SKEIN

111 days until Samhain—

Her mind was numb from smoking a half bowl of skunk weed before practice, but she pulled off the tumbling pass and stuck her landing like a pro. Melody was a natural, just like her mom had been—it was in the genes. She could do this shit with her eyes closed and still be the best cheerleader on the floor.

“All right, all right,” Coach Judy said as she clapped. “Watch that tuck Melody.”

Melody gave Coach Judy the stink eye as she crossed the mat and headed for the bleachers. She didn’t need to watch the tuck; Coach Judy needed to watch her god damn mouth. And it was 1991 bitch, disco-curls went out with the 70’s.

She snagged her lime Gatorade bottle off of the first row of the bleachers and chugged most of the remaining liquid as a freshman slipped on the mat, embarrassing herself and drawing giggles from some of the older girls, including Melody.

“Let it go and try it again Erin, good effort,” Coach Judy encouraged as the freshman slinked to the back of the line, head down and arms crossed, obviously holding back tears. Melody smirked, knowing Erin would fuck it up again on her next try.

Braddock Spring High’s newly renovated gym smelled of floor wax, fresh paint, and Dutch oil, the latter emanating from the recently stained bleacher seats. Melody loved the smells surrounding her. Being in the gym meant that her senior year was only a few months away, when she would reassume her mantle as school royalty. She was the happiest she had ever been.

Students, faculty, and parents packed the floor and bleachers on the far side of the gym, surrounding the intra-squad basketball game. The cheerleaders worked on the other side, next to the locker rooms, where a much smaller audience watched the combined JV and varsity tryouts.

She glanced at the basketball game as she downed the last of her Gatorade, browsing through prospects for a fall-semester fling. CJ, a muscular senior with curly blond hair who was playing for the red team, was a strong contender. She had been keeping an eye on him since the game tipped off, and was dying to find out what was hiding under his sweaty shirt and faded, gray gym shorts.

After breaking up with her maniac of a boyfriend at the end of last year Melody began a make-out streak that wouldn’t be ending anytime soon. Kissing and teasing boys was her favorite activity—next to smoking marijuana—and she was the hottest girl in school. She knew she could have any man she wanted, including some of the teachers.

Melody pulled her hair-tie off and shook her long, chestnut-brown hair loose as she ascended the stairs to the next-to-last row of bleacher seats, where a small group of friends were exchanging condescending and cruel comments on the girls trying out. Melody enjoyed the process of picking apart other girls, especially Martha Rhodes, a sophomore with no boobs and an ass so fat she couldn’t even do a thigh stand.

“Nailed it,” Joyce said as Melody sat one row below the others.

“Thanks,” Melody said. “Coach Judy said watch my tuck.” She rolled her eyes. “Dumb dyke.”

“Oh shit, Martha’s next,” Ellen whispered and pointed to the mat.

Melody shook her head. “She should try out for football instead.”

As the group tore into Martha’s zits, big belly, and fat ass Melody’s eyes wandered back to the basketball game. Making fun of Martha wasn’t nearly as important as looking at hot guys.

CJ was guarding Corey, Braddock Spring’s star power forward and another of Melody’s flirtation projects. CJ lunged for the ball, trying to steal it, but Corey deftly dribbled away from the attack, the crowd riveted to the action.

It was then that she noticed him—on the floor among the crowd, his back turned to the basketball game. His head was covered by a hood, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt; she knew exactly who he was. Even with his face mostly obscured by the shadow under his hood she could feel him staring at her. She was used to being ogled by older men, and this wasn’t the first time she had caught this particular man fucking her with his eyes.

She bit her bottom lip and slightly opened her legs, tempting the hooded perv with a glimpse of her supple thighs. Her miniature gym shorts left no detail of her lower body to the imagination, and her tight cheerleading squad t-shirt was tied into a knot above her flat stomach. She pulled her hair back into a pony tail and bound it with the hair-tie, pushing her chest out in the process.

He’s probably creaming in his jeans right now, Melody thought as she smiled at him. His stare lingered for a few more seconds and then he turned to the game, taking all the fun out of their little secret exchange. Oddly, his indifference to her teasing was a bit of a turn-on.

“You going to Franconia Pizza after practice?” Joyce asked, derailing her thoughts.

A whistle blew and the basketball court on the other side of the gym flooded with people, making Melody lose track of her adult admirer. “Probably, but I’m not eating anything. I don’t want to end up looking like her.” Melody sneered at Martha Rhodes, who waddled toward the locker room.

Joyce forced a fake laugh; phoniness was one of her specialties. “Want me to drive?”

Melody shook her head. “Nah, I’m not sure how long I’ll stay.” Joyce’s constant attempts to firm up a friendship were getting annoying. Plus Melody had the other half of a bowl to smoke, and she didn’t want any of her cheerleading friends knowing she was a pothead.

Her ex-boyfriend Curtis, a small time drug dealer and big time weirdo, had introduced her to marijuana over last summer and she immediately fell in love with it. Stealing pot from Curtis was one of the very few reasons she had stuck with him for so long.

***

She split off from Joyce, Ellen, and the rest of her clique at the tennis courts; they were all parked in the school’s lot, while Melody had parked on Center Road—an area off school grounds where she could smoke and not get caught.

Cicadas buzzed in the darkness as she strolled along the sidewalk that led through the school’s fence and out onto Center Road, the humid July air filling her lungs like soup. The only working streetlight flickered as she crossed the fence-line and passed through a sea of cigarette butts that littered the ground. Her blue Honda Civic was one of only two cars parked on the far shoulder of the road. A brown Chevy, apparently empty, sat two car lengths in front of hers.

It was just after 10 PM when she reached her car and threw her gym bag into the back seat. She retrieved a lighter and her bowl, a small stone pipe she had stolen from Curtis, from the compartment inside the armrest and leaned against the passenger side fender, facing the woods. If school security or a cop showed up, she would just throw the bowl into the bushes and flash her best smile.

She checked the deserted street for any sign of people before taking a long hit from the bowl, mentally reminding herself that she would have to spray the car with perfume. Technically, the Honda belonged to her mom, so any trace of smoke had to be erased before she got home.

The flickering streetlight died and the night consumed Center Road. Melody looked up at the half-moon, the only remaining source of illumination, as she took another hit. Needing something to dilute the growing feelings of isolation, she put the bowl on the fender and leaned inside the passenger window to start the car. After the engine fired up she hit the power button on the cassette deck and Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On” blared through the speakers. Melody tinkered with the volume knob until it was loud enough to let her sing along, but not too loud to draw attention.

She leaned back out of the window and reached for the bowl, her brow wrinkling when she saw that the trunk of the brown Chevy was open, and lined with black plastic from end to end. It wasn’t like that a few seconds ago.

The sound of shoes shifting on gravel sent a jolt of fear up her spine, making her spin around, the bowl falling from her hand as her eyes found the hooded man from the gym standing only two feet behind her. The white respirator mask covering his face glowed in the moonlight.

“What are you—?” she said as he charged and swung his fist, the impact making her drop like a brick next to her car. A rag soaked in chemicals covered her face and nose and reality quickly began to dim. She felt her body being lifted and then cool plastic pressed against her skin; Wilson Phillips was still signing in the background.

She heard a distant voice echo in her mind before she blacked out—her own—she was talking to herself. Don’t go, not yet, hold on.