now entering shadyside

But Shauna knew the truth. It wasn't just the pothole. If Van and Natalie hadn’t been hanging out the back of the bus, acting like a bunch of petty idiots, that pothole wouldn’t have mattered. The crash never would have happened.

The deputy scribbled something down anyway.

A few feet away, Van leaned casually against the wall plastered with old and new PSAs, peeling at the corners just like the wallpaper was. Her arms were crossed. She looked relaxed. At home. Natalie was slouched in the plastic chair beside her. Neither of them showed an ounce of remorse. Not a single ounce of guilt plagued them.

Even with Travis in a surgery room fifty feet away.

Travis wasn't a monster. He was just a guy from the rival school's football team. And he was dating Shauna's ex. Though, for a couple of bitter teen jocks, that was a heavy enough sentence to warrant hating him.

Another deputy approached the girls, thumbing his belt. "So you saw the car swerve off the road?"

Van offered a lazy shrug. "Yeah."

Natalie stared up at the cop through her messy blonde bangs. Her eyes were unfocused, bored. That’s the look she wore during most classes.

"Did either of you know the driver?" the deputy asked, eyes on his notepad.

"Nope."

In perfect, chilling unison, the two of them shook their heads.

Coach Scott’s jaw worked silently, muscles twitching under his stubble.

"And the passenger?" the deputy asked, pen hovering over scribbled paper. “She a friend of yours?”

Natalie hesitated, her eyes flickering sideways. There was a tiny moment of  uncertainty that crossed her face. "Sort of."

Van let out a quiet snort from the wall. "She means yes."

Natalie attempted to remain impartial, but she still managed to shoot Van an annoyed side glance. "I mean yes."

Coach Scott let out a long, shuddering sigh, dropping his face into his hands.

Satisfied for now, the deputy snapped his notebook shut and ambled off down the dim hallway.

“We’re fucked,” Ben mumbled into his hands. “I’m fucked.”

Shauna watched the deputy’s back disappear into the green filtered hallway. She had been the first one they grilled. She’d told him: I turned around just in time to watch the cooler fly out the open back doors. Nothing else. Don’t know what happened. 

Whatever.

A lie or the truth wouldn't undo what had happened tonight. The damage had been dealt.

"Cops ask the dumbest fucking questions," Natalie muttered. She pulled a crumpled stick of gum from her pocket, something she’d probably swiped off an unattended desk in the lobby.

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure that's literally in their job description," Van pointed out, flat and deadpan.

Natalie sank deeper into her plastic chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Asking the same bullshit six times isn't gonna magically change the answer." 

Coach Scott rubbed his palms hard against his face, letting out a humourless laugh. "They're just waiting for one of us to slip."

Shauna barely heard them. Everyone sounded light years away. Her eyes were glued to the heavy wooden door of Room 214.

Jackie's room.

Every couple of minutes, a dark shadow moved past the frosted glass. A nurse. An orderly. A doctor. They didn’t look human, not from this side anyway. No one ever stayed inside for long. It was either a miraculously good sign, or a terrifyingly awful one. 

Shauna’s brain couldn’t decide which nightmare to latch onto.

Honestly, she didn't know what a good sign was supposed to look like anymore.

Jackie was breathing. That should have been enough. But every time Shauna blinked, flashes of the accident resurfaced, relentlessly bubbling up and replaying fractured events. The blinding headlights slicing a crazy arc through the dark road. The screech of tearing metal. The sudden silence that followed, save for the crickets screaming in the tall grass. The odd piercing headache. 

And Jackie, lying perfectly still in the dirt, unmoving.

Shauna rubbed her palms against her joggers. She was still wearing her team uniform, the fabric stained with dried mud, grass, and her own blood. Her hands felt dirty, like they were still coated with something invisible and filthy. Something she couldn’t quite scrub away with soap

Someone let out a sharp laugh farther down the hall. Shauna flinched, heart slamming against her ribs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Her eyes snapped back at the closed door of Room 214. Mrs. Taylor was definitely in there. Sitting perfectly straight beside the bed, outwardly composed, but internally unravelling. Jackie’s mother had always been nice to her. Always piling an extra scoop of potatoes onto Shauna’s plate after practice. Always pushing dessert without asking. Always thanking her for walking Jackie home after class.

Shauna’s leg started to bounce, her sneaker tapping out a nervous rhythm. Maybe she’d just wait out here. Wait until Mrs. Taylor left. She didn't want to intrude. 

A hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder.

Shauna nearly jumped out of her skin, a gasp tearing out of her throat.

Van was peering down at her, sporting that wide grin she had the infuriating habit of wearing. 

"Didn’t wanna bother you, Captain," Van started, dropping into the empty plastic chair beside her with a loud, plop. "You just seemed so serene and at peace, twitching like a psycho."

Shauna let out a scoff, and intentionally stopped her leg from bouncing. It took some conscious effort. "I’m just thinking."

"Oh, wow. Thinking? Next time, give us a warning so we can evacuate."

Shauna rolled her eyes, regretfully welcoming the familiar spike of annoyance.

They fell silent again. Shauna shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, staring hard at the discolored floor tiles and her filthy sneakers.

"You think she's mad?"

Van didn't answer right away. She leaned back, watching a nurse in pale blue scrubs disappear around the corner. When she finally spoke, the teasing edge had completely drained from her voice. For all her endless, insufferable dumbassery, Van had a terrible habit of occasionally being the only voice of reason in the group.

"If she's anything like she was before..." Van trailed off.

She didn't need to finish the sentence. Shauna already knew the answer. She was just desperately clinging to the hope that she was overthinking.

"...she'll probably ask if you're okay, even if she’s the one stuck in the hospital bed."

Shauna let out a low chuckle. She dug her fingers into the back of her neck. A nervous tick. 

"I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to say to her." 

Van knocked her shoulder against Shauna's, rough and solid, but comforting all the same. "Just go in there, moron."

"But what if her mom-"

"Mrs. Taylor loves you, dude," Van interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Come on," she pressed.

"And what if she doesn't anymore, smartass?" Shauna shot back. The raw paranoia in her voice was thinly veiled, and they both knew it.

Van produced the most logical answer: "Then you'll find out."

Great. Thanks. 

Shauna let out a slow, rattling breath and pushed herself up from the plastic chair. An annoyed grunt escaped mouth as her right leg took her weight. A piece of glass had sliced open her knee when she had knelt beside Jackie. The shock had kept it numb. But it was rapidly wearing off now. Beneath the white tape, the cut was throbbing and stinging like a lit match pressed against her skin.

Ignoring it, Shauna took a limping step toward Room 214. She pressed her palm to the rough grain of the door’s wood, and slowly pushed it open.

Mrs. Taylor looked up first. Her greying blonde hair was styled its usual perfect bun. The pastel blue cashmere sweater she wore didn't have a single wrinkle. 

"Oh, Shauna, there you are,” She said, easily. Just like her smile was. Warm. Familiar.

For one terrifying second, Shauna wondered if she'd imagined everything. The breakup. Her parents. The months of pretending Jackie didn't exist.

"Come in, honey."

Honey. An overused nickname that Shauna had gotten used to. Somehow.

She stepped fully inside without any hesitation this time.

The room was darker than the hallway. Muted. Relaxed. Or simply darker. More places for shadows to hide, really.

When her eyes finally adjusted and found the bed, it wasn’t at all what she’d braced herself for. She had expected the absolute worse. A rigid neck brace, heavy plaster casts, machines clicking and breathing for her, enough tubes snaking around her to make Jackie look like some sort of grotesque science experiment. 

But, instead, she was sitting upright against a stack of pillows and, hell, she looked fine?

There was a shallow cut running along one cheek, stitched neatly together with butterfly strips. Purple bruising had already begun blooming around her left forearm.

But that was it.

That’s… just fucking impossible.

Shauna had seen the car. She'd seen Jackie lying in the grass.

"Gross. I think I’m gonna be sick," Jackie’s voice suddenly sliced through the quiet. She was stabbing a plastic fork into a grey, steaming pile of mush on a styrofoam tray. 

Mrs. Taylor let out a long, weary sigh. "It's meatloaf, sweetie."

Jackie poked it again. She let out a dramatic gag. "More like rat-loaf."

Shauna couldn’t stop the short, involuntary chuckle that escaped her throat.

Jackie set the plastic fork down, head snapping towards the sound. Green eyes wide, and alert. She took in the state of Shauna’s stained uniform, her brow pulling together in a tight frown. As Shauna limped a few steps closer to the bed, the crease between Jackie's eyes only deepened. 

"Are you hurt?" Jackie asked, worry hanging thick on her lips.

Shauna let out a breath that scraped the back of her throat. "I should probably be asking you that. Considering how I found you."

The room went dead silent.

Moron. Why the hell did you say that?

Mrs. Taylor’s warm gaze instantly hardened, the hospitality dropping like a lead weight. 

Jackie's fingers tightened around the thin hospital blanket, her knuckles turning bone-white.

Nobody spoke. They just stared at her. The silence stretched as they both just continued to bore their gaze into her. Like neither of them were ready to open that can of worms, and the existential conversation that came with it. 

Shauna was just about to back away and make a hasty, cowardly retreat before she ruined anything else, when both of their faces suddenly shifted.

Mrs. Taylor tilted her head, her voice dropping to a calm but uneasy whisper. "Honey… your nose. You’re bleeding." 

Shauna absentmindedly reached up, pressing her fingers just beneath her nostrils. When she pulled them away, her fingertips came away bright red.

For a second, her brain simply refused to process it.

A drop of crimson splashed onto the pristine white linoleum between her sneakers.

Then another.

Without warning, a nearly blinding pressure exploded behind Shauna's eyes. She flinched, biting back a groan. Whatever dim light was in the room was suddenly searingly bright. She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut, but the headache only dug its claws deeper into the base of her skull.

"Shauna?" Jackie’s voice sounded muffled now, like she was moving further and further away.

"I'm fine," Shauna choked out another lie, like it was just a habit of hers now.

She didn't wait for a response. She spun around and stumbled blindly toward the small, attached bathroom. She shoved the door closed behind her and the lock clicked.

Silence, finally. 

Shauna gripped the edges of the porcelain sink and twisted the tap. It squeaked, loud enough to send another sharp throbbing pain through the side of her temple. The pipes groaned deep in the walls before sputtering a stream of ice cold water.

She cupped it in her hands, splashing her face, watching her blood swirl and vanish down the drain.

Crack.

A thin, jagged line appeared across the mirror. Almost entirely silent.

Shauna froze. Water dripped heavily from her chin.

Then, the mirror cracked again. Much louder this time. The glass fractured with a loud concussive sound, like an echo of the heavy cooler obliterating the Trans Am’s windshield. The spiderweb of splintered glass shot outward, driving a deep wedge straight down the center of her reflected face.

The three exposed bulbs above the sink flickered. Once. Twice. And, without warning, the lights clicked and buzzed on and off in a frantic spasm, like someone was fucking around with the switch. The epileptic light show deepened the dull ache in her head, and the fingers gripping the sink slipped.

She crashed into the tiled wall behind her. She heard another crack there too.

Shauna’s eyes remained trained on the fracture mirror, chest heaving, eyes wide. Her own reflection slowly tilted its head.

She hadn't moved a muscle. She knew she hadn’t.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The face in the mirror was darkening, the skin drawing tight over the bone. Her whiskey brown eyes vanished, swallowed by an endless void that stared right through her. Slowly, the reflection's lips began to peel back, the skin practically tearing as it stretched into an impossibly wide smile. Cruel and horrifying all at once.

The lights let a high pitched buzz before every bulb above the sink detonated simultaneously, raining a shower of sparks and sharp glass down onto her.