Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 9

After the final bell, we jump on our bikes and race along the heavily policed highway that connects the Supernova in Elliot to Landry High School. By heavily, I mean the entire Landry Police Department, comprising of the sheriff and his two deputies, is posted along the road, greeting every kid by name as they pass by. Vincent and Ethan are in the lead, skateboards attached to their backpacks. Lindsey, Abigail and I are trailing behind.

Facing Aunt Amy later is all I can think about on the ride. Disappointing her might be my biggest regret in turning down the writing program.

When everyone agreed with my logic to pick a class that no one else wanted, Ethan just shook his head. "You're right about that, Mac. I doubt Mr. Jordan's class will ever have a waiting list."

"Mackenzie's right," Lindsey said. "We won't be fighting other people for a spot and we'll all get to be together."

"I guess Mr. Jordan can't be any worse than old Ms. Fletcher, right?" Abigail said.

I smiled. "He definitely doesn't have the power to turn anyone into stone."

We ranked the Art History class as our first choice, followed by Typing and then Chorus. I couldn't bring myself to mention the writing program to anyone, especially after watching Lindsey's face light up once we completed the course selection paperwork.

"All for one and one for all, like the three musketeers," she said with such satisfaction when we left the guidance office.

"Uh, except there are five of us, Linds." Vincent said with his typical mischievously crooked smile.

After the ten minute ride, we pull into the parking lot of the Supernova and head toward the bright yellow awning that forms a half circle around a massive concrete bowl. Televisions are suspended under the canopies playing reruns of football games on ESPN.

Back before they jazzed up the place, it was just a dated recreational center. In sixth grade, Abigail, Lindsey and I practically lived at the old roller rink. Proudly donning our glowing knee-high socks, the black lights would flash to the rhythm of the music blaring. We knew every nook and cranny of the octagon shaped building like the back of our hands.

Initially constructed in the early seventies, the rink still sports the original wall-to-wall carpet and boxed arcade machines. Over the years, a bowling alley was added to the north end and a pool hall to south. It wasn't until last year when the Roman Arena was built that the Supernova became a tri-city entertainment mecca for anyone who lived in a twenty mile radius.

While Lindsey and Abigail secure a spot at the far end of the arena, the boys and I grab sodas and pizza at the inside-out concession stand. Picnic tables are positioned perfectly against the railing for viewing all the action at the base of the bowl. Skaters constantly roll up to the seating area and hang from the rail to explain how they are about to nail the most amazing X Games stunt. This is the place where we stumbled into unlikely friendships with Ethan Rogers and Vincent Saunders.

After the Roman Arena's grand opening the summer before ninth grade, we, along with the boys, became constant staples at the park. Always trying to impress us by showcasing their mad Tony Hawk skills and mindless charades, mostly instigated by Vincent, we found ourselves thoroughly entertained. It was impossible not to like them. Since then, we've become an oddball gang of sorts, biking the stretches of roads and trails between our two neighboring states.

Woofing down their slices in seconds, Vincent and Ethan hit the ramps. Abigail and Lindsey are immersed in their phones as I unpack my math book, preferring needles stabbing my eyes over the geometric equations at which I'm about to stare blankly. I let out a long sigh. Picking at my pizza, I mention that Aunt Amy had to run into Charlotte for the day.  Every month, she makes a special trip to pick up rice, sorghum and quinoa flours.  "So I need to leave soon to meet Spencer."

"That stinks you can't stay longer, Mac," Lindsey replies. "So get this. I just posted our picture and already have 33 likes." She is our photo-biographer, making sure our travels are thoroughly documented.

"Is that good?" I ask. I'm a complete social media idiot. They know this and accept me anyway.

"Not our record, but hey, we're just hangin at the Supa." Abigail says.

"Oh, and Melissa Stringer said, and I quote, wish I was there!" 

"Shut—up." Abigail says. She's impressed.

"I know. Right? Wait. Now I'm up to 35."

Giving up, I stuff the geometry book in my backpack.

Lindsey brakes from her phone. "Before you go, can we talk about tomorrow?"

I was hoping to sneak out before the discussion began. "Sure." I sit back down.

"Abs, did you ask if you could come over?" Lindsey says.

"Yep. I should be good. Mom's heading to Asheville in the morning with her sister. They'll be gone all day. Think they're going to the Biltmore Estates, then dinner. The woman has been crying ever since she got here," she adds, rolling her eyes. Abigail's uncle died a few weeks ago. She only met him once when she was two. "I overheard my mom tell my dad that she is seriously losing it." Abigail freezes. "Oh man, Mackenzie. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

I interrupt. "It's okay. No worries." Any mention of the dead compels people to apologize to me these days. "What about your dad? What's he up to?" I say, changing the subject. 

"The same.  He's getting geared up for the Coca Cola race next weekend and really wants me to go, but how boring. Right? Anyway, he's completely distracted with that. He doesn't really care where I'm at anyway so long as I'm with you, Mackenzie."

"That's perfect, Abs." Lindsey pivots her attention to me. "And what about you?"

"I still need to work it out with Aunt Amy. She's been cool about everything. I just have to be careful and not mess things up with her, you know? Otherwise, it's adios Carolinos, remember?" I sling my backpack on. "If I do anything that gets Spencer and me kicked out of her place, well, then onto plan B—moving back to Florida with my grandparents."

"I know. But we won't let that happen," Lindsey says. "That's why we just need to stick together. Which means all three of us go tomorrow."

Vincent and Ethan roll up to the table. "Ready, Mac?" Vincent asks. "I gotta get home before my Pops does."

The only benefit to moving out of Elliot and away from Lindsey and Abigail was being closer to the boys. Spencer thinks of Vincent as a big brother and living just seconds away from us only fuels his illusion. Vincent doesn't seem to mind the appendage—any excuse to avoid his father will do.

"Yeah. Let's go," I say. " I'll have to text you later, Linds.I can't be late for Spencer's bus."

"Okay. Please don't forget." She's engineering a way for us to go undetected tomorrow evening, which involves me lying to Aunt Amy, again.  There's absolutely no way she'd approve if I told her the truth of what we were actually planning to do.