Chapter 2 Three Years Before

3 years before Penny

The wheels hit concrete hard, the clack echoing off the fence. Someone lands a kickflip, barely, and the rest of the guys cheer like he just won gold. The whole park smells like hot asphalt, sweat, and the sweet syrup from the soda cans stacked on the trash bin.

I sit on the edge of the half-pipe, legs dangling, board across my lap. Ryan’s red-faced, hair plastered to his forehead, grinning like he owns the place.

“Two more weeks,” he says, climbing up to sit beside me. He’s out of breath, but his smile’s big enough to split his face. “Two more weeks and we’re done with school. Done.”

“Two more weeks and I’m free of math forever,” Caleb says, rolling up behind him. He’s still got his glasses on, slipping down his nose, like he’s ready for class even here.

Ryan laughs. “You? Free of math? You’re about to marry math. Engineering degree, remember?”

Caleb smirks, kicks at Ryan’s shoe. “Yeah, but it’s math I like. Not Larson’s voice droning on about quadratics.”

They both look at me. Waiting.

I shrug, drag my shirt across my face. “I don’t know. I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have my life figured out yet.”

Ryan elbows me. “Classic Logan. Just gonna… what? Drift?”

“Maybe.” I lean back on my hands, watch the sky turning orange over the top of the fence. The air’s heavy, buzzing with summer coming. “Maybe travel. See stuff. There’s more than this town.”

Caleb laughs, soft. “You sound like one of those gap year kids. Next thing you’ll tell us, you’re gonna live on a beach and learn guitar.”

I nudge him with my sneaker. “Could be worse.”

“Could be us,” Nate yells up from the bottom, pushing up the ramp with his board tucked under his arm. He jogs the last stretch, drops down beside me, still grinning. Nate always grins. Girls like him for that. “Admit it, man, you’d miss us.”

“Obviously,” I say, and I mean it. These guys have always been solid. The kind of friends who know what they want. The kind who don’t treat girls like trash. I like that about them.

Nate leans back, head tilted. “I’m going into business. Dad says I’ve got the head for it.” He glances at me. “What about you? Really?”

I shake my head, watch a couple of little kids eat pavement and pop back up laughing. “No clue. I’ll figure it out eventually. Not in a rush.”

“Wish I could think like that,” Caleb says. He spins his board on its tail, restless energy spilling out of him. “Feels like if I don’t map it all out, I’ll fall behind.”

“Yeah,” Nate agrees, pulling out his phone. He flashes Ryan a picture of some shiny campus. “Fall tour’s in August. Can’t wait.”

Ryan whistles low. “That’s sick. For me it's med school. White coat, stethoscope. That’s the plan.”

I let them talk, their voices rolling over me, their futures stretching out like tracks they’ve already laid down. I’m happy for them. I really am. They know where they’re going. They know who they are.

Me? I’ve got nothing but a board under my feet and the hum of wheels on hot concrete. And for now, that feels like enough.

We stay at the park until the sky turns pink and the air cools off. Boards clack and scrape against the concrete until we’re too hungry to keep going. Ryan is the first to suggest it.

“Pizza?” he asks, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Ten minutes later we’re crammed into our usual booth at Tony’s, the kind of place with cracked vinyl seats and soda-sticky floors. The smell of grease and oregano hits the second we walk in. We always split the same deal — two larges, one pepperoni, one cheese, because Nate is weird about toppings.

The slices flop, grease pooling on the paper plates, and we eat like we haven’t seen food in weeks.

“Dude, you’ve got sauce all over your face,” Caleb says, tossing a napkin at Nate.

Nate wipes his mouth with the back of his hand instead, smirking. “What, jealous? Didn’t know I could rock it like a beard.”

Ryan shakes his head, nearly choking on his crust. “That’s disgusting, man.”

I laugh, leaning back in the booth. The air conditioning blasts overhead, cold against my sweat-damp shirt. For a while it feels easy. Jokes bounce back and forth. Caleb does his impression of Mr. Larson until we’re all groaning. Nate tells the story about getting caught sneaking out of Jenna’s window, and Ryan calls him an idiot, but he’s grinning.

When the pizza’s gone and the plates are stacked in greasy towers, Caleb checks the time. “I should head out. My mom’ll kill me if I’m late.”

“Same,” Nate says, standing and stretching like an old man. “I promised I’d help my dad in the morning.”

They start gathering their stuff. Ryan lingers, sliding out of the booth last. He shoots me a look across the table, that quiet kind of look he does sometimes. Like he knows I’m not ready to go home. Like he knows I never am.

But there’s no choice.

We push out the glass doors into the cooling night, the neon sign buzzing behind us, and I shove my hands into my pockets, already bracing for what’s waiting when I get back.

I take my time heading home. The guys peel off one by one, bikes rattling down side streets, boards tucked under their arms. I drag mine along the sidewalk, wheels clicking over the cracks, hands shoved in my pockets. The air smells like cut grass and gasoline from someone’s mower.

Halfway down the block a little cat darts out from under a car, white paws, gray stripes, eyes glowing in the streetlight. It meows, soft and scratchy. I crouch down, hold out a hand.

“Hey, buddy,” I say. Its tail flicks once, twice, before it pads over, cautious. When it brushes against my fingers, I grin. “You’re cute. You know that? You’re lucky, huh? Probably got a family who feeds you tuna every night.”

It purrs, loud for such a small body, and I scratch behind its ears until it gets bored and trots off into the dark.

I stand again, sling my board over my shoulder, and keep walking. My steps get slower the closer I get. Streetlights buzz overhead. Windows glow warm yellow in houses I pass, laughter and TV sounds spilling out faintly. Normal. Safe.

Then I turn the corner onto my street. My house sits at the end, paint peeling off the porch rails, grass too long in the yard. I’m still halfway down the block when I hear it.

The screaming.

It carries clear into the night, sharp enough to cut through everything else.

And just like that, the warmth in my chest is gone.