Onward

Chapter One

Maggie

Bertha, my beat up, blue Blazer, grumbles as I pull into the driveway. Even she isn’t happy about coming home. I yank the emergency brake, grab my purse, and step out, taking a quick moment to enjoy the view of the Flatiron Mountains towering over the city.

My neighbor Jake and his family are outside spread across the lawn, taking photos in front of a huge banner that reads, “Congratulations Graduate!” Black and gold balloons lift from the sign, the University of Colorado colors.

My gut sinks at the sight of him. At least he chose a different school than me. All I need to do is survive the summer. Then I’ll be on a jet plane crossing the Atlantic for my semester abroad.

Ashley, his little sister, steps toward the walkway. “Everyone say cheese!” She snaps a photo.

“Hey, take one from this direction so the mountains are in the distance,” Jake says, pointing for Ashley to move closer to the house and frame the camera toward the street.

Jake looks over. I intentionally drop my car keys to avoid his wave, because it feels like a slap in the face. His whole family is there, unlike my graduation when my dad was missing.

My front screen door squeaks and Mom steps outside onto the porch. Her cardigan is wrapped around tight, even though the temperature is warm. Dad used to joke she would need a sweater even if we lived on the sun.

I wish he was here today to welcome me home. Dad was always the warmest sweater of our family. Even I’m cold without him here.

“Maggie.” She walks out to my car. “How was the drive back?”

If Jake didn’t live across the street, I’d have the same enthusiasm. Right now, I’d rather be anywhere but here. Anger, and then regret, boils in the pit of my stomach.

“Let me help you unload,” she says, so enthralled by my arrival she doesn’t notice Jake’s family across the street. She’s been more forgiving than me during these past four years since Dad died.

I bend into the car to pop the rear hatch. Turning around, I’m stopped in my tracks by a giant hug. The warmth of vanilla spice from her perfume carries into the air and I relax, realizing how much I missed her. I can’t imagine how lonely this last year must have been without me… and without Dad.

Grabbing her hand, we walk to the trunk and stare at the sheer volume of freshman year crap spilling over the entire back half.

“Woah! You’ve accumulated a lot of stuff since the fall.”

I lower my head on her shoulder. “Probably just my lousy packing job. I’m no Tetris master,” I say with a laugh.

We pull out items—cardboard boxes spill over with cheap clothes and bedding, barely used textbooks, and dirty coffee mugs. My messy life from the last nine months piled high.

“Where’re you planning to put it all?” she asks.

“Good question. I haven’t a clue.”

#

Thirty minutes later, I’m in my room claustrophobic. College crap surrounds me.

I procrastinate unpacking and go to the window. Jake’s banner sags between the two posts, like the childhood I lost. Memories nag at the back of my mind. His pinky swears and promises were all lies.

With no energy left to tackle the mounds of stuff overflowing around me, I head downstairs.

Mom’s in the kitchen heating a cup of tea. “You want some?” she asks.

“No. I’ll have a Coke.”

She pulls a can from the refrigerator, fills a cup with ice, and places everything on the table.

“It’s wonderful to have you home,” she says, sitting down. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive with you in Europe next semester.”

“You’ll survive, Mom. We’ll FaceTime every day. I promise.” I take a sip of my cola and the caramel fizz tickles my nose. I feel bad that Mom needs me here to survive, while my survival is dependent on getting away. “How’s your work going?” I ask.

Mom works from home as an interior designer helping the rich housewives of Boulder redecorate their McMansions. I don’t know how she tolerates those bitches.

“I’m working on a kitchen remodel. I’ll show you the boards later. You’ve always had a good eye for design.”

I beam, loving her encouraging words. “I’m not going to Italy next year to just study their gorgeous handmade leather shoes.”

“I’m so proud of you—studying architecture.” She holds the paper end of her tea bag and dunks it up and down in her mug.

“You wanna order a pizza and watch a movie?” she asks, getting up from the table and digging through the kitchen junk drawer. “Where is that pizza flier?”

“Mom, you can order off your phone now.”

I open the app on mine and click through to place an order for Cosmo’s largest pepperoni.

Twenty minutes later, I maneuver the enormous twenty-four inch box through the doorway and plop the food down on the table.

The sound of the cardboard hitting the surface reminds me that our house is missing the rambunctious sounds of college dorm life. The perfect white noise for the last year. I’d forgotten how quiet it was here with only the two of us—the seat at the head of our table empty.

I can’t help but wonder, if I’d been able to reverse the turn of events that changed everything—would my father still be alive? For better or worse, everything is my fault. Magic that inevitably turned dark—when Jake killed my dad.

Chapter Two

Jake

Driving to graduation, I’m still chilled by the cold-shoulder Maggie threw me back at the house. I’m not surprised my attempt to wave was met with nothing but an icy wind. She hasn’t acknowledged my presence for the last several years. Why would she now? It’s stupid that I even tried, but the muscle memory in my hand sometimes forgets.

“Chad, what time are the dinner reservations?” Mom asks, craning her neck toward Dad.

“Six-thirty,” he answers.

“Can I go to Derrick’s party after the ceremony?” I ask, not wanting to go to dinner. Maybe they’ll lift my jail sentence because it’s graduation.

“No way. You’re grounded. No parties until we can trust you,” Mom says.

“Mom. It’s graduation!” I fold my arms over my chest. “I took that stupid job for the summer. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

I’m dreading this job my mom and therapist thought would be so great for me. I haven’t had a drink in three months—staying sober and working forty hours a week is a recipe for the worst summer ever. There must be a loophole to get me to the party.

“Why don’t you stop in?” I ask. “I’m sure Derrick’s parents will be there. Maybe even Brennon’s.”

Brennon, Derrick, and I have been best friends since middle school. Before them, it was Maggie. Only Maggie. Seeing her for the first time in months, my scars tear into an open wound. The face that used to be full of light when we played together shows nothing but disgust for me now.

From the driver’s seat, Dad says, “Nice of you to give us some notice.”

“It’s rude to show up unannounced… and empty-handed,” Mom chimes in.

“It’s like an open house graduation party,” I say, not even sure if it is.

Ashley looks up from her phone for the first time since we sat in the car. “Can I come?”

I roll my eyes, debating whether having my entire family at Derrick’s party would be better than not going at all.

Ignoring Ashley’s question, I drop my head and tinker with my phone, scrolling through the photos we took. I should be excited about graduating. Instead, I’m hollow inside.

I fiddle with the empty miniature liquor bottle in the pocket of my graduation gown. Mom would be livid if she knew I had it. She’d never understand how it keeps me strong and in control.

“Ash, can you send me that last photo you snapped?” I ask.

“Which one?”

“The one with me alone by the sign… with the mountains in the background.”

She has no idea why I’m asking for it.

“I think I deleted that one. It wasn’t any good.”

“Can you check?”

She huffs as her thumb swipes rapidly at the screen, then she leans over, closing the space between us. “This one?” She angles the phone toward me.

“No.”

She keeps scrolling.

“Wait. Stop, that’s the one,” I say.

Returning to her side of the back seat, she texts me the image.

My phone dings and I click on the photo. Maggie’s in the distance and her hair wisps in front of her face. When I zoom in, I can still make out the curve of her nose. I recall the freckles scattered on top and her honey-colored eyes. I asked Ashley to take this shot in the off-chance Maggie would be in the background.

All grown up, she’s still the girl who stole my heart at the age of five when we moved in across the street. If only she could forgive me for what happened. She’ll never understand the regret I live with every day—a storm that brews but never passes—only pushes me further into darkness. All because of the hidden magic we discovered behind my gate. I shudder at the memory that still haunts me.

“If you take your sister to the party, then you can go. But home by ten o’clock. Not a minute later,” Mom says. “And no drinking!”

I grasp the tiny bottle in my pocket like I’m holding off an inappropriate boner, willing myself to move past the urge. The muscle memory of my hand outlines the familiar shape. Sometimes it’s enough to take the edge off more than the actual drink. Like being next in line for the ride at an amusement park. The anticipation that at any moment you will be free-falling on the roller coaster, and once the wait is over, so is the ride.

#

The graduation ceremony made me want to put my head through a cement wall. As soon as the sun went down, the air was cold, and everyone passed flasks down the row. It took all my willpower to abstain—but I did.

Thank goodness my parents decided not to come to the party. According to Derrick, there were parents here earlier, but they left hours ago and now it’s just us grads.

Before the ceremony, I dropped off my gear because we planned to jam tonight. Playing in this band has been the second-best way to take my mind off of everything. Drinking used to be the first.

I finish up the can of seltzer water in my koozie and belch, preferring not to announce to everyone that I’m not drinking.

“Damn Jake, you’re putting them away like you’re planning to tie one on tonight,” Derrick says, already too drunk and oblivious to the fact I’m drinking a non-alcoholic beverage.

“Fuck yeah, it’s graduation!” I fake slur, rather than point out that I’ve been sober for the last three months. I’m not sure why I haven’t told the guys. Maybe I’m afraid of commitment.

“Like they say, the drunker we get, the better we sound.”

“Isn’t it ‘the drunker the audience gets, the better we sound’?” I ask, worried my patience may wear thin if everyone is as smashed as Derrick by the end of the night.

I walk away. Quickly crushing my empty can, I grab myself another La Croix from the cooler, discreetly sliding it into the koozie. Three months ago, I would have been the life of the party guzzling a beer bong. Now I’m sneaking sparkling water—I’ve become a big wuss.

Ashley’s on Derrick’s make out couch talking with Reagan. I’d go over and hang out, but Reagan’s desperate attempts to get back together are annoying as hell. I didn’t want to date her in the first place.

Reagan flips her blond highlighted hair over one shoulder, and I avoid eye contact. Ashley throws her head back and laughs. She better not be drinking because she’s only fifteen. I’m still digging myself out of the grave I’ve been buried in ever since driving home drunk three months ago. When our parents dropped us off, they made it clear, I’m responsible for the two of us.

“Dude.” Brennon slaps my back. “What’s shaking?”

“Not the twist, Brennon, that’s for sure.” I say, raising a brow at him. “What are you from the nineteen fifties or something?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, his brows pinched.

“Please don’t make me explain the biggest dance craze of the rock ’n’ roll era.”

“You’re brooding more than ever,” Brennon says with an eye roll.

“Yeah, well, I’m lucky I got out of the house. Cut me some slack. My parents still aren’t over me tearing up the sod on their lawn.”

“Shit, man. I told you not to drive home—you should’ve crashed here with me.”

“Shouda, woulda, coulda. As a punishment, they’re forcing me to work at a camp for the summer.”

“Could be worse. ‘Remember that time in band camp…’” he says with a laugh. “Maybe you’ll get laid in a cabin or something.”

“It’s not that type of camp.”

“You wanna jam soon?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer. Jealousy waters in my mouth.

“Yeah, I’m ready to shred something besides…” I shake my can, flipping the top to my fresh seltzer. Brennon does the same, only with a real beverage.

He eyes me. “Chug?”

The ice-cold carbonated liquid goes down fast and hits my stomach. If only it had been a beer, then my head would be floating to that comfortable place, not the reality I live.

But I can’t screw up now. If I do, I risk my parents sending me to military school. Touring with the band would become a dream deferred.