan sisters considered Mitch to be the least annoying of Donny’s friends. Donny towered above most heads at the mighty stature of 6’2", which probably accounted for his voracious appetite. However, his height didn’t seem to correspond to his intelligence level.

Hey, Ernesto Suarez dropped down on the other side of Mitch with a lollipop in hand. He was shorter than the other two with brown skin and coffee black eyes. A few premature grey hairs peppered his black curls.

Hey, Mitch answered.

I really want to skip practice today. I’m exhausted, Ernesto complained. Donny agreed with a mouth full of granola bar.

Why, did you get a new game? Mitch queried.

Ernesto bit into his lollipop, taking away the top half. Yeah, I was playing it all night. I’m really close to finishing.

Already?

That’s what happens when you play for seven straight hours.

Ernesto, Donny and Mitch resided in the same neighborhood and had walked to school together since second grade. The trio only fought over two things: video games, and sports.

Mitch straightened in his seat as a familiar form passed by the boys. Hey, Amy, he waved, catching her attention. Amy Schuler halted and searched for the owner of the voice. Recognizing them, she approached.

Hey, guys, she paused in front of them with her arms akimbo. She was short, but slender, with tousled golden hair that flowed just past her shoulders. A sprinkle of freckles added interest to her pale skin. How are you guys?

Great, Mitch answered first. You?

Oh, I’m good. School is school.

Mitch smiled. Yeah, I get it. Amy returned the smile, little dimples appearing on her cheeks. She glanced around.

Have any of you seen Ava or Emily?

Ernesto pointed across the courtyard. They were over there a few minutes ago.

Thanks. I’ll see you guys around.

The boys waved as she left them. Once she was out of earshot, Mitch said, I’m gonna ask her out.

Gee, it’s not like I could tell, Ernesto murmured sarcastically.

Pfft, Donny replied whilst ripping open a fruit snack. She’ll never go out with you.

Why not? I’ve known her for years. We went to elementary school together.

Yeah, so did I. Mari— Donny’s little sister, —said Amy’s going out with Joseph.

Joseph the Fruit Loops guy or Joseph the football player?

Football player.

Mitch frowned. Joseph the football player was a dark-haired, glittery-eyed, goody-two-shoes senior. He had a year advantage. Why did girls always like the older ones?

No, she’s not, Ernesto interrupted. Amy’s not dating anyone. Isabel— Ernesto’s little sister, "—told me she was only asked by Joseph the football player, but she didn’t give him an answer."

Donny stopped tossing fruit gummies into his mouth. Nuh-uh. Mari said...

Mitch wasn’t paying attention. He noticed Amy wandering on the other side of the courtyard. It seemed Ava and Emily hadn’t arrived yet. Seizing the opportunity, he jumped from the ground and jogged over towards her.

Mitch slowed his pace. Hey.

Amy swiveled around. Oh, hi, Mitch.

Where did Ava and Emily go?

Amy motioned helplessly with her phone in hand. I don’t know. I’m waiting for them to text me back.

Oh.

Mitch wondered if it would be weird for him to ask her to go out. He had known her for years and they shared the same circle of friends. It seemed perfectly natural... right? After a second, Mitch summoned his courage.

Amy, I came over here to ask you... did you maybe want to go out sometime?

She looked up from her phone. For a moment, Mitch was certain she would say yes. As the moment dragged on, he began to have his doubts.

Uh, Mitch, I’m flattered, but... Mitch didn’t listen to the rest of the excuse.

Nah, it’s fine. I was just wondering. I... Amy’s phone buzzed. Ava and Emily had returned her message. See you around, Amy, Mitch finished and departed.

He was disappointed, but attempted to hide it. Maybe she would change her mind later...

Where’d you go? Ernesto asked Mitch once he returned.

Just to the bathroom, he lied. The bell rang. Ernesto chucked his chewed sucker stick at Donny, who retaliated by hurling back a fruit snack wrapper. Mitch sighed and tossed the trash in the garbage can.

Students flooded into the hallway. Shoulders bumped and heels crushed toes. Passing a squad of girls, Ernesto shoved Donny forward.

Sacrifice! he declared.

Mitch left them to sort it out and turned toward his afternoon class. Teenagers clogged the corridor as they journeyed towards different classrooms. Mitch dug through his backpack while walking. Finding his papers for English, he lifted them from the pack. As his hand rose, a body collided with his and the papers slipped from his fingers.

Oof!

Mitch looked down to see a familiar face: the girl from Tony’s Market. Her bushy hair was pulled into a ponytail and the hem of her shirt was wet. She held a half-empty bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade in her hand. Noticing the open bottle, his eyes fell to the floor.

Hey!

Green Gatorade rushed over the linoleum and onto his English papers. He cursed and dropped to his knees. Pulling out his sweatshirt, he did his best to soak up the liquid and salvage his homework. The girl capped her drink and started to help him.

She glanced up at him with chagrin in her eyes. "Do you ever watch where you’re going?"

Mitch frowned. "Do you? Collecting his papers, Mitch came to his feet. I gotta go, I’m late."

As he passed, the girl grabbed his arm and pinched him, halting his step. "Dude, that was just as much my fault as it was yours. Why don’t we both apologize?"

Then she did three things that Mitch disliked with his uttermost being: (1) She touched him. 2) She claimed it was his fault. 3) She wanted him to apologize.

To make it even worse, she called him dude. With every passing moment, he became tardier for English. "I do not have time for this." He ripped his arm from her grasp and pushed past her. His back turned to her, he started again towards class.

SPLOSH!

Cold liquid drenched Mitch’s neck and shoulders. A gasp erupted from the students. He swiveled around with his mouth agape. The girl had dumped the rest of her Gatorade over his head and surveyed the carnage with pride. The curls at the back of Mitch’s neck dripped with Gatorade.

What are you doing? he said incredulously. What the hell is wrong with you?

She pointed her empty bottle towards him. ‘What’s wrong with you? You can’t even give a simple apology?"

You spilled Gatorade on my homework!

You spilled it on my shirt!

With every counter, more kids paused to watch the spectacle. Mitch would not be bested in an argument, especially not in front of an audience. He stepped forward to spit out another insult, but a teacher intervened.

Mrs. Heneghan, the English teacher, stepped in between the two and put up her hands. Settle down, both of you.

She started it, Mitch blamed the girl.

The girl scowled. You’re the one who never watches where you’re going!

I could say the same for you!

Enough! Mrs. Heneghan cried. "If I hear any more from either of you, I will send both of you to the principal’s office! I don’t care whose fault it is, it was just an accident. Now⸺"

It wasn’t an accident! Mitch protested. She dumped her drink on me!

Mrs. Heneghan turned on the girl. Joely, is that true?

Joely fumed. Yes, but—

To the principal’s office. Now.

Joely’s fists tightened at her sides. Her bronze eyes narrowed at him and her lips became a tight line. The bottle in her hand nearly crumpled.

Mrs. Heneghan pointed at Mitch. You, go to class.

Fine, he muttered and turned around. Joely followed the teacher to the principal’s office.

Mitch removed his already damp sweatshirt from his backpack and tried to dry the Gatorade from his head and shoulders.  He shook his head in annoyance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to meet that Joely girl ever again. Mitch walked through the door just as class began.

Jumped in a pool? the teacher questioned.

Rain, Mitch answered sarcastically. The teacher shrugged and began his lesson. Minutes later, the Gatorade dried completely, leaving Mitch with sticky skin and a wrinkly shirt. He would have to suffer it until practice.

Three o’clock struck, and the sun beat down on Mitch, Donny and Ernesto as they walked towards the tennis courts, gear in hand. Mitch had changed his shirt and washed away the stickiness, although he knew he would become sweaty in practice. He adjusted his cap as they walked. His hair was getting long.

Do you guys know someone named Joely? he asked.

Ernesto shook his head, swiping through his phone. No. Who’s Joely?

Joely Fielding, Joely Princeton or Joely Hammerstein? Or did you mean Joey? Or Joline? Donny opened his mouth to spout more names, but Mitch put up a hand.

Too many options. Forget about it.

The friends did as commanded and continued down the sidewalk. Mitch bit the inside of his cheek and adjusted his hat once again. Seeing the courts at the bottom of the incline, he set aside thoughts of the girl. He wanted to enjoy practice today.

Coach Felder rested on a metal bench outside the chainlink. He was a short and spry older man with white in his beard and bushy eyebrows. Mitch liked him as a teacher. He allowed his students to learn themselves and demonstrated subdued discipline.

Afternoon, Coach Felder grunted. Go on and start. Miguel is waiting for you, Donny.

Alright. Donny hoisted his equipment over his shoulder and jogged to the other court. Miguel, a lanky hispanic with dyed hair, met him. Ernesto and Mitch entered the battlefield. Mitch dropped his gear and breathed. Now, he could relax.

Taking off his hat and pushing back his hair, Mitch began. The tennis ball flew back and forth and hit the net multiple times. Eventually, they adjusted and the misses became less consistent.

Let’s try to go a little faster, Ernesto complained.

Fine, Mitch conceded, pushing back his hair once again. He started hitting the ball harder.

Swing after swing after swing. The ball racqueted between them rapidly. It was fun, and Mitch was in relatively good shape. Ernesto whacked the tennis ball and it flew straight and high. Mitch didn’t want to end the rally after such a good streak. He ran, jumped and extended his arm to slam the ball down on the other side.

Pain ripped through his shoulder and he missed completely. Mitch landed hard on his ankles and stumbled. For a moment, he thought he had broken his shoulder.

You okay? Ernesto called.

I don’t know, Mitch said. He attempted to lift his arm. Sharp pain zapped his arm and shoulder as he dropped the racquet.

Coach Felder converged on Mitch with Ernesto. What happened?

I reached up to hit the ball and something happened to my shoulder. Every single time Mitch twitched, it felt as though his arm was falling from its socket. He tried to hide his pain, but his face contorted with every movement. Coach frowned.

I think we need to get you some attention. Blinded by the pain, Mitch didn’t protest.

Ernesto retrieved the school nurse and brought an ice pack. Mitch’s right shoulder began to turn purple. Concerned, Coach Felder drove him to the clinic as Mitch worried. How serious was it? It couldn’t be that bad, he had only extended it farther than usual...

Becca met them at the emergency room. The stress of leaving work early showed clearly on her face. Mitch bit his lip as the doctor assessed the injury.

You see, the doctor explained. "There’s a thick triangular muscle that connects to a muscle by your shoulder blade, called the infraspinatus muscle, and it’s what lets you rotate your shoulder. You’ve torn it almost all the way through."

Mitch winced, and his mother shook her head with a grossed out expression. She disliked discussing bodily pains.

You must have pulled it back incorrectly, or just the exertion tore it. You were playing tennis?

Yes, Mitch grunted.

You won’t be doing that for a while. You need to avoid moving your right shoulder as much as possible.

What? No, I gotta play. I’ll miss the whole season!

Mitch, Becca warned.

Heal fast, the doctor replied.

A nurse gently placed his arm in a sling and the pain reliever began to work. She gave him instructions on showering, reminding him to avoid movement. His mom took his prescription with her, and they walked across the hot pavement towards the car.

Are you feeling okay? Becca asked, fishing her keys from her purse. She wore her hotel uniform polo and black pants, with dark shoes and her hair in a bun. Knowing Mitch hadn’t injured himself fatally had eased the worry on her face.

Fine now.

It’s gonna heal in a month, honey. I’m sure you’ll be able to play before the season ends, she comforted him as the car thrummed to life.

Maybe.

Mitch remained silent during the drive. No tennis! What was he gonna do every afternoon until it healed? He wouldn’t be able to play any of the planned matches. Mitch wanted to punch a wall. Both Donny and Ernesto had texted him, asking him about the injury. Donny wanted to know if he was okay. Ernesto wanted to know if he had a cast he could sign. He sent them brief replies.

Becca dropped by the daycare and collected the girls. Mia questioned loudly about Mitch’s unexpected presence, but Becca told her to wait until Mitch felt better. The teenager ground his teeth, although he knew there was no reason to be irritated at a child. Eve requested a candy. 

At home, Mitch ignored his jumping little sisters, who decided to perform a live rendition of Moana, and walked downstairs. Coach Felder had called about him. His mother was telling him about it. Not to worry, it would heal in a month or so.

Seating himself on the bed, he ran a hand through his hair. His fingers caught on the tangles. Ridley passed by the door and glimpsed Mitch briefly before moving towards his own room. Becca must have told him what happened already. His eyes drooped. The day’s events had completely worn him out. Not feeling especially hungry, he removed the sling to lay down. The injury prevented him from sleeping on his side or his back, so he resorted to his stomach. Uncomfortable, but exhausted, his eyes closed.

***

Mitch was at a tennis tournament and the score was tied at 40-40. He was playing doubles with Ernesto, against two boys from Abram Lake, the rival town. It was the last match of the night, and the other team called time-out. Ernesto and Mitch met Coach Felder on the sideline.

With racquets in hand, they huddled together. Usually, Coach gave a few pointers and listed the advantages they had over the other team. After a small pep talk, they would finish the match. But Coach didn’t speak, and neither did Ernesto. Mitch was confused.

"What’s the matter? Don’t you guys want to win?"

Coach Felder glared at the ground. Ernesto didn’t answer at first. Instead, he stared at Mitch. His eyes didn’t seem quite right. They weren’t their normal brown, Mitch realized. They were blue. Ernesto grinned.

"You’re not even in charge of your own dream."

***

Mitch jumped upward and moaned. Pain flared across his shoulder. The medication had subsided. Gently, he pulled himself from the bed into a sitting position. He scanned his desk for the bottle of pain pills, but remembered that his mom had it upstairs.

The dream stood out vividly in his memory. The feeling of the court under his feet, Ernesto’s blue eyes and the way his voice sounded. He felt he could almost smell the synthetic layers of the enclosure and hear the rasping in his friend’s throat.

You’re not even in charge of your own dream.

What did that mean? Did the injury or medication mess with his brain? Ernesto’s blue eyes made Mitch shiver. They were so unnatural on his friend’s face.

It had to be his injury. Perhaps thinking about Sage yesterday had triggered the idea that someone was messing with his mind. Sage Henfield had to be the craziest kid in the sixth grade.

You’re not even in charge of your own dream.

How could he not be in charge?

CHAPTER 3

Mitch folded his burrito with the skill of an artisan. Completing the roll, he grabbed his plate and returned to the living room.

On the carpet over a plastic covering, Mia and Eve munched on burritos. Ridley sat on the armchair with his plate on his lap, carefully attempting to lift a taco to his lips without the cheese and lettuce falling. A millisecond from his lips, half the wrap released and slapped back down onto the plate. His expression was the sullen face of failure.

Sitting on the couch above Mia and Eve, was Becca’s younger sister, Liz Weber. Auntie Liz resembled Becca with her petite build and toasty skin, but she kept her curls a glossy black and her eyes displayed a lighter shade of brown. She worked at a bank as a financial advisor and always kept her makeup immaculate. Bubbly and sharp-witted, she had the amazing ability to insult and compliment you simultaneously. 

How’s school, Ridley? Auntie Liz asked.

Eh.

Is that your answer to everything?

Ridley’s ears reddened. Uh...

I’m just teasing you. Where did you get your shoes? I really like the...

While Auntie Liz chattered about the striking red thread on Ridley’s sneakers, Becca entered the living room with her own meal. She smiled at Mitch and took up the corner seat on the couch. Mitch bit into his burrito and listened to Auntie Liz, waiting patiently for his moment of ridicule and encouragement.

As he ate, he glanced between his mother, brother and aunt. Every few minutes, Auntie Liz would shoot her sister a questioning glance. Ridley didn’t notice, but the silent communication raised red flags to the older brother. Perhaps this visit wasn’t routine.

After thirty minutes and Mitch’s third burrito, the truth emerged.

We have an announcement to make... Becca said as she set her plate on the coffee table. Normally, they would eat at the bar, but with Auntie Liz, they always ate in the living room. Originally, there was a dining table behind the couch, but Ridley knocked into it running from Mitch three years ago and snapped the weak table leg in two.

You’re moving! Auntie Liz burst. You guys are coming to live at my house! Apparently, the words had been pressing against her tongue the entire meal.

What? Mia jumped to her feet, nearly throwing the picked out pieces of lettuce from her paper plate.

Yes! You guys are coming to my house!

Ridley stopped chugging his glass of milk. Are you serious? 

Yes, Becca answered. We’re going to move to Auntie’s house.

What? Mitch blurted. Becca shifted her gaze to Mitch. She sensed that his surprise was less delighted than his siblings’ reactions.

We’re moving, she repeated.

Why would we move? What’s wrong with this house?

Auntie Liz cast Mitch a chatising glance. She might have thought herself the master of human emotions, but nobody knew Mitch like his mother did. Becca maintained a level tone of voice.

Nothing’s wrong with this house. We simply cannot afford to live here any longer. Daycare is too expensive and I can’t afford to send the girls every day of the week. Also, when we send Mia to kindergarten next year, the elementary school is closer to Auntie Liz’s house. So, we’re going to move across town to live with her. Besides, you know how much help Auntie Liz is to us. 

Why doesn’t Auntie Liz just move here? 

Ridley carefully set his glass down so as not to disturb the awkward silence. He understood Mitch’s train of thought probably more than his mother.

"Because, Becca emphasized. Her house is closer to my work and her work. Plus, her house is finished and in a safer neighborhood. "

We can’t move, Mitch said.

His mother untucked her legs and collected the ceramic and paper plates on the coffee table. Gathering the used napkins, she retreated to the kitchen with the dishes. Mitch, can you help me a second?

Auntie Liz busied herself with ushering Mia and Eve to the bathroom to clean the food off their mouths, while Ridley watched Mitch climb to his feet. Sensing the calm before the storm, Ridley followed Auntie Liz to help her find the washcloths.

Mitch met his mother in the kitchen. We can’t move, he repeated obstinately.

Becca set down the dishes in the sink and turned on the water. This is not your decision, Mitch.

What? Mitch started. "Not my decision? How could this not be my decision? I live here! My friends are across the street, and so is my school. Why didn’t you ask my opinion?" He motioned with his arm aggressively and caused a pang to shoot through his shoulder. Mitch grimaced. Why didn’t the medication work when it was supposed to?

Becca plugged the sink and allowed the hot water to flow over the dirty plates. She kept her eyes trained on the increasing bubbles. Mitch, this discussion is over.

"We can’t leave this house."

Mitch— she started.

Dad was going to—!

Mitchell! his mom snapped. "We’re moving, and that’s final!" She slammed her fist down, causing the dishes to rattle. The bubble of voices from the bathroom ceased. To resume normality, Becca dove her hands into the soapy water and began to scrub the dishes.

Mitch clenched his fists and retreated into the garage, slamming the door behind him. Shoving open the rusted white door, he stepped into the backyard. The sky was a milky blue, with two or three pale stars scattered about. A painted brown fence separated their yard from the neighbors, and a squat porch led to the glass doors of the living room. From the garage, a crumbly cement walkway led to the closed gate towards the mailbox.

The air cooled Mitch’s neck and arms. He considered taking a walk, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be locked out of the house. Instead, he plopped down on the cement driveway.

He rubbed his eyes and stared at Mia and Eve’s car toys. They couldn’t move away from this house. Dad had promised to come home soon, and planned to finish the basement and build Mia and Eve a playhouse. This house was all Mitch had left of Dad.

As he rested, regret sunk into the pit of his stomach. He had hurt his mom. She didn’t like to mention anything from the past, and the reminder was only painful for her. She was trying her best to raise four kids, which proved a trial, no matter how strong she claimed to be. Her points were true; daycare was expensive, and Auntie Liz’s house was larger and closer to their workplaces. Why were adults always right?

Sucking in his pride, he re-entered the house.

In the kitchen, Auntie Liz opened a fresh pack of Oreos and distributed cookies to Ridley and the girls with wild abandon. When Mitch was three-years-old, four cookies in one sitting would have been forbidden. Auntie Liz glanced at Mitch disapprovingly as he entered. Ridley didn’t turn around, understanding that it was embarrassing to be judged as soon as you walked in the door.

Becca collected the large crumbs from the plastic covering, her back to them. She didn’t turn around at the click of the door, but Mitch knew she was listening. He knew he needed to repair the situation.

So, Mitch, Auntie Liz began, coming straight at the point. What do you think? Does moving sound like a good idea?

Mitch picked up Evie from the bar stool and set her on his lap. He spoke with the enthusiasm of a ticket booth operator. Sounds great. I’m excited.

Great! We’re gonna start packing up this week! Auntie Liz smiled and offered him the pack of Oreos. He removed four cookies without remorse. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his mom. She continued cleaning, but seemed to have visibly relaxed. His conscience cleared, he devoured the Oreos and helped Auntie Liz prepare Evie and Mia for bed.

***

A young Mitch stood in the backyard. With autumn tumbling forth to crush the summer, orange and yellow leaves filled the grass. The garage door hung open and the car was parked just outside it, a bucket of water and suds by the door. It was chore day, and Mitch had to help Auntie Liz clean the car and rake the leaves. Eight-year-old Mitch automatically picked up his rake to begin. Where was Ridley?

With the click of the gate, the wooden door swung open and two other little boys entered the backyard. One was tall with blond hair and blue eyes: Donny. Behind him, a shorter boy with dark hair and brown eyes skidded into the scene.

Mitch remembered this moment. Donny had come over to help rake the leaves because his mother told him that if he stayed inside he would have to clean toilets. There was a new kid at school who had come to visit too. He was the dark-haired boy following him.

Sage Henfield.

Mitch raced towards the garage and picked up another rake and a shovel. He offered them to Donny and Sage. Ridley would have to find his own tool.

"Here! We can make a big pile, but I want to jump in first!"

Mitch offered the rakes, but Donny wouldn’t take it. Neither would the other boy. Mitch became confused. Did they want to rake the leaves? Or help him wash the car? Those were the most fun chores of the entire household.  

He expected them to grab the implements, or declare that they didn’t want to stay. Instead, Sage mechanically pushed Donny behind him. The tall boy moved without a sound and kept his eyes trained on the cement. Mitch watched with curiosity as Sage peered at him through oval glasses.

"Whatever you think you know, is wrong."

***

Mitch slapped his alarm clock.

It stopped ringing.

He sat up and glanced at the time. 6:00⸺just in time to start preparing for school. What a weird dream... Why was Sage there? He hadn’t thought of Sage Henfield for years; Donny probably hadn’t either. Sage might have been an odd kid, but he had never said anything so ominous. The scariest words that issued from his mouth had been, I took some of your tater tots while you were gone.

Whatever you think you know, is wrong.

What the hell?

Dressed, showered and with his backpack in hand, Mitch clambered up the stairs. The debris from last night, which consisted of a half-eaten pack of Oreos and paper plates on the kitchen counter, still remained. Recalling the evening, he furrowed his brow. They were moving in with Auntie Liz next week. Feeling hazy, he filled a bowl with dry cereal and waited for Ridley to emerge.

What did that dream mean? That moment he spent outside might have affected him somehow, or perhaps it had been the sugar overload. I can’t think about it right now, he concluded. He had to go to school. After a few minutes, Ridley jumped up the stairs and served himself a bowl of cereal. Becca appeared to see their departure.

Donny expected them outside across the cracked pavement. He pulled himself from the wooden steps of his porch and strolled next to Mitch while eating a bagel covered in cream-cheese. He ate the same meal nearly every morning. His face reminded Mitch of the dream. Did Donny even remember Sage? Ridley, out of habit, ran up