Page 2 of Don’t Let Me Go

I’m trying to run, but my entire body is paralyzed. Why can’t I move? I have to get out of here. I have to find Marcus. He’s in danger. We’re all in terrible—

“Riley?”

I open my eyes. Someone’s leaning over me. A girl. Her curly mane of auburn hair falls around a freckled face that’s twisted

in worry. She looks familiar, but it’s difficult to focus. My head feels like it’s filled with fog.

“Riley, can you hear me?”

Riley? Is she talking to me? Is that my name? It sounds familiar but also wrong.

I stare into her anxious eyes—eyes I know I should trust—and force myself to concentrate.

“Riley, it’s me. Audrey.”

Something clicks in my brain. Audrey . Of course! She’s Audrey O’Shea. And I’m Riley. Riley... uh... Anderson? No. Evanston? Iverson! My name is Riley Iverson!

How the hell did I forget that ?

“Hey...” I say, my voice coming out weak and strained as if I’ve just learned to talk.

“Oh, thank God,” Audrey sighs in relief. “Are you okay?”

I’m not quite sure how to answer that. The last thing I remember is running frantically through the streets. Now I appear to be lying on my back in a patch of dead grass, feeling like someone’s just sucker punched the back of my skull.

When I don’t respond to Audrey’s question, two more people lean over me. Their concerned expressions suggest they also know

me, but I’m having trouble placing them. The girl is petite with clear olive skin and wide blue-green eyes, and her hair is

covered by a lavender headscarf. The boy is also on the smaller side. He’s Asian and wearing makeup, and his fine black hair

is styled into a majestic swoop that would make the members of any boy band jealous.

Except?.?.?.?hold on?.?.?.?that’s wrong . “He” is wrong. Their pronouns are they/them. Because that’s Duy. Duy Nguyen. And the girl is Tala?.?.?.?Youssef.

Duy, Tala, and Audrey—my friends.

“What happened?” I ask as I stare up at their faces in confusion. If I’m having trouble remembering the three most important

people in my life, something must be seriously wrong with me.

“You fainted,” Tala answers, squeezing my hand.

“I what?”

“You fainted,” Duy repeats, picking a stray leaf out of my hair. “You just, like, passed out.”

Huh. Okay. Interesting.

Fainting would definitely explain the whole waking-up-on-the-ground thing. Except I’ve never fainted in my life. Did I forget

to eat lunch this afternoon? Or did I lose my balance and bang my head when that earthquake hit?

Wait. What am I saying? What earthquake?

This is Florida. We don’t get earthquakes.

At least I think this is Florida.

That’s not something that would normally be up for debate, as I’ve never left the state. But I’m having a hard time shaking off the impression that a minute ago, I was somewhere else. Italy, I think? Yeah, I was in Italy and—

“Whoa! What do you think you’re doing?” Audrey asks, placing a restraining hand on my shoulder when I try to sit up.

I’m looking for the volcano. I know that’s insane. But a part of me is certain that if I turn my head to the horizon, I’ll

see it looming in the distance, spewing stones and smoke into the sky.

On instinct I sniff the air. But instead of the suffocating smell of sulfur, it’s the buttery aroma of freshly popped popcorn

that hits my nostrils. Then I hear the incessant chipper polka of a merry-go-round mingling with the excited shouts from the

Tilt-A-Whirl.

“The summer carnival!” I exclaim, letting out a sigh of relief as the world around me finally starts to make sense. “I’m at

the summer carnival.”

“Umm?.?.?.? yeah ,” Audrey replies, as if that should be obvious.

Whew. That’s a load off my mind. For a second, I thought...

Actually, I don’t know what I thought.

I must have had a nightmare. An insanely vivid, detailed, and terrifying nightmare. But at least I know where I am now. I’d recognize these garishly striped booths and blinking arcade lights anywhere.

My friends and I have been coming here at the start of every summer for years. It’s more out of habit than for actual amusement,

though Tala’s love of funnel cakes is as genuine as it is ferocious.

“Are you okay?” Audrey asks, still studying me. Lowering her voice, she adds, “You’ve been eating, right?”

My cheeks burn. “Yes, I’ve been eating.”

Jesus Christ, you go through one tiny anorexia phase, and for the rest of your life everyone’s the Food Police.

“Is that the truth?” Audrey demands, giving me a suspicious once-over.

It is. But before I can say so, a raucous and all-too-familiar shriek of laughter erupts nearby, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

I peer over Audrey’s shoulder and spot a group of teenage boys clustered around the shooting gallery.

They’re aiming air rifles at spinning targets while they thump each other on the back, hooting and hollering like wild apes.

I recognize them instantly. With their matching buzz cuts, blue varsity jackets, and gleeful howling, the Olympus High Thunderbolts

(as our school’s football team is unoriginally named) are as impossible to miss as they are to avoid. And after some of my

run-ins with those testosterone-fueled assholes, I try pretty hard to avoid them.

Thankfully, none of them seem to have noticed me.

Though I suppose it’s possible that they saw me faint and simply don’t care. That’s honestly the more likely scenario, given

that most of the entitled jerks who go to my school wouldn’t bother to pour water on me if I was on fire. Unless, that is,

they thought it would make for a good Instagram story. In which case they might pour water on me but only after setting me on fire in the first place.

Such are the joys of being gay in the Central Florida public school system.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get up just yet?” Tala suggests as I force myself to stand. But if the Thunderbolts haven’t noticed me,

I want to make a discreet retreat before they do.

“It’s okay,” I assure her, wiping the grass stains off my jeans. “I’m fine.”

At least, I think I’m fine. I don’t feel sick or unsteady.

Whatever made me faint seems to have passed.

Of course, if I’d lost a leg or was bleeding out of both eyes, I’d still insist I was fine if there was the slightest chance that any of my classmates might be watching.

That’s High School Survival 101. Never show weakness and never give your enemies any ammunition they can use against you.

I learned that lesson the hard way. Freshman year, I made the mistake of dying my hair pink for Halloween, then spent the

next six months dodging various nicknames like Barbie Boy, Bubblelicious, and Gem and the Homo-Grams.

“Do you want us to call your dad?” Audrey asks, looking very much unconvinced by my supposed recovery.

“Or 911?” Duy suggests.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Tala demands, shoving her hand in my face. “What’s the date?”

“Guys, I’m fine!” I insist, casting a nervous glance at the shooting gallery, where my Cro-Magnon classmates are, thankfully,

too occupied shooting metal ducks to notice the commotion my friends are making. “Seriously, I’m sorry if I freaked you out,

but I’m good! There’s nothing wrong with me. See?”

I spin in place while waving my arms over my head to demonstrate that I have both balance and full control over my motor functions. Almost immediately, though, I regret that decision, as it’s apparent from my friends’

horrified expressions that I must look like a malfunctioning robot attempting to fight off a swarm of invisible bees.

“Is this what a stroke looks like?” Duy asks.

“I’m googling stroke symptoms,” Tala says, already typing on her phone.

“ Guys ,” I groan in exasperation. “I’m fine !”

Behind me I hear an awkward chuckle, and for a second, I’m afraid the Thunderbolts have spotted me. Bracing myself, I turn

around for a fight. But instead of a rowdy football team, I find myself face-to-face with—

“Marcus?”

I don’t believe it. It’s him. The boy from my dream. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a turquoise polo instead of a tunic and sandals, but I’d recognize him anywhere. The same athletic build. The same dark blond hair. The same piercing blue eyes. I know those eyes. I know him .

At least?.?.?.?I think I do.

The boy, though, just blinks in confusion.

“Uh?.?.?.?no,” he replies. “I’m Jackson.”

For a good ten seconds, his words are meaningless. Then, in a flash, it hits me.

Jackson is Jackson Haines. Duy’s new neighbor.

Duy’s been obsessed with him ever since he moved here from Tallahassee at the end of the school year. For the past week, Duy’s

been blowing up our group text with updates about their every fleeting interaction with their “hot new neighbor,” who apparently

likes to jog every morning with his shirt off.

Duy’s last update had been that they’d invited Jackson to join us at the carnival this afternoon. A decision I wasn’t too

thrilled about. I don’t like strangers infiltrating our friend group before I’ve had the chance to vet them. Especially not

strangers who are clearly overconfident jocks with an exhibitionist streak.

In fact, I distinctly remember standing in line for funnel cakes with Audrey and Tala and complaining about Duy’s tendency

to gravitate toward such problematic sports bros just as they arrived at the carnival with Jackson in tow.

After that, though, things get a bit?.?.?.?hazy. Not to mention X-rated. That dream I had was intense in more ways than one.

Oh crap. What if I was talking in my sleep while I was passed out? My friends might have heard everything. Worse, Jackson

might have. No wonder he looks nervous. He probably thinks I’m some deranged sex freak.

“Oh. Um. Nice to meet you,” I mumble, trying to keep my cheeks from flushing in embarrassment.

Again, Jackson blinks uncertainly. “Um?.?.?.?we’ve already met.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Duy, Tala, and Audrey exchange anxious glances.

“We have?” I ask.

“Yeah. About five minutes ago. Right before you fainted.”

“Oh.”

I’m starting to think Tala might be right. Maybe I am having a stroke.

“I remember,” I lie, not wanting my friends to worry about me any more than they already are. “I just got a little confused

from the fainting.”

Jackson nods. “No worries, dude. I’m just glad I was able to catch you.”

“Catch me?”

“You kind of swooned,” Duy interjects. “Like, right into his arms.”

“I swooned?”

“Actually, first you said, ‘Oh, wow,’ and then you swooned,” Tala clarifies, rather unhelpfully.

I’m mortified. Fainting is bad enough. But swooning? Over a boy I’ve just met? That is fucking embarrassing. Jackson’s not

even my type! I mean, sure, he might be a 10 on the conventional beauty scale, but these entitled Abercrombie and Fitch clones

are nothing but trouble. Trust me, I know their type. They call each other “dude” and “bro,” and they think the whole universe

revolves around them because everyone treats them like fucking gods. They also make up 90 percent of the jerks at our school

who seem to take endless pleasure in calling Audrey a dyke, or asking Tala offensive questions about her hijab, or mocking

Duy’s pronouns.

These people are the enemy. And the best thing you can do when you encounter one of these walking Ken Dolls in the wild is keep your distance. Because as cute and clueless as they might seem, they will eventually turn on you. It’s only a matter of time.

“You okay, dude?” Jackson asks when I continue to stare at him, now with thinly veiled hostility. “I brought you some water

if you need it. Figured you might be dehydrated.”

“Thanks, dude , but I’m fine,” I retort, ignoring the bottle in his outstretched hand. Despite my fainting and my dreams, I refuse to appear

thirsty. For water or for him. “Should we go on some rides?”

My friends look dubious. Before they can protest, though, I start off in the direction of the Ferris wheel. I realize I’m

being a bit of a jerk, but I’m humiliated.

I can’t believe I swooned over a boy. Is there anything more cringe than losing your mind—not to mention total consciousness—over some guy you’ve just

met?

At least, I think we’ve just met.

Maybe I’m still disoriented from fainting, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about Jackson. When

I first turned around and saw him standing there, when I saw those insanely blue eyes of his, I had the strangest feeling

of déjà vu. Like I knew him. And not just from my dream.

But that’s impossible. Jackson and I are total strangers. We’ve never met before.

Have we?