Right Where You Left Me

welcome to woodvale

I walk along the library rows, my feet padding quietly across the carpeted floor. A beaded necklace hangs from my neck, and a cardigan covers my white polo tee to cover me from the spring chill.

I lean closer to the shelf as I scan the author's names, searching for the last name that starts with the letter T. "T, T, T..." I whisper under my breath as I continue to look.

I bump into someone, and the sharp scent of mint and cigarettes floods my nose.

"Nate," I breathe, looking up at him.

"Looking for this?" he asks, cocking a brow and holding up the book in his hand. The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. I bite back a grin and take the book from him.

"Thank you," I say.

"No problem. It's a good read," he says, walking backwards to face me and pointing at the book.

"Is it now?" I ask playfully, flipping through the pages as we make our way to the exit.

He faces forward and takes the book from my hand, sliding it into my tote bag before turning to me. "I want to take you on a date," he says.

My heart skips a beat, but I remain calm. "Okay," I say, and hope it sounds casual and doesn't reflect the somersaults my stomach is doing.

"Tonight." He stops and I stop to look up at him. "Seven o'clock, yeah?"

"Yup," I say, clutching my tote bag.

Nate smirks a little and leans towards me, touching my chin gently with his forefinger and thumb. "Dress casual," he murmurs.

I nod because I don't trust myself to speak. His touch is comfortable, and part of me just wants to melt in his arms. But I stay upright and he lets go of my chin and steps away, and I begin to mentally prepare myself to go on a date with the boy I've liked since day one.

***

By 6:57, I am anxiously waiting in my room. I examine myself in the mirror again. He said to dress casual, but I wasn't sure what defined as casual, so I chose a long, brightly patterned 90's skirt paired with a little white tank top, and a brown corduroy jacket on top to fight off the mid-spring chill.

Nate leaves his room in corduroy jeans and a button up shirt, and together we make our way downstairs.

"So?" I ask as he gets our bikes from the garage. "Where are we going?"

He grins and tosses me a bike lock, which I hook around my bike. "Somewhere."

We get on our bikes and I follow him through the winding roads. Down the gravel lane, past the rolling green hills. We pass the bed and breakfast owned by Sydney, and my favorite place to go apple picking, and the rotting pumpkin patch. As we cycle past the sheriff's office, I begin to catch on. When we arrive on the road that leads to the freeway, we both get off our bikes and Nate stops to look at me.

"Your idea of a date is to make me cycle across traffic?" I ask, but I'm grinning. I've done it a million times before; I'll do it a million times again.

"You know it," he smirks, and we wait for a lull in the speeding cars before whizzing through the streets and onto the other side, where the grass grows greener and longer and wilder and free, away from the desperate dying clutches Woodvale seems to have on everything, including me.

We drop our bikes in the soft grass and let out whoops of laughter. For some strange reason, this freeway is like a key to Woodvale's cruel shackles. On the other side, I can breathe.

Next to us is the sign. Nate and I both fall silent as our eyes turn to examine it.

The sign that marks your way in and out of Woodvale.