Page 96 of Grown

I say it over and over to myself until it becomes a hum in my ear.

I feel like fall.

I am a heap of dead leaves, blackened, moist, reeking of mold. Rotting apples, dying grass, early darkness chasing away the sun.

Someone printed a screenshot of the video and taped it to my locker. Even the janitors give me questioning glares.

Mr. Walker turned red when I walked into AP English. He’s seen the video. English used to be my favorite. Wrote some of my best lyrics in here. Now, I can’t think of a single word to write.

Except,it’s not me.I scribble it over and over in my songbook.

It’s not me.

It’s not me.

It’s not me.

Chasing this dream has turned into a nightmare.

Out the window, pass the grassy knoll, wind hits the flags flying high on white poles. Mr. Walker’s classroom is on the north side of campus, near the student parking lot. I strain to search for Gab’s car among the BMWs and Audis. Rich-kidcars, Gab joked. She was proud of her Toyota Corolla. I cringe at the idea of Gab watching the video, maybe with Jay, in his campus dorm room, with the rest of school.

I asked a few people in class about Gab, but no one seemed to know who I was talking about. She was the only senior in our biology class—how could they not notice her?

At the very back of the lot, sunlight glints off the tinted window of a familiar black Mercedes parked near the exit. It’s close enough for me to notice but far enough that no one would take a second glance. The jet-black opulence is unmistakable.

Korey.

I can’t see through his tints, but I know it’s him. Sitting there with his engine purring, watching and waiting. Waiting to take me, waiting to trap me.

Waiting to kill me.

Run!

A shudder shoots through me and I’m on my feet. Mr. Walker says something to my back as I sprint out into the hall. I keep running, though my legs ache and my body is full of dead things. I run. Straight down into the gym locker room.

What am I going to do? Am I ever going to be rid of him?

And... what if this is really my fault, like Shea said. I... sent him that Aretha Franklin song. I followed him on social media. I called him in Jersey. I wore that sexy top to the studio. I kissed him...

“Chant?”

A scream escapes, and I cover my mouth with both hands, voice echoing in the empty locker room.

Shea stands by the sinks, taking an unsteady step back.

“What are you doing down here? I saw you running past my class.”

Was she followed? Did she shut the door?

“He’s here,” I whisper. “Korey. Outside, in his car.”

Shea frowns. “You saw him? Are you sure?”

I nod, trembling. I have to tell someone, just in case I don’t make it out alive.

“He’s coming for me.”

Her eyes grow big. “Enchanted. You’re scaring me.” She says it really harsh, like she doesn’t believe me.