Page 2 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

I had no costume at the ready, so I've taken matters into my own hands. I've never put this much makeup on my face, and I spent hours getting it perfect, but I'm pleased with the results.

An old flannel from my mother's dresser, my favorite pair of jeans, a little makeup and I make a pretty damn cute scarecrow.

Fitting for a party in a cornfield, I think.

I don't bother leaving Mom a note; I'll be back before she wakes up.

I help myself to the bottle of Bourbon on top of the refrigerator, the only thing that's sealed, and duck out into the cool night. There's a chill in the air, which from what I gather is characteristic of Kansas in mid-October.

We're a week away from Halloween, and apparently some years you get snow, others you get the perfect autumn night.

Talk about a trick or a treat.

Lucky for me, tonight seems to be leaning toward treat.

"Fuck, New Girl!" Krowe groans as I open the door and slide into the passenger seat of his truck. "Looking like a whole damn buffet, tonight."

I'm grateful for the blush on the apples of my cheeks, because it probably obscures a little of the embarrassment peeking through now. I take him in, the devilish smirk on his full lips, and quickly avert my eyes before I can get lost in thoughts of those lips on mine.

"And what are you supposed to be?" I ask, noting that he looks pretty much the same as when I saw him at school earlier. "Let me guess... the quarterback?"

"Dead quarterback." He winks and opens his letterman jacket to flash me a tear in his shirt, red blood painted on his flesh beneath. There's a pretty convincing stab wound there.

I wonder for a minute if the jock has a secret artistic side before he explains.

"My sister's in cosmetology school. She's been having fun with prosthetics, so I had her do me up for tonight."

"Shit." I laugh. "That's commitment."

"Hollow Night is pretty sacred around here." He shrugs. "You'll see."

"Hollow Night?"

"Mm." I watch him put the truck in drive, but when he grins over at me just before we start moving, I decide he's not going to explain. I guess he's right, that I'll see. "It's gonna be epic."

A thrill shoots through me, chasing moths through the dark abyss I’ve become.

Capturing the attention of the gorgeous quarterback was not on my Bingo card for sophomore year in a new college halfway across the country. Hell, it wasn't on my Bingo card ever, but here we are.

I watch the houses fall behind us, the yards growing larger as we pass into farmland, expanses of darkness undercut only by the glow of Krowe's headlights.

Six months ago, I was on the coast with nothing but the endless sea before me.

It's weird how drastically life can change in a matter of moments.

"So, who all will be there tonight?" I venture, anxiety fluttering right alongside those moths at the thought of being thrown to the wolves.

I've done a fairly good job of avoiding drawing too much attention, which is just how I like it.

Hollow Fields is a small town, from what I've been told, but the campus parking lot always seems to be full.

The college is fully accredited, I was assured, so I guess it makes sense.

Why not spend the first two years at the local college, live at home and save some money, and then transfer to the University to finish out your degree?

In the end, it all states that it's from Whitmore University anyway.

Jobs will never know, and the ones that do, won't care.

"Why?" He chuckles, glancing over at me with that insufferable smirk on his lips again. "You scared?"

Terrified is more like it, but I only laugh. "Yeah. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly great at making friends. I'm the definition of socially awkward."

I’ve been here, in Hollow Fields for months, and this is the first I’ve gone out with anyone… and that wouldn’t even be happening if I hadn’t gotten smacked in the face by a stray football.

"You don't have to worry about that when you're with me." He winks. "Trust me, Scarecrow, you're gonna be popular tonight."

My stomach tightens at that suggestion, and I decide I'll have to take a double shot before we leave the car or else I won't be able to function past the anxiety threatening to turn me inside out.

I wasn't always afraid of people. I used to actually have friends, but it's hard to nurture high school friendships when you're missing birthdays and parties to rush your drunk mom to the hospital before she dies of an overdose.

My mother loves flirting with death. It's almost like it's a game for her. I've brought her back from the edge too many times to even care anymore; she'll do what she wants to do, and I will deal with the fallout. That's the way it's been since my dad died five years ago.

I don't realize I've zoned out until the crunch of tires over gravel alerts me that we're turning off the paved road, and I look up through the windshield, at the wrought iron sign the headlights illuminate.

Hollow Fields Cemetery

"I thought we were going to a party in the cornfield..." I venture, my throat suddenly dry at the sight of all the tombstones cast in the dancing light before us.

Two figures emerge from the mist, and I can't see much of them, but I can see the letterman jackets… the deep blue with the large initials on the chest.

I should have brought my own jacket; it seems colder than it was when we left the house.

"We are going to a cornfield party." Krowe laughs. "It's on the other side of the cemetery. This is kind of like a shortcut."

The guys outside each take one side of the gate and pull it open before Krowe drives past the gates slowly. He pauses, ducking to look in his rear-view mirror.

I can't see anything past the fog that suddenly seems thick enough to choke us all as it presses into the truck like it wants to swallow us. That's why I jump a moment later when a palm slams against the glass behind my head.

Krowe takes that as his signal to carry on. I realize why a few minutes later, as we follow the paved road through the cemetery, fog hovering above tombstones that seem to stretch into infinity. This place is massive.

I'm surprised he obeys the speed limit since there's clearly not a ton of people visiting the cemetery at nine p.m. In fact, I'm pretty sure, based on the iron chain that was slung around one side of the gate, that it's meant to be closed.

"You believe in ghosts, scarecrow?"

I glance over to find him watching me expectantly. The ever-present smirk on his face deepens when he waits for me to answer.

"I've seen them." I tell him honestly.

I leave out the part where sometimes I see them before they're actually dead, like how my dad showed up outside the window of my Algebra class thirty seconds before the principal paged me to her office, or how one night when I was a child I woke up to my grandma Lores with an arrow through her heart, which turned out to have been a freak accident at the community center.

"Really?" He sounds impressed more than dubious. I don't know why I told him the truth anyway, but I can't un-ring that bell. "You see any out here tonight?"

I can't tell if he's making fun of me or not. "I'll let you know."

Satisfied with that answer, he puts the truck in park and turns to me.

His eyes look almost gold in the shaft of moonlight that slips between us, and it serves to make him even more beautiful than he already is.

"Just try and have fun tonight, okay? Let go and it'll all be fine."

I appreciate the sentiment. Now that we're parked, I can hear the music blaring from somewhere ahead of us, and the reality of what I'm doing has my nerves threatening to unravel.

It's just a party, but I've never enjoyed the process of meeting new people.

Awkward small talk, explanations of where I'm from, and now the inevitable "What brought you to Hollow Fields? "

"Wanna open that bottle, or..."

His words trail off as his eyes flick to the bottle of bourbon I took from the house, which now lays on the bench-seat between us.

"Yes, please." I laugh, grateful for the chance to focus on something other than my sense of impending doom.

Krowe grabs it before I do, twisting the cap off and lifting it to his nose to inhale.

"Smells expensive, New Girl. What'd you do, rob the liquor store?"

I robbed a drunk, but he doesn't need to know that.

"It's the only thing I had, and I can't do this sober.

" I laugh, hoping I don't sound like a lush.

I don't drink that much, usually. I prefer to stay in control, since I have to be the responsible one most of the time.

But liquor also gives me liquid courage, and I need it like the Tin Man needs a heart.

After a single drink, I can pretend I don't want to crawl out of my skin when someone talks to me.

After three, I can people with the best of them.

"Well, let me help you with that." Krowe tips the bottle against my lips; it takes a moment before I realize he means for me to part them, and another moment for me to decide to trust him not to waterboard me with it.

The bourbon burns the tip of my tongue, and Krowe must recognize that because he grips the back of my neck, pulling me away from the car seat so that I can tip my head back further.

It slides down the back of my tongue slowly at first, and I don't know if the alcohol burn is hotter or his gaze on mine as he watches me.

When he finally pulls the bottle back, I swallow the rest of what's left in my mouth half a second before a coughing spell hits.

"Not too bad, New Girl." He praises me, grinning before bringing the bottle to his own lips and taking a healthy swig.

When he pulls the bottle away, it's to shake his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he does.

"That's good shit. Leave it here so we can finish it ourselves, hmm?"

I blink, taken aback by the request. "It's not a BYOB?"

"Jackson's dad owns the land the town is built on. He can afford to share the cheap shit."

"Okay." I agree, warmed by the prospect of enjoying the bottle with him… alone.

"Okay." He repeats, his mouth close enough to mine that I feel the air brush over it as he leans forward to unbuckle my seat belt.

I'm keenly aware of how close he is to me, and as his eyes dip down to where the top two buttons on my flannel are open to reveal a tasteful amount of cleavage, I feel my nipples pebbling in my bra.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He croons, his fingertips reaching out to trace my jaw. They catch beneath the hollow of my chin, which he uses to bring my mouth to his.

His tongue slides against mine, the flavor of the bourbon mixing with something sweet and spicy on his. His kiss is lazy and exploratory, slow and sweet, like he's been wondering how it would be to taste me the whole time we've been together in the cab of this truck.

We taste good together— a sweet heat, clean and warm, and as his lips move against my own, we work together well, too. He's a good kisser, and everything inside of me loosens the longer he does it.

The impact of something against the window behind me makes me jump, parting from him as if I've been scalded. A face is pressed into the glass, framed by their own hands as they try to get a peek at what we're up to.

"Jackson." Krowe rolls his eyes before they turn back to mine. "I wish it wasn't his turn to pick."

"To pick what?"

Krowe doesn't answer, because the door opens behind me, and arms wrap around me.

I don't get a chance to say anything, to scoot away from them toward Krowe, to ask what the fuck is going on.

Two hands turn into four, and suddenly, I'm dragged from the truck. Before the door shuts, the last thing I see is Krowe shaking his head, exasperated.