Note: I debated with myself about the scence that you are about to read. It will be posted in its entirety by the end of next week in its original format. It's important, promise. Thanks for putting up with my writer's block.
That student had been Kylie, who now stood before him backlit by the pale moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, the stadium lights had turned on and glimmered with blistering efficiency. Gentry shielded his eyes to look at her, and she eyed him back with a houndlike expression on her face. Wispy strands of her hair stuck on end, glowing along with every sequin on her dress.
“Do you hate me, or something?” she asked him.
“No.”
He hated that she found his secret places, and followed him tonight. To the bleachers at the back of the school, down in the chamber underneath the seats, crowded with old gym matts, safety cones and crates of things that no one used. Every so often, his fingers took the key off Ms. Copper’s hook, and locked his body in. Many hours of his freshman year were idled away lying on the old blue gym mat, eyes staring up at the cobwebs and abandoned bird nests which lined the ceiling. Occasionally the moonlight would trickle in through small holes in the metal, illuminating the dust as he slowly breathed it in. The particles danced in the pale light, until night slowly settled and merge into morning. And until he left that room, time stood still.
Sometimes he thought he heard flapping, and had one of those moments where he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. Sometimes he found dead birds here; died while looking for a way out. Gentry never saw then alive, but always managed to find them stiff from the cold. Normally, he’d kick them into a corner and forget about them. It was easier not to get involved in those kinds of things. His father always told him “don’t get emotional, don’t get too friendly, don’t get too close.”
And no place was farther than this secret passage which loomed before him; the place where Kylie had followed him to, the farthest place he could think of. Yet in a strange way, he’d expected her. He had listened to her footsteps on the grass, the soft pitter-patter.
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