Page 7 of Within These County Lines

I gasp, jerking away. “What the hell are you doing?” My voice cracks as I shove him back. “I don’t even know you. You’re freaking me out, dude.”

“Wait!” he pleads. “Don’t go. Please.” He reaches for me.

I snatch my pool inspection kit off the ground and power walk to my truck.

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re not answering my questions.”

“No one has been able to see me,” he states, as if it’s a totally normal thing to say. “I’m surprised you can, is all.”

I freeze, halfway to my truck. “Like, see you in public?” I frown, glancing around at the abandoned swim club. “Are you on house arrest here or something? Is this even a public pool?”

He shakes his head. “No one has been able to see my body.” He taps his stomach. “Like I’m invisible . . . or a . . . ghost.” His voice drops to a whisper. “No one has been able to see me for nearly ten years.”

We lock eyes. His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow as he waits for my response. Thoughts swirl in my head, but my mouth hangs open, useless. I’m like a fish yanked from the Penango River, gasping, floundering, and silent.

My body reacts before my brain can. I hurl my kit through my truck’s open window and dive inside after it.

A second hallucination in two days? Maybe Murray did kill me after all.

I need this to stop.

The ground is still. I slap my cheek, testing reality—the pain is real too. My phone sits on the dash and the screen lights up with the title of my last played podcast: “Is Reality Real?”

Whatever their verdict is, I need to hear it because I’m asking myself the same damn question.

The engine roars to life just as the boy stumbles forward, his eyes wide with panic.

“Will you come back?” he yells. “I’m Xander. Please come back!”

I grip the steering wheel, unable to look at him. “I have to go!” I shout through the window. “I’m sorry! But I have to go.” My voice cracks unexpectedly.

“Wait!” He lunges after me, hands outstretched, clawing at the air like he’s drowning. My tires kick up dust as I reverse down the drive. The boy follows, chasing me through the haze.

Then a loose branch trips him. He tumbles into the mud. I expect him to get up and keep running, but he doesn’t. He convulses on the ground, sobbing as I disappear around the bend.

I flip on the radio, letting the familiar DJ’s voice ground me in something normal. Then I grab my phone and scroll through old texts—proof of things that I know happened, proof that I haven’t lost my grip on reality.

But my mind keeps circling back to Xander. A cry catches in my throat.

First the tree, now this boy. What’s next?

Whatever these visions are, I take them as a sign. Leaving Penango isn’t just something I want—it’s something I have to do.

5

I drive straight home after attempting, or failing, to inspect Rainbow Valley’s pool. My hands tremble around the steering wheel, my grip unsteady. That was not what I signed up for this summer.

I’m mad at Victor for sending me there, at Murray for making me feel like my mind is unraveling, and at Xander for . . . appearing . . . existing the way he does. But mostly, I’m mad at myself for letting people into my life who have caused me to lose control.

When I get home, Whitley sits on my front stoop sniffing a flower. Her shoes are strewn across the front walkway, and her bare feet play with the overgrown grass. A stack of three pie boxes sits beside her.

“I got us some free leftover pies from the Bean for lunch,” she says with a smile. “Figured I’d bribe you into a lunch break with our favorite diner food.”

I grunt as I slam my truck door closed, then stalk toward my parents’ brick rancher.

“What’s got you so bothered?” she calls after me, frowning.

“This stupid new job.”