Page 5 of Freak

Summer

“Y ou’ve got to be kidding me.” Rafael groaned as I shut off the engine.

I flipped the door open, “I don’t do things as a joke.” I slid out of the car and into the pitch-black parking lot at Keegan Miller High School.

“Are you sure? This certainly falls in the category of humor,” he mumbled as I made my way to the front trunk of the car. I popped it open, removing a small bag.

Rafael eyed me suspiciously, my unapologetic brandishing of the bag showed the confidence of my decisions.

“What do you have there?”

“Toys,” I answered honestly, already making my way through the moonlit shrubs, to the large purple doors of the school’s entrance.

“Somehow, I gather there isn’t anything fun about your toys.” He smirked, his hesitation notable as I reached for the large brass knobs. “And don’t tell me you expect us to go inside?”

“Why not?”

“They’re closed.”

“So?”

“So, it’s illegal.”

“Does that scare you?” I asked, already deciding that I’d throw a brick through the window if needed. I didn’t care. We were going inside.

Rafael hesitated to answer, his face settling on my question, which I assumed he took as a challenge. “Maybe I don’t want you to get in trouble. That’s all.”

“Now you worry about me?” The door popped right open. Typical small town: carefree, relaxed, overly trusting. Not a single noise was made, the school still resistant to alarms and security cameras. I made my way inside as Rafael followed.

“Of course I do… I did before as well,” he said, uncharacteristically shy.

“Well, you had a funny way of showing it.” Our low voices were no match for our echoed steps, the empty halls eerily vast compared to us.

“Not funny. Just… stupid,” Rafael replied, his arm brushing beside mine. Had it not been for the glass ceiling above, illuminating his face, I wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

I tried not to reply, keeping track of his body as we passed the display case of trophies near the lobby.

Rafael’s photos were pinned in various locations, his name plastered like propaganda for team spirit, though, less severe than his father’s, whose memorial sat center like a crucifix at church. Coach José Amada, Jr. 1955-2019.

Really? It had only been a year since he died? I was none-the-wiser, momentarily feeling sympathy for the boy I once spent countless summers with at camp.

I caught Rafael glancing over, his pace uninterrupted as he focused back to the floor.

I was not going to feel sympathy for him.

No.

He wasn’t the slicked-haired nerd—turned man—who captured my heart. He was the vile bully who completely turned his back on me, who made my life a miserable mess. That’s who I was punishing.

“I don’t miss him,” Rafael grumbled.

“Who?” I swallowed.

“My father. I don’t miss him at all.”

“I don’t care,” I said callously, feeling slightly guilty for doing so.

Rafael sighed.

“Oh, I know you don’t. That’s why I told you. I can’t say that to anyone else but you. He’s a hero here…”

“Well, people are dumb.”

“Dumb, but passionate. Enough people tell you that your dad is great, and you start to believe them, regardless of how impossible he was to satisfy.”

“Well, I’m sure that wasn’t hard for you. You could throw a ball, so, yippee.”

Rafael cleared his throat, taking time to form a thought before staring down at the bag in my hand.

He laughed to himself, his small chuckle more ironic than enjoyable.

“Sure, I could throw a ball, but giving up a professional athletic career to become a doctor seemed to cross a line. A ‘waste of talent’ so I was told.”

“Like I said, people are dumb.”

“Or, just hurtful.”

“I know a thing or two about that.” I said, reaching the start of a dark, windowless hall. At the end was a door, my door, the place where it all started.

“He still wouldn’t talk to me… even after he got sick. I wasn’t even sure if he wanted me at his funeral.”

“Who cares what he wanted. What did you want?” I asked, stopping at the door, gripping the bag in my hand.

Rafael pursed his lips, then twisted them to the side. Whatever he wanted to say, whatever he felt, manifested into deep brooding grooves on his head. He was as gorgeous as he was serious.

“What I wanted was to go back in time… and give my attention to those who gave it back, unconditionally.”

“People like Veronica and Jake?”

Rafael furrowed harder.

“People like you,” he said so bluntly, that it rocked my shoulders, causing them to drop as I looked back into his face.

Don’t you fucking tremble, Summer.

“You’re in luck,” I choked. “You want to go back in time… well, now you can.”

Rafael read the small wood name tag adjacent to the door. “Mrs. Wilkins class?” he asked.

I twisted the knob before stepping aside, commanding him to do as I said. “Walk inside, and don’t stop till you reach the back of the class.”