bubblegum cherry

Ray Garraty would not admit it, but he stared at Lottie Green’s scar a lot. It wasn’t in a disgusted, repulsed way — never that — but he had just been so damn curious on how it came to be. It was, to him, beautiful and abstract. He would always know it was Lottie’s. It was a part of her. Yes, that is Lottie’s scar, and Lottie is the love of my life, and I know it’s hers. He’d never do it while she was looking, though. Always when she was turned away from him; he noticed that if you looked closely enough, it went on for longer. The noticeable part was at her cheek, but it kept going, thinning and thinning until it got to her collarbone. Then it would disappear, dissolve like a dream, under her clothes — even though she’d worn the bikini beside the lake that day, she’d been hugging herself so much that no one had really seen the severity of it all.

Peter McVries’ scar was very similar to Lottie’s, but to Ray, it looked like it was made with intent. Lottie’s looked wilder and unplanned, but Pete’s was precise. Almost clinical. That was the one thing that separated and united the two, and it came in the form of a scar. He did not know how long Pete’s scar went on for, because he had not seen Pete naked, or without a shirt. He knew how long Lottie’s went on for, however. He knew the severity, all the grooves and edges, how it felt under your thumb. He’d seen it all. The reason is clear.

***

Ray blinked sleepily as he walked beside Pete, the morning looking hopeful. Lord knows he needed a hopeful morning after last night.

The rising sun, orange and calming, reminded Ray of the way the sun had looked the morning after that night. The night he did not want to remember, the night with her, and he shook his head to try and forget it, forget it all. But he knew he couldn’t. Trying to forget Charlotte was like trying to forget how to ride a bike. The absurd comparison made Ray laugh out loud then, and Pete gave him a look.

“Somethin’ funny, Ray?” He asked, smiling. Ray smiled back, shaking his head.

“Uh, it’s nothing, Pete. Just been thinking, is all.“ Ray shrugged, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He was feeling tired. He wasn’t sure if he’d walked off all his warnings, though. He couldn’t slow down, Pete had told him.

He had not looked at or heard a word from Harkness, or many of the other boys. They were all walking like zombies. Hank, overhead, had a glazed look in his eyes — his tongue stuck out slightly, and it looked dead. Gone was the teasing boy from last night; Hank was not talking to anyone. Ray wondered what he was thinking about.

“Hey!” A shrill voice broke through the quiet, and some of the boys looked up, curious. It was a girl, with some of her friends, by the roadside. She was waving.

“I thought spectators weren’t allowed.” Tressler, a boy Ray hadn’t spoken to much, muttered. He brushed his dreadlocks behind his ear, squinting at the girl.

“I told you all already, they’re allowed if it’s their hometown, crowding won’t come till later,” Stebbins said stoically, and Ray rolled his eyes. Pete scoffed. “You all don’t listen.”

“Hey, why don’t you stuff it, know - it - all?” Ray spat bitterly, last night’s events still taking a toll. “Speaking like you’re better than all of us.”

Stebbins simply smirked to himself. Ray felt like strangling him. In order to not feel this way, he lazily looked at her too, as did Pete. She was pretty, and was with a couple of friends, boys and girls alike. She looked their age, eighteen or so. Ray cringed when he saw her sign: ‘Go Go Garraty: Maine’s Own.’

“This one doesn’t look fourteen, huh?” Collie said teasingly, trying and failing to lift the mood. When no one laughed, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Just trying to ease the fuckin’ tension.”

Ray raised a hand in a wave to the girl, and she and her friends made noises of excitement. One of the girls next to her whispered in her ear, and she nodded before looking back at Ray and smiling — with a surprisingly swift flourish, she lifted up her shirt and flashed the boys.

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” Ray turned and shielded his eyes, face burning as the boys around him whooped and wolf - whistled, someone yelling that she should ‘call him if he won.’ He only heard Pete let out an amused chuckle — a camera flash went off, and he was sure it was Barkovitch.

“Whoo!” Barkovitch said as the cheers died down and they’d made some distance from the girl’s group. “Now that woke me up.”

“I was hopin’ that sonofabitch never woke up.” Pete muttered, shaking his head as Ray looked up again. “That excite you, Ray?”

Ray stared at Pete. “No, not really. Only one pair of those truly have, and they’re all the way back in Porterville.”

“Hmm.” Pete hummed. Ray’s eyes flickered to Pete’s chest.

“Maybe two.” he elaborated, before looking away. Pete coughed then, flustered — Ray didn’t speak on the subject further.

***

A bee had been hovering around the group of boys for about ten minutes, and Ray didn’t like it. He didn’t like bumblebees. There was a specific reason as to why, but he didn’t really want to go into that.

“What’s your favorite fruit, Pete?” Ray asked then, bored. Pete had been whistling. Ray wasn’t sure if he’d seen the bumblebee, or heard the question. “Hey. Pete.”

Pete stopped whistling, doing a little skip before looking at Ray. “Hm?”

“What’s your favorite fruit?”

“What, you asking him that because you’re both fruits?” Barkovitch butted in, and Ray felt like punching him. “Because you’re both fa—“

Barkovitch tripped then, and that robotic voice from the halftracks called out again.

“Warning, warning number 5.”

“It was a fuckin’ mistake, dickwads!” Barkovitch yelled at the soldiers, and Pete smirked.

“Just trip two more times,” he started, all sing - song. “And you’ll make my day, Barkovitch.”

“You shut up!” Barkovitch pointed a shaking finger at Pete, who simply stared back at him with contempt. “You — you —“

“Stutter any more, we’ll think you’re an invalid,” Stebbins said, and Barkovitch flipped him off before storming forward. Both Pete and Ray laughed, before Pete turned to Ray.

“My favorite fruit, huh?” He said thoughtfully. Ray nodded. “I’d say… apples.”

“Good choice,” Ray yawned, blinking rapidly. He was trying not to fall asleep. “Talk to me Pete, I’m… fuck, I’m tired.”

This had been the second time Ray had asked Pete to keep him awake today — the first being when Pete asked him if he thought he’d survive the Walk. Ray had answered no, but deep down, he also didn’t want to. He needed to, he knew, but…

He did not want to burden Lottie with ever having to see him again.

“What’s your favorite fruit, then?” Pete asked, wrapping an arm around Ray’s shoulder. Ray felt those sparks again. “What fruit would you have now, if you wished?”

Ray thought for a long moment. He thought of summer. He thought of baseball, he thought of a first date. He then smiled.

“Watermelon.” He answered finally, mouth watering. “Christ, Pete, what I’d do for some cold watermelon right now.” He thought of biting into the soft flesh of it, the cool water running down his neck, parching his thirstiness, Lottie laughing as she cut him another slice.

“Oh, Garraty, don’t make me thirsty now,” Collie grumbled, casting a glance back. Ray laughed, uninhibited.

“Sorry, man.”

Just then, the bumblebee that had been circling the boys flew down. Ray, alarmed, almost swatted at it. Pete smacked him gently over the head.

“Ow.”

“It’s a fuckin’ bumblebee, man,” Pete shook his head at Ray, just as it landed on his nose. Pete then smiled at it, his eyes crinkling. Ray, who’d been rubbing his head, stopped — Pete looked beautiful. Handsome. Whichever one.

“Look at it,” Pete said softly. “It ain’t trying to hurt nobody.”

Ray swallowed. His face was burning again. The bee then buzzed softly as it moved from Pete’s nose to his index finger, settling and beating its wings slowly. Pete whistled to it.

“Be free, bumblebee.” He said softly. The bee got up then, hovering around Pete’s head as if saying goodbye, and then flew off. Ray stared at it leave, watching until it turned to a tiny pinprick — and began to think of why he didn’t like it in the first place. Who it reminded him of.

***

Lottie lay in the grass of the field, feeling the sun beat down on her heavily as she squinted her eyes at the blue sky. Not a cloud could be seen. Cicadas chirped as she heard the sound of thudding footsteps, all around. Cigarette smoke wafted into her line of view, momentarily fogging up her view of the sky.

She was wearing a tank top and her daisy dukes. She had no sandals on her feet, she could feel the dirt under her soles.

It was a Friday. It was the last day of school, first day of summer break. She, Max, Alex, Bobby, Ray and a bunch of other kids had decided to loiter around the town green to relax — Lottie’s date with Ray was tomorrow evening. She still hadn’t figured out where he was going to take her. He’d been terribly vague about it.

“Max,” Alex coughed, and Lottie rolled her head to the side, watching him as he waved Maxine’s cigarette smoke out of his face. He was wearing a light t - shirt, and trousers. “Max, can you fucking smoke that somewhere else?”

“No.” Max replied swiftly, taking in another drag and leaning on Lottie’s drawn up legs. “You can move somewhere else. Lottie isn’t complaining.”

“Actually, yeah, I am.” Lottie corrected, sitting up — her Afro had blades of grass stuck in, and she shook it. “You’re going to make me smoke involuntarily, Max.”

“Oh, shut up, you’ve smoked before.” Max rolled her eyes, before nudging Bobby — he had his nose buried in a textbook about the minerals found in rocks. “Bobby. Hey.”

Bobby still read his textbook. Max furrowed her brow when he didn’t respond, nudging him again. “Hey. Bobert.”

Bobby snapped the book shut as Lottie giggled. “My name is not Bobert.” He said, monotone. “Do not call me that.”

“Yes it is,” Alex shot back lazily, squinting at the boys messing around in the distance. “Lottie, if you didn’t know, that’s his full name. Bobert Bartholomew Banker.”

The group started to cackle as Bobby’s face turned red. “Charlotte, he is lying. My name is not — not —“

“Hey, it can’t be worse than Raymond.” Ray had walked up to the group then, in a shirt and shorts and sandals, and Lottie’s face burned as he sat among them. His hair was ruffled, and his cheeks were rosy — his freckles were dotted across his face like a constellation. Ever since Lottie had told him she loved him, Ray Garraty had been in an almost perpetual state of glee, far removed from the gloomy boy he’d been a month ago. Max had remarked many times to Lottie, snickering, that he looked stupid. Lottie had scowled at her.

Alex nodded his greetings to Ray, and Bobby muttered a thanks. Max simply shrugged.

“So,” Alex started, after smacking Max’s cigarette out of her hand — she gave him the finger as he looked around the rest of the group. “Who’s up for a game of baseball? I’m bored, and the guys over there are definitely up for it.”

Lottie tapped her chin, thinking about it as Ray perked up. “I don’t know, Alex, it’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“You play baseball?” Ray asked, raising his eyebrows at Lottie. She nodded.

“Yeah! I used to play it with my brothers when I was little,” she started, reminiscing — Ray furrowed his brow.

“Brothers?” He asked, confused. “You have siblings other than Robert?”

Lottie stilled then, looking embarrassed.

“Yeah, I thought you only had one.” Alex added, and Max looked at Lottie closely. She let out some nervous laughter.

“Did I say brothers?” She said then, her voice getting higher before she cleared her throat. “I meant brother. Robert. Just him. Um.”

“Right,” Max agreed briskly, letting the moment pass. “So. Who’s going to play first?”

Ray was not listening to her. He was staring at Lottie — Lottie, who had suddenly become very interested in her hands. She was fiddling with her fingers, and not looking at anybody.

“Ray?” Max asked, after a long moment. Ray didn’t respond, still staring at Lottie, who wasn’t looking at anybody. “Hey. Ray.”

Did Lottie have another sibling he didn’t know about? How many things was she hiding?

“Ray!” Max yelled, and Ray startled, finally paying attention. The rest of the group were staring at him. “You gonna play?”

“What?”

“Baseball.” Lottie said, a little firmly. “She was asking if you’d play.”

“Yeah, uh…” Ray gave Lottie a ‘what was that’ look, but she simply shook her head, and he held off. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk about it. Whatever ‘it’ was.

“…I’ll play.” Ray finally agreed, still looking at Lottie, who was now not looking back at him. “Yeah. Uh — Lottie?”

“She’ll stay back.” Max butted in, before Lottie could speak up. “You boys can go.”

“But I do not want to play— “ Bobby started, and Max shot him a look.

“I said,” she started with gritted teeth. You boys can go.”

Bobby got the message and left with Alex and Ray, the latter still looking at Lottie as he left. When they had made some distance and were out in the field, Max turned to Lottie — Lottie hoped she wouldn’t start asking why she was acting weird.

“We, my friend, need to have a chat.“ Max started.

“A chat?” Lottie replied, not meeting her eye. “Max, we always chat.”

“Yeah, but I need to talk to you about something important.”

Lottie blinked. “What?”

Max grinned at her then, and started to rummage in her bag. As she did, Lottie looked at her closely; her red hair, her freckles, her effortless charm. She would not say it out loud — but she was grateful Max had become her friend. She was funny and smart, and certainly brightened up Lottie’s days, using their free time together to go and hide out in a meadow and talk about nothing.

“You’re a writer?” Max had said one of these times, looking up at the trees with Lottie. “Seriously?” She rolled to her side, looking directly at her. “Write about me.”

Lottie had laughed behind her hand, unable to keep eye contact with Max for long. “That’s not how it works.”

“Sure it is.” Max had shrugged, sitting up. “Just write about the… ah, what do teachers call me — yes, the unruly one.”

Lottie shook her head, smiling. “You’re more than that, Max, more than that.”

“Just lie.” Max said, leaning in and squinting at Lottie’s face. “Glorify me. Make me… revolutionary.”

Lottie had then laughed and pushed her face away. But despite everything, she knew Max didn’t always like being referred to as the unruly one. She never asked about it, because she knew Max, with all her wily ways, would not want to talk about it. The same way she didn’t like talking about her father, or why she made a face whenever Lottie asked about him.

“Aha!” Max said suddenly, drawing Lottie out of her train of thought. She pulled out a book. “I found it.”

Lottie was about to ask what ‘it’ was, just as there was a whoop from the field, some yards away from them. Ray, who had taken the position of pitcher, had caught the baseball in his mitt. He seemed to have fallen backward, his arm sticking up in quiet triumph as the other boys cheered. Lottie covered her mouth, laughing.

“Sweet, huh?” Max asked, watching as Ray sat up all red - faced and grinning, before waving at Lottie. She waved back eagerly. “You two going out yet?”

“What?” Lottie replied, her voice a bit higher. Max arched a brow, and she cleared her throat. “U - uh, yeah — we’re not a… we’re not a thing yet, but he did ask me out.”

“Hm.” Max hummed, looking thoughtful. “Perfect. Then I can show you this.”

“Show me what?” Lottie asked, just before Max handed her a book. The cover was black. “…what’s this?”

“Hard - core erotica.” Max deadpanned. Lottie blinked.

“Hard - core what now?”

Max sighed, rubbing her face. “Porno, Lottie.”

Lottie’s face warmed as she promptly dropped the book onto the grass. “…what?”

“You’ll need it.” Max shrugged, putting it back in Lottie’s hands — she dropped it once more, letting out a terrified wince. Max arched a brow.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Lottie hissed, blushing furiously. “What’s wrong with you?! Bringing that — thinking I would — that I and Ray —“

“Because you will, eventually,” Max replied simply, amused at Lottie’s reaction. “And I don’t want you to just… lie there. How you’ll feel is important too.“

“I’m NOT having —“ Lottie lowered her voice, looking around like someone was listening in. “…intercourse with Ray.”

“It’s called sex.” Max deadpanned, and Lottie close to gasped. “You can say sex, you know. There are different terms: Fuckin’. Screwing. Banging. Popping the cherry —“

“Maxine!” Lottie hissed, so hot in the face she felt like sweating even more than she already was. “It’s against the Bible for me, you know that — “

“Lots of things are against the Bible, but you still do it,” Max shrugged. “You weren’t taking that church service very seriously. And you smoked.”

“Shut up.” Lottie huffed, looking away as Max slid the book toward her. “That’s… different, I —“

“Take it.” Max pressed, and Lottie looked directly at her. “It’s not illegal. Just… have a bit of fun. Don’t be frigid.”

“I’m not stiff!”

“You know the frigid I mean.” Max elaborated. Lottie was about to reply when another shout was heard from the field. They looked over once more, and Alex seemed to be rolling his shoulders and gripping the bat. His muscles glistened with sweat in the sun, and a group of girls giggled as he prepared to bat. Ray, who was sweating through his shirt now, was looking at him in concentration. Lottie stared at him, his squinty eyes, and felt a flutter in her chest.

“Okay.” Bobby said meekly, crouching behind Alex and the home plate. He was the catcher. “You may give Ray the signal now.”

Alex whistled lowly, and Ray gripped the baseball, nodding to Lottie, who grinned back. He then pointed at her with his free hand.

“For you!” He yelled. Max rolled her eyes as Lottie giggled.

“Oh my god, you two are so corny.” Max cringed as Ray reared his arm back, hurling the baseball as hard as possible. It made a high arc in the blue sky, and some people cheered, including Lottie — she stood up, cupping her hands around her mouth and whooping. Ray turned to her then, grinning — he didn’t notice Alex batting back the baseball, hard. Lottie’s face fell as it rushed back towards Ray, at full speed.

“Ray!” She yelled, waving her arms. “Jumper, look out — !”

“What?!” Ray yelled back, not hearing Lottie clearly. Lottie was about to yell back when the baseball hit Ray in the side of the face — he stumbled backward and fell, clutching his cheek.

“Oh,” Max winced, as Lottie began to run over. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Ray!” She yelled, as a group of people laughed hysterically. Ray was groaning on the ground, and Max was running behind Lottie. Alex had dropped his bat, Bobby tottering behind him as the group closed in. Ray’s vision was spinning as he lay on the ground spread - eagled, staring up at the blue sky. He tasted blood. Fuck. Something in his mouth felt loose.

“Ray!” He heard Lottie’s voice as she crashed to her knees beside him, all wide - eyed and worried. “Raymond, can you hear me?”

Ray giggled, a bubble of blood forming at his mouth and popping. Lottie let out a noise of despair and surprise upon seeing the blood, and Max made a face. Alex winced, and Bobby blinked.

“He is hurt.” Bobby said, and Lottie whirled to him.

“Well of course he’s hurt, Bobby — ah, fuck me.” She hissed, looking over Ray’s face. Ray was seeing in all fours — he blinked slowly.

“Gladly.” He slurred. Lottie smacked his shoulder, seemed to remember that he was hurt, and then started fretting again.

“We need some ice,” she said, her hand on the side of Ray’s face. “He’ll start swellin’ up soon.”

“Ray, man, I’m so sorry.” Alex said, pale.

“‘S okay,” Ray replied, before Alex nodded and ran off to find ice.

“Garraty, how many fingers am I holding up?” Max said, holding her middle finger to Ray’s eyes. Lottie smacked her hand away, scowling.

“Max! Now is not the time!”

“Just trying to ease the tension.” Max shrugged, as Lottie looked back at Ray.

“Jumper, open your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Ray giggled again, more blood bubbling. Lottie shook her head as he opened his mouth — she almost heaved when she saw the amount of blood. A tooth in the back of his mouth was hanging by a strip of gum, knocked loose by the baseball.

“What is it?” Ray said groggily. “My teeth that ugly?”

“Your molar appears to have been knocked loose.” Bobby commented. “We will need to extract — “

Lottie let out a short scream as Ray reached into his mouth and tugged the tooth off the string of gum, letting out a shout of pain before turning away and spitting it onto the grass.

“Problem solved,” Ray said shakily, spitting out blood as Alex came running back with ice. “Go go Garraty.”

Alex handed Lottie the bag of ice, and she pressed it against where Ray had been hit, before dragging Bobby away with him so they could get some water. Lottie tutted and mumbled sweet nothings to Ray that he could barely hear; he blinked slowly up at her.

You’ll be alright, Ray. Why didn’t you look out for the ball, idiot. You could have a fracture, for all we know — you need to be more careful, Garraty what will your mother think. You’re going to give me a fuckin’ heart attack, jumper. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. Hold still.

Among the many mutterings of Lottie Green, Ray saw a little bumblebee hovering above the group. It was buzzing in circles. His eyes followed it around, delirious. He huffed when he saw it descending to the group’s level — soon it would settle on Lottie.

“Lottie.” He mumbled. “Charlotte.”

“What?” Charlotte said, almost desperately. “Am I hurtin’ you?”

“Bumblebee.” He whispered.

“What?” Lottie said, momentarily confused — her expression softened as she saw the bumblebee settle on her shoulder. “Oh.” She breathed. Ray furrowed his brow before swatting at it. It buzzed out of his reach, and Lottie hit his hand.

“Ow!” He hissed.

“Bumblebees mean good fortune, you stupid —“ Lottie rolled her eyes as Max started to laugh. “Hold still!”

The bumblebee then settled on Lottie’s other shoulder, and Ray swatted at it again.

“Ray!” Lottie hissed. “Stop!”

“‘S gonna sting you.” Ray paused. “Why’d you say brothers earlier instead of brother?”

“Why don’t you shut up and focus on staying awake?” Max replied swiftly, just as the bumblebee moved to Ray’s nose. He made to swat at it, but Lottie caught his hand. Smaller than his, but more deft and smooth. Ray was all rough edges. Lottie was all cookie dough.

“Leave the bee.” Lottie said firmly. “It doesn’t mean any harm.”

“It’ll fucking sting me.” Ray replied, looking cross - eyed as he tried to stare at the bee on his nose.

“I think bumblebees are sweet.” Lottie replied fairly, still pressing the ice into Ray’s cheek.

“Oh yeah?” Ray huffed out a laugh, wincing at the pain as he slowly came back to his senses. “Why’s that?”

Lottie’s eyes flicked to his momentarily, before furrowing her brow and focusing back on Ray’s bruise.

“They remind me of you.” She said quietly. “All soft. Round. Big brown eyes, sweet.”

Ray didn’t respond to Lottie for a long time. He simply stared at her. Lottie, thinking he was unconscious, looked back at him. She startled — his pupils were dilated. His pupils were dilated and he was looking up at her like she’d hung the sun.

“Hey, Garraty,” Max said, squinting at Ray’s face. “Are you on drugs?”

Ray didn’t respond. Lottie’s hands got sweaty, the grass blades beneath her knees making her body itch. She couldn’t keep eye contact with Ray.

“Stop that.” She muttered.

“Stop what?” Ray replied softly. “Staring?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I don’t think I will.”

Lottie was about to reply when she heard an all - too familiar voice from afar — it was amongst the people who were laughing. Narrowing her eyes, she looked behind them.

“The motherfucker can’t even catch!” The loud, proud voice of Ben Miller boomed. He was laughing with his cronies, tears in his eyes. “Now he’s got his little girlfriend poring over him — what a fucking sissy!”

“Is that the fucker I punched last time?” Ray asked drowsily, as Lottie scowled. Max narrowed her eyes at Ben, giving him the finger.

“Yeah, that’s all you can fucking do, Maxine!” Ben yelled back at her, and Lottie gripped the ice harder. “Tell Garraty to be a better pitcher next time! I know his bitch can hear me!”

Lottie suddenly got up; the pack of ice still in her hands. Max furrowed her brow as she shoved the ice into her arms.

“What are you —“

“Stay here, press the ice on Ray .” Lottie replied through gritted teeth, as Ray sat up. She started to storm towards Ben.

“Lottie?” Ray called after her. He noticed the bumblebee was still hovering around her. “Where’re you going?”

She ignored him, grabbing the baseball bat from some other kid, who protested feebly. She then walked straight up to Ben, who whistled lowly.

“Got a problem, Green?” He asked, and his friends laughed, some nervously.

“Listen here, Miller.” Lottie jabbed a finger into Ben’s chest. “Since you think you’re such a professional at baseball, come be a pitcher.”

Ben blinked at Lottie, before laughing. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Green?”

“Definitely not anybody’s bitch.” Lottie spat; some people blinked in surprise. Lottie was rarely known to be aggressive. There was a long moment of silence where Ben and Lottie stared at each other — then Ben simply laughed, beckoning for someone’s mitt. A timid looking girl handed it to him.

“As you like it.” He said, keeping eye contact with Lottie. “Let’s get it on, Scarface.”

Lottie shouldered past him, before going to stand at the home plate. Bobby and Alex had come back to the field with water for Ray, and Lottie narrowed her eyes at Bobby.

“Bobby!” She yelled. Both Bobby and Alex stilled, confused as to why Lottie was at the home plate and Ben on the other side. “Come be my catcher!”

“But Raymond is in need of the — “

“Give the water to Alex and come over, NOW!”

Bobby nodded, stuffing the water into Alex’s arms, jogging lightly and taking a mitt before kneeling behind Lottie. Ben was at the other side, mitt on his hand and a readiness in his eye.

“You get three strikes, three chances!” A girl yelled, and Lottie rolled her eyes, gripping the bat. “Three strikes without batting, and you’re out!” Bobby, who was still crouching behind Lottie, whimpered in fear, his skinny arms trembling.

“Bobby, you a good catcher?” She muttered, glancing back at him. He looked up at her with terror before shaking his head slowly. Lottie gave him a look of confusion. “But — when Alex was battin’…”

“I know Alex is an extremely accomplished batter,” Bobby said matter - of - factly, his voice trembling. “But I do not know if you are. I have never seen you play… the ball may hit me.”

“Well thank you, Bobert.” Lottie humphed, offended. Bobby raised a shaking finger.

“My name is not Bob —“

Lottie whistled loudly, giving the signal for Ben to pitch. She dug her heels into the dirt as Ben readied himself, smirking. Despite Max’s protests, Ray had sat up to watch, leaning forward eagerly as Lottie gripped the bat.

“Garraty, you could have a concussion.“ she started, grumbling. Ray ignored her, eyes trained on Lottie.

Ben reared back and pitched, and Lottie’s eyes locked onto the oncoming baseball. It zipped toward her, and she heard the voice of Anthony in her mind:

“Remember to put your back into it, Lottie,” he’d said to her, all those years ago. “It’s all in the hips, too. Swing with strength. Grit. Steel —“

“Strike one!” The girl off - pitch yelled, and Lottie let out a disbelieving breath as she swung and missed, Bobby catching the baseball behind her with a surprising swiftness.

“Fuck.” She hissed, as Ben laughed.

“All bark and no bite, huh?!” He yelled, and some guys cackled with laughter. Lottie’s face grew hot with embarrassment. Bobby, noticing her falter, cleared his throat meekly.

“There are still two more chances.” He offered, and Lottie pursed her lips.

“I know.” She whispered.

“All hope is not — “

“I know, Bobby,” Lottie repeated, repositioning herself. “Ready yourself.”

Once Ben had gotten the ball back, Lottie closed her eyes, remembering Anthony’s advice when she was eight. He had a bat in his hands, demonstrating the Green family’s signature swing. He loved baseball, as their father had, and apparently the father before that. Lottie didn’t care for it much — but she’d shown an interest because her brother and Pa did.

“You swing like this,” he’d done it slowly, gracefully, gripping the bat in just the right way — Lottie opened her eyes, and whistled the signal for Ben to pitch. He reared back once more, throwing it with a grunt; as it flew in an arc, Lottie felt she could bat this one, that she’d prove him wrong — closer, closer…

“Yeah, bat this, Scarface!” Ben yelled suddenly — Lottie’s concentration was hindered.

“Fuck!” She said shakily, swinging and missing, letting the baseball zip right into Bobby’s trusty mitt. Ben pumped his fist, and Lottie close to dropped her bat, kicking a nearby pebble in frustration. “FUCK!”

Bobby blinked at her as she paced, still gripping her bat, looking like she’d hit someone with it any minute. “You do not usually get this agitated. It seems Ben’s low - life attitude has emotionally affected your skill.”

“Bobby!” Lottie yelled, close to tearing her hair out. “Why do you — can you just —“

“Two strikes!” The girl off - pitch yelled, and Lottie felt like screaming.

“Hey!” A voice yelled, and Lottie looked over to see Ray standing next to Max, holding the ice pack to his cheek. Max looked fed - up with trying to get him to sit down, and hopped next to him, waving her arms in encouragement.

“What?” Lottie whispered stupidly. “Is that — Raymond, SIT DOWN!”

“No!” He yelled back, as Ben got another ball. “You can do this! Remember the bee? Good luck!”

Lottie shook her head, close to laughing — it was then that she saw the bumblebee hovering above her head. It looked almost sentinel - like. She stared up at it for a long moment. Then she looked back at Ben, who was clutching the baseball with a readiness.

“I advise you listen to Ray.” Bobby said behind Lottie, and she shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Do not let Benjamin win.”

“Okay.” she replied, and Bobby nodded as he got back into position. Lottie took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the bee once more. It settled onto her shoulder. Anthony’s voice entered her head.

“The most important part,” his voice reverberated in her skull as she whistled the signal and Ben reared back. “Is to believe in yourself. Take that risk, and bat the ball, with all your strength.”

The baseball flew in that high arc once more, and Lottie concentrated on it.

“Rear back,” Anthony’s voice guided, as it zoomed closer, whistling. “And swing.”

And she fucking swung.

There was a sharp crack as Lottie’s bat met the ball — she let out a grunt of effort as it ricocheted back, tearing forward between the lines, fast enough that people ducked before they realized where it was going. Ben, who had expected her to miss and wasn’t paying attention, let out a yell of surprise as the baseball zipped past his cheek, grazing it.

“YES!” Ray yelled, pumping his fist as Lottie ran counter clockwise, around the three bases, and back to the home plate. Max whooped and the other kids cheered, and Lottie collapsed at home plate. “Fucking YES! That’s my lady, suckers!”

“No, she’s not.” Max patted Ray’s back as he cheered.

“Atta girl.” Anthony’s voice echoed in her head, and Lottie let out a disbelieving laugh as she lay on the ground, Bobby looking down at her, hands on his hips. He was grinning. The bee was circling his head, and Lottie watched, panting, as it buzzed off.

“I am sorry for doubting you.” He said, monotone as Alex joined them, yelling praise. “You are a skilled batter.”

“‘Course I am,” Lottie smirked, heart pounding as other kids cheered. Alex offered her a hand, and Lottie heaved herself up. She saw Ray coming with Max then, and she grinned before running to him — he dropped the ice he’d been holding to his face, enveloping her in a hug. She hugged him back, giggling.

“Didn’t know we had a professional batter here,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck, Ben’s shouts of rage echoing in the background.

“Yeah, well,” Lottie drew back, brushing some hair out of Ray’s face. He blushed. “Couldn’t let him say that about you. You wouldn’t, I know.”

Ray grinned at Lottie then, about to reply —

“FUCK!” Ben screamed then, and the group looked over at him swatting something away. “A fucking bee stung me!”

***

Ray Garraty checked his watch, waistcoat draped over his arm as he waited underneath Lottie’s window. Crickets chirped as his foot tapped on the grass, waiting.

It was Saturday night, and he was taking Lottie out for their first date. He was nervous as hell. His palms kept sweating, but he was grateful it wasn’t his pits like the first time he’d gone to see Lottie in her family store, and he reckoned that sweaty palms were better than sweaty pits —

He really should stop thinking about being sweaty.

Ray then straightened out his shirt — he’d dressed up relatively nice; wearing another one of his dad’s old suits, the one William had worn at he and Ginnie’s wedding reception twenty or so years ago. It’d taken a while to launder, and it was a deep burgundy. He’d had to borrow his mom’s perfume because his dad’s cologne was finished, and he smelled like flowers. If Ben was still friends with him, he’d call Ray a sissy for it.

Ray was glad they weren’t friends anymore.

Ginnie had helped style his hair, and it wasn’t all messy like it usually was (no more cursed cowlick)! Now, it was a simple side - part, and Ray wore a simple black tie, with his simple linen shirt and simple suspenders. All simple. His mouth was still a little sore from having his tooth knocked out yesterday (His mom had fussed over him and sent him to the dentist to see if there was anything else to be done), but other than that, Ray was fine. He still felt tingly remembering Lottie pressing the ice to his cheek. A bandage rested there. The baseball had bruised it. Even though Ray was a big boy, the pants he wore felt bigger than he was. He felt stupid, and giddy.

He checked his watch again. 7:45. They were supposed to leave at eight, but Ray would probably wait till twelve. He’d wait as long as possible, for her.

Suddenly, the quiet of the night was pierced — Ray looked up at Lottie’s window as it was pushed open. Even though the house was only one story high, the crawl space underneath elevated it significantly. Ray wondered how Lottie had managed to jump out her window the night of his party.

He grinned as Lottie’s head popped out. Her face, even in the yellow glow of the streetlights, was radiant and round and pretty. She beamed down at him, her pearl earrings dangling.

“Hi, Raymond.” She whispered softly, drawing out Ray’s name. He blushed.

“Hi, Charlotte.” He whispered back. She clapped a hand to her mouth, giggling. “You want me to help you down?”

Lottie looked back in her room before looking down at Ray. “You sure? I think I’m a bit heavy.”

Ray shrugged. “I can handle a lot of weight.”

“Ha - ha, Ray,” Lottie said, shaking her head before dropping her handbag. Ray caught it before beckoning for her to drop whatever else she had. Lottie hesitated before dropping her pair of pumps, which were a rosy red. Ray caught these too, almost dropping them himself. Lottie laughed before settling on the windowsill. Ray set her heels on the floor, before setting down his waistcoat and opening his arms. Lottie cocked a brow.

“Move, jumper.” She whispered. “You’re not gonna be able to catch me.”

“Lottie, jump.”

“Move.”

“I’ll catch you, I promise, sweetheart — just jump.”

“I’m not going to — don’t call me that.” Lottie’s face burned, struggling not to laugh. She didn’t want to alert her family to her sneaking out. She looked back into her dark room, and didn’t hear any footsteps. “Just let me jump down.”

“That’s no way to treat a lady.” Ray shrugged, and Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Lottie, fall into my arms.”

“Lower your voice!” Lottie hissed — she close to screamed when she saw Ray smirk. She knew that smirk. “Raymond, don’t —“

“WHAT?!” Ray said loudly, and Lottie shook her hands in a quiet panic, pressing her finger to her lips repeatedly and shaking her head.

“Shut up!” She hissed. Ray gave her a mock - confused look, and she shook her head again when he took in a breath.

“NO!” He yelled.

“Ray, stop it!” Lottie was half - amused, half - terrified — her Pa slept like the dead, Robert didn’t. But Robert would chalk it up to be some drunk, she knew; her Ma tended to mind her business. Mostly.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Ray whispered now, laughing — Lottie scowled down at him. “Baby, would you just — please get down? I promise I’ll catch you.”

Lottie stuck her tongue out at Ray, and he laughed into his palm — with a sort of grace, she slid off the windowsill, and her red skirt billowed on her way down. Ray caught her with a huff and a swing, bridal - style. Her arm was draped around his shoulder, and she let out a surprised laugh, looking at the floor as Ray looked at her.

“Shouldn’t have doubted you, huh?” Lottie said softly, laughing. Ray responded by pressing a featherlight kiss to her cheek. Lottie let out a surprised giggle, swatting Ray away. “Stop that.”

“If you say so.” He lowered Lottie to the ground, and took her in as she put on her heels — she had a simple ankle - length wine - red dress on, with roses patterned all over. It had a white sweetheart neckline; her hair was out in an Afro, a singular red rose tucked behind her ear. Lottie also had a natural glow about her — she’d decided to only put on blush and lip - gloss. She smelled just like Ray, all flowery. There were white gloves on her hands. She’d ‘borrowed’ these from her Ma, but Ray didn’t need to know that.

“Alright,” Lottie said as Ray grinned at her, dusting off her skirt. She held out her hand to him. “Lead the way—“

Instead of taking her hand, Ray kissed it, and she felt heat rush to her face once more. She smacked him on the shoulder. “Stop that! You’re bein’—“

“A romantic?”

“An idiot!”

“Same difference.”

Lottie laughed again, and Ray grinned at her before fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. It was the one Lottie had made him for his birthday, ‘Property of Ray Garraty’ sewn on the fabric.

“What’d you bring this here for?” Lottie asked, smiling.

“It turns out, it’s not just useful for wiping stuff,” he started. “Not that I’ve been using it at all. It’s just so sacred to me, y’know?”

“Ha - ha,” Lottie said, crossing her arms. “What else are you usin’ it for then, jumper?”

“This.” He spread it out, before nodding towards Lottie. “Close your eyes, Lottie.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Just trust me, okay?” Ray assured her, stepping closer. “It’s clean, I really haven’t used it — plus I told you the date’s a surprise.”

Lottie cocked a brow at Ray, and he sighed. “Please?”

“Okay.” She said fairly, and Ray eagerly tied the hankie around her eyes — Lottie was completely blind now, and Ray slowly but steadily guided her by placing one hand on the small of her back. He was leading her to his father’s car, which he’d borrowed for tonight. William had been surprisingly gracious about it, winking at Ray an uncomfortable amount of times.

Ray had parked some ways away from Lottie’s house (so not too far from his own house) in order to not raise Atticus and Robert Green’s suspicions— he looked at the ground, kicking pebbles out of Lottie’s path. Didn’t want her to trip.

“Just where are you taking me, Ray?” Lottie asked, after some beats of silence.

“You’ll know when you see it, now duck your head —“ Ray guided Lottie into the passenger’s seat of the car, and she giggled.

“Your dad finally let you borrow his car, hm?” Lottie asked, as Ray shut her door.

“Yes!” He called back, running to the other side. “Took a lot of convincing — !”

Lottie shook her head, groping blindly for the child lock on the driver’s door so Ray could get in. She got a hold of it, pulling on the lock firmly as Ray made his way there.

“Unlocked it for you,” Lottie said, sitting back in her seat as he huffed. Ray fell quiet. “You okay?”

“Yeah, uh,” he grinned to himself as he opened the car door. “Just thought of a test.”

“What type of test?” Lottie asked, as Ray started the car.

“A door test.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

***

They had been driving for around thirty minutes, talking about nothing and everything — Ray was still giddy over Lottie’s baseball fiasco with Ben, and Lottie was being much too humble about it.

“I mean,” Ray continued breathlessly, eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel as Lottie laughed. There was gospel music playing on the radio. “Where did you even learn to bat like that?”

“I told you, my brother taught me when I was younger,” Lottie said, still giggling. “He had — has — a knack for these things.”

“I had no idea Robert was so good at baseball,” Ray continued, turning onto another road. “He’s gotta teach me one of these days. If he ever warms up to me.”

“Yeah,” Lottie replied, her smile becoming a little hollow. She hated lying. “Robert.”

The way she said it made Ray look away from the road and to Lottie’s face for a second, furrowing his brow; yet again he was reminded of Lottie’s ‘brothers’ slip - up earlier. As time passed, he was becoming less and less sure it was a slip - up, that maybe it was something more.

That maybe she was hiding something from him.

Besides. He still didn’t know how she’d gotten that scar — but he didn’t press, for now.

“Ray?” She asked, after a few beats. “We there yet?”

“What?” He spluttered, before looking back on the road. They were a little out of town now. “O - oh — yeah, we’re almost there.”

“Good, I think my leg’s goin’ to get a cramp…” she massaged her thigh. “I don’t like sittin’ for long.”

“I’m sorry, I promise we won’t be long, but…” Ray shot her a glance. “I forgot to ask you, how was your day? What’d you do?”

Lottie’s face warmed. “Oh, I was just… readin’.”

“Could’ve guessed that,” Ray replied, and Lottie smacked his shoulder playfully. “What book was it?”

It was then that Lottie cleared her throat, turning the other way. “Oh, just… stuff.”

“Hm.” Ray furrowed his brow. “What type of stuff?”

“I don’t think you’d be into it.”

“Try me.”

“No, I really don’t think you would.” Lottie repeated, her voice higher.

Lottie had been reading the book Max had given her yesterday, an erotica. At first, she’d stared at it lying at the bottom of her bag, afraid to touch it, like it’d brand her. Then, she’d gently placed it on her bedside table, before sitting topless and sweaty on her bed (curse the summer heat)! The air from the open window doing nothing for her. Fanning herself with an old book, she’d stared and stared at it, curiosity slowly getting the best of her — before, with a shaking hand, she took ahold of it. Slowly, she’d opened to the first page; a foreword, then a first chapter… a scarlet woman…

“Did you at least like it?” Ray asked, laughing lightly. Lottie was so glad he couldn’t see her eyes.

“…it was… useful.”

The way Lottie said it made Ray look over once more, but her face was turned to the window. They finally arrived at Ray’s mystery place, the car sputtering loudly to a stop, and Ray turned off the engine. “We’re here!”

“Wherever ‘here’ is.” Lottie muttered as Ray opened her door for her, pulling her out gently by the arm. She felt his strong arm wrap around her middle, and she leaned her head into his shoulder.

“For all I know, you could be kidnappin’ me.”

“You wound my integrity.” Ray said, holding Lottie tighter as they walked down a small hill; the couple were out of town. Lottie hummed softly to herself as Ray led her on, the crickets providing some background noise.

“And…” Ray trailed off, finally stopping Lottie somewhere. She giggled. “I’m gonna get something, come back and take off the blindfold.”

“Okay.”

“No peeking.” He pointed at her. She grinned.

“O - kay.” She drew out the word, still chuckling, and Ray hurried off somewhere. After a few moments, Lottie heard his running footsteps return, and the sound of panting.

“Okay,” he swallowed, still panting. “I’m gonna take them off now.”

“If you say so.”

Slowly, Lottie felt Ray removing the hankie from around her eyes . Gone was the wall of darkness she’d been seeing for the past half hour, replaced with —

“Oh.” She breathed.

Ray had set up a picnic by a large pond, where ducks and swans alike swam peacefully. There were lily pads floating on the surface, and multiple weeping willow trees surrounded the clearing — catkins fell down from them, all caterpillar - looking, but Lottie caught one in her palm nonetheless. On the picnic mat, a hamper filled with what was sure to be Ginnie’s cooking sat waiting, alongside a bottle of apple cider and multiple candles — and, marvelously, a projector. It was pointed towards a white blanket that hung from two branches of a tree, presumably to watch a movie on.

“Do you like it?” Ray asked uneasily from behind Lottie; his voice was a bit shaky, and his previous bravado was gone. Lottie turned to him, her hand hovering over her mouth. He had a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a very nervous smile plastered on his face — his cheeks were as pink as ever.

Oh, sweet boy.

“I wasn’t sure what types of flowers you’d want, because you’re always wearing so many different ones, so uh — I took some of my savings and my dad helped me out and I ordered fresh ones, but that wasn’t really smart, was it? Oh, fuck — I should’ve gotten plastic ones, these ones will die.”

“Ray.”

“And I got a film, because, y’know, I love films, and I wanted to share something I love with you, and I hope you’ll like it — I borrowed the cassette from my dad, this is early Post - War —“

“Jumper, I…”

“—and I had to beg my science teacher to let me borrow his projector, because I can’t fucking afford one, but when I get I job later on I will, so we can watch all the flicks you want, and —“

“Raymond.”

“— if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, this was stupid anyway, I’ll take you home —“

“RAY!” Lottie yelled, and Ray stopped rambling, looking straight at her. She looked choked - up, and she was smiling.

“…Lottie?”

“I don’t like this, jumper, I love it.” She sighed, taking the bouquet from him — with a flourish, she sniffed it and smiled even wider. “This was so thoughtful of you. I’ve never…” she trailed off, gazing at the bouquet. “Thank you.”

Ray blinked, blushing. “You’re — you’re welcome Lottie, I —“

The rest of Ray’s sentence was lost as Lottie stepped forward and kissed him. It was a quick kiss, a peck, something fleeting and wonderful and theirs. She drew back immediately, not looking him in the eye. Ray’s fingertips went to his lips, and he felt his heart pounding. Slowly, a grin spread over his face.

“Um.” Lottie clutched the bouquet to her chest. “I meant to kiss ya on the cheek, and I missed…”

Thick southern drawl.

“Really.” Ray stepped closer.

“Mhm.” Lottie nodded, biting her lip. “So. Can we watch that movie?”

Ray nodded, and the two went to sit down at the picnic mat — Ray started to rummage through the hamper as Lottie gently placed the bouquet to the side.

“Okay,” he started, his face still hot from Lottie’s kiss. “…my mom made us some sandwiches, and cookies too — she made a salad, and, uh… I hope you like cheesecake.”

Lottie perked up then, shuffling closer to Ray. “Cheesecake? Oh, I love cheesecake —“

“Really?”

“Mhm. But I’ve never eaten it before.”

Ray blinked at Lottie before snorting, and she pushed him away playfully.

“What?”

“You’re laughin’ at me.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “You won’t get it.”

“I’m sorry, I just — how do you know you love cheesecake if you’ve never tried it?” Ray asked, before getting the film reel for the movie they were going to watch out of his bag. Lottie relaxed then, taking off her heels.

“When I was little,” she started, catching another catkin in her palm and blowing it away. “And we were livin’ in Louisiana, I took a visit to Baton Rouge with my brother.”

“Robert?” Ray said, trying to turn on the projector. Lottie pursed her lips.

“Yeah… Robert.” She fiddled with her hands. “Anyway. We were walkin’ through one of the busy streets, see; I saw, just then, a bakery. Y’know those bakeries only get visited by Squads generals, rich folks or the Major himself when they want a sweet treat.”

Ray gave a short laugh, but it had no mirth in it. “Don’t have to explain.”

“Exactly.” Lottie snapped her fingers, watching the projector sputter to life. “So, I saw this wonderful, creamy cake on the display, right? I point it out to my brother, and he looks at it with me, all dreamy and hungry. It had strawberries on it, the best Creole cream cheesecake you could ever dream of — there isn’t any of that type of cheesecake here in Maine, I know. Ray, we had the money to buy it then and there, but if we did, we probably wouldn’t eat for the next three weeks. So we held off. But I resolved that that cake would be my favorite dessert, even if I never got to eat it.”

Ray looked at the small cheesecake he’d brought from the hamper and felt oddly guilty; like he should’ve known Lottie would want the kind made in Baton Rouge.

“So, what movie are we watchin’?” Lottie asked, taking a slice of the cheesecake casually. She bit into it slowly, relishing the taste — Ray watched her for a long moment, embarrassing thoughts popping into his head before he cleared his throat and looked back at the screen.

“Bonnie and Clyde — came out not too long after the War, and the Major, uh…”

“The Major what?” Lottie asked, finishing up the slice. Ray swallowed.

“He killed everyone involved in making it.”

“Oh.” Lottie furrowed her brow, looking towards the screen.

“Yeah,” Ray sighed, looking towards the screen as the credits started to show. “My dad showed it to me when I was younger, when I wanted to know about the old ways. Fucking terrified me, and interested me at the same time. Became a total cinephile after that, it… was amazing.”

Lottie looked at Ray as he spoke, how passionate he was — she found herself smiling. The credits eventually gave way to the opening scene. Then came what Lottie could assume to be Bonnie — fully nude yet not showing a thing, huffing and puffing alone in her room. She was clearly bored, lying on her bed and hitting the frame in frustration.

“Did you know,” Ray started, muttering in Lottie’s ear. “The script for the flick was written by David Newman and Robert Benton?”

“Oh, really?” Lottie whispered, turning to him as the movie played on. “And who are they?

“Complete amateurs!” Ray said, widening his eyes and throwing his arms out. Lottie laughed. “Lottie, I tell you — they had never written a screenplay before. They were working at Esquire magazine. That magazine’s not what it used to be of course, but —“

The scene on film then cut to Bonnie seeing Clyde eyeing the car outside her home, a car that apparently belonged to an old lady. The window cleverly covered her nakedness, only showing shoulders - up. She was yelling at Clyde, but grinning at the same time. Lottie was dimly reminded of herself. She then stretched, looking at Bonnie scramble back into her room to put on some clothing.

“She’s mighty pretty,” Lottie commented, taking a chocolate chip cookie and biting into it. “Slender ‘n such.”

“Hm.” Ray hummed, giving Lottie a sideways glance. “Yeah, she is. Not my type, though.”

“Is that so?” Lottie asked, turning to Ray, who simply pretended to keep watching the film. “May I ask who your type is then, jumper?”

Ray looked in thought for a moment, before yawning. “Smart,” he stretched out his arms. “Fond of reading, pretty…” his arms hovered in the air for half a second, above Lottie’s shoulder. “…you.”

Lottie rolled her eyes, smiling. “Me?”

Ray’s arm rested on Lottie’s shoulder, pulling her closer. “…maybe.”

“Ray, you’re shaking.”

“I am?”

“You’re not as smooth as you think, y’know.” Ray was about to reply when Lottie kissed him on the cheek. “But it’s sweet.”

Ray needed a cold shower. This was way too much for him —

“Did you know that Jack L. Warner disliked the film?” He blurted, blushing and looking anywhere but at Lottie’s face. Lottie smiled, playing into it.

“Why?” Lottie asked softly, leaning into Ray.

“He, uh… he saw it as a throwback to earlier gangster pictures, and fought Beatty about it.”

“The director?”

“No, the uh… is it hot in here?”

“Not really,” Lottie leaned in a bit closer, lowering her voice. “…maybe it’s the company.”

The nerve of her, spinning that line back on Ray. Slick.

“Lottie…” Ray asked, breathing heavily. She leaned in closer. Their lips were mere centimeters from eachother. The film was still playing in the background. Neither of them were watching. “Are you sure you want to —“

Lottie responded by kissing him full - on, and Ray let out a shaky moan as he kissed her back, holding her face with trembling hands. She was surprisingly good at this, even better than the last time, kissing Ray so intensely that for once he had no time to kiss back. But a question was burning at the back of his mind, one he hadn’t been able to get rid of since yesterday. With much, much reluctance, Ray broke off. Lottie still had her eyes half - closed, panting in little gasps, face flushed. She seemed to realize what had happened, and quickly collected herself.

“Ray, what is it?” She asked, looking into his face. He fumbled with his fingers. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No.” Ray panted, the movie’s light reflecting off his face. “God no, Lottie, it’s just — I feel like you’re…” he swallowed. “I feel like you’re hiding things from me.”

Lottie’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. After a long beat, she cleared her throat. “…hidin’ things from you? Ray, I don’t —“

“Yesterday, when you said you used to play baseball when you were little,” Ray continued on, flustered. “You said ‘brothers’. And before you say it was a slip - up,” Ray said, just as Lottie opened her mouth. “I have a feeling it wasn’t. That you’re not being completely honest with some things.”

“That’s — “ Lottie let out a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly, Ray —“

“I’m not being silly, I know it,” Ray countered, shaking his head. “Lottie, I told you already. I love you. And… I feel like, I don’t know. We should be honest with each other. Completely. You won’t even tell me about your…”

“My scar?” Lottie finished for him, looking embarrassed. “Raymond, I’m not sure if I can — whether I’m ready to —“

Ray started to panic.

“Fine, you don’t have to tell me about that if you don’t want to,” Ray shuffled closer to Lottie, and took her hands into his. “I’m sorry, I’ll hold off —“

“It wasn’t a slip - up.” Lottie said suddenly, surprising even herself. Ray blinked.

“What?”

“I said,” Lottie cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. “Yesterday wasn’t a slip - up, Ray. I did have a brother other than Robert. His name is Anthony.”

“Anthony?” Ray repeated, taking in this new information. Lottie wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“Yeah. Anthony.” She repeated. “He… he ran away when I was little. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh,” Ray immediately felt guilty for pressing — Lottie couldn’t even look him in the eyes, her face turned to the ground. “Lottie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, jumper.” Lottie shrugged, laughing. “It’s not like he’s — anyway. I don’t even remember that much about him. It’s no bother, really. I didn’t feel like explaining it to the others anyway.”

“Right.” Ray nodded, and Lottie sniffled. “Right — Lottie, are you sure you’re —“

“I’m fine. He’s nothin’ to me now, I barely think about him, I was so small.” She gingerly touched her scar, absentmindedly. “I don’t think about him at all.”

“Is he still…?”

“I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive, and that doesn’t matter.” Lottie said firmly, clearly done with the subject. “My family don’t talk about him, so — that’s that.”

Ray nodded, looking at Lottie. She wasn’t looking at him, only at her hands, so he squeezed them.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did, I can feel it.”

“No, you —“ she sniffled, wiping a tear from her eye before smiling at Ray. “You’re not wrong for wantin’ me to be honest. Besides, you saw how upset I got when you didn’t tell me you and Jan were a thing, and that happened before I came.”

Ray laughed. “Yeah. But — “ he rummaged in his hamper for something once more, and Lottie looked on in curiosity. “— I’ve got something I want to give you. I took it from my dad, he said I could give it. I don’t know if you’d like it.”

Slowly, Ray gave Lottie a tattered looking book, and Lottie took it gingerly, reading the title. Ray watched her quietly. Nervously.

“Not Without Laughter,” she read it out, her voice soft as a dream. “Langston Hughes. Oh, Ray, this is —“

She ran a finger over the cover. A boy sitting at a dinner table, deep in thought. A black boy. “— this is so thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t worry about it —“

“No, I mean it.” Lottie pressed, and Ray saw her eyes were welling up again. “I’ve always wanted to read this book, my Pa told me about it — but we never could find anyone who sold it, it’s banned stuff, I… Ray, you’re riskin’ so much… what if you got caught? What if your Pa —“

“Lottie, I tell you, it’s really no big deal to me, I — are you crying?”

Lottie was crying. Silent, shaky sobs — her shoulders moved up and down as tears streamed down her face, a watery smile directed towards Ray.

“No one’s ever… not since… oh, Raymond, you’re ever so nice to me.” She said, wiping her tears with her sleeve. Ray fished for the other, spare handkerchief in his pocket, immediately at Lottie’s side.

“Here.” He offered, and Lottie let out a laugh. She felt crazy.

“You probably think I’m a hysterical lady now, huh?” She blew her nose, and Ray chuckled.

“A little.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing him gently. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” Ray said, in between bouts of laughter. “Christ, Lottie, if you’re hysterical, I don’t know what the hell I am.”

“Very funny, Ray Garraty,” Lottie replied fairly.

“But I may have a faint idea,” Ray muttered, and Lottie noticed how close they were once more. She could see his eyelashes, count each freckle, look into his big brown eyes and glimpse his chipped tooth.

“I’m assuming this is the part where —“

Ray shut Lottie up by kissing her again, and she gripped his collar, pulling him closer. It was like a drug to the both of them, kissing and feeling like this, and Lottie wondered why something that felt so good could be deemed so sinful. Ray took charge this time, kissing her desperately and feverishly, sometimes not even on the mouth but the edge of it, like he could never ever get enough of Lottie — so much so that he had no direction, as fucking drunk as his dad would get on beer.

“I’m asking you,” he said in between kisses, and Lottie giggled, kissing him back. She was messing up his hair with her hands, those soft fucking hands. “I’m… fuck, Lottie, I’m asking…” he kissed her again, and she went from his hair to his cheeks, holding his face, straddling him — fuck, he’d get hard in two seconds. “…Lottie, Christ — will you —“

Lottie pulled back, her hair a little messy. She was grinning. “Will I what?”

Ray stared up at her, eyes shining a bit before clearing his throat. “May I… oh, shit. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his face while Lottie laughed. “I can’t do this with you… looking at me like that, I — okay.”

Ray straightened up, looking Lottie straight in the eye. She was still straddling him, a hand on each shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Charlotte Green, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Raymond Garraty?” Lottie replied, teasingly. Ray chuckled, but quickly became mock - serious.

“May I be your man?” He asked sincerely, and Lottie smiled, not answering for a moment, and Ray got worried. “Boyfriend? Male escort? Bag - carrier? Anything? Please?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Lottie replied. “Yes, you may. And I’ll be your girl.”

Ray grinned up at their, pulling her in closer. “My lady.”

“Your lady.”

“Your man.”

“My man.” Lottie kissed his forehead, and he laughed. “Gosh, Max was right about us. We are corny, huh?”

“A little.” Ray shrugged. “But I don’t mind it.”

They ate a little more, watching the movie and talking a lot about nothing — Ray interrupted so many times with his fun facts that Lottie felt she had been on the set herself. They had finished their snacks, and Bonnie and Clyde were driving down a trail, ready to help a farmer by the roadside — the movie then cut to black.

“Oh, I was interested!” Lottie exclaimed, throwing her arms up in confusion. “Why’d it stop?”

“My dad managed to cut out the ending,” Ray replied, through a mouthful of sandwich. “Said it was too graphic for me. I can give you a description of it, though, if you like.”

“What happens, then?” Lottie asked. Ray swallowed his sandwich before answering.

“They both get shot to death, it’s really gruesome. Not a clean one shot too, it was multiple — they were turned into Swiss cheese, to put it plainly. It was so horrifying even my dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Lottie then fell quiet, feeling her hands get clammy. She was thinking about another shooting she had seen, once. It had been a long time ago, but she’d always remember it. The feeling.

The horror.

“Lottie, stay in your room. You don’t want to —“

“Lottie?” Ray asked, and she was snapped out of her reverie. “You okay?”

“What?” She blinked. “O - oh, yeah, I’m… I’m fine, jumper. I think — it’s gettin’ late, don’t you think we should go…?”

Ray checked his watch. It was 10:30 pm. “Oh, we definitely should go.” He said, slowly getting up. “It’ll be 11 in no time, and we’re far from home. My mom will be worried, an we don’t know if your dad has checked your room yet...”

Lottie nodded, getting up and helping Ray to pack their things — she was rolling up the picnic mat when she saw the apple cider bottle had rolled some ways away from where they were. She could leave it, but it wasn’t good to litter…

Lottie walked over to where the apple cider bottle was lying, not seeing the tree root sticking out in her path. With a silly sort of yelp, Lottie’s arms windmilled, and she fell over in a heap. Pain went shooting up her leg, and she heard Ray run over.

“…ow.” She winced.

“Lottie,” Ray asked tentatively, assessing her as she sat up. There were twigs stuck in her hair, and she blew some catkins away. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m —“ Lottie tried to get up, but winced — her ankle stung. “— I’m not so fine, jumper.”

“Is it your ankle?” Ray asked softly, and Lottie nodded, face still pained. Ray’s hands hovered around her foot, hesitant, before slipping off her right heel. “It’s this one, right?”

Lottie nodded again, and Ray sighed, knitting his brows in confusion. “Think it’s broken?”

“I doubt it,” Lottie shifted, trying to move her foot. Sharp pain. She winced again, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s too severe, just sprained, is all. I’ll probably limp on our way to the car, but I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Ray blinked in genuine confusion. “Who said you were walking…?”

“What?”

Ray rolled his sleeves — an action that made Lottie feel that sinful feeling below, and she shook her head.

“I’m fine, I can walk.”

“No, you can’t.” Ray said firmly. Lottie stared at his arms. Big. “I’m carrying you to the car.”

“It’s really no bother —“

“You’re my girl.” Ray replied simply, scooping Lottie into his arms. “It’s a bother to me if you walked on a sprained ankle.”

Lottie looked up at him, not replying. He stared back, as if daring her to challenge him. Then she smiled.

“Alright, then.”

Around twenty minutes later, Ray had placed Lottie in the passenger seat, put the hamper and mat in the backseat, and sat in the driver’s seat with a huff. It was extremely late, and they needed to get back home soon.

“Okay…” Ray muttered to himself, fishing out the car keys. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Corny.”

“Shut up.”

Lottie laughed as Ray tried to start the ignition — the car sputtered once, twice, and didn’t give in. Ray frowned, turning the key once more. It sputtered only once this time, and still didn’t start.

“What’s wrong? Lottie asked, nervous. “Are we out of gas?”

“No, uh…” Ray squinted at the meter. “No, my dad got plenty of gas before I left, so I don’t know what’s happening.” He turned the key one more time, and the car still didn’t start. “Oh, fuck. Lottie, I think we’ll have to walk home.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Ray nodded. “I know it’s late, but if we stay here, who knows what’ll happen? I’ll carry you to my house, my mom can help with your ankle, and if you’re up to it, I can help you back to yours after.”

“Ooo, I’m meeting your mom?”

“Stop it.” Ray laughed.

“So early?”

“Maybe.” Ray shrugged. “Maybe I’m proposing to you right now.”

“Shut up,” Lottie laughed. “Okay… what if Squads come around?”

“They’ll probably just tell us to hurry up. I don’t think they’ll get too pissed — then again, we shouldn’t take chances…” and Lottie knew what he meant. They wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a woman, let alone a Black woman, out this late. “We should hurry. I’ll come back for the other things and the car tomorrow.”

Lottie nodded, and Ray got out of the car, opening her door and taking her in his arms before she could protest.

“Ray!” She hissed, as he grinned a little. “You’ll get tired.”

“Oh, I’m capable.” Ray started walking, and Lottie rolled her eyes. They were on a dark, tree - lined street — they could only hear crickets and owls as they went. From time to time, the couple would make eye contact, smile, and look away from one another; Lottie was giddy as ever. She’d never had a boyfriend before, not a serious one, and she liked this boy very much.

“You sure I’m not too heavy?” Lottie asked, as Ray started to whistle. He shook his head, and Lottie huffed, looking away. “You really are strong, Garraty.”

“Thank you,” Ray replied, smiling. “But you’re not that heavy. Wouldn’t be a problem if you were heavier, but you’re not. So.”

Lottie smiled to herself, and they went on.

***

“You know,” Ray had said, after thirty minutes of silence. The two were sure they’d near Porterville soon. “I had a brother, too.”

Lottie, who’d been dozing off in Ray’s arms, looked up at him. He wasn’t looking back at her, a faraway expression on his face. “Really?”

Ray nodded. “His name was Jeff.”

“Was…?”

“He died of pneumonia when he was six.” Ray answered the unasked question, and Lottie thought she heard a sniffle.

“Oh, Ray.” She said softly, holding him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s not — It was a long time ago.” Ray explained. “I was only two years older than him, eight. Funny enough, I don’t remember much about him. Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Lottie didn’t say anything, wallowing in the silence with Ray. He spoke again.

“Y’know, in a fucked up, cruel sorta way — I was sort of relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“Listen, Lottie.” Ray swallowed, hitching her up so she was more comfortable. “It’s not a kind world we live in, we both know that. I didn’t want him to — I don't know how we'd've gotten along if he'd've lived, whether we could afford to — anyway.”

Lottie was quiet. “…why’re you tellin’ me this?”

Ray didn’t respond immediately, looking into the night sky, thoughtful.

“So you know you’re not alone.” He said finally, looking straight at Lottie. “At least, with the whole… brother thing. I don’t like thinking about Jeff either. We have that in common.“

Lottie didn’t reply, but her breath hitched, and she gripped Ray tighter. In response, he clutched her closer to him.

***

“I’m just surprised you picked me, you know.” Ray said, and Lottie gave him a look.

“Why?”

“Well, have you seen me?”

“More times than I can count.”

“And have you seen yourself?”

“Most definitely, jumper.”

“And you’re aware that you’re beautiful?”

Lottie laughed. “What’re you tryna get at, Ray?”

“I’m no movie star.” Ray explained simply. “But you… you look like Brenda Sykes.”

Lottie gave him another look, amused. “What do you know about Brenda Sykes, Garraty?”

“I did tell you I like film.”

“I’m beginning to think you have a certain type.” Lottie raised her eyebrows playfully, and Ray laughed. “But. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, Ray. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m honest.” Lottie shifted in his arms. “Look… let me ask you a question.”

“Anything.”

“How do you think your mama looked at you when you were first born? When she held you?” Lottie asked, after a long moment of silence.

Ray didn’t reply. He’d walked past their family photo at home so many times — the one with Jeff was long forgotten somewhere in the basement. His father’s hand would be on his mother’s shoulder, as she tickled a tubby baby Ray, and he’d be laughing too, new eyes all squinty and tiny mouth all toothless.

He always hated looking at it, because Ben had always told him he looked like a blob. But he’d never stopped to look, really look, at how Ginnie had gazed down at her first baby boy, her husband looking over her shoulder to get a peek of Ray too. Like he was the most precious, fascinating thing to ever exist.

“She probably thought you were the most beautiful boy in the world,” Lottie continued, when Ray hadn’t said anything. “You need to have that same love for yourself.” She looked away from Ray, blushing. “Lord knows I do.”

A beat. “I really do love you, Lottie.”

“I love you too, Ray.” Lottie looked back, and Ray’s eyes looked to be shining with unshed tears. “Oh — I’m sorry. Ray, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Ray sniffled, grinning. “You’ve just got a way with words, writer.”

***

“In that fair city…”

“No, Lottie — it goes like this.” Ray cleared his throat, and Lottie giggled. “In Dublin’s fair city…”

“…where the girls are so pretty…” Lottie continued. Ray nodded.

“Now you’ve got the hang of it.”

“I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.” Lottie sang clearly — Ray swayed, snorting, and Lottie let out a little yelp, holding on to him tighter. He laughed out loud, uninhibited.

“Why’d you do that, jumper?!” Lottie grumbled, and Ray laughed even more. “Could’ve fallen.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just —“ Ray kept laughing. “I love the way you say Molly Malone. It’s all funny - sounding.”

“How do I say it, then?” Lottie raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

“You say it like Maw - lee Muh- loan.” Ray said, with a horrible southern accent. Lottie rolled her eyes as Ray burst into another fit of laughter.

“You’re a bully.” She muttered.

“No!” Ray laughed again. “I love it, it’s sweet. Maw - lee Muh - loan.”

“Maw - lee Muh - loan!” Lottie repeated loudly, and the couple giggled, Ray shushing her.

***

“You sure I won’t be bothering your parents?” Lottie asked, as Ray knocked on the door of his house. After Lottie had insisted for about a mile that he could put her down, Ray had decided to put Lottie down at his house’s doorstep. Lottie had never been to Ray’s house before, nor met his parents — she’d only seen glimpses of them around town, but never really said hi.

“No, I’m sure,” Ray replied, putting his hands on his hips after knocking a third time. “They’ll love you. They keep asking about you, actually.”

“Really?” Lottie asked, flustered — she tried to fix her hair, see if there were any twigs left behind. “How do they know about me?”

Ray’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I may have mentioned you once or twice.”

“What?”

Ray was saved from having to explain by the front door bursting open — it was William, Ray’s father. He didn’t see Lottie just yet, looking straight at Ray.

“Ray, son — it’s late. What happened ? Are you okay?”

“I know dad, but —“

“And where’s the car?” William looked behind Ray, only to see an empty driveway. “You didn’t have it towed by those ass - sucking Squads, did you — oh, hello!”

William had finally spotted Lottie, who was trying to make herself seem small. “This must be the little Green lady! My son’s been bothering you, I hear.” William grinned, and Ray pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Dad…” he groaned.

Lottie, uncertain, offered a handshake.

“I’m Charlotte Green, sir… nice to meet you.”

“Oh, don’t bother with all that — come in, come in!” William beckoned Lottie into the house, and she gave a small smile, stepping forward with a slight limp. Her ankle still hurt. William guided her with a hand on the shoulder, turning back to Ray.

“This one’s a keeper,” he whispered. Ray’s face turned red with embarrassment. “She’s very pretty.”

“Dad!” He hissed, before stepping in after them.

Lottie took in the Garraty home — the general layout wasn’t that different from her own house: a small foyer, some pictures of what she was sure to be distant family members on the wall, low, orange lighting — the wallpaper was a vintage, sweet sort of floral on a cream base. Lottie found herself stopping and staring at the one on the table, the one with baby Ray.

“Welcome to our humble abode, Charlotte.” William was saying, and Lottie heard someone moving about in the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Garraty.” She replied, staring at little Ray — Ginnie looked to be gazing at him, and Ray was laughing. He was wearing a baby blue onesie, red faced and tubby. The picture was the only colored one, and Lottie figured the Garratys had splurged a little on it. Colored pictures were more expensive. Not everybody could afford those.

“Oh, god,” Ray whispered, sidling up to stand beside Lottie. “You’ve found it.”

“You look so sweet.” Lottie cooed, and Ray huffed out a laugh. “Such a cute little baby.”

“I looked fat.”

“Babies are supposed to be fat, jumper.” Lottie shook her head, bumping Ray with her hip.

“I hear we have a guest tonight!” a high, sweet voice was heard, and Lottie turned as Ginnie Garraty, Ray’s mom, walked into the foyer — she obviously looked older than in the photo, but nonetheless beautiful and welcoming. “I’m Ginnie, Raymond’s mother!”

“Oh, I’m Charlotte Green —“

Lottie was about to shake Ginnie’s hand when the latter pulled her into a quick hug instead. Lottie gave a small gasp of surprise, before hugging her back slowly.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, sweetheart,” Ginnie drew back, taking in Lottie’s face. Lottie couldn’t keep eye contact, looking everywhere but at Ginnie. “My lord, Ray’s description of you didn’t do you enough justice. You are so beautiful!”

“Mom!” Ray threw his arms up, and Ginnie looked at him from behind Lottie’s Afro. “Can you stop embarrassing me?!”

“Oh hush, Raymond,” Ginnie looked back at Lottie. “I ought to tell her the truth. She really is very beautiful — I hope you’ve been telling her that, too.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Garraty —“

“Nonsense,” Ginnie waved away the formality. “Call me Ginnie.”

“…thank you, Ginnie.” Lottie said uncertainly, face burning.

“Now,” Ginnie smiled at Lottie. “Do you want to see the photo album of Ray as a baby?”

Lottie’s eyes lit up, and she covered her mouth, giggling.

“Mom!” Ray close to yelled, his voice cracking. “Can you — “

“There’s a whole theme,” Ginnie continued. “We really did spend almost all our savings on the little outfits, but it was worth it.”

“There’s a theme?!” Lottie repeated, in disbelief — Ray wanted to die.

“Oh yes,” Ginnie nodded. “Sailor boy, he had the most adorable little hat — William even fixed a tiny wooden boat, and then I sewed a little mitt for the baseball player part, all very professional.”

“Mom!” Ray exclaimed. “Mom, I brought Lottie here so you could help her, not fucking —“

“Language!” William warned from the living room. “And Ray, why haven’t you brought a chair for the lady to sit on? That’s no way to treat a woman.”

“I’m working on it!” Ray called back, sighing. “Mom, Lottie sprained her ankle.”

“What?” Ginnie immediately started to steer Lottie towards the living room. “Ray, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to, but — Mom, be careful —“

Lottie squeaked as Ginnie firmly set her down on a chair — she then hurried off, muttering to herself. Lottie looked out the corner of her eye, and saw William Garraty sitting in the sofa opposite her, looking back. A rerun of one of the Major’s speeches was playing on the TV, but the volume was low.

“So, Charlotte.” He started, sitting up as Ray bickered with his mother in the kitchen. “Ray says you’re a writer.”

“He does?”

“He does.” William nodded. “What do you write about, little lady?”

“Well…” Lottie fumbled, nervous — William’s eyes were similar to Ray’s, she noticed. “I do write romance, but I also write about my… thoughts.”

“Your thoughts, you say?” William shifted forward in his seat, intrigued. “Do any of these thoughts go against the oppressive regime we live under?”

“Excuse me?” Lottie replied stupidly — William laughed, slapping his knee.

“Come on, Charlotte — Ray says you read a lot, and any person that reads that much must be smart. Any person that’s smart…” he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Would see how oppressive this system is. Not whisper and gossip about the ‘misbehaved ones.’”

“Dad?” Ray called from the kitchen, and William rolled his eyes, making Lottie laugh. “Dad, where’s the —“

“The gauze is under the cereal cabinet, son — you keep leaving it there.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Ray called back. A beat. “I hope you’re not interrogating Lottie.”

“I would never do such a thing,” William replied, winking at Lottie — she grinned. “Hurry up, son, we need to treat her.”

“I do write… like that, sometimes.” Lottie said, when Ray and Ginnie had started talking again. William nodded, listening. “It’s freeing, especially with… everything.”

William nodded, getting what Lottie meant. “It must be hard.”

Lottie shrugged, looking at the floor. “You may encounter many defeats…”

“…but you must not be defeated.” William completed, nodding. Lottie grinned. “Maya Angelou. I was right. You are smart, young lady. I’m glad you chose my son.”

“Dad,” Ray sighed, coming into the living room. “You’re talking like we’re married already, you’re going to scare her away.”

“So you two are courting?” Ginnie asked brightly, and Ray groaned even more. She looked to Lottie, before sitting on a chair next to her, lifting her sprained foot into her lap and assessing it. Lottie’s face burned. “Ray’s never had a lady - friend.”

“Mom, please stop, holy shit.” Ray muttered into his palms, as Ginnie got a pack of ice and pressed it on Lottie’s foot gently. Lottie winced, but then felt relief — Ginnie snapped her fingers at Ray, who was still partially mortified.

“Baby, go get me some painkillers, the ones in the bathroom cabinet.”

Ray wordlessly got up, half - jogging to the bathroom, somewhere else in the house.

“So, sweetheart,” Ginnie started softly, massaging Lottie’s foot, checking where it hurt the most. “Where did you move here from?”

“Louisiana.” Lottie replied, sucking in air through her teeth when Ginnie got to a particular area of her foot. Ginnie, noticing this, moved away from it.

“You lived in Baton Rouge?” William asked, trying to distract Lottie from the pain.

“Oh no, we didn’t live in the capital, just an area some miles from it,” Lottie elaborated, Ginnie still quietly working on her foot. “Lived there since I was born.”

“Right, right.” William nodded. “And do you plan on staying in this old town for the rest of your life, then?”

“William!” Ginnie scolded.

“What?” He asked, as Lottie laughed. “It’s a valid question, she’s a smart little lady.”

“Well…” Lottie trailed off. “I’ve always dreamed of getting a house somewhere else, somewhere quiet. With two floors, and a study where I can write. After university, of course, if I could save up and afford it.”

Ray had reappeared with the painkillers, but he hovered at the doorway — listening.

“And I’d probably want it to be out in the country, a little isolated.” Lottie went on, dreamlike. “And I’d start my own little farm, be self - sufficient. And publish, too. Yeah. I’d like that.”

The living room was quiet, and Lottie realized she’d said too much, and the Garratys were probably staring at her. Her face became flushed as she avoided everyone’s eyes. “…sorry.”

“Oh, don’t you dare apologize, sweetheart,” Ginnie said softly, pressing the ice into her foot. “That’s a lovely dream to have, so sweet.”

“You’re a dear little lady, Charlotte, a dear little lady.” William nodded.

“You want a two - story house?” Ray repeated, still standing in the doorway. He was clutching the painkillers. Lottie looked up at him.

“Maybe.” She said quietly. “But forget I said anythin’.”

Ray kept staring at her, face unreadable until Ginnie beckoned to him for the painkillers. “Oh. Right. Sorry, Mom.” He sat down on the sofa beside his father, deep in thought, while Lottie found herself interested in the floorboards. William and Ginnie shared a knowing look, smiling.

***

“Are you sure you can walk home alone?”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t I at least —“

“Ray, my house is five minutes from this point. You’ve carried me enough, I can handle it.” Lottie assured Ray, smiling — he was half holding her up. Her house wasn’t too far from the couple, and they spoke in whispers. After another hour of fussing from Ginnie and some teasing from William, Lottie had left the Garraty home with a bag of cookies, a ‘please visit again soon,’ and Ginnie reminding Lottie, (much to Ray’s embarrassment), that she was a good wedding planner.

“How will you get back into your room?” Ray said now, still worried. Your ankle —“

“I can handle it, I promise.” Lottie said, raising her eyebrows.

“But —“ Lottie cut Ray off with a kiss, and he quieted, kissing her back before she broke it off.

“Stop worrying, jumper.” She whispered. “I love you. Goodnight.”

Ray grinned down at her. “As you like it, Lottie. I love you better. Goodnight.” Lottie disentangled from Ray and started to walk again, still with a very slight limp. Ray watched her until she got to the side of her house. She turned around, seeing him and waving him away. Reluctantly, Ray waved back, turned around, and started walking back to his house.

Lottie heaved herself, with a wince, up to her windowsill — with a quiet yelp, she tumbled through the open window and into the darkness of her room, landing on her bed. Pain shot up her ankle.

“…ow.” She whispered, getting up and limping towards the light switch — she fumbled in the dark for half a second before locating it. She flicked her finger, turning on the light, and —

“Pity that you’re joinin’ us so late.” A familiar voice said.

Lottie screamed, falling over — her father, her brother Robert, and her mother had been waiting silently in the corner of her room, sentinel. Marie, her mother, looked stern — Robert, her brother, shook his head slowly, a pajama top on for once — and Atticus, her father, simply took a drag from his cigar.

It was over.

It was completely over.

Lottie lay spread - eagled on the floor, staring at her family as they stared down at her.

“Pa —“

“I’m going to ask you one question.” Atticus said slowly, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “And I want you to answer truthfully.”

“Lottie, get up.” Robert urged, his arms crossed. Lottie sighed, standing and dusting off her dress.

“Where were you?” Atticus asked. “‘Cause it certainly don’t look like you were at a prayer meetin’.”

“Pa, I’m sorry —“

“Save the apologies,” Marie held up a hand, and Lottie shut up. “And answer the question. Where were you?”

“I have an idea,” Robert started, and Lottie scowled at him. “Starts with ‘white’ and ends with ‘boy.’”

“Shut up, Robbie.” Lottie snapped.

“Hey.” Atticus snapped his fingers, before pointing at at Lottie. “Answer the question.”

Lottie hung her head. “Iwasonadate.”

“What?” Robert held a hand to his ear, leaning in. “Wha’choo say, dear old Lottie?”

“I said,” Lottie repeated, teeth gritted. “I was on a date.”

“With whom?” Marie asked. Lottie fiddled with her fingers. “Charlotte. With whom?”

“Ooo, you are going to get it now.” Robert whistled.

“Robert Edward Green, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will sew it shut for you,” Atticus said firmly. Robert, though twenty, promptly snapped his mouth shut.

“Now,” Atticus turned to Lottie. “Who was the boy?”

Lottie started to sweat. If she didn’t tell her Pa, he’d probably go around town, asking any boy around her age if they’d been canoodling with her. It’d be horrible, and Ben Miller would have a field day. And if he got to Ray — Ray, who definitely wouldn’t lie about it — he’d probably get chased away by a rifle.

“I’m waitin’, Charlotte.” He took another drag of his cigar, while Lottie’s mom pinched the bridge of her nose, in despair. Robert simply shook his head again in disappointment.

“Pa, please don’t shoot him.” Lottie whispered.

“Tell me, Lottie.” Atticus replied simply, and Lottie gulped.

“You know that boy, the one who Robert was teasin’ about when we first moved in…”

“Called it!” Robert yelled suddenly, pumping his fist — a swift hit on the top of the head from his mother shut him up. “…ow.”

“The Garraty boy?” Atticus asked. Lottie sighed, nodding.

“Yes, Pa. Raymond Garraty, from a couple houses over.” She fiddled with her hands, trying to read Atticus’s expression. She couldn’t.

“There’s another detail, Pa.” Robert mock - whispered, and Lottie rolled her eyes. “Garraty’s white. W-H-I-T-E. Caucasian. Maybe he’s got a little Irish in ‘im, but —“

“Robert.” Atticus said firmly, and Robert shut up once more. He then turned back to his daughter. “And you didn’t think to —“

“Tell you?” Lottie completed, incredulous. “Pa, when we came here, I didn’t think — I had no idea — “ Lottie sighed, looking away for a moment. “When you warned me about Ray, when you said his sort go and sign up for the Walk and get shot, I didn’t know him then, not properly. But Pa, he’s such a sweet boy, you just got to get to know him, I promise. He reads books, he laughs with me, he hung out with me despite everybody else at school steerin’ clear. Well, not everybody, but that’s a whole different story — he’s such a gentleman, he makes me laugh, he’s fun! He hates the Walk. And I know you’ll say everybody does, but Ray really does, I promise — he’d never sign up, not in a million years, he’d never leave his family or me, I know. I… I love him, Pa. I really do. That’s why I went against you. Just to see him. I rarely disobey you, Pa, you know this. But I did. For him. And it shouldn’t matter that we’re different, but it does, and I know we’ll face gossip, but I don’t care, Pa. I really don’t. I’ll persevere through it, we both will, and you’ve seen me persevere before.”

Lottie finished then, her chest heaving, her face flushed and emotional and raw. Atticus stared at her. She stared back, a silent question in her eyes.

“… I’m assuming you see yourself marryin’ this boy one day, then.” Atticus finally said, after a long moment.

Lottie huffed. “Yes, Pa.”

The clock on Lottie’s bedside ticked. It was 1 am. Atticus stubbed out his cigar.

“Well.” Atticus said, standing. He’d always be tall and imposing, but Lottie met his eyes head - on. “As you like it. I’ll have to meet this boy.”

“What?” Robert said, his voice cracking. “Pa, what if —“

“That’s my decision, Robbie.” Atticus said firmly. “I want to see him. See what his intentions are. I know you’re protective of your sister, but she’s gettin’ older.”

Lottie grinned as Atticus and Marie made their way to her door, her mother giving her a look.

“This don’t mean I wholly approve, Charlotte.” Atticus said suddenly, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m just seein’ if I should chase him away or not. No unworthy man is to wed my daughter.”

Lottie nodded quietly, and Robert sighed — he followed Marie and their father out, closing Lottie’s door with a click. As soon as they all left, Lottie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, falling back onto her bed.

It was official. More so than it’d been before.

They were courting. Dating. Whatever. He was Lottie’s man, and she was Garraty’s girl.

Lottie clutched a pillow to her chest, sighing — with a giggle, she flicked her bedroom light off.

***

Nine years earlier, somewhere in Louisiana

The crickets outside of the Green family’s home chirped restlessly as the sky turned a purplish - blue. It was fast approaching evening, and the house was settling down; both figuratively and literally. It was a good house, considering everything; everything being that everybody in America was dirt - poor and had to scrape around to get by.

It was somewhat a large wooden shack, a well built one. A wide, green expanse surrounded it, with horses grazing peacefully as rabbits hopped around and foraged for carrots. Flowers grew everywhere. Grass was lush, and green. The porch was always scattered with things that reminded you the house was full, boots and toys and dolls lying on the floor, discarded but never forgotten, along with echoes of goddamnit Robert Green if you don’t come and get your toy car from this porch I will send back to whence you came.

There was a rocking chair that the Green patriarch, Atticus Green, would always sit on — he would smoke his cigar while talking to his eldest, Anthony, each evening. There was also a cracked window to the right of the front door that had a splash of ink from when little Lottie had been messing around with her father’s inkwell. The door was sturdy, and the hallway, though dingy, was always kept clean.

You’d see three rooms on one side and two on the other: the three rooms belonging to Anthony, Mr. and Mrs. Green, Robert and Lottie, in that order, and the other rooms being a kitchen and a washroom. The washroom had a squeaky clean tiny tub with a metal shower head that flowed brown in rainy season, and a sink with a rosary hanging from the tap. Nobody remembers how the rosary got there, but they do not move it. There are five toothbrushes, and five towels, everyone having their own thing, because Atticus would be damned to hear anyone quarreling in the morning.

And then there was the kitchen, which had no door, only an open doorway, because the Greens could not afford another door in their house, and Atticus refused to let Anthony try and make one. He thought his woodwork wasn’t good enough yet to make a damn door. Son, I love you, but you cannot carve a door yet, and my back’s hurting too much to do it myself. Who needs a door for a kitchen, anyway? Lottie was too short to reach a doorknob when that conversation happened, and they all reckoned it’d be better for her to just toddle in. That had been a long time ago. Lottie was now nine, but no one saw the need for a door. There was a framed picture of the Major beside the doorway of the kitchen, because every household in America was supposed to have one. Nobody looked at it, no one apart from Anthony.

Anthony Atticus Green, Atticus Green’s firstborn son, was now sitting at the dinner table, humming to himself as his bright - eyed little sister, Lottie, kicked her skinny legs under the table. Robert was sitting opposite her, one seat away from the chair at the head of the table, which Atticus sat at. His wife, Marie, sat on the seat next to the head of the table, opposite Anthony. But she was not sitting now. She was humming to herself, passing out the plates of dinner, which was fried salmon with plain rice and tomato stew. Anthony had been saving up to buy some rice, all the money from his odd jobs in town culminating into their meal, plus his father’s own earnings and the fish he’d caught at the lake in the woods, his oasis.

“Thank you, Ma.” Ant said softly, smiling up at his mother as she placed his plate of food in front of him. Lottie was still playing with her stuffed rabbit Stebbins when her mother had set her own plate in front of her, and Atticus arched a brow at his youngest daughter.

“Charlotte, what do you say?” He asked her, his voice low. Lottie, who’d been trying to make Stebbins pretend to cough, looked up at her father slowly before looking to her mother. Robert snickered behind his hand.

“Thank you, mama.” She said, and Marie smiled at her daughter before sitting next to her husband.

“Robert,” Atticus said then, rubbing his hands as he looked at the plate in front of him. “Turn on the radio, will you? See if there’s anything good.”

“Yes, Pa.” Robert said obediently, getting down from his chair and hurrying off to the radio. Upon turning it on, a broadcast from the Major crackled through: Robert was about to change it before his father held up a hand. Anthony, who’d almost started eating, perked up at the Major’s voice.

“Turn the volume up, son.” He asked gently.

“Okay, Pa.”

Robert turned up the volume, and the old radio relayed the Major’s message with ease.

“Dear America,” his gravelly voice echoed around the room, firm and unnerving. “This year’s Long Walk is fast upon us. A chance for boys of all sizes, colors and shapes to enter — as long as you are physically well, above eighteen and below twenty - five, you can apply. The prize, as you all know, is more money than you can dream of, and a separate wish. Fifty boys. One winner. All of you have a chance. Only three days until —“

“Change the station, Robert.” Atticus interrupted then, his face unreadable. Lottie stared at her father as Robert obeyed, and Anthony, who’d been almost leaning towards the radio, slumped back in his seat. Marie, their mother, noticed; and an acceptable gospel song started to play from the radio, smooth and low so each family member could hear the other speak.

“The Lord’s Prayer,” Atticus said then, and the family recited it all dutifully before beginning to eat. Marie, after a few moments, spoke up.

“You enjoyin’ what the Major was sayin’, Ant?” She asked noncommittally, taking a sip of her water. Ant stiffened, a spoonful of rice halfway to his mouth. Lottie was sticking her tongue out at Robert, who scowled back at her.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were enjoyin’ what the Major was saying.”

“What?” Ant let out an awkward huff of laughter, and his father gave him a sidelong glance. “No, ‘m not. Why —“ he cleared his throat, and sat up a bit straighter. “Why do you ask that?”

“You seemed awful interested,” Marie pressed, taking another mouthful of rice. “I was just wonderin’.”

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of going.” Atticus spoke up then, and Marie motioned to Lottie to eat her food and stop playing with Stebbins.

Anthony hummed. Atticus furrowed his brow.

“I said, I hope you’re not thinkin’ of —“

“How was work today?” Marie interposed, sensing the heightening tension. “You know, in town. You get any jobs?”

“Uh…” Ant trailed off then, remembering chatting to his girl, Lilith, behind the local bar. He’d still worked that day, but not enough. Her lips were featherlight on his, that he remembered.

“Anthony?”

“Uh, yeah.” Anthony cleared his throat, face burning. Lottie smirked; she knew all about Lilith Harkness, Anthony Green’s girlfriend, beauty that she was — she also knew that if she tattled on him to their parents he’d hang her by the ears.

“That’s all well and good,” Atticus nodded, taking another spoonful of his food, about to eat it, before pausing. “You and I keep this going, son, then we can save up enough to buy that plot in Maine, or somewhere close. Get somewhere a bit quieter, start up that grocery store.”

Ant swallowed, not responding. He and his father worked, his father selling crops they planted in the field in town and Ant taking up odd jobs. They were saving up money, wanted to move somewhere “better”, but Ant saw the toll all the work was taking on his Pa. The way his Ma would stare wistfully at nice looking dresses in the local boutique, then at her own sketches of fashion designs, the way Robert gazed at the local cars, the way Lottie would never admit it but she wanted to get better notebooks to write and dream in. He wondered, everyday, how she’d be able to publish a book when she was older; whether the State would even allow a woman, let alone a Black woman, show her story to the world. But he knew the sister of a Walk Winner would definitely have a better chance —

“And what did you do today, Lottie?” Ma asked then, taking Ant out of his train of thought. Lottie was trying to feed Stebbins some of her dinner, and stopped, blinking. Her smooth, round, unblemished and unscarred face shone in the lamplight of the warm kitchen — her mother always made sure to oil Lottie’s face generously. She looked like a radiant pearl, her mama’s little beauty.

“Well,” Lottie tapped her chin. “I was playin’ with Clem today.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mhm. And I met a boy, his name was… uh… Richard, but I call him Richie. He talks a lot.”

“Oh, I know him!” Ant said cheerfully, smiling at Lottie. “He’s my friend’s little brother, I was hopin’ you two would meet.”

Robert, who’d been listening closely, smirked. “Lottie’s talking to a boy.”

Lottie turned her nose up at her eleven year old brother, scowling. “What about it?”

“You like him.”

Lottie frowned, her brows furrowing. “Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!” Lottie humphed.

“Robert, leave it.” Ant warned, raising his eyebrows at him; he then quieted down, muttering something that sounded like ‘do too.’

“Anyway,” Lottie continued, scowling at Robert. “Me and him and Clementine was playing near a stream after school, and Richie was tryin’ to impress us or somethin’, ‘cause he said he could swim. And then I told him ‘prove it’ and he went and fell in the lake, only his boxers and vest on, all wet and such. And me and Clem laughed and laughed while he was thrashing in the water — he sounded all like ‘AGGHHHHHH!’” Lottie made a sound akin to a dying rat, flailing her arms around in mock terror and making her family laugh — “and then I realized he was in real, deep trouble, so even though Clem said I shouldn’t dive in I did, ‘cause Pa taught me how to swim, and I dragged his skinny self out.”

Ant, who was still laughing, wiped his mouth. “And what happened after that?”

“His face was all red, Ant! I tell you, he was bein’ a bit dramatic… he was all shivery and wet and I was too. Then I had to grab his glasses as well, he didn’t even need CPR. Just kept calling me his hero, and asked if I’d marry him. I said no, and Clem was laughing her head off.”

“Ha!” Robert said then, pointing at Lottie. “I knew you were romancin’. Pa, tell her she can’t do that.”

“I’m not romancin’!” Lottie yelled, upset. “I don’t like Richie, he’s too skinny for me. And he cries like a sissy!”

“Now Lottie, that’s no way to talk about a friend.” Her mother said, though there was a small smile on her face. “Finish up your food, all of you.”

Silence fell upon the family again, and the only sounds were the clinking of forks against the plates. Anthony, in that moment, thought of their financial situation again, and pursed his lips. He dared himself to glance at his father. He was eating dutifully, hands interlinked with his mother’s — he suddenly felt the urge to bring up his… plan. He wasn’t sure he’d like it, but he had to try.

“Pa.”

Atticus, who’d been grinning at his wife, swallowed his food before looking at Anthony. “Yes, son?”

Ant blinked, the thought of Lilith flashing through his mind. He pushed the thought away.

“I… was wonderin’…”

“Wonder away, son.” Atticus said jovially, squeezing his wife’s hand — she smiled at her husband, while Lottie and Robert ate dutifully.

“What do you think about it?” Ant said quietly. Atticus furrowed his brow, confused.

“What do I think about what, Ant?” He asked, sharing a look with Marie.

“The Long Walk.”

There was a ringing silence throughout the house then; even Robert and Lottie had stopped eating. Atticus stared at Anthony, his face blank, his lips pursed. His mother, who’d been smiling up till then, felt her smile drop. They stared at Anthony and Anthony stared back at them.

“…Pa?”

“I think that that Walk is none of your concern, boy.” Atticus said firmly.

Ant’s eye twitched slightly. His father only called him boy when he was upset, or berating him — it was, ironically, the same thing that the white men in town called him when he was doing work for them or even just passing by. Atticus didn’t mean it like that, Ant knew. But he hated it.

“Pa —“

“You’re seventeen years old, so it’s nothing you should be thinking about,” Atticus pushed on, taking a sip of water and ignoring his son. “It’s a foolish, senseless and brutal thing, and that’s that.”

“But Pa,” Ant pushed on, shifting his chair closer to the table. “The prize money —“

“Why are you talkin’ like you want to go?” Marie said then, giving Ant a look. “I hope you’re not —“

“Look, Ma,” Ant said, his voice slightly raised. “We’re tryin’ to raise money so we can move out of the South, right? Somewhere better, somewhere we can start that grocery store of ours.”

“Yes, and we’re doing just fine with the money we are gathering from town.” Atticus replied, the grip on his fork tightening. “Stop going on about that —“

“But I’m turning eighteen soon,” Anthony kept going, ignoring his father. “And I could…”

“You could what, Anthony?” Atticus said lowly, his voice holding a warning. “You could what?”

Anthony stared at his father, before clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.

“I could enter.”

“Oh, Jesus save me.” Marie said immediately, pinching the bridge of her nose as Atticus glared at Anthony, eyes wide.

“No such ideas will breed in my house,” Atticus said. “We are working ethically and savin’ money, and then we can be on our merry way out.”

“Pa —“

“That’s my final word, eat your food.”

“You’re not listening to me!” Anthony snapped. His father stilled. Anthony was rarely known to snap, least of all at his parents. He seemed to realize this, and faltered as his father’s face hardened.

“Pa, I’m sorry —“

“I don’t have anything more to listen to.” Atticus said gravely. “You’re going to eat your food, brush your teeth, get to bed early so you can wake up early and work in town with me. Don’t be stupid.“

Atticus stared at Ant, and Ant stared back as his father turned to his food. Lottie clutched her toy rabbit fearfully, eyes darting between the two men.

“I’m not stupid.” Ant muttered.

“What?” Atticus stopped eating.

“I said, I’m not stupid, Pa. I don’t know why you keep actin’ like I am.”

“Watch your tone.” Said Atticus, and Ant scoffed. Robert widened his eyes as Atticus narrowed his.

“Think something’s funny, boy? Think something’s funny about workin’ hard —“

“Workin’ hard just so we can sweat and break our backs in the sun all day?!” Ant yelled then, startling even his father. “Workin’ hard just so those people look down at us?! So we can scrape up, oh I don’t know, twenty dollars a week?!”

“Young man —“ Marie started, but Ant ignored his mother, turning fully to his father.

“Look at us,” Ant pleaded to his father. “We’re happy, but we’re poor. Lottie shouldn’t have to learn how to be sewing her own clothes from scraps Ma gets at the boutique. You shouldn’t have to be overworking yourself all the time, Robert should be able to dream about buyin’ his own car one day, and Ma should be able to design all the pretty dresses she wants! Lottie should be allowed to publish her little stories, because we all know they’ll be somethin’ big when she’s older!”

“And we can do all that the way we’re currently doing it!” Atticus finally shot back.

“We keep goin’ the way we are,” Ant started, panting. “We’ll never see that shop, never get out of here. The folks in Baton Rouge can testify, Pa— I’m going to try and provide for this family in a real good way.”

“What, by walking to your death?” Marie snapped.

“No, Ma. By walking so we can finally live.” He almost pleaded. “Look at me. I’m fit enough. I have a good chance, I promise you — a good chance.”

“That’s what all those boys think when they enter,” Atticus pointed at Ant. “And forty - nine of ‘em end up dying. You’re leading with emotion…” he pressed a finger to his temple, staring at Ant. “And not logic. You don’t get the luxury of bein’ like those white boys who think they have somethin’ to prove. Your actions, as a Black man, will affect us as a family more than them.”

“What are you —“

“You shut your mouth and listen to me, Anthony.” A new hardness had entered Atticus’s voice, and not a peep could be heard from anyone on the table. “You’re being too emotional, you are being a sissy. You do not take the easy way out, you WORK, and you WORK HARD!” Atticus banged the table with his fist as he yelled the last two words at his son, startling Robert and Lottie. Anthony glared at his father, chest heaving.

“I’ve been workin’ hard since I was Lottie’s age, and we’re still poor as shit.” He said quietly. “I hate bein’ poor, Pa, I hate it.”

A minute of silence followed just like that, the only thing in the world being the Greens and the Walk and the sense that things were changing. Atticus could not look at his son. He could only look at his plate.

“Anthony —“ Marie started, but Anthony got up from his seat, staring down at Atticus.

“I’m goin’ out.”

“Where?” Lottie asked, sounding so very small.

“Out.” He repeated, a little softer this time. Looking at his father once more, Anthony stormed out of the kitchen. Lottie made to follow.

“Sit down, Charlotte.” Atticus ordered— his sentence was punctuated by the slam of the front door.

***

Present Day

The lights in the buzzing hallways of Rutherford High flickered as Lottie Green rummaged through her locker, searching desperately for her History textbook — a State - sanctioned read that was technically just a big book glorifying the State and the winning of that damned Civil War, oh look how very great our totalitarian state is, slap a cap on the Major and call him Big Brother, Orwell would be pleased.

Multiple students bustled around in the hallway behind her, some bumping into her and not apologizing, the light reflecting off her shiny brown skin and lips and eyes. She was wearing yet another floral - print blouse— this one had purple lilacs all over. Her bell - bottoms had flowers stitched into her back pockets as well, and those pearl earrings she always wore dangled from her earlobes once more.

As ten minutes passed, Lottie was close to climbing into her locker to find the blasted textbook — she groaned, throwing her hands up in despair as she poked her head into her small, cramped locker.

“Need some help?” A voice said — Lottie startled, bumping her head on the edge of her locker as she recognized the voice of Ray Garraty, the boy who had gotten arrested around two weeks ago, the boy who was not her man.

“Oh, fuck me—“ Lottie hissed, withdrawing from the locker and rubbing her forehead as Ray widened his eyes.

“Shit, Lottie, are you okay — ?”

Lottie opened her eyes and looked at Ray, all worried and freckled and himself.

Pretty boy.

P-r-e-t-t-y boy.

“Lottie?”

“What? O - oh, yes! I’m fine!”

“You’re fine?”

“I’m fine!” She gave Ray two thumbs - up, and he laughed awkwardly. “Yeah… fine.”

They then stared at each other, neither sure what to say. Ever since Ray had been almost executed by the Squads, and Lottie had hugged him, all scared, they weren’t sure what to really… do with themselves. Had Ray told Lottie he loved her?

Yes.

Had Lottie told Ray she loved him?

Also yes.

But that could interpreted as platonic, right? After the whole thing, all Ray had done was walk her home instead of asking for her number. Then Lottie thought their lack of talking on the way home meant Ray was just being dramatic — he wasn’t actually in love with her, right? How could he? They hadn’t even properly… courted. That was how these things went — Ray would ask for her number, Lottie would give it, they’d talk and talk over the phone — then they had to ask permission from their parents, (Lottie’s father would probably chase Ray away with a rifle), start courting properly (which they wouldn’t be allowed to do because Lottie’s father would’ve chased Ray away with a rifle), and courted until Ray would present Lottie with a ring (which he wouldn’t be able to do, because Atticus Green would’ve shot him with a rifle).

“You, uh,” Ray fumbled with his hands, smiling at Lottie. “You look nice today.”

“Thank you,” Lottie replied, smiling and wondering why they were being so damn formal. The bruise she’d gotten from Ray sucking on her neck had just faded — she’d had to wear turtlenecks for weeks. It wasn’t pleasant in all the heat, and Robert had been looking at her suspiciously ever since she’d started doing it. She would, however, catch Ray staring at her neck, like he wanted to suck on it again — and when she caught him, he would look away from her all fast.

Lottie would find herself staring at Ray as well, whether they were in class, or in study group with Max, Bobby and Alex. Max would be explaining something, gesturing wildly and making the rest of the group laugh — Ray would laugh particularly loudly, and Lottie would see his hands holding his sides. They were large, capable hands, a little rough around the edges but strong. She wanted, she knew, those hands to press themselves into her lower back — to pull her against him, to slide down, and up, past her ribcage, to palm the soft flesh of her —

“Lottie?” Ray’s voice broke Lottie out of her reverie, and she startled.

“Chest?” Lottie blurted.

“What?” Ray replied, confused.

“I mean, yes?”

“I was just asking if you wanted to, uh…” Ray scratched the back of his neck, staring at Lottie; he hadn’t asked her for her number because he’d been too scared to. He wasn’t sure why was wrong with him. One moment he’d been kissing her hand, sucking on her neck… but the arrest had rattled him a little. Then there was the whole sleeplessness for two weeks just because she hadn’t been talking to him… but the love confession, he had meant it —

“If I wanted to what?” Lottie asked, feeling a bit tense.

Ray swallowed. “If you wanted to give me — if you, uh… could I have your number?”

Lottie blinked, her face flushing with warmth as Ray rocked on the balls of his feet. She didn’t speak for a moment, but then smiled.

“My Pa will kill you if he finds out you’re tryin’ to call me at god - knows - what time, Ray.”

Ray shrugged, smiling down at Lottie. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Lottie arched a brow. “He won’t.”

“He might.”

“I doubt it.”

“Doubt isn’t good, Lottie.”

“Neither is gettin’ into fights.” She replied, and Ray grinned wider.

“So… is that a yes on the number?”

Lottie pursed her lips, glancing around before looking into Ray’s eyes directly.

“…yes.”

Ray close to pumped his fist. “Yes!” He whisper - shouted.

“No talking about anything crazy, Raymond,” Lottie said then — she then leaned in closer to him, lowering her voice. “You know they monitor people’s calls.”

Ray, who was still grinning stupidly, nodded. “Noted. We can talk about… homework.”

“Not tonight, though.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be busy,” Lottie answered fairly, though she was lying — she heard from one of her cousins that if you were too eager with a man he’d lose interest fast. “Helping my Pa with financial records from the store.”

Ray blinked.

“Accounting.” Lottie emphasized.

“Of course,” Ray shrugged, shaking his head and trying to play it off. “I knew that.”

“You looked like a goldfish just now, jumper, I don’t think you did.”

“Very funny,” Ray nodded sarcastically, as Lottie giggled. “Really witty — can I have your number, please?”

“Alright,” Lottie said in between giggles. “Get a piece of paper, I won’t say it again.”

“What?” Ray deadpanned. “I don’t — Lottie, I don’t have a —“

“Five - five - nine,” Lottie started, smirking. Ray saw she was serious, and started digging in his backpack frantically.

“Lottie, wait —“

“Seven - eight… are you writing this down, jumper?”

“I’m —“ Ray was groping through his old bag feverishly, trying to rip a piece of paper from any of the inside notebooks. “— I’m trying… you said five - five - nine, right?”

“I don’t know.” Lottie shrugged. Ray groaned as she laughed, her full - body laugh.

“Lottie, you’ll be the death of me —“

“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Seven - eight - four —“

“I got it!” Ray had removed a piece of paper now, slightly panting as he grabbed a pen and pressed the paper against someone else’s locker, ready to write — he stuck out his tongue in concentration as he wrote the first couple of numbers, muttering them.

“Five - five - nine, seven - eight - four…”

“…five - five - seven - eight.” Lottie completed, closing her locker and giving Ray a look. “You happy now, jumper?”

“Am I ever,” he sighed, gazing at her. Lottie blushed, and Ray, realizing how he sounded, straightened up and cleared his throat. “I mean — yes. I’m … I’m happy you gave me your number. Thank you, um. Lottie.”

“You’re welcome.” Lottie paused, thinking. “But if a male voice answers, hang up immediately. It’ll be my Pa, or Robert, and I don’t think either of them like you very much.”

Really?” Ray said, raising his eyebrows. Lottie rolled her eyes. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“Ray.”

“I thought they loved me. I’m very charismatic.”

“Stop it,” Lottie giggled. “You’re stupid.”

“I guess they’re just a tough crowd,” Ray sighed — he finger - gunned at Lottie then, and she held her chest in mock - pain, pretending to be shot. Ray laughed, and so did she — then the bell rang.

“I guess it’s time for History,” Ray said, shouldering his bag. “Time to learn more about the Major.” He leaned in closer to Lottie and whispered. “I wonder if they’ll teach about his saggy left —“

“I just remembered,” Lottie said suddenly, smacking her forehead as students around the, started to go to class. “I left somethin’ in the library — Ray, tell Max I’ll be a little late.”

“Want me to come with you?” Ray offered, straightening back up.

“No, I’ll, be fine,” Lottie nodded, smiling at him. “You can’t escort me everywhere, Ray. It’s not like you’re my boyfriend.”

Lottie laughed, but Ray just stared at her. Her face warmed again.

“You should probably go to history.” She said quietly. The hallways were almost empty now.

“Right.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Noted.”

“At history.”

“Mhm.”

“Where you should be.”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah!” Ray started off towards class, and Lottie watched him — he then stopped, rocking on the balls of his feet before slowly turning around and walking back to Lottie.

“Ray?”

“My number’s in the local phone book, you know,” he said quickly, a bit flustered. “We’ve lived here for a long time, so — yeah, it should be there. In case you change your mind and wanted to call me tonight.”

“Oh! Okay…”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Lottie turned away from Ray then, waving as she made her way to the library, which was in a different wing of the school. Ray watched her walk away for a couple minutes before entering his class, grinning to himself.

The hallways for Lottie were practically empty now — the only sounds clearly being heard at this point were her quick light footsteps, and the low hum of the lights above. Dead flies made these lights their graveyards, all clustered up in the corners. It was, to Lottie, disgusting. She didn’t like to think about death, let alone dead things. Death, to her, was so final. She always felt uneasy when she was reminded of it.

Shaking her head and trying to get to the library before the History teacher would give her detention for being so late, Lottie didn’t look where she was going — she suddenly bumped into a solid wall of muscle.

“Ah, sorry,” Lottie said briskly, checking to see who it was; when she looked up, however, she froze.

It was Ben Miller.

He stared down at Lottie, who swallowed as she stared back at him. It had been five weeks since Ray had beaten him up at his birthday party — five weeks since Ray had broken Ben’s nose for the second time, all because he’d insulted Lottie after she’d left. His bruising was gone, and so were the bandages that had covered his nose. Although his nose had already been a little crooked from when Ray had broken it in ninth grade, it was even more crooked now. He had a hard look in his eyes. Those eyes bore into Lottie’s skull with such intensity that she felt the urge to squirm.

“Hello, Charlotte.” He said quietly, sizing her up. Lottie blinked. Ben had never addressed her directly before. “Haven’t seen you around.”

Lottie then made to move past Ben, but he sidestepped her.

“Can you move out of my way?” Lottie said, but Ben ignored her, stepping closer. She then straightened up, staring at Ben.

“I don’t see your little boyfriend around, either.” Ben whispered. “Tell Ray I said hi.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Lottie replied evenly, and Ben arched a brow, looking amused.

“Right, right.” He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “What a shame. After all that scrapping, you’d think a girl would give it up a little.”

“You don’t — ” Lottie started, feeling her face flare. “Fuck off, Miller.”

Lottie shouldered past Ben, giving him the finger — he simply watched her go, a sly smirk on his face.

“Watch your back, Green!” He yelled after her, and Lottie kept her eyes on the library doorway, not looking back at him.

***

“Why’re you sitting by the landline?”

Lottie Green was sitting on a chair by the kitchen island, one foot up as she drummed her fingers on the table impatiently — her two - piece floral print pajamas were a colorful compliment to the warmly toned kitchen. Her hair, which had been oiled, braided and put into a nightcap, had the scent of sesame oil. She herself smelled like cocoa butter, and her face was well moisturized. Robert liked to call her a ‘big - headed lightbulb’ in the evening, because she was so shiny.

Robert was also standing in front of Lottie now, furrowing his brow as he brushed his teeth. He had no shirt on, only in his pajama pants. He said he didn’t like sleeping with a shirt on at night because it was too damn hot. He was well - built, using the time in the evening to do push - ups or whatever young men like Robert do.

“Can you go away?” Lottie hissed, before looking back at the landline. “I’m waiting for somethin’.”

“What, for Jesus to come down and give you a call?” Robert said through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Or for somebody to come and tell you they care about your little novel?”

“It’s not a ‘little novel,’ Robbie, it’s gonna be revolutionary.”

“Yeah, well, revolutionary gets you killed.” Robert said, pausing his brushing to point his toothbrush at Lottie. She made a face of disgust.

“Eugh! Robbie, can you fuck off?”

“That’s no way to speak to your elders.” Robert replied fairly. Lottie rolled her eyes, before looking back at the answering machine. Beside her lay a thick book — it was the local phone book, containing a black - and - white picture of the Major giving a salute in the top right corner alongside neighborhood family numbers. The Garraty family line was towards the bottom of the first column. Lottie had been staring at it. She was too scared to dial it.

Plus, hadn’t she said she was too busy tonight?

Correction, Lottie had lied that she was too busy tonight. She had lied and come home with Max, helping her with homework before seeing her off (she had been glancing at the landline multiple times), going to shower, watching the evening programs with her Ma and Pa (still glancing at the landline) and finished another chapter of her novel (which, surprisingly, mentioned a lot of land lines).

“Look, Lottie, whatever you need to do with the damn phone, just do it,” Robert said, stretching. “You look weird.”

“Mind your business,” Lottie replied, rolling her eyes. “And go rinse your mouth.”

Robbie suddenly stopped stretching, an expression of thoughtfulness coming over his face. “I hope you’re not plannin’ to call Ray Garraty.”

Lottie’s face flared up with warmth, and she coughed before looking at Robert. “…no. No, I’m not. You told me to stay away from him and so I did, Robbie. What more d’you want?”

“Alright, alright.” He replied, holding up his hands in surrender, toothbrush in mouth. “Just checking.”

After that, Robert walked away, humming some unknown tune. Lottie watched him go, shaking her head before looking back at the landline — she almost fell off her chair when she heard it ringing.

Could it be Ray?

She grabbed the phone off the cradle eagerly, curling the cord around her finger as she answered.

“Hello?” She whispered, grinning.

“Greetings, Charlotte. It is Bobby.” A monotone voice replied. Lottie slumped, disappointed, and sighed.

“Bobby, what are you — why’re you callin’ me at this time of night?”

The other side of the call crackled slightly before Bobby responded.

“I am in need of finding out the page of the textbook which we were assigned to copy our homework questions from in chemistry.” Lottie rolled her eyes, smiling before Bobby continued. “And also to check if my friend is all right.”

Lottie rubbed her eyes, looking up at the ceiling before snapping her fingers. “Uh… it was page 67, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” Bobby pressed. “You did not go and check. You must go and check for complete accuracy.”

“Bobby, stop talkin’ like a damn robot and take the page number!” Lottie replied, frustrated. “I know it’s the right one.”

“I do not think you are right. You must double - check.”

“No, I must not!”

“You must.”

“Must not!”

“Must—“

“Okay, I’ll go and check!” Lottie hissed, putting the phone back on the table so the call wouldn’t end and padding to her room. She opened her homework book, checked the page she’d copied the questions from, and saw it to be page 67, just like she’d said. Sighing, she walked back to the phone.

“I got the number.”

“What was it?”

“Sixty - seven, Bobby. Like I said.”

“Ah, that is good.” Lottie heard an older female voice in the background from the other side of the line, probably Bobby’s mom. “I hope you are well, Charlotte.”

“Yes, Bobby,” Charlotte said, huffing out a laugh. “I’m fine. Now go to bed.”

“I will rest when I am ready. Good night, Charlotte.”

There was a click, and Lottie shook her head as she put the phone back on the cradle. She then turned back to the phone book, staring at the Garraty family’s number. She thought of Ray then, and whether he’d be busy right now.

Hm.

She ought to stop being a coward. But her cousin had told her she’d look desperate… Lottie bit her lip and furrowed her brow, still deciding whether to do it. She looked behind her, at the hallway, and knew her Pa and Ma were sleeping. Robert would probably be screwing around in his room.

Surely a short little call to check up on him wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t affect the monthly bill much either, right? She stared at the rotary phone, large and shiny and red, and thought of how Ray’s voice would sound, all tired…

Without thinking twice, Lottie grabbed the phone and put it up against her ear, hearing the dial tone — she looked at the Garraty house’s number and dialed the number on the rotary, her tongue sticking out with the effort of doing it. She whispered out the numbers.

“Seven…” rotate. “…nine…” rotate. “…three…”

***

Ray Garraty was having a peaceful evening — his mom had made chicken soup, and he loved chicken soup, and after school he’d used some of his saved up money to buy dark chocolate from Green’s Grocers, Lottie’s family store. Lottie hadn’t been there however, as she didn’t work during the week most times. Her brother was, however, and was mostly snippy to Ray.

Ah, well.

His father was writing something down, his reading glasses on as the radio reported the daily evening news, his mom off somewhere humming to herself as she fixed patches in Ray’s clothes. Ray wondered if she’d sing that lullaby again — he really did like it.

Molly Malone.

Mol - ly Ma - lone. Four syllables.

“Ray, son,” William said suddenly, drawing Ray out of his mind. “Pass me a pen, will you?”

“Yeah, sure, Dad.” Ray replied, handing his father a pen; he took it with a nod and a smile. Ray then turned to the TV, which was playing a recap of a public appearance of this year’s Long Walk winner. He’d been at a town fair, somewhere in California, and given a speech. He was dressed up all prim and proper, courtesy of the State. Ray noticed that whenever he spoke, however, he had this faraway look in his eye. Like he was not really with them, not with the crowd — like he was looking out at the road.

Ray reached for a cookie from the cookie jar then, still watching him speak, when the phone rang.

Ray’s head snapped to the phone sitting on the tiny table in the foyer, and had a feeling he knew who it was. Nobody ever called the Garraty house this late.

“William,” Ray’s mom, Ginnie, called. “Will, can you go answer the phone?”

“I’ll do it!” Ray close to shouted, just as his father got up, and William gave Ray a look as he got up eagerly. The phone kept ringing as Ray advanced to the foyer, but he then tripped and fell face - flat. Pain shot up Ray’s body as the phone continued to ring.

“Son,” William said worriedly, trying to stifle his laughter as Ray lay there. “Are you — are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ray gave a thumbs up as he shakily got up from the floor, wincing. The phone would stop ringing any moment now, and he didn’t want to make it seem like he didn’t want to talk to her. If it even was her. Didn’t she say she was busy? Didn’t matter. Phone. Now.

“Ray, baby,” Ginnie called then. “I’ve run out of thread, can you grab me some more from I and your father’s room?”

Ray sighed. “Mom, can it wait?”

“I don’t recall asking that when they said I was in labor with you, so no. It cannot wait.”

“Mom…”

“Now, Raymond!” She said. “You can answer the phone later!”

“Oh, fuck me.” Ray muttered, as his father laughed. The phone stopped ringing.

“What did you say?” Ginnie asked.

“Nothing.”

Ray went for a ball of thread from his mother and father’s room, cursing quietly all the way there. Now Lottie would think he didn’t want to talk. He was going to call her right away. If it was her, anyway.

Lottie stared at the phone in her hand, face burning. She shouldn’t have called this late, anyway. She’d just leave Ray a message on the answering machine, ask how he was, if he could call back — no, that’d sound desperate. But calling him in the middle of the night was already desperate. Would this add to the desperation?

“Whatever,” Lottie shook her head, speaking to nobody in particular. “Whatever.”

She pressed the recording button on the answering machine.

Ray, meanwhile, had all but tossed the ball of thread to his mom, who caught it swiftly and nodded to him.

“Thank you, Raymond. Now, was that so hard to do?”

“Yeah yeah, mom.” Ray mimicked her when he turned around, making his way to the phone in the foyer. Before he picked it up, however, he saw the answering machine’s light flashing — a voicemail! They never got voice mails; Ray eagerly pressed the play button, leaning in so he could hear who it was. The recording played.

“Hi, Ray,” Lottie’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding soft and a little tired. “It’s Lottie. I guess I missed you.”

He jabbed the replay button.

“I guess I missed you.”

Jabbed it again.

“I guess I missed you.”

Again.

“I guess I missed you.”

One more.

“I guess I missed you —“

“Raymond Davis Garraty, if you break that answering machine, you’ll buy another one with your pocket money!” William barked from the living room, and Ray’s face flushed red in embarrassment.

“— I called, but you didn’t answer,” the voicemail continued, and Ray grimaced. “If you’re hearing this, and it’s no bother… could you call me back? Only if you want, obviously —“

The answering machine hadn’t even beeped before Ray started dialing Lottie’s number, the scrap of paper in his other hand as he jabbed the numbers in eagerly. He finished, placing the phone to his ear as the dialing tone went on.

“Come on.” Ray whispered. “Come on, come on…”

Lottie was on her way to her bedroom, thinking Ray had gone to bed, when she heard the phone ringing. She whipped around so fast that she lost balance and fell into a heap on the floor.

“…ow.” She whispered, getting up slowly as the phone continued to ring. One of her feet hurt, so she hopped eagerly on the other to the phone, almost collapsing on the kitchen island as she finally made it there and took it in her hands. She brought it to her ear, panting.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other side of the line, then the sound of breathing.

“….hello?” Lottie repeated, getting nervous.

Ray, on the other side, panicked, and stuffed the phone on the cradle. Lottie furrowed her brow as the line went dead.

“What the…?” She put the phone down, chalking it up to be some prankster — then it rang again. She picked it up once more.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” Ray’s voice was a bit too loud, and Lottie winced. “Um… sorry Lottie — I don’t know why I hung up—“

“That was you?” Lottie asked incredulously.

“….no.”

“Yes it was.”

“You’re right,” Ray relented, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…it was. Uh, sorry, I don’t know why I… did that.”

“It’s ok.” Lottie paused, unsure what to say. “I hope you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ray said, huffing out a small laugh. “How about you? What’re you doing? Are you still writing your novel?”

“I’m fine, jumper,” Lottie said, adjusting herself on her chair, one foot on the seat as she curled the cord around her finger. “And yes, I’m still writin’. I think I’m around the middle now.”

“Oh yeah?” Ray leaned on the wall, resting his head and looking at the ceiling as he spoke. “The two main characters got together yet?”

Lottie smiled. “No. The girl’s still a bit unsure.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm. She’s scared… of what her family will think, I’m sure — it is based off Romeo and Juliet, after all.”

“Don’t they both die in the end?”

“I’ll make it a happier ending,” Lottie said, the discomfort of death sending a chill down her spine. “They deserve a happy ending, even in another life.”

There was silence on the line. Both of them sensed there was more meaning to what Lottie was saying, but none commented on it. Instead, Ray cleared his throat.

“You know, Charlotte,” he said her name softly, like it was something fragile to hold. Pretty boy, pretty voice. “I never did ask, but… how did you get into literature in the first place? I know you said —“ Ray stopped himself from saying she got banned books from her Pa — the call would likely be monitored. “— I know you said you read books from the State when you were younger,” he lied instead, and Lottie nodded. “But what made you want to in the first place?”

Lottie thought for a moment. “When I was very young, around four or five, when we lived in Louisiana, I was wandering in a field. The one surrounding my family’s old house, it was lush and green and I liked to play in the grass. But I saw a book lying on the ground — books were expensive to come by, you know — and I picked it up. It was…” Lottie trailed off, and Ray knew she meant to say old. Not State - sanctioned. Pre - War.

“Yeah, I understand.” He said, after a beat of silence. Lottie smiled.

“So I picked it up. I opened it. There were… beautiful illustrations in there, Ray. It was like going to another world; but the story, oh, the story. It was so amazing to me that I can’t even remember it. Isn’t that funny, jumper? The story is what started my passion and I can’t even begin to remember what it was about. My parents looked for me for an age, all worried — they found me asleep in the field, curled up with the book pressed to my chest. Ma swears up and down it felt like nature was giving me a hug right then and there; butterflies were resting on my little arms, ladybugs were crawling all over my legs. She said if she were a painter, she’d love to paint me at that moment. All young and fast asleep. Not a worry in the world. Been reading stories ever since.”

Ray grinned, thinking of a little Lottie, all carefree and sleepy. He wondered if she still had her scar then. “What does your dad say?”

“He just grins to himself.” Lottie answered, giggling in a way that made Ray’s heart flip. “I’m fond of the memory.”

Ray paused for a long moment, thinking. “I wish we met when we were kids.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Maybe you would’ve inspired me to be smarter.”

Lottie laughed. “You are smart, Ray.”

“You’re being noble.”

“No, I’m serious!” Lottie insisted, and Ray grinned. “You’ve got this whole… brooding thing goin’ on.”

“Brooding?” Ray started to laugh, and his father looked up from his paper. “Really?”

“Yes!” Lottie said, nodding like Ray could see her. “You’re… sweet. But you brood. It makes you look… rugged.”

“Rugged?” Ray was laughing even harder. “Lottie, what are you talking about?”

“Ray Garraty,” Lottie started, in a mock - deep voice — like a movie announcer. “The boy who does not see much good in the world… yet still chooses to be kind to it.”

“You flatter me.” Ray said, still laughing — Lottie could always make him laugh. “But I don’t think I’m rugged.”

“You talk down on yourself too much,” Lottie replied, shaking her head. “You should stop.”

Ray swallowed. “I’ll try. When you start showing people your novel more.”

“Oh, here you go.”

“I’m serious, Lottie!” Ray exclaimed — he caught his father trying to look at him from the living room, and lowered his voice. “You’re… you’re brilliant.”

“Stop it.”

“And smart.”

“Ray!”

“And beautiful.”

There was silence on the line then — those types of silences Ray and Lottie shared when they had everything and nothing to say, the same silence they’d shared the night Ray had kissed her, the silence that said so much by not saying anything at all. Lottie took a deep inhale before speaking again, her face burning. She held the phone with both her hands, both of her feet on the seat now, looking around carefully to see if anyone else was around.

Nobody was. She bit her lip.

“Did you mean it?”

Ray stilled then, the chatter from the television in the living room becoming mere background noise as he gripped his own phone tighter.

“Mean…?”

“What you said.” Lottie elaborated, her heartbeat quickening. “That day, after they let you go from the station, when I hugged you. Did you mean it?”

“What, when I said I loved you?”

The silence on the other end of the line was enough answer for Ray. He felt his hands get clammy with sweat.

“You don’t have to answer, you know,” Lottie said quickly, southern twang thickening. “I’m sure it was a spur of the moment thing, and that’s reasonable — you were all shaken up from almost bein’ executed, for cryin’ out loud, anyone would say something like that when they’re —“

“I meant it.”

It was said simply, and clearly, so clear it felt like Ray was sitting right next to her.

Lottie stilled. She felt her heart beating so hard she was sure Ray could hear it from the other side of the line.

“Lottie.” Ray said gently, unsure if she was still there. “I meant it.”

“I heard you the first time.” Lottie replied, her voice unusually high.

“I’ll say it a third time.” Ray’s voice was as soft as a dream. “I meant it.“

“Oh.”

“Lottie. Sweetheart. I love you.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know why you think I didn’t mean it.” Ray said, shifting. “You… I know we’ve known each other three months, but — I’ve never met someone like you,” he paused. “You’re so… colorful, and bright and kind, and you see things in the world I can’t bring myself to see. And you’re so amazing. So smart. And I don’t think I’ll ever measure up to you. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but. It was so lifeless here before you came. I had my mom, and my dad, and I love them, but my life was so… repetitive. Grey. I had shitty friends like Ben and his crew. They didn’t really care about things like I do. They didn’t care about… anyway. You… I can’t — “ Ray took a deep breath. “You’re an amazing friend, and I want you to be more to me. One of the things I regretted when I thought they were gonna shoot me wasn’t being able to marry you one day, when we’re ready, when you trust me enough. I know I’m no looker, but —“

“Don’t say that,” Lottie replied, voice choked. She was half - laughing, half on the brink of tears. “Stop saying that.”

“Alright, as you like it. But I mean it Lottie, I love you. I’d like you to give me a chance, please. I’ll try and impress your dad. I’ll try and make it work with Robert and I’ll be the best gentleman to your mom. And don’t say people will talk, because they always will and they already have and I don’t care, it doesn’t matter to me that we’re different races, and it shouldn’t matter. The only reason I didn’t ask you for your number when I walked you home was because I was scared, scared you’d say no, but that was stupid. But now I’ve done it, and we’re talking. And I want to talk to you like this for the rest of my life, however short that is.”

“Talkin’ like you’ll die tomorrow, jumper.” Lottie laughed. Ray shrugged, smiling to himself.

“At least I’ll die knowing I said the truth. I do love you, Lottie. Now I just to know if you meant it.”

“Of course I did, stupid.” Lottie laughed, wiping a tear from her eye and hoping her family wasn’t up. They were not. “I love you, Ray Garraty, chipped tooth ‘n all.”

“Mmm, very charming of you to mention that tooth,” Ray said, and Lottie giggled. “But I love you better.”

“Doubt it.”

“But it’s true. So I’ll take the next step.”

“And what is that?”

“Ask you on a proper date.” Ray replied, and Lottie smiled. “Take you out.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.” Ray nodded, leaning on the wall once more and clutching the wire of the rotary phone. “I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

“Where?”

Ray paused, thinking for a long moment. “It’ll be a surprise.”

“Oh, you’re really leanin’ into the brooding, rugged thing now, hm?”

“Yes,” Ray drew the word out, grinning. “Dress up nice. I know that’s not hard for you.”

“Ray!” Lottie giggled. “Actin’ all smooth now.”

Ray simply smiled. “Saturday evening. If your dad will allow it.”

“I’ll sneak out.”

“Scandalous.” Ray said sarcastically. Lottie laughed. “Very… risqué.”

“Shut it, Garraty,” Lottie teased, but there was no malice behind it. She checked the time. “It’s gettin’ late. We have school tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Ray checked his own clock. “But I find myself struggling to care.”

“Ha - ha.” Lottie replied, but then she fell quiet for a moment. “You should hang up, Ray.”

“You’re right. I should hang up.”

“Then hang up.”

“You hang up.”

“Oh lord,” Lottie softly facepalmed. “We sound so corny. Like those romance flicks — Raymond, hang up.”

“I should. I should say goodnight, too. But I don’t wanna.”

“Goodnight, Ray.” Lottie said pointedly, giggling. Ray sighed.

“Goodnight, Lottie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Lottie replied, making to hang up.

“I love you.” Ray added, and Lottie paused. He waited on the other side of the line, scared that Lottie would take it back suddenly, scared that she’d wake up and see he wasn’t that brilliant, scared that she’d —

“I love you too, jumper.” She said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m still not your girl.”

“I know. I’m definitely your man, though. Can’t see anyone past you.”

“Ray.”

“Haven’t been able for a while now.”

“You’re bein’ sappy,” she laughed.

“And I’ll ask you all nicely to be my girl, because I know that’s what you want. But not now.”

Lottie simply smiled. “Good night, Raymond.”

Ray smiled back. “Good night, Charlotte.”

She hung up.

Ray let the phone rest on his ear a couple moments after Lottie had hung up, letting himself drink in the moment.

She loved him back.

Lottie loved Ray.

Charlotte loved Raymond.

Ray was grinning as he put the phone back on the cradle, daring himself to do a little skip as he walked back to the living room — he could see his dad reading a newspaper by the television, and heard his mom still humming in the kitchen as she sewed. The evening was warm, and the lights warmer. William looked up from his paper, eyeing Ray closely.

“You alright, son?” He asked noncommittally, looking at Ray’s grinning face. “You look trigger - happy.”

“Yeah dad, I’m okay.” Ray said softly, still beaming. “Hey — d’you still have the…?”

“The rag you use to clean your baseball bat?” William raised an eyebrow at Ray, before looking behind his chair. “Yeah… I knew I left it there. Here, Ray.”

William balled the rag up and threw it to Ray, and he caught it swiftly. “Thanks, dad.”

As Ray went to get his baseball bat from the cupboard, William watched him over the newspaper. “So,” he started casually, as Ray began to hum and withdraw the bat. “Who were you talkin’ to?”

“Hm? Oh, just a… friend.” Ray shrugged, but William noticed his face turn a faint pink.

“Right, right.” He nodded, as Ray sat down and began to clean his bat. “A lady friend?”

“Dad.”

“Her last name Green?”

“Stop.” Ray’s voice cracked, his face going a deeper red.

“Alright, I’ll quit it.” William threw his hands up, his reading glasses almost falling off his nose. “But. I will say, if you need any advice…” William lowered his voice so Ginnie wouldn’t hear, looking straight into Ray’s eyes. “…in a certain department…”

“Dad, oh my — Christ.” Ray hissed back, his face close to maroon with embarrassment. “We’re not — I don’t — “

“Okay, okay.” William finally relented just as Ginnie came into the room, finished with sewing the patches on Ray’s old jeans. She was humming sweetly to herself, holding it up to Ray in a silent ‘what do you think?’ Ray smiled.

“I think it’s great, mom, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” She replied softly, giving Ray a kiss on the forehead. “Tell Charlotte I said hi next time you call.”

He groaned. “Mom!”

“What?” She replied innocently, rolling her shoulders and continuing to hum as her husband laughed — William then got up, putting down the newspaper and taking Ray’s jeans from Ginnie’s hands, putting them down. Ray cringed as William then put his arm around Ginnie’s waist, pulling her in as they both swayed gently to a tune Ray couldn’t hear.

“Mom.” Ray said, as William twirled Ginnie, and she giggled. “Dad. Can you both not do this in front of me?”

“Hush up, son, this is how you got made.” William mumbled from behind Ginnie. The latter giggled, smacking William’s arm as Ray fake - heaved.

“Dad, oh my — I can’t listen to this.”

“She was a fishmonger!” William started to sing Molly Malone loudly and in the middle, and Ginnie laughed as Ray groaned more, burying his face in his hands — only to hide a smile. “And sure it was no wonder, for so were her father and mother before… and they wheeled their barrow—“

“William,” Ginnie laughed softly as Ray finally looked up at his parents. “That’s not how it starts.”

“Alright then, Gin,” William twirled her, and she let out a laugh. “Take it away.”

“In Dublin's fair city,” she sang softly, being swayed by her husband once more. “…where the girls are so pretty… I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone…”

“Warning, warning, 47.”

Ray felt the rough hand of Pete McVries shake him gently as he woke up from his dream — no, his memory. It was night time now, and the headlights from the army tanks shone behind the boys. He blinked, seeing in fours as Pete’s voice spoke to him.

“Oh!” Pete exclaimed, similar to how Lottie would. “Wakey, wakey, my boy. Rise and shine.” Pete chuckled as Ray blinked, remnants of his mother’s singing voice reverberating in his skull. He was so disoriented — he turned to Pete for grounding.

“What —“ he rubbed his face, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Uh,” Pete checked his watch. “It’s 3:45.”

It had to be 3:45 in the morning; the sky was as black as death. Ray was still getting used to his surroundings, his feet carrying him dutifully as they all walked.

“B-but I… I’ve been.. I…”

“You’ve been dozing for hours, yep.” Pete completed, ever chipper. Ray didn’t respond, looking forward, and Pete looked at his profile before continuing. “That’s your mind, usin’ the old escape hatch.”

“Huh.” Ray breathed. His mind had been doing a lot of that recently — he’d been thinking about Lottie so much, he swore she might as well have come on the walk with him.

“Don’t you wish feet could?” Pete wondered aloud. The boys shared a look, and Ray grinned — his face warming at the eye contact from Pete. He looked away. With each passing hour, he was becoming less and less sure he wasn’t queer for Pete.

“You know I was sleeping too,” Pete said after a moment of silence. “Aint it strange we can do that?”

“Doesn’t make any fucking sense, does it?” Ray replied, his voice weak. “I mean, you know, I was even dreaming.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ray nodded.

“Yeah, what about?”

“Uh, I was dreaming about a friend,” Ray lied. Lottie had been more than a friend. So, so much more. “And uh, my mom. Yeah.”

Pete huffed out a laugh.

“She used to sing me this lullaby that was so sweet, you know? She was doing it with my dad, but… he’s no singer.”

Pete laughed, and Ray’s heart flipped. “Hmm.”

“Yeah.” Ray said to himself.

And what about your friend?” Pete asked, when his laughter died down.

“Uh, we were —“ Ray swallowed. “They called me. Or I called them, I don’t — but it was a real good call, Pete. A real good call.”

“That’s good, Ray.” Pete said, and Ray smiled sleepily.

“Yeah.”

“See, that’s the stuff that’ll get us through.” Pete reminded him.

“Yeah.” Ray repeated firmly, nodding. “You always know the right stuff to say, Pete, you’re so smart.”

Pete felt his face burn then, looking at Ray, who stared back at him sleepily — his heart began to thud, and he laughed nervously.

“Don’t be sayin’ stuff like that, man.” Pete joked weakly, but his voice cracked.

“Why not?” Ray asked drowsily. “It’s true. You’re true blue, Pete. True blue.”

“Thanks, Ray.” Pete said gently, nudging Ray with his shoulder and smiling. Ray felt those sparks again, and his face turned a light pink. “Now, tell me about your moms. Then your friend.”

“Ah, that — the friend may be uncharted territory, Pete, but I will tell you about my mom.”

“All will be revealed in due time,” Pete said in a mock - deep voice. Ray was, yet again, reminded of Lottie. His face burned as Pete turned to him once more. “Anyway — what’s her name?”

“Uh… Mom.”

“Fuck off, man.” Pete said as Ray laughed. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Uh…” Ray started to reply, his laughter dying down. “Ginnie.”

“Jenny?”

“Ginn - ie.”

“Jenny.”

“Ginnie. Like ‘gin.’ Like, uh, you know, what they make the martinis with?”

“Oh.” Pete nodded, storing this information dutifully — Pearson perked up.

“I bet she a real looker, too.” He chirped. Ray immediately turned around, half - laughing as he pointed at Pearson.

“I’mma punch you in your face.”

“Get the fuck out of here, Pearson.” Pete said, pushing Pearson as the latter giggled.

“How’d that lullaby go?” Pearson teased, as Pete nudged him away.

“Break off, man.” Pete said. Just then, Hank Olson perked up too, eye bags prominent. “Go chew on your foot.”

“Fuck yeah, she’s a looker!” Hank exclaimed.

“Oh, my God.” Ray mumbled.

“I saw her at the fucking startin’ area.”

“You’re so fucking annoying.” Ray groaned.

“Everyone woke up fucking funny, right?” Pete said, and some other boys laughed as Hank smirked.

“I swear to god.” Ray sighed.

“You’re funny, Olson.” Pete said sarcastically, as Ray grinned.

“She’s a beautiful lady!” Hank threw up his arms, giving the rest of them a look. “I don’t know what you gettin’ all PO’d for!”

“I hope you get one, two, three warnings, holy shit.” Ray laughed.

“Olson, stop talking about people’s mamas.” Richard Harkness said, half - giggling.

“Thank you, Harkness.” Ray nodded, and Pete laughed loudly. The group quieted down as Walker #46 got a warning; Pete and Ray walked a bit away from the main group. Ray sighed.

“You know, um…” he looked around, his voice low as he spoke to Pete. “She doesn’t sing the lullaby anymore, though. And, uh… the friend, she doesn’t call.”

Pete gave Ray a quiet glance.

“Pete, I miss her.” Ray said, his voice lacking his earlier mirth. Pete didn’t know which ‘her’ Ray was referring to — he chose not to press. “I gotta tell you, I didn’t realize how much I could fuckin’ miss her.” He sighed.

“You know you have to win to see her, Ray.” Pete reminded him, and Ray looked straight at Pete. The lights reflected in his eyes in a way that made Pete want to kiss him.

“I think I’ll see her in Freeport, ‘cause we live there.” Pete still didn’t know which she Ray was referring to. “But um… I just gotta make it till there, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Pete nodded, and a question popped into his mind then, a question he had been meaning to ask — a question that he knew he had multiple reasons for wanting to know the answer to.

“You got a girl, Ray?”

“What do you care?” Olson quipped from behind them, chewing his gum furiously. “Ten cents the fucker hasn’t gotten his dick wet his whole life.”

Ray didn’t reply to that, but there was scattered laughter among the other boys.

“Come on, Ray,” Pearson said after some long moments. “You don’t have a lady waiting at home?”

“Maybe he’s a queer.” Barkovitch sneered. He had slowed down to the pace of the other boys. “Maybe he’s been dreamin’ about his boyfriend’s dick in his mouth this whole time. Have you, Ray? Huh? Dreamin’ about dick, you fuckin’ f—“

“Hey, shut the fuck up, Barkovitch.” Collie Parker said from ahead. Barkovitch gave him the finger.

“I’m not queer.” Ray finally said, but he had cast an unreadable look at Pete. Pete stared back at him. “I got — I had a girl. Her name was Charlotte. Lottie for short.”

Almost all the boys around him whistled lowly — even Collie looked back, the night’s wind blowing his long, black hair.

“Wait.” Harkness said, perking up. “Lottie? What was her last n—“

“What happened?” Pearson interposed, curious.

“None of your fucking business.” Ray said gruffly, not hearing Harkness and scratching at the stubble on his chin — he thought of how Lottie would have teased him then, calling him a ‘big, strong fella’, the type to be in those strong man competitions on television. He missed her terribly, maybe even more than his mom.

“C’mon, Ray,” Art said then, drawing him out of his reverie. “We all dead men walking, ain’t no harm in telling us about Lottie.”

“Not all of us!” Barkovitch yelled from up ahead — Ray felt like snatching a soldier’s carbine and shooting him, watching his brain splatter over the pavement like Curley’s had. He immediately felt sorry for it.

“Broke up with her because of the Walk,” Ray mumbled, but it was loud enough to carry. “Didn’t —“ he took a deep breath. “Couldn’t work it out. She started… cryin’ and all —“

“Warning, number 47, warning.” A soldier’s voice rang over the group.

“Hey, keep up with us, compadre,” Pete said softly, his arm around Ray’s shoulder almost immediately. “That’s too bad, Ray, but smart.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Ray said, lying through his teeth. Pete looked at him.

“We got a long way to go yet. You miss her?”

“Like hell.” Ray said. His voice had gone all high and whiny then, and he felt like a queer for it. “Keep thinkin’ about her.”

“Describe her to us.” Pete said then. “Get your mind off all this.”

“She…” Ray felt like she couldn’t put Lottie’s beauty into words. “She’s got this long hair — all curly and tight like… like a cloud.”

“She got a big ass?” Hank Olson asked, and some boys burst into laughter.

“Hey, shut up, Olson.” Ray protested, pointing at Hank, but he was laughing. “Fuck you. That ain’t what it’s about.”

“That means she does.” Hank shrugged, and Ray threw his empty food tube at him.

“What else you like about her, Garratty?” Art asked. Ray thought for a long moment.

“She’s got nice skin,” Ray said, after a beat. “Dark brown, like Pete’s.” He immediately felt queer for comparing his girl to Pete, but Pete didn’t seem to mind at all. He simply winked at Ray.

“What about you, Pete?” Ray said hoarsely, looking at Pete. Pete looked back at him, smiling. “You got a lady?”

Pete looked at the ground for a moment, as if in deep thought. Ray swallowed, waiting for the answer. He looked up then, back at Ray.

“No, Ray.” He said, looking straight into Ray’s eyes. “No, I don’t.”

Ray slowed, staring at Pete. Confusing feelings rose up in him at that moment — he wasn’t sure what to make of this; what to make of anything at all. Did he love Lottie? Yes. Was he starting to love —

“Warning, 47, second warning.” Pete grabbed Ray by the arm, pulling him forward. Ray’s face burned as he muttered to himself.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, his head aching. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” Barkovitch scoffed from behind the pair — he had slowed down and been walking behind them for a while now. “Said you loved your girl’s skin, didn’t you Garraty? Dark - brown, huh?”

Ray ignored Barkovitch, focusing on Pete’s arm around him instead, focusing on the memory of Lottie and his mom and the home he so desperately wanted to go back to.

“No wonder you’re so fuckin’ weird,” Barkovitch pressed, yelling now. “We got a nigger - lover over here!”

“HEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP, BARKOVITCH!” Ray yelled with such an intensity that he surprised even himself. Hot blood had rushed to his head; he felt like a maniac in that moment, felt like tripping up Barkovitch and making him fall, like he had done to that kid Rank earlier. He did not feel sorry this time.

“Yeah, I said what I fuckin’ said!” Barkovitch yelled, laughing as Ray’s face turned red — he heard an uproar from other boys around him, including Pete, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. All he could think about was how Lottie could be watching this right now, and Barkovitch, fucking Barkovitch had —

“You say one more thing, Barkovitch, and you’re done!” Art yelled. His eyes had become wide — Barkovitch paled, laughing nervously.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ try it, coon,” he hissed. “It’s all part of my fucking Plan.”

“To hell with your Plan, Barkovitch.” Pete shouted, “can’t wait till you die, just like that kid you killed.”

“Hey, I didn’t FUCKIN’ kill him, alright?!” Barkovitch screamed. “He swung at me!” He looked wildly to Ray, who was staring at him with such contempt he almost tripped. “Fuck you and your black - ass bitch.”

Pete held Ray back from going over and giving Barkovitch a well - deserved beat down — reminding him it was against the rules to fight the other Walkers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, nigger - lover!” Barkovitch yelled. “Stay the fuck back!”

“Stay back.” Pete muttered into Ray’s ear. Ray felt like crying. He regretted coming on the Walk. He wanted to be home with Lottie brushing his hair instead. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“I fuckin’,” Ray’s voice was choked, but he tried to keep it steady. “I fuckin’ hate that fucking guy.”

“Yeah, me too.” Pete said, his voice shaking — Ray looked at him, and saw his hands had been trembling. With rage or fear, he did not know. “Just —“

“Oh, fuck —“ Ray had close to stumbled, almost getting shot — Barkovitch was laughing, Collie yelled at him to shut the fuck up — He had three warnings already, if Pete hadn’t caught him, he’d —

“Come on, listen,” Pete said, holding on to Ray. Ray blinked rapidly, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “Just three hours, three hours and your slate is wiped clean. Come on, just keep —“

“Look, shut up, Pete.” Ray snapped, pushing himself away from Pete, away from these confusing feelings he didn’t want to fucking name, fuck this stupid fucking Walk. “Shut up, SHUT UP!”

Pete blinked at him, wounded — Ray couldn’t take it, couldn’t fucking take that look in his eyes, he looked just like her when he had —

“Come on, stop acting like you don’t want me to get my ticket.” Ray jabbed his finger into his own chest, panting. “I know you’re just like the rest of them, man.”

“Ray—“

“Stop pretending like you don’t wanna see me with a fucking bullet in the back of my head!” Ray yelled, walking far from Pete — he reminded him too much of her, and he was something completely new at the same time — he thought of that kid he knew when he was small, Jimmy Owens, the kid who’d moved away when they were twelve, the kid who he’d been caught playing Doctors with when they were little, their pants down around their ankles, their curiosity getting the best of them, the way his mom had been horrified because the boners they had might’ve meant her son was a queer. The way she had told Ray never to do it again, or else she’d march him down the street, naked — the way she’d been more scared than angry. Ray sniffled, hating Barkovitch and hating the Walk and hating the world and wishing, more than anything, that he hadn’t come.

“I was just trying to help.” Pete’s voice drew Ray back into the present, but he ignored him, focusing on what was ahead.

“Come on, step into it, brothers!” Barkovitch yelled. Ray wanted to kill him. “Hey, who wants to race me to the fucking top —“

“Shut the fuck up, you FUCKING FREAK!” Collie yelled, just as Ray caught sight of a sign ahead — STEEP GRADE TRUCKS: USE LOW GEAR.

A hill.

A fucking hill.

“Fuck me!” Ray yelled, close to tearing his hair out. “Fuck!”

“Make me!” Barkovitch yelled at Collie in the background — Stebbins suddenly caught up to Ray, his face a mottled looking pink as he sped walked.

“A lotta you are gonna die on this hill,” he huffed. “Maybe more than half. Happened once six years ago.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. FUCK.

“Twenty - eight in total.” Stebbins elaborated — someone was swiftly shot next to Ray, and he flinched slightly as he continued to walk, the warnings for other walkers blaring into his ears, his everywhere —

Another boy shot. Barkovitch was talking to someone. “Come on, four - eyes, you’re dying tonight. You’re dying to - NIGHT!”

People. Boys. Dying left and right — the gunshots sounded almost silently, yet made all the impact in the world. Ray couldn’t see Pearson anymore. Ray was sure Pearson was dead.

Barkovitch. Scum. Jumping over someone’s body — soldier on a tank, aiming straight at Ray. Fuck. Go go Garraty, Garraty’s going to get his fucking ticket before he can ever see his mom again, before he can say sorry to Lottie, it’s all his fucking fault —

Lottie.

He swore he could see her then — a figure at the top of the hill, the night wind blowing at her flowery dress. She was looking down at him. He was looking up at her. Her hair, out in that cloud, held so many forget - me - nots you could call her a flower - pot. Ray was breathless, reverent, walking and walking so he could get to her, so he could say sorry, Charlotte I’m so fucking sorry. She was looking at him like he’d hurt her, and he had, Christ he had, Lottie please just stay there I’m so sorry.

Her eyes were brimming with tears.

“You ain’t gonna fuckin’ make it, Garraty,” Barkovitch spat, and Ray blinked — Lottie was gone. He had been hallucinating. Of course she wouldn’t be in this hellhole; Lottie Green was Edenic, she didn’t belong here.

“Please, wait!” Harkness screamed in the background. “I’m okay! I’m okay —!” a sickening crunch, a howl of pain — Ray didn’t look back to see what had happened.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die tonight, I can fucking feel it.” Barkovitch snapped.

“Yeah, and I’ll fucking drag you down with me, you fucking racist piece of shit!” Ray yelled, out of breath. Barkovitch laughed maniacally.

“You’re gonna fucking die tonight, man!”

Ray stepped around a Walker’s corpse; the other boy’s yells and the gunshots faded out as he panted — Barkovitch’s eyes lit up in glee as he looked at something behind Ray.

“Don’t look behind, Garraty!” He yelled. “Got a gun to your fucking head, fucker!”

No.

He looked back, and true to Gary’s word, a carbine, gleaming and real and there, was pointed at his head — he turned forward immediately, his palms sweaty, his face pallid and his heat pounding. She was right, Lottie had been fucking right, this was a death march, nothing more —

“I can feel it,” Barkovitch panted, bloodthirsty. “You’re gonna fucking give in, aren’t you?”

Ray panted, marching on — then he thought… it wouldn’t be so bad if he did slow down, would it? She wouldn’t be sorry if he were gone — he’d broke her fucking heart, left his mom all alone. He deserved it, Ray Garraty deserved it, he deserved to fucking die on this Walk —

“I’m gonna be the last thing you fuckin’ hear, man!” Barkovitch yelled.

“Fuck off!” Ray yelled weakly. “Fuck off and die, Barkovitch…”

“Go, Garraty.” That voice came in his head again, warm and soft and familiar. Lottie. Then it hardened. “Fucking GO — !”

A strong arm wrapped around Ray’s then, and he felt Pete lift him up. Ray heaved a sigh of relief, pulled back to life, pulled back to him and her and her and him.

“How you holdin’ up?” Pete panted, practically dragging Ray along — he caught up.

“Not good, I…” Ray swallowed. “I was hallucinating her… I feel faint.”

Pete nodded, his jaw set. “Compadre, you can do this,” he huffed. “Pour your canteen over your head.”

Ray grabbed his water bottle sloppily, sweat all slick on his face — it was washed away with the cool, cool water, cool like the lake he and Lottie had been in that day he got arrested, cool like the shower water the morning after that night had happened, the night he was trying not to remember, the night with her.

“There you go,” Pete panted, walking beside Ray. “Now keep putting one foot in front of the other. That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Now,” Pete instructed, still looking forward. “Refill.”

“Canteen, 47, Canteen.” Ray called to the soldiers, his voice cracking. The soldier who’d been aiming his carbine at him stared as Ray gave him his canteen. Ray glared back.

“You get paid to shoot me, not look at me, motherfucker!” He snapped.

“Ray.” Pete said, tapping Ray’s shoulder. “Top of the hill.”

And he was right. They were now where the hallucination of Lottie had been standing — now at the end of the climb. At the top. Ray, relieved, almost slowed.

“No, no, no,” Pete said, bringing Ray back. “Do not slow down. Keep moving. You’ll catch your breath.”

Ray stared at the asphalt then, never regretting anything more in his life — he had fucked up, he had fucked up so badly; he hoped she was watching and he hoped she wasn’t. He hoped breaking up with her had spared her feelings in case he died on this fucking Walk, died next to McVries, who reminded him so much of her it ached — Ray felt this gaping wound in his chest, though he hadn’t been shot, the wound of yearning and regret.

“Pete,” he finally spoke up. “Pete, I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

“Forget it, man.” Pete replied.

“No, I owe you an apology.” Ray said, and Pete knew it wasn’t just him Ray was apologizing to.

“Forget it.” Pete urged, his voice pained.

“Pete, I owe you… I owe you both…” Ray started hyperventilating, his vision tunneling as his chest tightened. “I can’t…”

“It’s all right,” Pete said softly, wrapping his hand around Ray’s shoulder. Ray could still feel him trembling.

“Okay, okay.”

“It’s all right.”

“Okay.” He panted, still going. “Hey, you know I didn’t mean it, right? I never meant any of it —“ Ray started frantically.

“I know, Ray,” Pete said, pulling Ray closer to him. “She knows. It’s all good. It’s all good. Let it out. Don’t be fuckin’ dumb.”

“You don’t know if — “

“If she’s the friend you talk about so much, I know it’s true,” Pete replied, his voice pained. “And I know you didn’t mean what you said to me either, because you’re not that type of guy, Ray, you’re good. Now keep the pace. Keep the pace.”

Ray nodded, swallowing. “What about the rest of them? The Musketeers?”

“The Musketeers are all good,” Pete replied, and Ray let out a sigh of relief. “Keep moving. You got it.”

They kept walking, and Ray swore he could he could see the beginning of a sunrise soon enough — only god knows how long they’d been on the hill — he then looked at McVries, who had saved his life multiple times, and felt that feeling again. He did not understand it. How could he feel the same, familiar things he felt for a girl, Lottie, for a man, Pete? Ray had been told all his life that there were two categories of people. Normal, not normal. Queer, not queer. But this Walk, this boy — was doing things to him that had been long buried with Jimmy Owens.

He thought of the forget me nots in Lottie’s hair, and knew that hill would not be the last place he saw her when she was not even there.

***

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

A/N: To the people thinking that it is ‘too soon’ for Ray to be telling Lottie that he loves her, remember that it has been around three months, and he told Pete he loved him after five days. The universe that TLW takes place in, I think, is like a pressure cooker — feelings like these dont often have the breathing space to be danced around. No cushioning or pussyfooting, it comes out raw and honest and itself. They are not promised comfort or tomorrow like we are in a normal world, so I find it to be natural and more honest here.

It is worth mentioning that I am fully aware the ritual of “courting” is old - fashioned, especially considering this movie / book takes place in the late 70s, but I think that The Long Walk universe’s America would be stuck in some conservative ways due to oppression and such — courting formally like this would, in my opinion, still be very much a thing in the Major’s America, even though historically casual dating was becoming more of a thing around this time.

Side note: Laura Palmer’s theme from Twin Peaks reminds me a lot of Lottie. And the Long Walk’s main theme is kind of like the boy version, so it reminds me a lot of its main character, Ray. Imagine those two melodies together. Hm.

Nine years earlier, somewhere in Louisiana

Anthony Green loved to take strolls in the early mornings — it was his favorite thing, second to tickling his baby sister Lottie or tossing his brother Robert over his shoulder whenever he was being particularly raucous.

Hmm.

That’d make it third. Or fourth, considering the other favorite thing he liked to do, but that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was taking in the beautiful morning — right now, it’d be too early to encounter any of the other men that lived in town, the ones that called him “boy” and spat at the floor close to where he stood, the ones that told him to watch where he was going, the ones that reminded him that it hadn’t been too long since lynchings were a common thing.

They still happened. Just not frequently. Sparsely, if you will.

The Major’s government had passed hard laws condemning it, Anthony thought, pausing to watch a young deer pass by. He was getting closer to the woods, where one of his favorite things were. But people still looked at him contemptuously whenever he went into town to buy something for Lottie or Robbie or do some work. He hated it. But soon, he’d be old enough to have a chance of getting enough money to solve all his family’s problems and his own. Just a little longer. He was only seventeen now, but he’d be eighteen before he knew it. Then he could go and try, no matter what his Pa thought.

No matter what she… never mind.

Ant was now in the thick of the woods, where trees that were tall and imposing resided, where birds twittered as if singing to the morning sun. It was terribly colorful here, and there were plenty of flowers — daisies, roses, forget - me - nots, red carnations. Whenever he saw these flowers, he was reminded of Lottie, who was nine now — it seemed with every year, his sister got more and more sprightly, smart, and a hell of a lot more inquisitive. She kept asking just where Anthony would go every morning.

“That’s none of your business, Lottie,” he’d replied one morning, when she’d followed him out to the porch. Lottie had stomped her foot down, huffing.

“But I wanna see, Ant, I wanna see! I wanna see - eeee.”

“See yourself back into bed, nosy.” He’d reply, chuckling — Lottie would pout, clutching her toy rabbit Stebbins to her chest and trying to make Ant feel all bad about it. When she realized it wasn’t working, she’d call Ant a butthead and stomp back inside.

Now, Ant was sidestepping stones and trying his best not to trip and fall in the woods, his boots making crunching noises as he drew closer to his destination, the lake he liked to call his own oasis. It was of medium size, and fish liked to zip and zoom within it — he’d catch one or two sometimes, and they’d wriggle in his hands feverishly before he’d put them in his tiny bucket and bring them home for his Ma to fry. Then the Greens would have a good dinner.

But that wasn’t the only reason he liked his oasis.

The twittering of the songbirds soon started to merge with a melody that Ant found to be sweeter than anything — the sound of a woman’s voice, the sweet highs and lows of her humming and the strums of her guitar. He knew he was close to the oasis, he knew it.

“Ya no estás más a mi lado corazón

En el alma sólo tengo soledad

Y si ya no puedo verte

Porque Dios me hizo quererte

Para hacerme sufrir más …?”

The strum of the guitar, skilled and beautiful and mesmerizing, drew Anthony closer. He could hear the gentle tinkle of the stream now, but the singing, the singing would always pervade his senses first.

“Siempre fuiste la razón de mi existir

Adorarte para mí fue religión

En tus besos yo encontraba

El calor que me brindaba

El amor y la pasión…”

Ant could see her now… she was turned away from him, her long, jet - black curly hair spilling out over her back, her cream colored dress’s skirt splayed out on the rock she was sitting on, the edges dyed multiple colors, each brown beauty mark and freckle on her olive - colored skin standing out to him beautifully.

Es la historia de un amor

Como no hay otro igual

Que me hizo comprender

Todo el bien, todo el mal…

He started to creep towards her slowly, his hands reaching out…

“…Que le dio luz a mi vida

Apagándola después

Ay que vida tan obscura

Todo se me ha de volv— ah!”

The girl gasped as Anthony hugged her tightly from behind, startling her — her guitar, which was embossed with swirls and patterns and carvings, almost toppled out of her grasp and into the lake; Anthony grabbed it swiftly before it could. She whipped around to see his laughing face and quickly relaxed before grumbling.

“Ant, what are you — you scared me!” She hissed. Ant kept laughing, and the girl scowled at him, smacking his hand. “Creí que me estaban secuestrando, idiota. I thought I was being taken away!”

“I — I’m sorry, darlin’,” Anthony was still laughing, pointing at her. “You shoulda seen your face. I mean, Christ — you looked all like —“ Anthony then made a very stupid facial expression, and the girl shoved him, annoyed — before turning away and crossing her arms.

“Hey,” Ant poked her back softly, but she only humphed. “Lilith.”

She didn’t turn around.

“Lils.”

Still didn’t turnaround.

“Love of my life,” Ant said slowly, resting his head in the crook of her neck. She didn’t shrug him off, so he took it as a good sign. “My favorite musician, future mother of my children…”

“I doubt that part.”

“Whatever you say, whatever you want,” Anthony murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Lilith’s neck before wrapping his arms around her middle. “As long as I can marry you, I’ll be happy. Kids or no kids.”

Lilith turned back to Anthony then, and he smiled up at her — she was beautiful. Her skin was olive toned, and she had beauty marks speckled all over her face. Her hair, dark as night, curled and spilled everywhere. Her eyes were a deep brown, and would cause Anthony to stop in his tracks whenever she looked at him. Her lips were pink and kissable, and she giggled when Anthony gently took her face in his hands and kissed them.

“How are you?” He murmured against her lips. They tasted like strawberries. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in years.”

“You saw me yesterday.” She whispered, before kissing him again.

“Feels the fuckin’ same, darling.” He said, before pulling Lilith closer. She let out another laugh, louder this time and unbounded.

“You’re crazy, Ant, but I’m fine. I only had to sing Richard to sleep last night, so I’m a little tired — little brothers are so annoyin’.” She sighed, tracing circles on Anthony’s back. “But I love him to bits. He wants to be a writer, like your sister Lottie.”

“Is that so.”

“Mhm.” Lilith hummed, looking at Anthony’s face closely. “Wants to do a piece on The Long Walk one day, he said. I told him he’d go to that thing over my dead body.”

Anthony laughed, but he felt an undercurrent of discomfort as he did. If Lilith knew what he was planning, she’d —

“But anyway,” she said then, sighing and pulling Anthony out of his reverie. “How’re things at home?”

“Tough.” He said simply, shrugging. “My Pa’s still tryin’ to get the grocery store thing underway, upgrade from just livin’ on a plain old farm, but it’s hard. If everything goes to plan, however, I can give him enough money to start it up and move on out of here… and marry you, of course.”

Ant kissed Lilith once more, and she giggled. “What’s this plan of yours, Ant? You never tell me about it.”

“You’ll know when you know, Lils.” Ant replied, avoiding the question. “Anyway — your singing was divine, I’ll tell you that — as always.”

“You’re hungry.”

“I’m truthful.”

Anthony and Lilith had met a year prior, when they were both sixteen; the former had just had a rough day in town, almost got into a squabble — after everything, he’d stormed off into the woods to clear his head, to be alone. Among the trees, however, he’d found Lilith. She had been singing to herself all morosely by the lake, her guitar in her arms as she did. Anthony, completely mesmerized by her voice, had hidden behind a tree and watched. He’d seen her in town from time to time. She was pretty, and quiet, and mostly kept to herself — her little brother, Richard, was around Lottie’s age. He had big glasses and messy hair and a big notepad in hand, always ready to write something down. Like he was some sort of journalist. He’d even come up to Anthony once while he was working.

“And how do you do today, sir?” Richard would say, pushing up his spectacles. Anthony, who’d been lifting a tyre, set it down and looked at Richard, who was all curious and bug - eyed.

“And who might you be, hm?“ he smiled down at the boy.

“I, good sir, am Richard Harkness,” Richard had replied, taking notes. “…and you are…?“

“Anthony Green,” Ant had huffed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Where are your parents?”

“That doesn’t matter, good sir!” Harkness had replied eagerly, puffing out his chest. “I’m here to report on —“

“Richie!” Lilith had hurried over, carrying a basket. “Stop being a bother!”

“I’m not bein’ a bother, Lils,” Richard started giggling as she grabbed his hand, his little glasses crooked. “I’m not being a bother!”

“I’m sorry,” Lilith breathed, looking directly at Anthony — and blushing furiously. “So sorry.”

“Lilith, stop draggin’ me! You’re gonna hurt my ankle, stop draggin’ me!”

“Cállate, muchacho!” Lilith hissed at Richard — but Anthony simply gazed at her, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.

“Sorry again,” she said, before nodding at him and all but dragging Richard away, who was still fidgeting and fighting.

“It’s fine!” Anthony called after her, but she was too far to hear by then.

And when he’d seen her singing by the lake that day, he’d watched and watched — he came back everyday to watch her, feeling a creep for it but never trying to touch her or bother her, just wanting to listen to her sing.

Then she’d caught him, and instead of screaming or calling him a creep… she taught him to sing. And play the guitar; and it’d been history from there.

“You know,” Lilith said now, after a long beat of silence, “I worry about Richard. He thinks that horrible Long Walk thing is so… amazing.” She swallowed, looking up at the treetops. “But it’s not. It’s just… a death walk. Young boys losin’ their lives. I can’t bear to watch it.”

“But it’s honorable for them,” Anthony said uneasily, not quite meeting Lilith’s eyes. “A chance for riches and glory and fame and —“

“Death,” Lilith interposed, pursing her lips. “Despair. Exhaustion. Mental scars that’ll never heal. It’s no good. I’d hate for anyone I cared about to go.”

Anthony swallowed, looking down. Lilith arched a brow.

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of going.”

“What?” Anthony replied almost immediately, his face feeling hot. “No, that’s — of course not, Lils.”

“You better not.” She said darkly, and Anthony laughed nervously in response.

“But all that stuff you mentioned,” he said after a beat of silence, unable to help himself. “We — I — face it everyday. You know it’s hard living out here under the Major.”

Lilith’s pursed her lips. “Ant —“

“No, bear with me for a moment, Lilith,” Anthony interjected gently. “People are poor. Everybody’s poor. Apart from the government officials like the Major or their families. Everyone’s scraping to get by, and they give us a chance. No one that respects himself, no one that’s got a heart, would want to join the Squads, take the other option. You see the type of pain they inflict, the boys they shoot on the Walk. It takes a certain kind of person to do that. So would it be so crazy to — ?”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Lilith said firmly, and Anthony shut up.

For about three seconds.

“Just think about it, Lils.”

“You sound like you’re going to go.” Lilith sat up straighter, giving Anthony a long, hard look. “Like you’re trying to convince me — what about your siblings? Are you even sure you’d survive?”

“It’s hard enough surviving as - is,” Anthony replied, avoiding the question. “I can’t even love you out in the open, Lilith.”

There was a long beat of silence, in which Lilith stared at Anthony and Anthony stared at Lilith.

“You know it’s true.”

“My parents will have to get over it when it’s time.” She replied, looking away from him — her eyes looked glassy. “Tendrán que aceptar que el chico que amo tiene la piel más oscura—“

“Yeah, but then what?” Anthony replied, sighing. “How will I support you? The money I get from odd jobs won’t be enough —“

“We’ll both work.”

“I don’t want you to give up on your singing dreams,” Anthony pressed, shifting closer to Lilith. Her face turned a rosy pink as he did. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at any point, Lils. I love you, you know that.”

“If you love me, you’ll stop even thinking about going to that cursed Walk,” Lilith said firmly, her eyes flashing. “I don’t —“ she sighed, blinking quickly. “I don’t want you to get killed before our lives truly begin, Anthony. Now stop talking like you’re thinking of going, just stop.”

Anthony opened his mouth, thought better of it, and clamped it shut. Lilith was looking away, staring at the fishes darting beneath the lake’s water.

“Hey.” Ant urged softly, nudging Lilith. “Lils.”

“Go away.”

“I won’t talk about the Walk again, okay?”

“Anthony.”

“I mean it. Won’t you just —“

The rest of Ant’s sentence was lost as Lilith turned around and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. He let out a huff, grinning, before slowly hugging her back.

“You’re one of the few people that make me feel normal in this town, Ant,” she whispered into his ear — the smell of vanilla and spices filled his nose as she held him tighter. “And the other person is a nine year old boy. My baby brother.”

Ant laughed again. “He and Lottie really should meet one of these days. I think she and Richard would get along.”

“Mhm.” Lilith hummed. “They would. So stick around and see it happen, Ant.”

Anthony smiled, though it felt a bit strained. “I will.”

They stayed like that, embracing in the quiet — before it happened.

“ANT! ARE YOU HUGGIN’ A GIRL?!” an all too familiar child’s voice screamed, shattering the quiet.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” Ant sighed deeply, ignoring the voice and hoping he was dreaming.

“Who’s that?” Lilith asked, withdrawing from the hug and looking around.

“I hope it’s not who I think it is.” Ant groaned, looking up — lo and behold, it was nine year old Lottie, front tooth freshly regrown, other front tooth preparing to fall out. She was standing on one of the rocks bordering the lake, her toy rabbit Stebbins tucked under one arm as she grinned triumphantly. Her shoes were muddy, as was her dress.

“Lottie!” Ant yelled, as Lilith covered her mouth and giggled. “What did I tell you about mindin’ your business?!”

“ANT, IM TELLIN’ PA YOU’RE HUGGIN’ ON A WHITE GIRL!” Lottie yelled back, grinning. “I’M TELLIN’, IM TELLIN’ —“

“She’s not white, you — you know what, get down here!”

“No!” Lottie yelled back, and squealed when Ant got up, chasing her — she turned to run before tripping and falling to the floor immediately.

“Ow!” She yelled — in the next moment, Ant had scooped her up into his arms, and she giggled as he tickled her.

“Now I’ll tell you somethin’ right now, you sneaky little buttercup,” Ant said as Lottie laughed.

“Let me go, Ant, let me go!” Lottie protested, but she was still giggling.

“I’ll let you go when you promise not to tell Pa or Ma or Robbie OR even your little friends in town —“

“Not even Clementine?”

“Not even Clementine, you little nosey - head.” Anthony said, making a face at Lottie. She laughed again. “No tellin’ anybody I’ve got a lady, you hear?”

“Or what?” Lottie challenged, as Anthony carried her back to the lake and where Lilith sat, smiling at them.

“Or no more sweets and books from me.” Anthony replied fairly.

“No!” Lottie exclaimed, suddenly in despair.

“Exactly,” Anthony replied, setting Lottie down and sitting next to Lilith. “So zip it.”

Lottie humphed, crossing her arms and looking at Lilith. The latter waved at Lottie, and her face broke into a smile once more.

“Hello, miss, my name’s Charlotte.” Lottie said sweetly, and Lilith laughed. “But you can call me Lottie. I like readin’ and such. Are you the girl who taught him that song he keeps singin’ in the morning? Are you gonna marry him? If you’re not white, what are you?”

“Lottie—“Anthony started.

“It’s okay,” Lilith said, smiling at Lottie. “I’m from Cuba, like my parents. Hispanic.”

“Oh!” Lottie snapped her fingers. “I’ve read about Cuba, it’s really nice, especially all that food. Do you like it better here, or there —“

“Lottie, stop asking so many damn questions.” Anthony said, and Lottie shut up as Lilith laughed.

Present Day

Eighteen - year old Lottie Green was going to sneak out to Ray Garraty’s birthday party tonight.

Eight - teen, Lottie Green.

Hmm. That rhymed.

Lottie shook her head then, ridding herself of the ridiculous train of thought — on her bed lay the dress she’d picked out for tonight… it had a high peter - pan neckline and short puff sleeves, both trimmed with delicate white lace. The fabric had a yellow and white gingham check pattern, and this was overlaid with a dense floral print — flowers in shades of orange, yellow, and red were splattered all over. A matching bow sat neatly on top, both freshly ironed. Then, she looked at her dark tights — they were shimmery ones that would make her legs look all sparkly in the low light. And she was wearing her best shoes, yellow round - toe Mary Jane block heels, the ones with ankle straps.

Lottie had bought the shoes from some old lady who’d been selling them for a couple of dollars back in Louisiana — when she asked her why she was selling them so cheap, since they were so new, she’d told her that they belonged to her daughter, who’d run away. The dress and bow, however, was a gift from her Pa for her last birthday, and the tights from her Ma. As for the earrings she was to wear, they’d be the usual pearl ones she wore every other time. Lottie looked over all of these things, standing in only her panties and bra in the middle of her room and ignoring the glaring fact she was wearing a matching set for some reason. And that she’d taken her mama’s special scented soap to shower that afternoon.

Now, there was only one question that remained: how in the name of God was Lottie going to sneak out? She’d ask Robert, her brother, to cover for her — but Robert didn’t want her anywhere near Ray. She could try and fake being sick and not wanting to be bothered, but the sun was setting and she hadn’t looked that bad for the majority of the day, instead moving in a moronic, lovestruck daze because of what Ray had done the night prior.

“I hope you haven’t started smokin’, Lottie,” her Pa had commented, as she read some books and hummed. “You sound damn near euphoric.”

“I’m just in a good mood, Pa.” She’d replied softly, grinning stupidly. Thankfully, Robert had been working at the library — otherwise, he’d have definitely worked out what was going on.

But that wasn’t the issue now. The issue was finding a way to get out of her room and into the local recreational center in the next hour — the sun was setting fast and Lottie didn’t want to be late for a party Ray had been so insistent she come to. She wasn’t one to turn or let down a friend, right?

Sighing and trying to think of an idea, Lottie turned down her dingy little radio and paced around the room. Then it came to her:

“I’ll just wait for Ma and Pa to fall asleep!” She said to herself, smacking her forehead before sitting on her bed and watching the gap under the door. When the light in the hallway switched off, that meant that they were asleep. Robert usually passed out on the living room floor after sneaking some of Pa’s cigars.

She sat criss - cross applesauce on her bed then, listening to her mother and father talk among themselves, hoping they’d get tired soon…

Ray Garraty stood awkwardly at the entrance to the local recreational town center — at the side of the double - door entrance was a banner that read YOUTH SOCIAL GATHERING - RAYMOND GARRATY’S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY PARTY. To the side of this poorly made banner was a member of the Squads, their eyes concealed with sunglasses not to too different to that of the Major’s, a carbine held steadily in her arms. It was a woman, Ray thought, glancing at her stone - cold expression, and she looked no - nonsense. Everyone that was in the Squads looked no - nonsense, anyway. She’d shoot anyone that got much too rowdy or revolutionary for the Major’s liking. A Squad member was required to be at very social gathering in America, to regulate things.

So far, about twenty people had entered the center, and Ray only knew about five of them personally. He knew not everybody was here for him; they were here to have fun, to unwind, to party. And parties were rare. Not banned, like most music and books and things, but rare. Mostly because it took hell to organize, but Ray’s dad, William Garraty, had been absolutely determined to make sure his son had a birthday party. Said all drunk, over a glass of beer, that Ray would celebrate, have something William had had when he was younger, before the Major.

As the days passed, Ray had noticed a change in his father’s drinking habits — they had always been in the background, like persistent ringing in your ears after listening to loud music, but alright if you ignored it. He wasn’t too much of a mean drunk, he’d never hit Ginnie or Ray. But he was starting to get more and more bold with his views; to Ginnie’s alarm, he was found one night discussing it with one of his work friends over the phone.

“Will!” She’d hissed, snatching the phone from him and hanging it on the cradle. “Are you insane?! Your call could’ve been intercepted at any time, and the Major could come knocking—“

“Gin, I told you, I have it under fuckin’ control,” he’d slurred back, close to giggling — Ray, who’d been cleaning his baseball bat and humming to himself, stopped as he stared at his parents. His father hadn’t been known to swear at his mother, and Ginnie’s face hardened at him before walking to their bedroom.

“Gin!” William called after Ginnie, before glancing back at Ray. “Ah, Christ — Ginnie, I’m sorry, alright?”

Ray had only watched quietly as his father walked after Ginnie, apologizing profusely — but he got the uncomfortable sense that his mother was right. That she wasn’t just nagging for nagging’s sake.

His father was doing something dangerous. Showing Ray the old ways.

“Hey, if it ain’t Ray the greatest!”

Ben Miller’s voice pulled Ray out of his train of memory, and back to the present — he was wearing a suit that looked one size too big (impressive, considering his size) and had a pretty girl on his arm. She wore a plain checkered dress with white pumps, her blonde hair curled (most likely by empty coke cans, heat curlers cost a fortune) and sparkly lip gloss on her lips. Her cheeks were powdered pink. Ray also had no idea who she was.

“Hey, Ben.” Ray said, before nodding at the girl. “Good evening.”

“The turnout looks good,” Ben said, his eyes flicking to the Squad member momentarily. “Seems like a lot of people want to celebrate you, Garraty.”

“A lot of people want to party, Ben — you and I know that,” Ray replied, scratching his neck and looking around. “You seen, uh… anyone else come this way?”

“If you’re asking about your girl, no I haven’t.” Ben said slyly. Ray turned beet red as Ben’s girl started checking her nails, bored.

“What?”

“Oh, that bird Lottie Green.” Ben specified, narrowing his eyes at Ray. Ray furrowed his brow. Ben’s voice sounded teasing, but it felt like there was an undercurrent of something else.

“What about her?” Ray asked, feeling defensive. “She’s not my girl, but we are friends — do you have a problem with that?”

“Whoa, Garraty,” Ben threw up his hands in mock - surrender. “Down, boy. I’m only saying. You two look mighty close.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Ray said, looking away and down the road — it was almost dark, and he hadn’t properly started the party because Lottie hadn’t come. There was plenty chatter from inside — people were getting antsy, and the Squad member hovering around was making everyone uncomfortable.

Ray himself was starting to feel sweaty, the suit his father lent him making him feel all bulky and awkward. It was a three piece brown suit with a striped tie and a lapel collar, with long sleeves and cuffs. There would be a matching brown waistcoat underneath if he took off the blazer, though he wasn’t sure why he was thinking of taking off clothes on the night of his eighteenth birthday. He felt like he looked stupid anyway. His father had called the suit a ‘Gary Valentine.’ Whatever that meant.

After Ben had bothered Ray for a couple more minutes and finally went inside, Ray checked the time on his watch — it was 9.05 pm. The local council had said that they were only permitted to party until ten thirty, then everybody had to go home. He’d have to start the party sooner or later, Ray thought, casting another worried look around. Lottie still hadn’t come.

“Come on…” he whispered to no one in particular, tapping his hand against his leg. “C’mon, Lottie, come on…”

The road leading to the center remained empty, and Ray sighed deeply before turning around and walking inside.

The inside of the recreational center was, like most buildings, dingy and run - down. There were attempts to make the place look less miserable with cheap decorations like party streamers and confetti, but one could still see the peeling paint if they looked close enough. There was a snacks table (with minimal to no alcohol) and chips, but if you looked too closely you’d see the half - broken table leg.

The people that had come (and they were many) were standing around the dance floor awkwardly, everyone waiting for the music to start and chattering among themselves quietly. Per the rules, the host had to permit the party to truly ‘start’.

Ray kept his head down as he walked up to the DJ (who was a cheap hire by his dad and government - approved), a janky looking guy he didn’t care to know the name of.

“You ready?” The DJ asked lazily, looking at Ray with mild interest. He couldn’t be much older than twenty. Ray, casting one last glance to the doorway, nodded. The DJ nodded before picking up the microphone.

“Alright, who’s ready to party?”

There were some scattered cheers.

“I said,” the DJ repeated, raising his voice. “Who’s ready to par - taaaay?!”

There were more enthusiastic cheers now, and Ray laughed at some of the guys hooting and jostling one another; the DJ himself seemed to be pumped up.

“Alllll - righty then!” He yelled into the mic, among excited cheers. “Let’s get it on!”

He pressed play, and the jaunty beat of the song That’s the Way (I Like It) by KC and the Sunshine Band came on. People cheered, coupling up on the dance floor and beginning to dance. Girls danced mostly in tune, their hair swishing as the boys twisted and twirled them around. Some people had even started to laugh as they danced, their previous awkwardness dissipating into the air. One girl had gotten bold, letting herself be swung around.

“Oh, that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh

That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh…”

Ray slowly walked away from the DJ’s table then, still taking in the scenery — he liked the song, but he found himself not wanting to dance. Lottie, as he could clearly see, wasn’t here yet. He wondered if her dad had found out she was going to sneak out, and if he’d gotten her into trouble. He furrowed his brow in worry, hoping fervently that wasn’t the case —

“When you take me by the hand

Tell me I'm your lovin' man

When you give me all your love

And do it, babe, the very best you can…”

And there was another thing — Ray could dance, somewhat. He could do the rhumba and cha-cha, skills he had learned on endless Saturday mornings at Mrs. Amelia Dorgens's School for Modern Dance... that had been his mother's idea, one he had kept telling her was a bad and annoying one. Ginnie had stuck to her guns, thank God — but he was a mess when it came to dancing in public, in front of other people, in front of a girl he wanted to impress… he’d been able to teach Jan when she and him were a thing, but he hadn’t really liked Jan much beyond being friends, so that didn’t count.

“Oh, that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh

That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh…”

Ray was now at the refreshments table, sipping on some punch and watching a couple dance so aggressively that five meters of space had to be allowed for them so they didn’t punch anyone in the face. He giggled when he saw that it was Ben and his girl.

“That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh

That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh

I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh…”

This song was really repetitive, huh? Ray thought, sipping on his punch some more, looking around — there was a girl dancing by herself, who locked eyes with him. Ray quickly looked back into his punch upon doing so, because she tried to advance to him — she looked like a wild flamingo when she danced, and it took everything in Ray not to laugh. Where the hell was Lottie?

“When I get to be in your arms

When we're all, all alone

When you whisper sweet in my ear

When you turn, turn me on…”

Ray’s eyes did another lazy sweep across the room, landing on the door — he almost spat out his punch.

There was Lottie.

She was wearing a yellow party dress, patterned with flowers of many colors — her hair, which had been left out in an Afro, had been given a side - part. A bow which matched her dress rested in her hair, and her shimmery tights gave her legs a bedazzling, sparkly look; like Tinkerbell herself had cast a spell on her. She had a sort of sparkly eyeshadow, as well — her lips seemed to have a sort of twinkly gloss applied to them. Her heels, Mary Jane pumps, seemed to be polished to perfection. Her dark and lovely skin, even under the low disco light, shone nevertheless. She looked just like a dream to Ray, the prettiest girl hed ever seen.

The other guests were having fun, laughing and dancing, so no one paid Lottie much mind; she was looking around frantically — Ray realized with a start that she was looking for him. Without thinking, he set down his cup of punch; twisting and turning through the moving crowd, just to get to her.

“Sorry — excuse me — I’m so sorry, I just need to — Lottie!”

Ray called out Lottie’s name once he’d finally made it to the door, and the smile she gave Ray upon seeing him was radiant.

“Ray!” She hugged him, and Ray found himself taking in her scent — she smelled like flowers and cinnamon and cocoa all mixed together. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” He yelled back at her — the music was close to deafening. She nodded, eyes sparkling before digging in her handbag for something.

“I made you somethin’, jumper!” She replied, before bringing out a handkerchief; it was intricately embroidered with flowers and butterflies. Ray took it, his cheeks turning a pleased pink as he saw that she had sewed in his name, as well : Property of Raymond Garraty, all in cursive.

“I hope you like it!” Lottie yelled over the music once more. “I worried you’d think it was too girly or somethin’, but I couldn’t really afford to —“

The rest of Lottie’s sentence was lost as Ray hugged her — she almost fell over with the force of the hug, laughing out loud. His thumb rubbed circles into her back as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Thank you, Lottie ,” he said, his voice all muffled. “No one’s gotten me a gift apart from my parents.”

Lottie hugged him back, ignoring some of the looks they were getting. “That’s quite all right, Ray.” She replied, before drawing back and taking him in. “You look great!”

“Thanks!” He replied breathlessly, taking in Lottie’s appearance once more. “You look… Christ, you look beautiful, Lottie.”

Lottie smiled then, looking away shyly. “Why thank you, Raymond.”

Ray felt himself getting heady, offering Lottie a hand as he put the handkerchief into his back pocket. “Care to dance?”

Lottie laughed, taking his hand. “Can you dance?”

“Can I?” Ray repeated incredulously, smiling widely — Lottie could see his chipped front tooth, and liked him all the more for it. “Well, I guess we’ll have to have to find out.”

“You can’t, can you?” Lottie said, still chuckling. Ray shrugged.

“No, but I’ll try!”

Ray then gently pulled Lottie with him onto the dance floor. Just then, the song changed — You Never Can Tell by Chuck Berry started playing,and Lottie’s face lit up.

“Oh, I love this song!” She gushed, before slowly starting to dance around Ray, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. Ray snickered as she started to shimmy around him, slowly circling him.

“You look crazy, Lottie,” he said, in between laughs. “What are you doing?”

“You could see that Pierre did truly love the Mademoiselle…” Lottie mouthed along to the lyrics, winking. “Come on, Ray, dance! It’s your birthday, for cryin’ out loud!”

‘And now the young Monsieur and Madame have rung the chapel bell…’ Chuck Berry sang joyfully, as Ray slowly started to copy Lottie’s movements, half - stumbling and giggling in disbelief at himself.

“There you go!” Lottie yelled over the music, grinning as she danced closer to Ray — he suddenly took her for a spin, and she laughed in surprise.

‘"C'est la vie" say the old folks, It goes to show you never can tell!’ Ray dipped Lottie then, the latter squealing from surprise.

“Did I hurt you?” Ray said breathlessly, as they came back up. Lottie shook her head, her face flushed.

“No, Ray! You’re a riot!” Lottie yelled. Ray grinned at that, and Lottie separated from him then, doing the Bus Stop dance, a two - step. Ray nodded along, doing it with her in sync.

‘They had a hi-fi phono boy did they let it blast?’

Lottie then twirled in complete joy, her flowery skirt swishing around her as her face became more and more delighted; Ray paused then, watching her for a moment. She was so radiant, so beautiful, that he couldn’t help himself — he caught her by the hand and pulled her flush against him; she let out a sound of surprise, giggling to herself.

“Seven hundred little records all rock, rhythm, and jazz…

But when the sun went down the rapid tempo of the music fell…”

“You look like you’re having fun, Ray,” Lottie said breathlessly, looking up at him — her eyes, in the low light, shone. “Are you?”

Ray stared down at her, his face becoming redder by the moment, the song still playing joyously in the background.

"C'est la vie" say the old folks, It goes to show you never can tell…’ the song faded as he gazed at her, their dancing slowing down.

“More than you know.” He said finally, and Lottie smiled.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ said then, and the song faded. “Time to get… a little romantic up in here. Grab your lady, or grab your man — it’s time to —“ he snapped his fingers, clearly more relaxed than he had been at the start of the party. “Slow dance!”

“Oh.” Charlotte breathed, suddenly looking anxious. She looked back at Ray, heat creeping up her neck. “Ray, are you sure you want to —“

Slowly, gently, Ray lifted her left arm to rest on his shoulder — before taking her other hand in his.

“Yes, Lottie,” he said softly, just as ‘Oh My Angel’ by Bertha Tillman started to play. “I’d love to.”

Lottie smiled at him.

‘Oh, my Angel…’ Tillman crooned, and Ray thought Lottie was just that, an Angel. Lottie blinked up at him, quiet as everyone around them started to slow down, pulling their dates closer.

‘Come back to me…’

“Y’know, I’ve never really slow danced before,” Lottie said after a few long moments, avoiding Ray’s eye. “I’ve only seen my Ma and Pa do it when they thought me and Robbie were sleeping.”

“Really?” Ray asked as they swayed.

“Mhm. I always thought it was so lovely, you know… I never thought —“ she chuckled nervously. “I never thought I’d do it myself one day.”

“Why’s that?” Asked Ray, his voice soft. The way he spoke made Lottie’s stomach do a backflip.

“Because — oh golly, is it hot in here? Do you feel hot? I’m boilin’.” She couldn’t look Ray in the eye to save her life, fanning herself with one hand.

Ray made a mock - pondering face, looking up and shaking his head before looking back at Lottie. “No, I don’t feel any warmer. Maybe it’s the company.”

“Are you flirtin’ with me, jumper?” Lottie asked then, laughing nervously and feeling her hands get clammy. Ray shrugged, smiling.

“May - be.” He drew out the word. Lottie felt that feeling down below then, the one she was sure was sinful — but for once, she didn’t care.

Lottie looked him in the eye then. “I’m older than you, you know.”

“By around three weeks.” Ray reminded her, raising his eyebrows. She laughed.

‘…consumes my happiness…’ the song continued in the background.

“And,” Lottie added, after a few long moments. “I’m definitely cooler than you.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Bet you can’t quote Nietzsche off the top of your head.”

“I can, actually.”

“Don’t believe it.” Lottie teased.

“Without music,” Ray then quoted, spinning Lottie gently before pulling her back in. “Life would be a mistake. Now your turn, Lottie.”

“Hmm,” Lottie hummed, smirking. “It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”

“Ah, smart,” Ray nodded, making Lottie giggle. “Very intelligent — but I don’t need you to tell me whether I’m cool or not, old lady.”

“What was that?” Lottie asked, raising an eyebrow and barely repressing her laughter.

“I said milady —“ Ray started.

“Hm?”

“I said milady, I said milady —“ he repeated, wrapping his arm around Lottie’s waist then and pulling her flush against him, close enough to kiss. “My lady... I don’t need you to tell me whether I’m cool or not.” Ray said, raising his eyebrows as Lottie smirked at him.

“Hm.” She hummed. They were barely swaying now. “I’m cooler than you, jumper. And you have a chipped tooth.”

Ray chuckled. “I noticed.”

They continued to sway then, Lottie resting her head on his shoulder; and Ray knew he was going to try and do it — do what he’d wanted to do with Lottie since forever.

“Lottie.” He whispered, soft as a feather. “Lottie.”

“Hmm?” Lottie looked up at Ray.

“Can I show you something?” He asked, taking her by the hand.

“Oh! Well…” she then looked around — everyone else was still dancing, not many eyes on them. The Squad member assigned to watch over the party was dozing off in the corner. She looked back to him and nodded, smiling.

“Great.” Ray breathed, leading Lottie by the hand through the crowd. They deftly weaved between swaying couples, Lottie grinning at the mystery of what Ray wanted to do.

‘And I will love you… till eternity.’ The song faded out just as Ray found the back door, opening it for Lottie and letting her pass through before shutting it behind him. Outside was cold, the crickets chirping. Lottie hadn’t brought a jacket, and shivered slightly. Ray saw.

“Oh, are you cold?” He asked. Lottie straightened up then, shaking her head while trying to smile.

“No, jumper, I’m —“

“Here.” Ray took off his blazer then, and draped it around her shivering frame. Lottie noticed had a matching brown waistcoat underneath his blazer, and thought it nice.

“Thank you, Ray,” she said then, wrapping the large jacket around her. “My, this is big.”

Ray’s face fell then, and Lottie noticed.

“Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with being big, of course — I think big things are swell.”

Ray’s face then turned red, and he coughed — Lottie blinked before realizing how she sounded.

“I — I mean — oh no, not like that!” She was blushing furiously.

“N - no, of course, I wasn’t thinking —“

“I wasn’t talking about —“

“No, you’re alright —“

“Of course, of course…”

The two teenagers then fell silent, staring at each other, before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my goodness,” Lottie said in-between laughs. “Ray, what are we doing?”

“No idea,” he replied, his voice cracking as he continued to laugh. “No fucking idea.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Lottie said, wiping a tear from her eye as the laughter died down.

“How did you even get out of your house?” Ray asked, grinning at Lottie. “Did your dad come around?”

“My Pa will never come around, jumper — I waited till everyone fell asleep before I snuck out of my window.” She said, her cheeks flushed. Her scar stood out in the moonlight, making her even more beautiful to Ray. “I feel all scandalous.”

“Is that so?” Ray replied, teasing. “Guess we have an outlaw here now.”

Lottie pushed Ray, giggling. “Shut up.”

“No, you shut up.” Ray said, pushing her back.

“You’re stupid, Ray.” Lottie said, still chuckling — everything to her, in this moment, was absolutely hilarious.

“Stupid in love with you.” Ray replied.

They both stopped laughing.

Lottie blinked at Ray, her face feeling so warm you could’ve fried an egg on it and called it a true American breakfast. “What?”

Ray started to panic. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, this wasn’t —

“Ray?”

“U - uh…” he stuttered, his face reddening.

“Raymond, are you okay?” Lottie said worriedly.

Ray knew it was now or never; he could pretend he hadn’t said anything, or do what he came here to do, there was no way he could go back now, no time to think or backtrack or even —

“Ray, should I —“

Lottie’s speech was cut off as Ray took two steps forward, held her face, and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, like he’d always dreamed, and for a moment, he felt her kiss him back — then he pulled away, frightened.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he panted, face flushed. Lottie’s face was stunned and flustered. “I should’ve asked you, I should’ve —“

The rest of his sentence was lost as Lottie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back — Ray responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted her off her feet, hugging her waist. He then pushed her against the wall, still kissing her feverishly, so intensely she had no time to kiss him back.

“Ray —“ she gasped, as he moved to kissing her neck. “Are you sure— “

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” he muttered against her neck, returning to Lottie’s lips — when he did so, she whimpered, prompting him to kiss her harder. Lottie’s mind was whirling with thoughts, all types of sensations, all of which were sinful, but she didn’t care, running her hands through Ray’s hair as he kissed her, his hands still clutching her waist —

Then, madly in that moment, her brother’s words from church came back to her, his warning about what this could mean.

“And then he’ll go on that death march and you know, you know there’s a high chance he could have his brains on the sidewalk…”

Lottie tried to block out Robert’s words, pulling Ray closer…

“Then you’ll be alone.”

No, Lottie thought, still kissing Ray. No, not now —

“Widowed at nineteen.”

Stop.

“Is that what you want, Charlotte?”

Stop it.

The memory of Anthony flashed through her head, his song, him not being around —

No.

“Is that what you fuckin’ want?” Robert’s voice echoed, and Lottie couldn’t take it anymore —

“STOP!”

Lottie pushed Ray away then, her chest heaving as he widened his eyes, panicked.

“Lottie?” He breathed, his lips swollen and face flushed red as he stared at her, alarmed. Lottie felt involuntary tears spring to her eyes. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Do you need —“

“No, it’s —“ she broke off, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry, jumper, this was — this was a mistake.”

Ray paled. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have come out here,” she shook her head, tears starting to roll down her face. “I shouldn’t have snuck out… I’m sorry, Ray…” Lottie started to break into sobs, touching her scar.

“No, Lottie,” Ray stepped towards her cautiously, shaking his head, “it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have kissed you — are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lottie said, her voice choked. She was clearly not fine. “I… I’ve got to go, Raymond.”

“What?” Ray said, confused. “But there’s still a good thirty minutes —“

“I said I have to go, alright?” Lottie said harshly. Ray stepped back, hurt.

“Right. I’m sorry. Lottie, do you need me to walk you home?”

“No, I can get back fine.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry, Ray — I gave you the wrong message.”

“Lottie —“

But before Ray could finish his sentence, Lottie had started walking away — her pearl earrings bounced as she left Ray behind, not noticing she was still clutching his coat, only thinking of her eldest brother Anthony and the way he’d left them all behind, even Lilith, not sticking around to advise Lottie or stay that steady figure on her life, not sticking around for anyone or anything, not staying for his baby sister, but haunting every waking day of her goddamn life. Who was she kidding? She thought, touching her scar — Robert was right. She didn’t want to bother Ray anymore. This was stupid. She was stupid. How easy could she be? One kiss from the freckled red - head boy, and she had melted in his arms…

This wasn’t a fairytale, Lottie thought, shaking her head. People would talk. They always would.

She’d been idiotic to think any of this was more than a dream. A fantasy. But she still sobbed all the way home; still wiped her tears as she climbed through her room window and into bed, still clutched Ray’s jacket close to her chest as she fell asleep, still inhaled the scent of rain, cookies and leather.

Still wanted Ray to be the one beside her.

Still wanted her jumper.

***

A/N: uuuhhhh how you guys feeling about this chapter? I don’t know if I gave Ant too much backstory or if you guys liked it… feedback, please…

“I can’t believe you still need me to do this.”

“Mom.”

“I mean, you’re almost eighteen!”

“Mom.”

“You should know how to tie a tie by now.”

Ray gently smacked his mother’s hands away from his tie, giving her a look. “If you’re gonna complain about it so much, I might as well do it by myself.”

Ginnie Garraty sighed, rolling her eyes and putting her hands on her hips. “I’m just saying, you should know how—“

“Let the boy breathe a little, Gin.” William Garraty said from Ray’s bedroom doorway, smiling a bit. Ray smiled back. “Like you said — he’ll be eighteen soon, and he’ll find a lady—“

“Dad, stop.” Ray groaned, covering his face with his hands. Ginnie laughed, and William smiled even wider as he went on.

“Get married…”

“Dad.”

“Give us a bunch of grandkids…”

“Dad, quit it.”

“Though by what I’m seeing nowadays,” William continued, tapping his chin with his index finger and looking up at the ceiling. Ginnie was still giggling. “You’re well on your way to having a lady, son.”

“It’s not like that.” Ray replied, turning to his cracked bedroom mirror and trying to tie his tie on his own. His face looked all red and flushed. “Me and Lottie are just friends.”

“I don’t recall your father even mentioning her name.” Ginnie mused, laughing when William pressed a kiss to her temple. “You seem so guilty already.”

“Ha - ha, Mom.” Ray said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be down in a minute, you two can go and sit in the car.”

Today was the last Sunday before Ray Garraty turned eighteen, and the first Sunday that Lottie told him her family was going to come to the local church.

“My Pa was skeptical about comin’,” she had told him, her voice smooth like butter. They’d been lying on the grassy floor. The Long Walk for that year had started, and neither of them had been watching. “But my Ma said she’s tired of sittin’ at home very Sunday and praying by herself.”

“Really?” Ray had replied, looking at her profile as she stared up at the tree they were lying under. She turned to him.

“Mhm,” she’d hummed. “I’ll see you on Sunday, jumper.”

Their arms, which had been almost completely engulfed by the grass they were lying on, had been unconsciously moving closer and closer to one another. Their hands were almost touching, and neither of them had spoken about it. Butterflies flew around the pair, one gliding and landing softly on Lottie’s nose.

Her eyes widened as its wings moved slowly, and her eyelashes fluttered with each beat. Ray was staring at her, eyes sparkling. She laughed softly.

“I’d best not move, jumper.” Lottie whispered, smiling. “This… this is really special. I might write about it in my novel.”

“Your novel?”

“Mhm.”

“What’s it about? You never tell me.”

“It’s a ro - mance, Ray.” Lottie drew out the word romance, eyes still on the butterfly. “A Romeo and Juliet type of thing… I’ll add in some comedy… be a little funny like Twain.”

Ray let out a chuckle. “Write like Twain, and you’ll get your stuff banned — wait.” He sat up. “You’ve read Twain’s stuff?”

“You’re not the only one who can get illegal stuff, Ray.” She said, all sing - song. “My Pa and… someone else used to have their ways, but they got scared of getting caught, so they quit it. But I got a few pages in. Got music too, I dance to it real low at night.”

“Music?” Ray had repeated, feeling more and more in love with Lottie with each passing moment.

“Marvin Gaye, Nina Simone, all the artists who got banned by the Major as soon as they debuted.” Lottie’s eyes slid to Ray’s. “I keep having to hide them, though. Can’t get caught. I rarely dance, too.”

In that moment, Ray thought of what he planned to do for his birthday — he’d invited some of his guys to the local dancing center to celebrate, maybe bring their girls… he wanted to dance with Lottie too, but Robert’s warning kept reverberating in his mind every time he even thought of asking her out.

“Stay away from Charlotte.”

But still, lying on the floor in that meadow, he and Lottie’s hands had moved closer and closer to one another, until their pinkies touched. She didn’t turn to him, and he didn’t turn to her; they simply stared up at the tree and ignored what was growing between them.

Now, as Ray finally gave up on the tie he was to wear, he straightened out his shirt and tried to fix his hair (that damn cowlick)! And set out to the car.

“About time,” William said, clearing his throat as Ray sat inside and slammed the car door shut. It wouldn’t close if you didn’t slam it. “Was thinking that you’d drifted into a daydream about the little Green lady.”

“Dad!” Ray hissed, while Ginnie laughed. But as they pulled out of the driveway, Ray felt a sense of relief; his parents teasing him made it clear that they were not ‘that type’ — not that they had been like that over the years — but their acceptance of Lottie was an indicator she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable if things got far enough with her. William and Ginnie Garraty were many things, but they were not racists.

As the car drove to church however, Ray’s mind slid to Jan. He furrowed his brow as he remembered their last conversation with one another; how painfully understanding she’d been. He’d been messing around with her before Lottie moved into town, and they hadn’t really defined their relationship… but after Lottie came around, Ray knew he didn’t want to string Jan along or anything like that.

“Hey, Janice.” He’d come up to her while she was packing away some of her books into her locker, her long shimmery hair gleaming under the flickering hallway lights. She’d looked at him and gave him a small smile.

“Hi, Ray,” she said, sweetly. “What’s up?”

“I, uh…” Ray swallowed and looked around, and Jan furrowed her brow. “I need to talk to you about —“

“Is it about the new girl?” Jan asked suddenly. Ray startled a bit, surprised; then realized hanging out with Lottie more and more was becoming noticeable. He tried to read Jan’s expression. He couldn’t.

“Look,” he said, after two long beats. “The stuff we’ve been doing… I don’t really want to do it anymore.”

The noise of the bustling school hallway around them could’ve muffled Ray’s voice, but he knew Jan had heard him loud and clear. She blinked, and then smiled.

“That’s alright.”

Ray couldn’t believe it. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jan shrugged, shutting her locker door and shouldering her bag. “I mean, you’re sweet and all, Ray, but we weren’t anything serious; you never looked at me the way you look at Green. I’m happy for you two.”

Ray turned red, shaking his head. “Oh no, we’re not — we’re not dating—“

“Hmm.” Jan hummed, staring at him closely. “Alright. But be careful.”

“What?” Ray said, immediately becoming defensive.

“People have their eyes on you.” She elaborated, before looking around. “Both of you. Be careful if you don’t want Charlotte to get hurt.”

Before Ray could ask what Jan meant, she’d seen one of her girlfriends, some bird named Priscilla, and left.

Now, Ray turned he and Jan’s supposed breakup over in his head. he was glad Jan wasn’t the screaming resentful type, but she and Robert’s warnings kept echoing in his head. Like it or not, they both did have a point. Loving v. Virginia was what, seven or eight years ago? Segregation in schools was even lesser; he wouldn’t have even known Lottie around five years ago — they would’ve gone to completely different schools. And she never spoke about it, but apart from him, Lottie didn’t have many friends. She mostly kept to herself in the library, or worked on that novel she wouldn’t let him see.

Ray frowned to himself, almost rolling his eyes at the idiocy of it all; he wished he could just be with Lottie with no problems — but it’d never be that easy. He’d be stupid to think it would be.

But Ray was stubborn. So he would try. He’d invite her to his party, and he’d dance with her, and she’d tell him more about that novel he wanted to read, and then he’d take her out back, and he’d kiss, kiss, kiss her…

“We’re here!” William’s voice broke Ray out of his fantasy, and he jolted as the car sputtered to a stop. The soft singing voices of the church choir wafted out to the Garratys, and William cursed softly. They were late.

“Christ, Mrs Morrison is gonna be talking.” He muttered. Ginnie gently smacked him on the arm.

“Ow!”

“No saying the Lord’s name in vain outside of His house,” she scolded, rolling her eyes and getting out of the car. William turned back to Ray, pointing to his own head and make a winding motion with his index finger. Ray snorted, getting out of the car with his father. He didn’t believe in God, and neither did Ray, but they believed in Ginnie. And Ginnie liked church.

The church was nice enough; a wooden white one, painted by the younger boys in town a few years back. It wasn’t too rickety — plenty people had offered to fix up any holes or imperfection in the building. There were three wooden steps to the front porch, and two grand oak doors. The sign read Porterville’s Catholic Church. Very original.

His father told Ray that it was an old church, a pre - Major one. On the right side of the entrance was a blackboard detailing what today’s lesson was and the Bible verses used as reference, and any other church meetings happening that week; today the lesson wasn’t clearly stated, but the Bible verses were. Ray stared at the scrawled on Matthew 5:28, 1 John 2:16, and Colossians 3:5. He rarely read the Bible, so he didn’t know what that all meant. Maybe Lottie would. The shape of her plump lips and her chest came to mind, and he shook his head violently. The voices singing the opening hymn came clearer now.

‘Oh Lord, my God

When I, in awesome wonder

Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder

Thy power throughout the universe displayed…’

Ray inwardly cringed; he hated singing hymns in church, and he didn’t like singing in general. Ginnie put her hand on the church’s door and pushed it open; almost the whole town was in church on Sundays. Ben Miller, who had once drawn an intricate illustration of a penis on the church’s black board back in 9th grade, was in the second row pew with his family, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Some other kids from school were scattered here and there with their families, all of them singing along to the hymn.

‘Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art…’

“Ray.” Ginnie hissed, as Ray craned his neck around to see if he could find Lottie. “Raymond.”

‘And when I think that God, His Son not sparing

Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in

That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing

He bled and died to take away my sin…’

She had to be here somewhere…

‘Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art…’

“Raymond Davis Garraty!” Ginnie said finally, taking Ray’s hand and leading him to a pew his father was already standing at. A little girl and her parents were at the same pew, the girl playing with a doll while her parents sung. “Why were you just standing in the middle, looking around like that?!”

“What?” Ray replied stupidly, as people kept singing around them.

‘When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation

And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart

Then I shall bow, in humble adoration…’

“Sing, son.” William whispered out the corner of his mouth, before singing along with the rest of the congregation. Ray rolled his eyes, sighing, before singing along.

‘And then proclaim, my God, how great Thou art

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee

How great Thou art, how great Thou art

How great Thou art, how great Thou art!’

”Thank you.” Father Andrew said to everyone, before making the sign. Ray looked at the stained church windows, saw one of the baby angels and their round faces,and was reminded again of Lottie — he looked around one last time and finally saw her.

Lottie was standing in the pew opposite theirs, on the other side of the aisle; her hair, usually like a cloud, had been flat ironed, resembling her mother’s. It was long, Ray thought, staring — so long it fell to her waist. He admired the way her hair worked. One moment it could be all puffed out and soft, and the next it could be all straight and fall below her shoulders. She wore white gloves and had a floral - patterned white shift dress, a singular daisy tucked behind her ear as she stared forward, looking terribly bored. Her round, soft cheeks had been powdered with a sort of dark - red blush, making them look rosier than usual; her lips shone with clear lip gloss. Ray wondered how she’d got her hands on those. Jan had always told him that those Maybelline things were expensive; but he reckoned the grocery store brought in enough money to buy it. Those pearl earrings she always wore dangled gently from her ears. Her dark brown skin shone under the lights of the church, and Ray swore he could smell her from his pew. Like honey, cocoa butter and flowers —

“Ray, what are you doing?” William whispered. Ray startled — around three or so people were staring at him. His father looked close to laughing. “Are you hungry? You’ve been sniffing the air for the past two minutes, son.”

“What? No, I — no.” Ray said stupidly. He could see Robert, Lottie’s older brother, glaring at him from behind their parents. He pointed at his eyes with two fingers before pointing at Ray warningly. Lottie seemed to turn to Ray’s pew then, and her face lit up as she saw and gave Ray a little wave. Ray waved back, grinning, before Lottie’s mother saw her daughter waving and pushed her hand down. Lottie frowned at her mom, before glancing at Ray again shyly and turning a reddish brown.

“We may now say the Lord’s Prayer,” the priest said then, and everyone stood straight. “Begin. Our Father…”

Ray chanted along, but he was looking at Lottie the whole time.

“…who art in heaven…”

Lottie caught him looking and giggled behind her gloves before pointing at the pastor and mouthing ‘pay attention’. Ray, shrugging, mouthed back ‘boring.’ She stifled another giggle.

“…thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven…” Ray finally started praying along, but loudly, and stupidly, all so he could make Lottie laugh. He got a few pokes from his mom while doing so but ignored her — he glanced at Lottie and saw she was trying very hard to stifle her laughter, biting her lip and all.

“Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses…”

Lottie dared to look at Ray again, and he made a face at her. She was fit to burst from laughter; it took one look from her mother to make her face neutral again.

“You may all sit down.” The priest said then, after completing the prayer: everyone in church sat in their seats, some teenagers audibly sighing in relief as they did so. Lottie brushed a strand of her straightened hair out of her face; she preferred the Afro, but her mother had insisted on straightening her hair this morning.

“But Ma,” Lottie had protested, as her mother heated up the hot comb. “My hair’s fine like this!”

“We’re going somewhere more formal, just iron it down for once, Lottie! You can keep it as you like any other day of the week!” Marie had replied, and that was that.

Lottie had humphed and sat down while her mother used the hot comb on her hair, hissing when it got too close to her neck.

“Oh, hush,” her mother had said softly, combing Lottie’s hair carefully. “You’ll be fine.”

Now, in church, Lottie caught a lot of stares from the other girls; every time she looked back, they looked away. There was one girl, however, who continued to stare at Lottie. Her hair was short and red, and she was heavily freckled. She looked sweet, even smiling at Lottie. Lottie smiled back.

“Today,” Father Andrew said loudly, standing at his pulpit and looking over everyone. “We will be talking about the sin of lust.”

Ray’s face immediately warmed; he’d been doing nothing but lusting for the last couple weeks. That’s what those Bible verses had been about. Christ —

“Lust, in today’s world, is a very prevalent and problematic thing,” the priest continued, shaking his head. “Our youth, especially the women —“ he stole a glance at some of the teenage girls in the church, who had started fumbling. “Have taken to wearing… provocative clothing. To fornicating before marriage. To distracting our boys.”

Charlotte repressed the urge to scoff; a man would be hungry for a woman like that even if she were fully covered.

“Turn to Matthew 5:28, everyone,” there was the sound of rustling pages as members of the church obeyed; Lottie casting a glance to the red headed girl. She was already looking at Lottie, and made a face at the priest. Lottie stifled another bout of laughter, looking to her Bible. “It reads: Anyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in their heart…”

Ray swallowed as he stared at the words on the page — if he was to even go over the thoughts he’d had about Lottie over the past few weeks…

He glanced over to Lottie, and she was looking down, reading her Bible. Her hand slowly went up to her hair, tucking it behind her ear — her neck, smooth and dark and lovely, was now exposed. Ray started to breathe heavily when she licked her lips in concentration, sighing deeply as her eyes ran over the page.

“And for our next verse, I’ll call on a member of the congregation to read it out loud — one of our town’s newest families may do so.” The priest then said kindly, and Ray saw Lottie’s mother nudge her gently. The latter rolled her eyes before standing up and looking to the priest for the verse.

“1 John 2:16, if you will.” He said, nodding. Charlotte smiled, nodding in return, before looking down and flipping to the verse in question.

“All that is in the world…” Lottie cleared her throat as she spoke, and Ray stared at her body — even through the shift dress, Ray could clearly see Lottie was curvy; she fanned herself with her hand as she spoke, her smooth, high voice making Ray subconsciously lean closer to hear.

“…the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world.” She completed, her hooded eyes running over the page; Ray swallowed as she did so. He was so, so hungry, and not for food. He was going to be eighteen tomorrow and the only present he wanted was Lottie. It was insane. This was insane. He was insane.

“Another verse, young lady, if you will,” father Andrew nodded. “You have a good reading voice. Colossians 3:5.”

Ray wanted to make that voice all raspy and breathless; wanted to press her against the wall and —

No! He shook his head. Fuck, Garraty, fuck! What is wrong with you? You’ve turned into a wild animal!

“Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature,” Charlotte recited, close to yawning. “…sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry.”

“Very well done, Miss.” Father Andrew said, and Lottie nodded before sitting back down in her seat. Ray stared at her as she did; his eyes drifted down to her smooth, shiny legs; she had a birthmark on one of them, her lower leg. At one point, she had stretched in her seat, and her skirt rode up. The flesh of her thigh was exposed. Soft, warm, and —

“Christ.” Ray breathed. His father, who was next to him, raised an eyebrow.

“What was that, Ray?” He asked. Ray startled, blinking rapidly.

“U - uh, nothing!” He whispered back, wiping sweat from his brow. “Nothing, nothing.”

After the service, as the church emptied out and people crowded around the pastor, Lottie found herself leaning against one of the church walls and staring into space. She was waiting for her mother and father to quit chatting to everyone so they could hurry up and go home; she was tired and wanted to take a long nap. She hadn’t been paying much attention when her older brother, Robert, sidled up to her, trying his best (and failing) to look discreet; he stood next to his little sister for a couple of minutes, observing all the chatter around them, before speaking.

“Lottie, I need to talk to you about somethin’.” He said finally, after a long beat of silence. Lottie rolled her eyes.

“I was hopin’ you didn’t.”

“Lottie, I’m serious.” He pressed, turning to her. Her arms were crossed.

“I’ve got a real vague feeling I know what, or who, you wanna talk about.”

Robert furrowed his brow, fully looking at Lottie. “It’s about that white boy.”

Lottie sighed, throwing her arms up. “Here we go.”

“I’m serious!”

“You know he has a name, right?” Lottie replied, placing her hands on her hips. “Ray? Raymond? Hell, Garraty?”

“Don’t say hell in church.”

“That’s not the point, and we both know it.” Lottie sighed, rolling her eyes. “What? What is it that you’ve got to say?”

“Look…” Robert sighed heavily, crossing his arms. “I’ve already had a word with him—“

Lottie’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“— and I told him to stay away from you.” He completed, ignoring her. “Whatever you two have got goin’ on, isn’t good. This isn’t some fuckin’ fairytale —

“No swearing in church.” Lottie pointed out.

“— where he’s your Prince Charming and you’re some pretty little princess that’ll marry him, and live in some house on the prairie and have your days out in peace. This is fucking America.” Robert looked around at the bumbling congregation, leaning in and lowering his voice before continuing. “The Major’s America.”

“You know what?” hissed Lottie, whose face had become hot with anger and embarrassment. “I’m not going to stand here, and —“

“Wait.” Robert grabbed Lottie’s arm, and spoke with a hardness that she’d heard only once before; and that was from her eldest brother, Ant. And Anthony wasn’t quite around anymore. She stared at Robert’s grip on her arm, and back to his face.

He was serious. Dead serious.

“Charlotte.” He said her full name. “I care about you. As your brother, really, I do. And I want you to be happy. But I’ll tell you and I’ll tell you now, you can’t find happiness with Ray. It’s dangerous. I’ve seen how he is. He’s impulsive. Say you two did get it going, did get together.”

“That’s not —“

“This is a hypothetical.” Robert said slowly, and firmly. Lottie shut up. “You start courtin’. Fine. You get married. Legal, but frowned upon, because you’re of different races. Then, you move out of this town. Ray can’t get a job to support you, because people think he’s sick in the head, for having a Negro wife.”

“Don’t —“

“Shut up, and listen. Ray gets desperate, because he’s so in love with you, and can’t stand to see you try and scrape by. Maybe by this point y’all are nineteen. He’s young, and maybe in his own eyes, fit enough. He knows about the Long Walk, everybody knows about the Long Walk. He won’t tell you, but he’ll sign up for it. Just for a chance. One chance to give you a better life; because he’d rather take that chance than divorce you just so he can get a mediocre fuckin’ job. Maybe because to him, you’re better than mediocre. You’re Lottie.”

Robert was still gripping his sister’s arm, but his expression looked pained. “My sister. So smart, and fuckin’ stubborn. And then he’ll go on that death march and you know, you know there’s a high chance he could have his brains on the sidewalk. Then you’ll be alone. Widowed at nineteen. Is that what you want, Charlotte? Is that what you fuckin’ want? Come on.”

Lottie could see Ray not too far off, standing with his parents; he caught her eyes from across the room and raised his hand in a wave — giving her a crooked smile. Lottie looked back at Robert. “He hates the Walk.”

Robert scoffed, laughing. “Everybody hates The Long Walk, Lottie. And people still sign up for it every year. You’re smarter than that.”

Lottie stared up at Robert for a long moment, before ripping her arm out of his grasp.

“Fuck you, Robbie. It’s not even like that.”

“Then why have you gotten so emotional, huh?” Robert challenged, crossing his arms once more. “Did I shatter your little daydream?”

“Go away.” Lottie spat. “And don’t ask me to bake you any cookies when we get home, you jackass.”

And with that, Lottie flounced off — going out to the front porch of the church; Ray, who had been watching from across the room, made an excuse to his parents so he could go and follow her.

Lottie was furious; her vision was getting blurry, and face hotter by the second — Robert didn’t know what he was talking about. It wasn’t even like that with Ray, she swore it wasn’t like that; yet everytime she saw him, her heart rate would increase — she’d get a feeling down below whenever Ray would lean in closer to her to talk about something that was banned, or find herself staring whenever he lifted something heavy, his brows knitted in concentration and sheer effort.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t liked a boy before. Christ, she had; a boy back in Louisiana by the name Jefferson, who did heavy - lifting and winked at her when they passed each other in town, her first kiss under a dark sky — but they’d moved away to this new place before that had gone anywhere. Jefferson was an acceptable match for her. But Jefferson didn’t give her this new, probably sinful feeling down below, Jefferson didn’t have a chipped front tooth and bright red hair and freckles all over, he didn’t get all nervous around her and blurt out ridiculous questions and aim spitballs at people who made fun of her in class, he didn’t remind her of a big cuddly bear, his eyes didn’t get all squinty when he laughed, that high, endearing laugh that Ray had. Jefferson didn’t jump into the air to catch her hat, Jefferson wasn’t her jumper. Jefferson wasn’t Ray Garraty. No one could be Ray Garraty apart from Ray himself. And Lottie realized then, when she had walked out far enough, walked to the edge of the lake outside church, that she had feelings for Ray Garraty. It had been a month and a week since they’d met, and she liked Ray.

“Lottie?”

Lottie startled, her body almost toppling over into the lake before two strong arms caught her around the waist; she was both horrified and relieved to see it was Ray. He had followed her out from the church, and she hadn’t noticed. She turned around to look at him fully. His arms were still around her waist.

“Oh!” Lottie breathed. “Ray!”

Ray chuckled softly. “You say ‘oh’ a lot.”

“Shut up,” she giggled, and Ray laughed as he withdrew his arms from her waist. Lottie found herself not wanting him to.

“So, uh,” Ray started awkwardly, gazing down at Lottie. “You like the service? I saw you reading.”

He’d more than seen her, a thought came into his mind unprompted, and he felt himself blushing. He wanted to fu—

“Yeah, it was a bit nerve - wrackin’,” Lottie replied, sighing. “I hope I won’t have to do it often.”

Ray laughed, silently praying for his face to stop being so goddamn red. “Oh, really? I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

The two stared at each other awkwardly, before looking away at the same time, shy.

“I, uh…” Ray started, now realizing he had to ask Lottie to his birthday dance… thing. “I was wondering if you wanted to, y’know…”

“If I wanted to what?” Lottie asked innocently, stepping closer. Ray swallowed, sweating heavily.

“Ifyouwantedtocomewithmetothedance.” He said in a ramble. Lottie furrowed her brow.

“What?”

“Ifyouwantedtocometomybirthdayparty.”

“Ray, I can’t hear you. You’re talking all fast, like a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos can’t talk.”

“You know what I mean, jumper.”

Ray sighed. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh, right! I remember! I was wonderin’ what you wanted as a present…”

“It would be…” Ray hesitated, his breaths feeling shallow. He was sure his pits were sweaty. “…a real good present if you came to my party. And danced with me.”

There was a long, long beat of silence; Lottie stared up at Ray with an unreadable look on her face. Her eyes squinted even more, if that were possible.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Ray asked, his voice cracking.

“Well…” Charlotte hesitated, fanning herself with her gloved hand and not meeting Ray’s eye. “Golly, Ray, I…”

“Please.”

“I don’t think I can, my Pa wouldn’t allow it — and you know what people would say.”

“Please.”

“Ray, I can’t —“

“Please.” Ray took both of Lottie’s gloved, dainty hands into his larger ones. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Ray, don’t do this. I want to come, but I —“

“So come.” Ray pressed, clutching Lottie’s hands tighter, but not to the point that it hurt, to the point that she felt his affection through the gesture. “Come and make the party fun. Come dance with me, Charlotte.” He saw her almost giving in, almost leaning in, but she seemed to remember something and drew herself back, shaking her head rapidly.

“No, Raymond, I can’t come. I’m sorry, alright?” She said, all flustered.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No, Ray.” She said firmly, her face turning a deeper brown — she was blushing. “Stop.”

Ray’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he stared at Charlotte with pleading. Charlotte blushed even deeper, her face turning into a reddish - brown again.

“I — I’m sorry, Ray, Charlotte said, seeing her family’s lav ing the church and probably looking for her. “I’ve got to… go.”

Then, unable to bear it, she slowly reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Ray’s ear. His face turned a deep red; he was suddenly transported back to the present, on the Walk — Pete McVries had just tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, smiling at him with that scar he and Lottie shared.

“You were daydreamin’ again, compadre,” he said smoothly, grinning at Ray before turning to take in the scenery. “Your mind must be a fantastic place. You’re always escapin’ to it.”

Ray stared at Pete, not replying, his cheeks feeling hot from his touch.

“Warning, 47, warning.”

“Hey.” Pete said gently. “Speed up, Ray.”

“Proverbs 13:4,” Art Baker said from not too far off, walking beside Hank Olson. "The lazy man craves and gets nothing, but the diligent is rewarded.”

“Ah, I’m not a praying man, Baker,” Ray said, finally getting to his senses. He wasn’t queer. Wasn’t queer for McVries. “And I’m not lazy.”

“You keep dozing off like that, you keep proving his point.” Collie said teasingly, smiling to himself. “Tȟaŋíla héčha, mičhíyAŋ kiŋ tókȟa waŋží waŋbláke.”

“What does that mean, Parker?” Ray asked, but Collie simply smirked to himself. Ray got more curious. “Hey Parker, what does that mean? Parker. Parker.”

“Shut up, Ray.” Hank spat, tired beyond words.

“Parker.”

“You sound like a broken record.” Harkness said, giggling.

“Parker.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up, Garraty,” Stebbins said, yawning. “I’m sick of your voice.”

Ray frowned again, but continued to persevere through the Walk. He gave Pete a sideways glance.

“You said you wanted to be a songwriter,” Ray huffed, looking out onto the horizon. “If you get out of this… will you become a musician?”

Pete thought for a long moment. “Y’know — maybe I will, Ray.” He gave him a look. “I’ll write about my life and perform with a guitar… maybe even write about you.”

He gently nudged Ray, and he laughed once more — the thought of Lottie and Pete’s hands on his hair made him flush a deeper red.

“Why’re you blushing so much?” Barkovitch called from ahead, turning to Ray and walking backwards. “You a fuckin’ queer? You queer for McVries? You a f—”

“Hey, shut the fuck up, Barkovitch!” Ray yelled, his face getting redder by the second. “We don’t wanna hear from a killer.”

“Not what I’m called!” Barkovitch all but screamed, looking deranged. “Not what I’m fucking CALLED—!”

“Shut up, Barkovitch!” Collie yelled, his previously calm demeanor shattered. “We don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

Barkovitch fell silent then, giving all the boys behind him the finger before facing forward.

“Perseverance,” Pete said, all sing - song, looking forward, “is key. Perseverance is key. For you, and for me, and we’ll win the Walk and live happi - ly.”

“That doesn’t even rhyme that much,” Ray laughed. “Maybe you should reconsider the songwriting thing.”

“Maybe you should reconsider the walkin’ thing, Garra - tee.” Pete said Ray’s last name with a tune, and Ray laughed once more. “There he is,” Pete said, smiling. “Persevering.”

And he had persevered, Ray thought to himself, smiling at Pete before looking out at the horizon. In more ways than one.

Especially when it came to Lottie and that party. Once again, he drifted into memory, drifting, drifting…

Lottie Green was wiping the last dish from her dinner with her family that Sunday evening; the encounter with Ray by the lake replaying in her mind. She hadn’t wanted to say no. Truly, she hadn’t. But her Pa wouldn’t like it and Robert would hate it and what was she thinkin’, getting herself all caught up in some silly romance with a white boy? She couldn’t go to that party. Lord, she wanted to, but she couldn’t —

Lottie startled as there was a banging at the door. She furrowed her brow.

“Now who could that be at this hour?” Her Pa said gruffly from the living room’s rocking chair. “It’s pouring buckets outside.”

“Probably a Jehovah’s Witness,” Robert said lazily, lying on the living room floor. Lottie’s mother, Marie, had gone up to bed early — and they were right, it was pouring outside. The rain almost drowned out the rambling of Major on the radio; they were reciting what was happening to the boys on that year’s Long Walk. Lottie felt the utmost sympathy for them; they were dropping by the dozens in the rain, slipping and sliding to their deaths, their brains splattering onto the wet concrete —

The banging from the door came again, and Lottie set down the plate just as her father got up.

“Don’t worry, Pa,” she said tiredly, walking to their tiny foyer. “I’ll get it.”

“Alright, Lottie, be careful.” He said, settling down and taking a drag from his cigar.

“I will!” She called back — and she had to cover her mouth when she opened the door.

There was Ray, dripping and soaking wet, his face flushed red, raindrops hanging from his eyelashes. He was panting and shivering, staring up at Lottie with his big, dark brown eyes.

“Lottie…” he choked out, his shirt plastered to his big body, his eyes pleading. “…please.”

“Ray!” Lottie hissed, alarmed — she was lost for words, casting a glance back into the house to make sure no one was coming before she rushed forward, holding him up — his hair looked all messed up and disheveled, some of it sticking to his forehead. “Raymond Davis Garraty, what the hell are you doing? You’re going to catch a cold, for cryin’ out loud —“

“Will you come to my party?” He asked, holding her shoulders gently. “Please come, Lottie, even if you won’t dance with me —“

“Ray—“

“Please come, I promise I won’t be boring.”

“You need to —“

“The only thing, that I need,” Ray took a deep breath, “is Charlotte Marie Green, at my birthday party. Screw what people fucking say, Lottie.”

Charlotte Green blinked up at Ray, and realized she was in the rain with him — it hadn’t occurred to her until that moment.

“Lottie?” Her father called from inside. “Who’s there?”

“No - one, Pa!” She called back, before shutting the door quietly — she looked back at Ray. Her hair, which had been straightened that morning, was coiling back up — Ray loved it, soft and coily and free, because Charlotte loved it too. She took his face in her hands, raising her eyebrows at him. Her face was getting wetter and wetter with his, and he grinned stupidly at her.

“I’ll come, jumper.” She said quietly, smiling — even through the roaring rain, Ray could hear her. “I’ll come to your stupid party. You happy?”

Ray nodded, his eyes squinting as he smiled wider.

“You need to go home, and ask your Ma for chicken soup, and sleep.” She said, still holding his face. “You hear?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, grinning.

“And you need to change out of these clothes.”

“Mhm.”

“Ray, are you listenin’?” Lottie laughed.

“Maybe.”

“Go.” Charlotte let go of his face, giggling as she pushed him out of her front yard. “Go, get outta here.”

“Alright.” Ray said, backing away and still gazing at Charlotte, grinning.

“Ray, you can go faster than that!” Lottie called.

“I know!” He yelled back.

Lottie giggled again, watching him slowly back away, until he fully turned and walked down the street to his house, his hands in his pockets.

Lottie watched him go until he was out of sight, her hand on her heart.

Ten years earlier, somewhere in Louisiana

Lottie Green’s eyes fluttered open as she heard the soft thrum of a guitar playing. An even softer voice accompanied it, deep and calming. She couldn’t quite hear what it was saying, but she sat up in her bed nonetheless. Her hair had been oiled and braided into cornrows the previous night.

Dust motes floated lazily through she and her brother’s tiny room, the early rays of the morning shining through their cracked and dusty window with ease. Mourning doves hooted and twittered gently as Lottie stretched, her mouth opening in a yawn — one of her front teeth was missing. Her older brothers had made fun of her for it endlessly, and she’d cried until her father told them to quit it. Her mama said it’d grow back, and she’d shut up as well. But that wasn’t eight year old Lottie’s concern right now. Her concern was who was playing that beautiful melody at this time of the morning.

“Hey,” she whispered to her older brother, Robert, was asleep on the floor. His mouth hung wide open as he snored, his body in an awkward position. His hand was twitching, and his mouth drooling. Charlotte grimaced before taking off the patchwork quilt she used as a blanket, and padding to Robert’s side. “Hey, Robbie!”

He snorted in his sleep again, wiping the drool from the edge of his mouth before turning over. Lottie frowned, looking outside as the person sung again. She couldn’t hear some of the lyrics now.

“It’s sooner, than later, that I’m six feet under…” the rest of the words faded out as she turned back to Robert. Couldn’t he hear it?

Rolling her eyes and walking back to her bed, she picked up her pillow, walked to Robert’s side, and stood over him. “Robbie! Wake up! There’s somethin’ weird goin’ on!”

“Huh?” Robert said sleepily, blinking stupidly. “Whazzgoinon?”

“Listen!” Lottie paused for a moment, letting the person sing once again. Robert was still half - asleep. “See? Somebody’s makin’ noises and melodies!”

“Screw off, buttercup.” He mumbled, drawing his blanket over his head. Lottie humphed, before taking her pillow and hitting it over Robert’s head.

“OW!” He screamed, sitting up, enraged. Lottie had her hands on her hips, smirking.

“Now you’re awake. Come see who’s sing - ing.”

“You’re gonna see who’s swing - ing when I’m done with you, you little —“

Lottie let out a little shriek as she dodged Robert’s hit, running around him and out of the room.

“Get back here, Lottie!” He yelled after the little girl — she didn’t listen, jumping over the creaky floorboards, her pillow under her arm. On her way to the front porch, she saw her stuffed rabbit. She stopped for a moment, and put down her pillow, picking it up.

It was a boy rabbit, because her Pa had told her so, and her Ma had sewn a shirt for him with suspenders and purple pants. She didn’t like the purple pants, but her Ma said those were the only scraps she could find.

“Hel - lo, rabbit.” She said softly, before hugging him. “I still don’t have a name for ya.”

“Charlotte!” Robert yelled from down the hall, and Lottie let out a squeal before running to the porch, where she was sure the music was coming from.

“Save me, musician, save me!” She yelled— she was suddenly swept up into someone’s strong arms, and she looked up and laughed.

“Now what the hell are you doin’, yelling this early in the morning?”

“Put me down, Ant, put me down!” Lottie protested, giggling as her eldest brother, Anthony Green, squeezed her into a tight hug. “Put me down, I tell you, before I tell Pa! I knew it was you singing, I knew it, I knew it!”

“Alright, Lottie,” Anthony said, chuckling to himself as he set his little sister down. Lottie saw the guitar leaning on the wall behind him and knew he’d probably gotten up to catch her. She took in the scenery of the front porch in the morning; the fields around them had lots of grass, mostly green; cows grazed lazily around and the trees were tall and lush. Butterflies settled on flowers all around the field, bees too.

“Now why did you wake Robbie up?” Anthony asked evenly, sounding much older than his sixteen years. “You know he gets mighty cranky in the mornin’.”

“I wanted him to see who was making all that noise.” Lottie pouted, hugging her rabbit closer to her chest. Anthony eyed the rabbit, shaking his head before sitting back down on their father’s rocking chair and strumming his guitar once more.

“You ever gonna name that silly rabbit?”

Lottie stomped her foot on the wooden floor of the porch, hugging it closer. “He’s not silly. He’s smart and I’m sure he’s nice, he just doesn’t like speakin’ much.”

“I have an idea for a name,” Robert’s groggy voice came then, and he stepped out onto the porch, rubbing his eyes with visible irritation. “Sonofabitch. ‘Cause his momma’s a —“

“You finish that sentence, and I’m not buying you any sweets when I go to town today.” Ant said, narrowing his eyes at his little brother. Robert shut up then — he looked up to Ant, and would mostly only listen to him. He was, after all, six years his senior; Robert thought Anthony was the coolest person in the world.

“I think you should call him Alaska.” Ant said, after Robert gave Lottie a nasty look and Lottie stuck her tongue out at him. “‘Cause you’re always readin’ about that place.”

Ant used any money he earned working odd jobs in town to buy Lottie books, and Robert sweets — Lottie had always loved to read. It was embedded in her. She enjoyed it far more than watching the annual Long Walk every year. She was terribly squeamish of it all, no matter how many times Ant told her it was an honorable thing to take part of, and a staple of their country.

“You’re right,” Lottie said after a beat, drawing Ant out of his reverie. “I’ll name him…”

“Sonofabitch?” Robert offered, and Ant smacked him over the head. “Ow!”

“…after that tiny city in Alaska, the one I wanna see one day,” Lottie continued. “I’ll name him Stebbins.”

“Stebbins?” Robert repeated, confused. “What kinda queer name is Stebbins?”

“I don’t think it’s queer,” Ant shrugged, as Lottie smirked smugly at Robert. “I think it’s unique. Ain’t heard of nobody called Stebbins, not yet.”

“Stebbins is my rabbit, so now you know.” Lottie said, all sing song — she held Stebbins up to the morning sun, his button eyes staring back at her. “I’ll think you’ll be mighty useful to the world one day, Stebbins, mighty useful.”

“For wipin’ my runny nose,” Robert snapped.

“Shut up!” Lottie yelled, and before Robert could reply, Ant swept Lottie up into his lap, and she giggled.

“If I play what I was playin’ before you two interrupted, will you shut it?”

“Yes.” The two siblings said in unison, eagerly. Ant laughed.

“Alright, then,” he readied his guitar, and Robert sat criss - cross applesauce on the floor, waiting. “Ready?”

“Mhm.” Lottie nodded, her smile radiant.

Ant cleared his throat, and began to strum his guitar, looking out at the rising sun as he sang.

“… Well, all right, I'm bad, but then, you're no prize either

All right, I'm bad, but then, that's nothing new

You say you won't love me, I won't love you neither

Just let me remind you what I am to you.”

He paused for a moment, simply strumming his guitar. His two younger siblings watched him quietly, enthralled. He started to sing again.

“… 'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I'll take that and more when I go to my grave.

Lottie saw Ant’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he swallowed before continuing.

“… It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone.

So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?

For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own.”

He stopped then, and Lottie furrowed her brow at Ant as he wiped his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Ant?” She asked softly. Robert was quiet, looking up at his big brother. “Ant, what’s wrong?” She pressed, when he didn’t answer.

“Nothin’.” He mumbled, but his voice sounded choked.

“You’re lyin’.” Lottie said, poking Ant. “You’re lyin’ Ant, I know it. Stebbins told me.”

“That silly rabbit didn’t tell you nothin’.” Ant said meanly. Lottie narrowed her eyes at Ant, and humphed as Robert laughed. Ant sighed.

“Alright, I’m sorry.” Ant pulled her into a hug, before picking up Robert and pulling him into one too. He struggled against him, yelling.

“Stop huggin’ me!” He said, muffled against his older brother’s shirt. “I ain’t no sissy, let me go—“

“I got the song from a girl.” Ant said, and Robert stopped struggling as the two looked up at him. “I heard her singing it by the lake. She saw me, and she taught it to me.”

“Really?” Lottie said. Ant smiled at her, and nodded.

“Really.”

The two children leaned on their brother then, and he was able to support their weight altogether — Ant was a strong boy. Always had been. But Lottie saw something change in his eyes when he sang that last verse. Like he related to it more than ever. Of what part, she didn’t know. She was too young to work that out. Too young.

Too young to see him leave. Too young to —

Lottie gasped as she sat up straight in bed, her body covered in a cold sweat. She was eighteen once more, Ant wasn’t quite around, and she was in her room, in Porterville, alone. Her stuffed rabbit, Stebbins, lay beside her — much more tattered and older than it had been in the dream —

No, the memory.

That last verse of Ant’s song, the one she’d always remember, echoed in her head as she panted — although Maine was ever so hot at this time of year, she felt so, so cold.

“‘It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under…”

“No…” Lottie shook her head, her forehead slick with sweat. “Not again. Not now.”

She got up from her bed, squinting in the dark to see the time her alarm clock read: 03:17 AM. Much too early. She sighed as she heard a neighbor’s radio crackle with the voice of the Major, droning on about this year’s Long Walk. It would start soon. She’d heard a couple boys at school would be going. She didn’t know them enough to try and convince them not to, and who would listen to a black girl anyway?

Inexplicably in that moment, she thought of Ray — they’d been friends for two weeks now, and they never spoke about the Walk, but a part of her was glad he was too young to go. He would be turning eighteen, just like her, in a couple of weeks — by then, the Long Walk would have started.

Lottie didn’t know why she cared about Ray so much. She’d only known him for two weeks. He’s been nice enough, despite people staring; he would tell her about his dad, and make faces whenever someone brought up the Walk. He’d even sit with her at lunch, even though no one else wanted to.

“What’re you doing?” Lottie said that first day; her tray was filled with an unknown slop and a milk carton with some carrots on the side, same as his. Ray, who’d started eating hungrily, looked at her.

“What?” He said, mouth half - full. Lottie put a hand to her mouth then, giggling.

“I said, what are you doing, Ray?”

Ray shrugged, “I’m sitting with a friend. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Lottie grinned, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think your friends are a big fan of you sitting next to me, you know.”

Ray cast a look over to the table of ‘friends’ he had — Ben Miller was giving him a questioning look, and Ray shrugged before looking back at Lottie. “They’re boring. You’re not.”

Lottie gave him a look. “You’re weird, Ray.”

Ray didn’t respond to that, simply smiling at her. Lottie’s heart fluttered then, but she pushed the feeling away.

Ray Garraty, with every passing day, thought more and more of Lottie Green. Her voice, her eyes, her lips, her scar; her steadfastness despite people’s thoughts about her. She wasn’t some damsel in distress — he could tell that she’d hate to be that, yet she still managed to be so… soft. Like cookie dough.

He wanted to eat cookie dough now. Or Lottie. He wanted to eat Lottie Green.

No! Stop being a sex maniac! He mentally scolded himself, shaking his head slightly as his face turned red.

“You okay, Ray?” Lottie asked, when she saw how red his face his face was. She leaned in closer. “You look like you’re runnin’ a fever.”

Ray coughed, blinking rapidly when his eyes drifted to Lottie’s round lips. “Yeah!” He said, his voice cracking. “I — I’m fine. Swell, really.”

“Alright,” Lottie said skeptically. “If you say so.”

He found it hard to find many good things in the world, Ray thought, before Lottie offered him one of her carrot bits. He took it and smiled at her, and her cheeks became a reddish - brown. But there were some there: his dad, who was his hero — going against the system, teaching Ray things the Major would have him shot for. There was his mom, who was kind and nurturing, who he loved with all his heart. There was baseball, there were oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, even.

But being friends with Lottie was something new, and interesting, and fun. She didn’t bend to anyone’s will, didn’t seem to be scared of much. Didn’t mind telling Ray to mind his own business when he’d asked about her scar that day. There was just something about her — she was like a breath of fresh air on a summer’s day. She was always wearing something flower related, always laughing, always smiling. A splash of color on a gray and white canvas. Ray was starting to sound like the poems his mom wrote. He never understood the point of seeing beauty in these small, insignificant things. He couldn’t see it. But Lottie could. She’d talk for ages in between periods about trees and flowers and deer and rabbits.

“Yeah,” Ray would reply, one time when they ate cookies Ginnie had made him at the old playground in town. “But there’s also the Major and Squads and those fucked up people that watch the Walk.”

Lottie would get all tense when Ray mentioned the Long Walk, and her hand would drift to her scar absentmindedly.

“But if you think about that stuff all the time,” she mused softly. “It’s like staring into a brick wall and refusing to step around it. You’ll never see the sun shinin’ on the other side.”

Ray paused, thinking for a moment. “That’s corny.”

“Shut up, Garraty!” Lottie would say, all mock - upset, before Ray would laugh and she’d throw a biscuit at him — and Ray would change the subject, because he got that feeling that Lottie didn’t like to talk about the Long Walk.

“You realize that working at this library is hard work, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No stealing or smoking in the premises is allowed.”

“I saw that on the sign when I walked in, ma’am.”

“No giving me cheek, boy.”

Robert Green furrowed his brow at the old lady standing opposite him in Porterville’s local library. Contrary to Lottie’s predictions, he now had a job.

“About damn time,” Pa had said the evening prior, at dinner. “You’re twenty in a matter of weeks.”

“Yeah yeah, Pa.” Robert had muttered, stabbing his food as Lottie stifled her laughter.

Now, he stood in his best ironed shirt and jeans, suede shoes on his feet and a pearly - white smile on his face. The librarian in charge looked very skeptical of him — Robert knew exactly why — but it wasn’t like there were many other choices to pick from. The other candidate had radiation sickness and the other one had gotten picked to be in the upcoming Long Walk. He had withdrawn his application yesterday.

“All you have to do is look over the library during daytime,” the librarian droned on, adjusting her glasses. She couldn’t be younger than forty. “Not many people come here apart from some students once in a while, so it’s not too much work…” she coughed, sizing Robert up again. “I know your sort don’t like much work.”

Robert repressed the urge to also point out that his sort also didn’t look like wrinkled prunes, but he remembered that he needed this job. It was this, or trying his luck on the Long Walk. He wouldn’t do that to this family. To Lottie.

Ant’s face flashed through his mind, and he forced himself to stay focused.

“You can start right now.” The librarian said. “Call me if anything.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robert replied, looking around — the library was big and old. He’d heard it’d been around since even before the Civil War and The Major, which is why it still looked so grand. Bookshelves of unimaginable heights dominated the place and Robert thought it’d be easy to get lost in the aisles. The desk he was to work at was a reference desk, large and circular — all the index cards were in the tiny drawers, and he knew it’d be hell to register a book — but like the lady had said, not many people came around. He knew his little sister would, however, and smiled at the thought.

A couple minutes after the librarian had left, Robert sat absentmindedly at the reference desk, whistling and listening to the radio.

“The Long Walk starts in five days,” the Major’s gruff and tough voice echoed into the silence. “Boys from all around the nation — regardless of color, weight and height, are still welcome to join; there are always sissies that withdraw right before. There’s always a space. You only have to be eighteen to get a chance to revel in the glory of —“

“Uh, excuse me?”

Robert raised an eyebrow and looked away from the radio; there, in front of him, was a red - headed white boy. He was freckled and chubby, and around Lottie’s age.

“Um… I was wondering if I could withdraw this book?” he held up a book titled ‘A Guide to Flowers and Their Meanings’. Robert looked at the book, before looking at the boy. He looked sort of embarrassed and flustered — like he didn’t expect Robert to be here. Robert narrowed his eyes at him.

“Hey,” he said slowly, standing up and leaning towards Ray. Ray’s face grew redder, and he leaned back. “Don’t I know you?”

Ray let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“A - ha!” Robert snapped his fingers, and Ray looked around helplessly. “You’re the white boy my sister’s been moonin’ over! Ray Garraty! The one who caught her hat!”

Ray’s face became instantly curious. “She’s been mooning over me?” He looked hopeful. “Really?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Robert said lowly, scrutinizing Ray. Ray stared back at him — a strand of his hair falling into his face. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you.”

“About?” Ray replied slowly.

“Lottie.” Robert narrowed his eyes. “I want to make something very clear to you.”

Ray swallowed, keeping eye contact with Robert.

“I don’t know what she’s told you about me, but none of that matters. I care about my sister. A lot. And I’d hate to see her heart get shattered because she was playing around with some white boy who’s in over his head. Who she thinks cares about her because he caught her hat.”

Ray furrowed his brow. “I do care about her, and it’s not like that. We’re just friends, and Lottie’s amazing —“

“Go and be amazed by some other girl.” Robert said calmly. “Not my sister. I know how you all are. Think we’re stupid. Just a bunch of country folks from Louisiana who don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“Hey —“ Ray started to protest, but Robert held up a hand.

“I’m going to warn you once, and not again. Stay away from Charlotte.”

Ray stared at Robert, and Robert stared back at Ray; Ray then scoffed. Robert furrowed his brow.

“Think something’s funny, Garraty?” He said, and Ray shrugged, grinning stupidly.

“I don’t know, I just… I don’t think you should be making decisions for your younger sister.”

“Excuse me?” Robert said, sizing Ray up once more.

“You heard me.” Ray shrugged, but he paled when Robert stepped to the edge of the desk, leaning in so close to Garraty he could practically phase through the border.

“You don’t know what it’s like for us,” he hissed, and Ray paled. “You don’t know what danger you’re putting Lottie in, the target you’ve put on her head.”

Before Ray could reply, he felt Robert snatch the book hed been borrowing from him, and withdrawing the index card needed for it. Ray watched him, wetting his lips before speaking.

“Look, I really don’t mean any harm —“

“Quit it.”

Ray sighed. “I just…”

“Want to get between her legs?”

Ray turned beet - red, his mouth opening and closing silently before he managed to speak. “No! I’m just her friend, and I don’t have any other intentions, I swear.”

Robert scoffed before finishing what he wrote down on the index card and handing the book to Ray. “You have to return this in three days. And you also have to steer clear of Lottie.”

Ray pursed his lips as Robert turned away, ready to go and arrange some books. Who was he to stop him from seeing Lottie? He couldn’t possibly think he could —

“Or what?” Ray blurted out, suddenly. His voice echoed through the empty library.

Robert stopped in his tracks, and he didn’t turn to Ray for a long moment. When he finally did, he made a gun with his hand, and pressed his middle and index finger to his own temple.

Ray furrowed his brow then, feeling the memory flicker.

“Or else…”

“It ain’t fair!” Curly’s voice cried out.

“…this will happen.” Robert said, his voice becoming disembodied.

“It ain’t fair!” Curly screamed again, from far away.

“Bang.” Robert whispered.

“IT AIN’T FUCKING FAI—“

BANG.

Ray was jolted back into the present, into the Walk, into the worst mistake he’d ever made in his life — they’d just just shot Curly, his brain matter splattering all over the hot road, the side of his mouth blasted open, the soldiers already getting ready to zip him up into a body bag.

He turned away from Curly’s corpse, his breaths becoming shallow. They’d tried, they’d tried to help Curly, Christ, they’d tried, he’d gotten a charley-horse, they couldn’t save him—

‘What are you doing, Ray?’ Lottie’s voice echoed in his mind, the same way it had that first day he sat next to her at lunch.

“Warning, 47.” The soldier’s voice crackled over the speaker.

‘Speed up, jumper.’ Lottie’s voice urged, in his mind. ‘Jumper Garraty…’

“Garraty!” Pete’s voice and Lottie’s yelled at the same time, and Ray felt Pete’s arms hold him, and he reminded him of Lottie, and Lottie reminded him of Pete, and he was in the past and the present at the same time —

“Come on!” Pete urged, pushing Ray forward, Ray staring into space, shell - shocked. “Let’s go, keep movin’.”

Lottie’s laugh echoed in his mind.

“Hey, Garraty,” Collie called from ahead, not looking back. “Stay with us.”

Ray didn’t respond, swallowing.

“Keep movin’.” Pete said one last time. “Come on.”

***

For clarification, Robert is almost twenty — he is two years older than Lottie, who is eighteen — Ray, in the events of this fic, is a couple weeks younger than Lottie, 17 (he’ll be 18 for the majority of the story and by next chapter)

A/N : it should be noted that this story will absolutely not have a happy ending. It is tragic and sad, and worse than the one you’re imagining in your head right now. No one ever really wins the Walk. No one.

Lottie Green stood on one tiptoe in her small room, squinting at her reflection in her cracked mirror closely. There was a small pimple below her left cheek, and it had come up this morning.

“Oh, lord…” she whispered, poking it. “This is mighty disgustin’— and on the first day I’m goin’ to school, no less…”

Marvin Gaye crooned from Lottie’s record player as she furrowed her brow, contemplating whether or not she should squeeze it. To be, or not to be. That was the pimple. She giggled at her own thoughts, thinking of the Shakespeare play script, Hamlet, she’d saved up money to buy back in Louisiana. It was second - hand and ever so tattered, but she loved to read it again and again.

“I’m gonna be a writer someday,” she said, all sing - song to herself; she’d been writing down a novel idea yesterday while she was at the till, before Ray had walked in and dropped his groceries everywhere. Lottie couldn’t help smiling at the memory. Ray was so…

“Odd.” She said out loud to herself. She decided to leave the pimple, and stepped back, taking her appearance in.

She was wearing her favorite bell - bottoms, the ones she’d taken time to stitch flowers into — it’d taken her a whole evening, and her candle had almost run out of wax, but she’d done it. Her shirt was of floral pattern too, a milkmaid blouse with red carnations. Lottie’s family, like almost every other family under the Major’s regime, couldn’t afford fancy new clothing. She’d had to make do with second hand clothes sent over from one of her aunts, or uncles.

“CHARLOTTE!” Lottie’s father’s voice boomed from the living room, and she jumped — almost toppling over the tiny table that held her cocoa butter and equally tiny bottle of perfume. “How long are you gonna be in there?!”

“Probably a hundred years,” Lottie groaned as her older brother replied. “She’s gettin’ all dolled up for that white boy.”

“WHAT?!” Lottie’s father’s voice boomed once more. “Charlotte Marie Green, what’s this I hear about you dolling up for some white boy?”

“I am NOT, Pa!” Lottie yelled back from inside her room — she grabbed her satchel and stomped past her bed, which had plenty of storybooks strewn across it — and left her room.

There were still some moving - in boxes scattered in the hallway, but all in all, the Greens had made their new house a true home — pictures of Lottie’s grandfather and grandmother hung neatly from the walls, the lightbulbs had been installed, her father had repaired the holes in the floor, and the picture of Charlotte’s eldest brother — who was not quite around — sat quietly on the hallway table.

She entered the living room, where her mother was quietly knitting and her father was sat in a rocking chair, reading the morning paper with a cigar in his mouth. His brows were knitted in concentration, his salt - and - pepper hair cropped closely to his scalp, his mustache almost perfectly trimmed. Robert, who had tattled on her just then, was eating oatmeal and smirking all smug at her — just seconds before her father lowered the paper, she gave him the finger. He returned it to her, sticking out his tongue.

“Good mornin’, Charlotte.” He said gruffly, raising an eyebrow and sizing Charlotte up. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, Pa.” Charlotte replied fairly. Her hair was in a large Afro, per usual. Her mother, Marie, looked up at her as well.

“Ain’t you gonna eat, sweetheart? Or did that white boy Robert was talkin’ about promise you breakfast?”

“Ma!” Lottie hissed, as her father let out a sound of disapproval. She then made to the kitchen, shouldering past Robert, who laughed. “Robert’s talkin’ nonsense. I’m not messing with anyone.”

“I sure hope so,” Marie replied, looking at Lottie as she rummaged through the fridge. “You know laying with a man before marriage is against the —“

“— against the Lord, yes Ma, I know.” Lottie replied with some note of exhaustion. She found the milk and set it on the table, opening a cupboard and looking for cornflakes.

“And you know how they are,” her father chipped in, turning a page. “Segregation wasn’t that long again, now — only a couple years ago. Just because some laws said you can go to school with ‘em, doesn’t mean they see you as anything more than a —“

“Pa.” Lottie stopped pouring the milk into a bowl and stared at her father, who was still reading the paper. “I know. I’m not stupid.”

“You was lookin’ real stupid when he caught your hat.” Robert quipped, and Lottie smacked him on the head. “Ow!”

“You’re the stupid one,” Lottie said harshly, now pouring in the cornflakes as Robert rubbed his head. “You’re nineteen and you don’t have any job to show for it.”

“Shut up,” Robert spat. “I’m gonna apply at the library to - day, you stuck up little —“

“You say what I think you’re gonna say, Robert, and I’ll hang you by your ears.” Lottie’s father said warningly, puffing out a cloud of smoke. Lottie smiled at him gratefully, before taking in a mouthful of cornflakes, and Robert rolled his eyes and picked at his own Afro.

“Try not to let anyone get you down today, Charlotte,” Lottie’s dad said then, after a long beat of silence. “There’re gonna be whispers. I know it’ll be hard — but don’t let them get you down. Stay the little bookworm you are.”

“A stuck - up bookworm,” Robert hissed, and Lottie made a face at him.

“A smart bookworm,” Marie, her mother, corrected. “Our own little Maya Angelou.” But Lottie noticed she whispered Maya’s name — she was a banned author under the Major’s regime. Her mama would be in deep trouble if a member of the Squads heard her saying all that. Marie then got up, and planted a kiss on Lottie’s cheek. She groaned, fighting to get away from her mother. “Ugh, Mama —“

“Oh hush, sweetheart,” she stopped kissing her daughter’s cheek then, drawing back and taking her in. “You’ll always be my baby.”

“She’s going to have her own babies soon,” Robert piped up, and Lottie glared at him. “Little mixed ones.”

“Robert!” Lottie yelled, her face becoming hot as she threw her spoon at him — it missed, and he gave her the finger once more before grabbing his coat and leaving. Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she dropped her bowl in the sink, grabbing her satchel from the table and turning to leave.

“Bye, Ma.” She said over shoulder. “Bye, Pa —“

“Charlotte.” Her father said then, and she stopped in her tracks, slowly turning around. His tone was serious.

“Yes, Pa?” She asked, her voice higher than usual. He set down the newspaper he’d been reading, and her mother came to stand behind his chair, her hand on his shoulder.

“I hope what Robert is saying is nothin’ but harmless teasin’.” He said, removing his cigar from his mouth and stubbing it out. “You know what happens to girls who go and run off with those boys. Hell, even our own boys. Some of ‘em get lucky, but most…” he looked around, trailing off, before leaning in and lowering his voice. “…you know it’s hard living under the Major’s government, Lottie. Not everybody gets jobs. Not everybody can sustain themselves. Young men —“ he swallowed, looking at the picture of Lottie’s eldest brother on the table. “— sign up for things. Get desperate, go to challenges like the Walk. They die. There are widows left and right. Families left behind. You know this.”

Charlotte cast a glance at the photo of her eldest brother, swallowing before blinking rapidly. Her vision had started to blur, and she laughed nervously before speaking. “Robert’s just talking about a whole lotta nothin’, Pa. The boy he’s referring to only caught my sun hat the day we moved in, you saw that. There’s nothing going on.”

Her father stared at Lottie for a long moment. She fiddled with her fingers under his gaze — and then he finally nodded.

“Have a good day at school.” He said, and Lottie smiled at him before turning and leaving.

“I will.”

But as she exited their house and got onto her bike, the image of her eldest brother — who wasn’t quite around — stayed in her mind.

***

Ray Garraty was not having a very good morning.

Firstly, his alarm clock had blared so loud that he’d startled and fallen off of his small bed — then he cursed so loud that his mother, Ginnie, had come in and scolded him for his use of language. Then, the water in the bathroom had stopped flowing, and when it finally started up again, his mom and dad insisted on hogging it for thirty minutes.

When he finally got to shower, there wasn’t that much water left, and he didn’t feel completely clean. Then, the shirt he’d been planning to wear today had to be ironed, and the power promptly went out when he needed it, leading to him waiting another thirty minutes for it to come back on.

When he was ironing, his dad started to talk to him about some banned book he wanted Ray to read, the one by Maya Angelou. Ray had been so in tune with what his father was saying that he hadn’t paid attention to the iron — it burnt a hole in his favorite shirt, and it was the best out of all the second - hand ones from his dad that he owned. Which was, to be frank, all of his shirts. He then cursed loudly again, and Ginnie had heard again, and he got an earful from both of his parents, and then argued back, and walked to school in a foul mood. He was definitely going to have to hurry up or he’d be late, and he wasn’t even in a good shirt. What would Lottie think of him?

The rising sun shone down on Ray annoyingly as he speed - walked down the street, his button - up shirt making him feel suffocated — he unbuttoned the first button that Ginnie insisted had to be done up at all times, and inwardly groaned when old Mrs Morrison from church tottered down the sidewalk, just in his direction. She smiled when she saw him, the sunlight showing all the wrinkles and grooves in her face.

“Morning, Mrs Morrison.” Ray said slowly, his voice soft and tired as he offered a half - assed smile. He’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t greet her.

“What did you say, young Garraty?” She replied, her old body shaking as she slowly put a hand up to her ear. Ray sighed.

“I said,” he repeated slowly. “Good morn - ing, Mrs Morrison.”

“Huh?” She said loudly. “Wha’choo say, Raymond?”

“I SAID,” Ray started to speak even louder. “GOOD MORNING, MRS MORRISON — !“

The tinkle of a bike’s bells cut Ray’s speech off — he stared as Lottie Green rode by on her bicycle, humming to herself. Her hair, soft and big and free, was blown softly by the wind — her smile radiant and scar prominent. As usual, the sun made her look gold, and her skin shone like a lake on a summer’s day. As if in slow - motion, she turned and saw Ray as she rode by. Her plump lips opened as she called out to him.

“Mornin, jumper!” She waved, giggling. “Why’re you yellin’ at that poor lady?”

Ray blinked stupidly, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as Lottie passed them by. It was only as she was almost gone that he replied; “She’s hard of hearing!” But Lottie, obviously, never heard him. He sighed, looking back at Mrs Morrison, who was smiling up at him.

“Good morning to you too, Raymond,” she said, before reaching up and pinching one of his cheeks. “Such a good boy, always greeting your elders. You remind me of my Edward, the way you looked at that pretty colored girl… that’s the way he used to look at me when he was alive…”

Ray groaned as Mrs Morrison tottered away. “She’s black, Mrs Morrison, not colored.”

“Huh?” She called back. “Wha’choo say?”

Ray shouldered his bag, feeling his face get hot at the thought of seeing Lottie in school. “Nothin’.”

Rutherford High was a run - down, dirty high school — it was the only one in town, and a popular one in Freeport in general. Ray, for the majority of his time there, had been unpopular; his male classmates picked on him growing up because he was big, and his female classmates had giggled nervously while they did it — until one day, in 9th grade, when Benjamin Miller told Ray he buggered his mom in the mornings and made his dad watch.

Ray then punched him in the face, breaking his nose.

Ben had to get his nose fixed, and Ray got detention, but the two boys had been friends ever since — no one really fucked around with Ray after that. Ray didn’t like that reputation, however; he wasn’t a guy that fist - fought a lot. He kept to himself. Mostly.

He could see Rutherford now. Two members of the Squads stood guard at its entrance, their carbines gleaming in the morning sun. They were always there, in case anyone got any funny ideas about causing a riot. Ray heard that the year before he got into high school, there’d been an anti - Major protest — they’d broken it up, and an investigation was carried out. They found the ringleader. He was dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night, and shot by the Major in front of his family when he refused to apologize for his actions.

He was only seventeen. Ray heard he’d planned to planned to propose to his girl. Only seventeen. His dad had called it brutal. Unfair. Barbaric. Ray thought so too. He became uneasy whenever people whispered about it.

Only seventeen, he thought. Same age as him.

Shaking the thought of the unnamed boy out of his head, Ray’s eyes swept across the school crowd. Most were smoking out front, some of the girls in scanty crop tops and short skirts, the bookish ones off to the side, their noses in the latest Major - sanctioned read, some boys throwing around a football, Ben Miller throwing a baseball to one of his boys and them throwing it back. They were all laughing raucously about something, and Ray sidestepped a slowly swaying guy who was probably drunk out of his mind.

“Hey!” The bright, loud voice of Ben Miller stabbed Ray’s ears as he trudged closer to them all, and the other boys laughed. “If it ain’t Ray the greatest!”

“Hey,” Ray mumbled, rubbing his eyes — this morning really wasn’t the best. Ben raised an eyebrow, clapping Ray’s back — he was taller, and more built than him. Much handsomer too, Ray thought, but realized it was queer and quickly pushed the thought out of his mind.

“Why the long face, Ray?” Ben said, and the rest of the boys laughed . “Today’s a good day. A fuckin’ good day. Millie sucked me off last night, can you believe that?”

Ray’s face immediately became hot as the other boys laughed; his brain was invaded with the image of Lottie doing the same thing for him. Fuck, Garraty, he mentally slapped himself. Stop it. You’ve known her four days, and you’re turning into some fucking perv.

“O-oh, really?” Ray said, his voice cracking as the other boys laughs died down. “That’s — swell, Ben.”

Ben blinked at Ray with his bright blue eyes, before breaking out into laughter again. “Swell? You sound like a fuckin’ sissy, Garraty, I tell you — you’d fool anyone. But I….” Ben then winked at Ray before pointing at his own nose; it would always be slightly crooked from when Ray punched him. “…I know better.”

Ray always wondered if Ben secretly resented him for his nose; if he did, he never showed it. “Anyway,” Ben said then, looking at the other students around as the other guys in the group started to talk amongst themselves. “…How’s it going with Jan?”

Ray blinked. “Who?”

“Jan.” Ben repeated, laughing softly and shaking his head. “Ray, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed or somethin’? You’re acting like a re —“

“I’m fine, Ben, I just —“ Ray sighed. “I just haven’t had a good fucking morning.”

Ben whistled lowly before putting his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Ray. I bet the Major’s left ballsack on that.”

Ray chuckled then, lightly shoving Ben. “Shut up, man.”

“There he is.” Ben said, smiling at Ray before furrowing his brow at something behind him. “Hey. Who’s the new bird?”

Ray already knew who Ben was talking about before he turned; he only hoped it wasn’t true. He wasn’t sure Ben would behave around Lottie. He turned around and saw her, pulling into the front of the school with the bicycle he’d seen her on twenty minutes earlier. She must’ve taken a different, longer route to school, because she looked out of breath and sweaty — she was panting softly as she chained the bike to a nearby railing. Some students had stopped what they were doing, shooting her looks and whispering.

It didn’t take a genius to notice she was one of the very few black students in the school — she stuck out, to the school body, like a sore thumb.

Shouldering her satchel and straightening out her shirt, Lottie walked across the school green, either not noticing or blatantly ignoring some of the students around her. As she passed the group, she caught Ray’s eye. Ray, who almost always seemed to be lost for words around Lottie, stared back at her, slack - jawed and stupid. She smiled at him, raising her hand in greeting before looking away and entering the school.

He raised his hand back, waving feverishly. Ben, who saw this all happen, let out another whistle. “Garraty’s got himself a piece of ass.”

“It’s not like that,” Ray protested, a little firmly. “She lives a few houses down from me. I spoke to her. We’re friends.”

“Oh, shit,” one of the other boys said. “Didn’t take her sort to be your type.”

“Okay, what do you mean by that?” Ray replied, turning to the guy. He had mousy - brown hair, and wore glasses.

“What do I mean by what?”

“What do you mean by her sort?” Ray pressed.

“Y’know,” he shrugged. “Colored.”

“Yeah, fuck off Davidson,” Ray said harshly, and he started to walk off from the group.

“Hey!” Ben called after Ray. “Where’re you going, Garraty?”

“To class.” Ray replied, not looking back.

“It’s not for another ten minutes!” Ben yelled.

Ray ignored him.

In the school halls, Lottie sidestepped a lot of people, all rushing to do something, some just smoking and looking at her. A group of cheerleaders looked at her from afar, giggling and speaking amongst themselves; when Lottie looked directly at them, they looked away. Sighing, she made her way to the admissions office.

After asking a student politely for directions, Lottie found the office, and checked herself into the school.

“Charlotte Marie Green?” The prim and proper office secretary asked. Lottie wondered if she was government - issued. She was so clean.

“Yes ma’am.” Lottie replied, watching her hands fly over the keyboard of a box - like computer.

“And you came up from Louisiana, correct?” She asked, squinting at something on the screen. Lottie knew then she must be government issued — the computer was an Altair 8800. To buy one of those, you’d have to sell an arm and a leg, or win the Walk.

“Yes,” Lottie repeated, looking around the office. Compared to the woman sitting in front of her, it was grimy and miserable — a picture of the Major hung below the office clock, staring back at her through his sunglasses, the ones she always saw on him when they watched his speeches on the television back in Louisiana. Her hands began to feel sweaty and she looked away.

“You got exceptional grades in your AP Psychology,” she noted. “And you’re joining in almost the middle of second semester — it’s almost March, almost time for this year’s Walk.” Lottie’s hands felt even clammier at the mention of the Walk — her eldest brother’s face flashed through her mind then, his photograph sitting on that table at home.

“Here.” The secretary handed out Lottie’s schedule to her, and she took it dutifully.

“Thank you.” Lottie said softly, and the secretary nodded, her hair sprayed blonde hair gleaming in the flickering office lights.

“Don’t you worry, sugar.” She smiled at Lottie, and she noticed that she had exceptionally pearly whites.

Lottie took the schedule and was about to leave when she bumped into someone else.

“Oh, sorry —“

“Don’t worry about it —“

She looked up, right into the freckled, round face of Ray Garraty.

“Oh!” Lottie exclaimed, as Ray blushed. She should really stop saying ‘oh’ around Ray. “Hi, Ray! I wasn’t expecting to see you till class.”

“Yeah, well —“ he held up his schedule. “I came here to fix a mistake with my, uh… subjects. I saw you outside.”

“As did I.” Lottie replied, finding her face feeling warm. “But, uh, you should probably…“

She trailed off as Ray gazed at her. Lottie furrowed her brow. “Ray?”

“W-what?”

“Schedule.”

“Oh! Right! Yes!” Ray lightly tapped his forehead, and Lottie laughed. “My schedule. What I came for. Now.”

Lottie found herself waiting for Ray as he chatted with the secretary, and realized what she was doing — exactly the opposite of what her parents had said. Fraternizing like this, with Ray. A boy.

A white boy.

But he was just a friend, Lottie thought, touching her Afro to see if anything was off. A freckled, large, sweet and sorta stupid one. She’d always liked big boys, anyway. They could lift a lot. She then wondered, all embarrassing and unprompted, what it’d be like if he lifted her up into his arms.

Stop it! Lottie scolded herself. That is so… sinful, and lustful, and —

“Hey,” Ray said, snapping Lottie out of her thoughts. “It looks like we share the same homeroom teacher — but I think homeroom’s over by now.”

“Oh, really?” Lottie replied, and they left the office together. Ray nodded at her.

“Real - ly,” he drew out the last part of the word, and looked around the hall. People had gone to class. “Oh, we have the same class first.”

“That’s nice,” Lottie replied, before squinting at her timetable. “We have… hmm… algebra.” She said the last word with visible annoyance. “I hate algebra so much. I wish we were having English instead.”

“English?” Ray repeated, and Lottie noticed one of his front teeth were chipped. “I’m not very good at it.”

“Oh, I love it,” Lottie sighed. “I’m ever so good at English.”

“Really?” Ray said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to be into it.”

Lottie cocked her brow, narrowing her eyes at Ray. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ray blinked, his cheeks turning red. “I don’t know — you just didn’t seem like the type.”

Lottie scoffed. “What, you think I’m an illiterate, lazy slacker, is that right? Is that the impression you have of me? Because I’m —”

“N - no!” Ray spluttered, shaking his head as Lottie frowned. “You just…”

“You’re makin’ it worse, jumper.” Lottie’s southern twang came out more when she was upset; Ray felt like punching himself in the face. “I’m leavin’.”

And with that, Lottie turned away from Ray.

“Lottie!” Ray called out, slightly alarmed. She didn’t respond, her hips doing that slight sway once more as she stormed off. He hurried after her, half -jogging in the empty corridor. She was fast. “You don’t know where the classroom for algebra is, you know.” He panted, looking at her profile. She didn’t look back at him. “You’ll need a guide.”

“I don’t need your help.” She breathed.

“Lottie, I’m sorry,” Ray said, strands of his hair falling into his face. “I really didn’t mean it like that, I swear.”

He meant that she seemed cooler — not a nerd or a loser like him; probably a cheerleader or on a team of some sort — maybe even into music. Not stories or literature. Maybe she knew how to do the cha - cha. He hoped she would, because he wanted to do it with her. He’d been stupid to assume all that stuff. He was acting stupid. Who was he fooling? Ray Garraty didn’t know how to talk to girls.

Especially not a pretty one like Lottie Green.

“Lottie,” Ray said breathlessly, still keeping pace with her, “Please —“

“Go away,” Lottie snapped back. She didn’t know why she was getting all worked up — she usually wouldn’t have paid any mind, but her morning had been all funny. What with her father mentioning the Walk, remembering her eldest brother who wasn’t quite around, the whispers from other students… she felt hyper - sensitive, overly wary.

Ray’s legs had started to hurt from keeping up with Lottie — they passed the door of their algebra class. Lottie had no idea where she was going…

“Lottie, we—“

“Shut up.” Lottie replied. Ray sighed, casting a feverish look back to their classes’ door. Without thinking, he gently took hold of her arm, and she turned around to face him, sizing him up with mounting alarm.

“What are you —“

“The algebra class,” Ray started slowly, pulling Lottie by the arm and closer to him. “Is that way.” He pointed back to the door they’d passed, and Lottie could hear the muffled voice of a teacher. She gave him a look before taking her hand out of his grasp and walking back to the door hed pointed at. Ray sighed before following her, and before she opened the door to the classroom, she looked back at him.

“Don’t sit next to me.” She said simply.

“I can’t make any promises.” Ray replied, trying to joke. Lottie rolled her eyes,and his face fell slightly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Lottie. I can promise you that. Really, I swear.”

Lottie sized him up once more, pursing her lips — before giving him an almost imperceptible nod.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“It means we’re goin’ to class, Ray,” Lottie replied, before pushing the door open.

The classroom, initially bumbling with chatter and conversation amongst the students as the teacher tried to keep peace, fell silent as the two entered — like the rest of the school, it was run - down and dingy. There were posters on the wall plastered with the face of the Major pointing out to the viewer. Underneath, the bold text read : THE MAJOR NEEDS YOU TO JOIN THE YEARLY WALK. Underneath, in slightly smaller text: SEIZE GLORY AND RICHES BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS.

The paint on the walls were peeling, and the place stunk of smoke and tobacco — the desks that the students sat on were riddled with writings from previous years. They stared various vulgarities, but you would never see anything insulting the Major or the government. They’d find out who wrote it and have them arrested, or worse, killed. The tiled floor was covered in brown footprints from the less than well - off students’ shoes, which was every student’s shoes, because everybody was poor. Everybody was also staring at Lottie, and then Ray, and then Lottie again, and then Ray. Lottie then realized how odd and gossip - inducing it was to stroll into her first class late, and with Ray.

A white boy.

“Raymond Garraty, you may sit down,” the teacher, a wrinkly old woman, droned. There were only two desks that were empty, and they were at the back. Lottie cursed internally as Ray hesitantly walked to the back, amongst hushed whispers and giggles.

“Now, class,” the teacher said, gesturing to Lottie with one hand. “This is our new student, Charlotte Green. She came up from Louisiana, and she’s joining us rather late in the year. Charlotte,” the teacher turned to her, only very mild interest present in her eyes. “Care to tell us about yourself?”

Lottie, who’d been staring at the floor the entire time, looked up at the class. They were all staring back at her, Ray giving her a hesitant thumbs - up from the back.

“Uh…” Lottie started, trying not to look into the eyes of the Major’s posters. “Well, you all can call me Lottie, much less formal than Charlotte.”

Someone coughed, and Lottie wrung her hands before continuing. “I like readin’ and writin’ and such… I hope to be an author one day.”

Someone snickered, and Lottie felt her face become hot. She didn’t look anyone in the eyes, especially Ray. This was stupid. This was all so stupid. She wished she was back in Louisiana, with her friends. “Yeah, that’s about it — my Pa owns the new grocery store in town, y’all can always pass by…”

“Hey, you some sort of country bumpkin?” A girl asked — Lottie’s face burned as the class broke out into snickers once more. Ray shot a nasty look at the girl as the teacher called for silence.

“Uh, no, I’m not.” Lottie said firmly, staring at her. “And even if I was, what’s wrong with that?”

“Well, shoot. I ‘shore don’t know.” another boy mocked her, and the class broke out into full - blown laughter. Lottie’s face, Ray saw, was becoming red with embarrassment — he turned to the boy who had mocked her, and saw it was Davidson.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, Davidson!” Ray shot back, and the class broke into low oohs. Ben wolf - whistled then, winking at Lottie.

“Looks like Garraty’s got the hots for the new girl.” He said, and the class laughed even more. Lottie, having enough of this, shouldered her satchel and marched to the back of the class. Multiple boys whistled at her on her way, and she plopped down in the only desk available — the one next to Ray.

“Now that you’ve all settled down,” the teacher said pointedly, before turning to the whiteboard — it was already covered with formulae . “Turn to page 67…”

The teacher’s voice faded out as Lottie felt a paper ball hit the side of her head. She turned to see who it could be from; Ray, who was on her right, waved. She scoffed and looked back to her notebook. She wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with him. Wasn’t supposed to —

She felt another paper ball hit her.

Gripping her pen tightly, she wrote down the date.

Another one.

Now, the topic —

Another one.

And the first formula…

Another one.

“Ray!” She hissed at him finally, glaring at him. He had a crooked smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but smile a little in return. “What in heaven’s name do you want?”

Ray looked to the teacher to make sure she wasn’t watching; then slowly took out a straw. Charlotte raised her eyebrows but he pointed at it, before pointing at Davidson and the girl who’d made fun of her.

“Watch…” he whispered back. “…and learn.” He then put a slimy looking ball of paper in the straw (the ones he’d thrown at Lottie had been dry) and aimed the straw at the back of the girl’s shiny, blonde head. He then blew, hard — the spitball flew out of the straw, and burrowed itself in the girl’s hair. Lottie covered her mouth then, her body shaking with silent laughter as Ray aimed another spitball at Davidson. The girl didn’t seem to notice she had one in her hair, but some other people did; there were some sniggers in the class. Ray then shot a spitball straight into Davidson’s neck.

He reacted immediately. “Ugh!” He exclaimed, taking the spitball off his neck and inspecting it. “What the fu—“

“Language, boy,” their teacher said sternly, and both Ray and Lottie giggled into their hands. “Or you’ll see yourself out of my classroom.”

Davidson’s shoulders slumped as the rest of the class laughed at him, and Ray looked at Lottie, who’d thrown her head back. Full - body laugh. He felt his face burn as he pointed to the girl, who hadn’t noticed hers.

“Now that one’s going to be a surprise for her later,” he whispered, and Lottie looked at him, still giggling.

“You’re…” Lottie was slightly out of breath, still giggling, but managed to whisper. “… Lord, you’re a riot, Ray.”

“Thank you.” He mock - bowed in his seat, and Lottie smiled at him.

Suddenly, he felt something hit his head. Like a small rock. He tried to ignore it, tried staying in the memory with Lottie, but he felt something hit him again.

He didn’t want to turn around — he knew if he did, everything would disappear. Everything would —

“Ray!”

No, he thought, all panicked. He didn’t want to go back to the Walk. He didn’t want to go back to the —

“Ray!”

Goddamn it McVries, he thought. Let me stay here. Let me —

“RAY!”

Ray startled, and saw that the classroom was gone — he was in the present now, at the Walk. Pete was walking beside him, and he saw that he had a small pile of stones in hand. That must’ve been what had been thrown at him so many times, he thought grudgingly — Pete was smiling at him, close to skipping. Stebbins, who was behind them, chewed noisily into a jam sandwich. It had been three hours since they started the Walk.

“You looked all dazed,” Pete said then, dropping the pebbles he had collected onto the road. Other Walkers chatted among them as they went. “Like you was daydreamin’.”

“Look!” Harkness said eagerly, pointing at a cow grazing at the side of the road. Ray groaned. “A cow!”

“Shut the fuck up, Harkness.” Stebbins spat, his face all moody. The sun was beating down on all of them. “We can all see it.”

“You kept mumbling something about some ‘Lottie’,” Art Baker quipped, before whistling and nudging Hank Olson. The latter smacked his arm away.

“What?” Ray blinked, still remembering Lottie’s curls.

“Lot - tie,” Pete repeated for Ray, slowly. “You deaf as well as dumb, man?” Ray rolled his eyes, smiling at Pete before elbowing him.

“I was having a good daydream, that’s what I was doing.” He answered, finally — he pointed at Pete. “Don’t do that again.”

Pete threw his arms up, still chuckling. “Alright, Garraty — you just reminded me of one of those unresponsive kids they have in the loony bins.” Pete wet his lips, and Ray found himself staring at them. His face became warm. “I was just checking on you.”

“Yeah…” Ray railed off, looking away. “I don’t always need to be checked on, do I?” He stared off into the horizon. Collie, who was ahead of them, glanced back and scoffed.

“Fuckin’ bumpkin,” he muttered. Ray picked up a pebble from the floor, getting a warning — and threw it at Collie.

Warnings: the reader is referred to as a girl or a woman and uses she/her pronouns (though, as with most of my fics, most of the pronouns used are you/yours), and during the sex scene(s), the reader is described as having a vagina and breasts; the reader character’s looks are not described in anyway in terms of hair colour, weight, skin tone, or eye colour; the reader character is described as wearing dresses during her younger years and jeans and tee shirts as she gets older; the reader character as a complex relationship with femininity (I don’t want to say ‘tomboy’, but there is themes surrounding gender roles in the fic); this fic does use the term Y/N, and I highly recommend that you get a word replacer extension for your browser to enhance the reading experience; for reference, in the main timeline/the main part of this fic, Ray and the reader character are both 19 years old - I’m not sure where I read it, but I saw someone say that is how old Ray’s character is supposed to be, in other sections (in the flashbacks) they are 12 or 16, but in the main chunk of the fic (what would be the canon of the film) they are both 19 (if you want more clarification on this ‘timeline’, feel free to ask me); a moment of Ray being slightly sexist at the beginning - it’s a flashback when he’s a child, so it’s a moment guided by immaturity; also there is general tones of sexism due to the source material being themed after the 70s - themes of gender roles (and how people are disliked for breaking them), toxic masculinity, etc.; mentions of Ray being bullied in school as a child (and somewhat into his teenage years), and while most of that bullying is name calling, some of that bullying is physical violence; mentions of the canon character death of Ray’s father; mentions of some disordered eating habits (the reader skips meals often, due to emotions and bad habits rather than body image); Ray and the reader both smoke cigarettes/tobacco; passing mention of the reader smoking weed; the reader does drink alcohol, and she has an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, and there is a family history of alcoholism (though it’s never specifically called that); there is some discussion of the reader’s family members, but the reader is not related to any canon characters and the reader’s family member’s physical traits are not described - the reader character’s family members are also not given names, so you can fill in those blanks in your head if you like; there is a mention of the reader being able to fit into her father’s old clothes - so sorry if that’s not accurate to your life but the father’s body type is never described so it doesn’t denote the reader’s body type, which is ultimately my goal.

Themes of militarism and military propaganda, in alignment with the original film; a few times ‘The War’ is mentioned, and like the film, I intentionally kept it vague; mentions of ‘marriage laws’ that aren’t in the canon source material (something that I made up) - basically, the idea that young people (especially fertile young women) should get married when they turn 18 in order to increase the birth rate; passing mentions of religion (in the form of Christianity) (I have mentioned that the reader character is not religious); the general horrors and trauma of The Long Walk - mentions of bloody and scarred feet (and other types of physical injuries), mentions of people being forced to shit themselves to survive, mentions of people being shot in the head, mentions of emotional trauma (for participants and spectators), general death, blood, and horror; graphic descriptions of injuries that occur on The Long Walk (the same level of graphic as the film); the reader slaps Ray (not in a sexual way) - not hard enough to permanently injure, just out of shock/anger; mentions of gun violence; the reader points a gun at Ray as a threat (but it’s not loaded); Ray refers to the reader having sex as ‘whoring it out’ (again, gender roles) (and him being petty and jealous); (briefly) the reader having suicidal ideations; Hank x Clementine as a background ship; a couple of slightly homophobic comments from Barkovitch; there is undertones of Pete x Ray (that get increasingly stronger in the second part) because I could not help it, these two have undeniable chemistry, it’s just part of them; for the actual smut scene - while Ray is a virgin (which is something he explicitly states), the reader character is not a virgin, she has had sex with other guys before and has much more experience with sex than Ray does; there are no specifically outlined roles, but the reader is more dominant and Ray is more submissive; slightly dubious consent - the characters are upset about outside things and their relationship is undefined, and they don’t expressly ask consent to have sex with each other, but they very much want it; hair pulling (towards Ray); biting (towards Ray); unprotected penis in vagina sex (Ray glosses over the consequences of unprotected sex in his mind but nothing actually comes of it); the reader spanks Ray on the ass (once); mild choking towards Ray; creampie (Ray cums inside the reader - but there’s no breeding kink); oral - reader receiving; passing mention of masturbation (and Ray having masturbation fantasies about you); I think that is actually it. Please let me know if there are any warnings I missed or anything you would like me to add.

A/N: Fun fact, the very first bit of this is based on my experience in moving from a very large more 'city' type place to a very, very small town (I think the place I lived is technically too small to even be considered a 'town', which is hilarious) - so the whole 'there is no groceries and we're in a split level class' bit isn't even meant to depict the whole Post-War desolate economy, it's a real life experience that I had lmao. Anyway - I hope you all enjoy this intensely unhinged fic I wrote, and I hope you stick around for Part Two later on.

...

Maine was a desolate place. 

It was very different from what you were used to, growing up in Washington, DC. You were used to the hustle and bustle of living on a military base, a place that was constantly filled with people and never seemed to shut down, not even at night. You were used to attending a school that had more than thirty kids in one class, and that class not even making up the entire grade level. You were used to your father’s friends - people from his unit coming in and out of your house at all hours. You were used to your home belonging to other people constantly - your father’s unit members and their wives and their children too. You were used to the grocery stores on the base being stocked with the best foods, and your family always being given the best treatment because your father was a high ranking member and you were his special princess. 

You had come to hate the quiet. And you only realized that because of how terribly quiet it was in the middle of nowhere fucking Maine. 

Now you lived in the middle of nowhere among wheat fields and attended a split grade level class where the teacher was forced to give the same material to sixth and seventh graders all at once in order to make up a ‘full’ school room of a dozen kids. When you went to the store with your mother - a store that was a whole twenty minute drive away from where you lived, most items were out of stock most times, and you ended up eating things out of cans for dinner most nights of the week. 

Most people spoke with confident ignorance and were generally insufferable. Most people except for Ray Garraty. 

That much you had easily learned in the short year that you had lived in Maine. Well, it would soon be coming up on one year exactly. It was almost the one year anniversary of your father’s death, and while you hated life without him, and still dearly missed him every fucking day; you hated living without your hero, hated living without your favourite person in the world… you had been getting used to it now. The harsh wound was slowly healing over, especially with the help of Ray’s humor and friendship helping you move forward. 

And it did help you to think about the fact that your father had died for a good cause. He was still a hero that you could look up to. 

These days, you focused on enjoying the little things - the surprising highlights of living in such a boring place. Like the popsicle mold that Ray’s mom had picked up at a secondhand sale and the good Kool Aid mix she put into it to give to you and Ray as a frosty treat. Because even though it was only April, it was quickly becoming hotter outside with each day, the sun beating down on the expanse of nothingness with a particularly brutality - like it was hell bent to cook you all like bugs under a magnifying glass. 

You enjoyed the fact that the old play park was only a short walk away from your neighboring houses, and you were now both sitting on the squeaking, slightly rusty old swings as you enjoyed slurping on the popsicles. You enjoyed the easy silence of Ray’s company, liking that he was someone you didn’t have to talk to constantly and it didn’t feel awkward. You enjoyed the bright sun and the light breeze, the sound of it whipping through all the overgrown grass. 

You were also looking forward to watching The Long Walk on TV soon, something that was a highlight of your year every single year. You didn’t have a TV in your house (the one you used to have apparently belonged to the military base, so your family hadn’t been allowed to take it when you moved out). But Elsie Fisher, a girl from school, said her family always had a group of people over every year to watch, and you could come. 

Her parents always made a big deal about watching it, having snacks, making an event of it, even having a betting pool. You knew that happened on the base sometimes, but it was highly frowned upon when it came to The Long Walk - your father would go on long rants about how people should be ashamed to make bets on something so ‘honorable’, and how it was about pride and ‘the grit of the human spirit’, not about humans being treated like horses. 

You had nearly told Elsie that when she had shown you this year’s roster and asked for your bet, but you didn’t want to be kicked out of her party. (Instead, you told her that you didn’t have any money to spare as a bet, and she accepted this answer.) 

Ray’s family had a small black and white TV, but he said they didn’t watch The Long Walk. You didn’t know why, though. You wanted to invite him to come to Eslie’s party to watch with you - even though she hadn’t told him specifically to come. He deserved to watch the broadcast too. He deserved to see the boys playing, going through the trial - he deserved to see the hero that would emerge victorious as the winner. 

You considered it to be a very transformative experience, and it always filled you with pride and hope when you watched it. Ray deserved to get that experience too. He might end up doing The Walk someday, so he deserved to see how it was done. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ray asked, noticing that you hadn’t said anything for a while - which was rare for you. 

You were standing on the edge of a tire swing - one that was laid flat and held up by three chains, swaying, spinning yourself in slow circles while you sucked on your popsicle. Ray was sitting still on one of the other single seat swings, squinting up at you through the sun, getting some drops of the bright red juice down his chin and onto his shirt without even noticing. 

“If you won The Long Walk - what would you wish for?” You asked, now entirely curious about this. 

Both of you were only twelve, so Ray was far off from being the mandatory eighteen in order to enter - but still, you wondered if he ever would. You wondered if he had a wish that would drive him to take up the challenge. It was something you had heard guys talking about on the playground at school before, but he had never bothered to give his two cents to the conversation. You thought it was likely just because he didn’t think much of those guys, and surely, he would have an answer for you. 

“I would never enter The Long Walk.” He told you, no hesitation, absolutely firm in this conviction. 

This immediately confused you. 

Everyone entered The Long Walk. 

It wasn’t mandatory, but you hadn’t heard of anybody who hadn’t entered their name at least once. The only people who didn’t enter weren’t medically fit to do so - and sometimes even they tried to sneak past with fake medical forms. Sometimes they succeeded. The only other people you knew who didn’t enter were people who worked with the military, because they weren’t legally eligible to enter a contest run by the military. It was something your father had called ‘a conflict of interest’. They could end up cheating. You had heard so many young men on the base talk about how they were jealous that they couldn’t enter while watching The Long Walk on TV. 

“Why not?” You rushed to ask. 

“My dad said I should never do it.” He told you, using a tone of palpable insight that he often used with you, talking down to you in a way that he never meant to. You scowled at him. “He says The Major just screws people over-” 

“Shut up!” You hissed, leaning over and kicking him lightly in the back with your foot, no real force behind it, causing him to grunt. “You can’t say that about The Major! You’ll get Squadded!” 

Your head whipped around frantically in paranoia, as though waiting for someone to pop out with a gun and start shooting. He craned his neck, scanning the area before he sharply rolled his eyes. 

“There’s nobody around.” He sighed. “Besides, it’s true.” 

“It is not.” You argued, your voice taking on a whiny, petulant tone that irritated Ray to his core. 

You were someone so strong, someone so defiant in every other area of life - but when it came time to talk about the military, the precious gods your father had walked among, you so easily repeated back every single piece of garbage they had taught you like it was sacred scripture. 

“The Major is a good man, and he deserves respect.” You said, your chest puffing out confidently with these words. “He works hard to run The Long Walk. He does great work in giving young men an opportunity to better their lives and the lives of those around them. Our country would be nothing without him.” 

You grinned, quoting something from the handbook practically word for word, having never even read that book before. You had just heard those same words recycled from so many other people, so many times. You had been spoonfed those ideas so many times without even realizing how highly manufactured it all was. You were their princess - their perfect little puppet. 

Ray just let out a harsh, irritated sigh and shook his head, knowing it was pointless to argue against you. You were incredibly stubborn and stuck in your ways of thinking. His father had warned him not to corrupt your idea that your father was ‘a hero’, even if it was continually annoying to hear you go spouting off about it. It was something you needed to hold onto in mourning - it was something that you needed to believe. 

“But come on, if you did enter, and you won - what would you wish for?” You pressed, still wanting to know his answer. 

To you, it was a fun game. It was a theoretical discussion that made you picture him older, slightly sweaty and dirty, being praised by a big crowd at the finish line, people throwing flowers at him while he gave a tired smile of victory and cameras flashed toward him. For some reason, it also made you picture yourself running up to him and kissing him as a part of that victory, him wrapping his arms around you eagerly like you were the best part of the prize. But you pushed that thought away for now. 

“Okay, if I entered - which I wouldn’t,” He said, specifically mincing his words. “If I entered, and if somehow I won, I would probably wish for… I dunno, I’d wish for a million popsicles.” 

He shrugged, giving the most non-serious answer that he could think of. 

At the moment, he could think of nothing so big and tangible that would largely improve his life. His family was poor, and the money would definitely change his life in so many good ways, but the winner also got a lot of money without having to wish for it. But still, he would never enter The Long Walk. His father had warned him that the money wasn’t worth potentially dying over - so he should never enter. He should just try to work hard to earn his own money, even if that seemed difficult or impossible at times. 

(In the back of his mind, he considered wishing that you would have to stay with him forever. Wishing that you would have to marry him and you would never get to leave. But he figured you wouldn’t like that, just like you didn’t like him disagreeing with you about The Major.) 

“If you won, you’d be rich.” You reminded him. “The winner gets like - a gazillion dollars. You could just buy a million popsicles. That’s a dumb wish.” 

Maybe that’s why he wanted to wish for you. Because you thought he was dumb, and the second you got the chance - you would leave him. He had dreams where he chained you to him and jumped to the bottom of the ocean, and when you both sunk to the bottom, you smiled at him. But he knew that life wasn’t like that. 

He shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m dumb.” 

“I would enter but - they don’t let girls in.” You sighed, sounding mournful over it. “Why do you think that is?” 

The words dangled dangerously on his tongue: 

‘Because girls are weaker.’ 

Instead of speaking, he sucked on his melting popsicle, knowing that it would be dangerous to say it. You probably would have punched him hard enough to leave a bruise just to prove the words wrong. 

He thought about one of your first days attending his school, when one of the boys said that girls were all sissy crybabies because he had seen you shedding tears over the thought of your father, and in response, you had pinned him to the ground and pulled out several chunks of his hair and left a knee-sized bruise in his back getting him to eat dirt. Nobody reported it to a teacher because they were all too afraid to admit that they were scared of a girl. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Probably just cause it started with guys and they never thought to put girls in too.” 

You nodded, seeming satisfied with this answer. 

Ray did feel a sense of relief at the thought - the idea that girls weren’t allowed. You loved The Long Walk, and he knew that if you could have, you would have entered as soon as you turned eighteen. And you would have entered as many times as it took for you to be chosen. You would have been their proud, enthusiastic poster child if you were a boy. 

So, knowing that it was all purely theoretical, he decided to play into your game. 

“What would you wish for if you won?” He asked you. 

“Two million popsicles.” You grinned, proud to one-up his answer. He let out a small laugh, shaking his head, and then you added on more seriously: “Maybe I’d wish for The Long Walk to include girls too.” 

“Okay, now that’s dumb.” Ray scolded you. “Cause if they included girls, then you would already be there. Your wish would be useless.” 

“Maybe I’ll dress up as a boy and sneak in.” You shrugged, sounding entirely too pleased with yourself as this came to mind. 

Ray felt a sharp pain through his stomach, like he had been punched. He hoped that you were joking, and he hated the thoughtful look that came across your face - like you were truly deciphering this as a plan that could be put into action. 

“I don’t think The Major would like that.” He said, quickly trying to flush this idea out of your head with your own logic. “Besides - you’re way too pretty to ever pass as a boy. Nobody would believe you.” 

Before you could linger on this comment and how warm it made you feel, someone shouted across the playground, calling out to the two of you. 

“Well look! It’s Gallon Sized Garraty and his little military wife!” 

It was a group of boys from school who regularly bothered Ray, and by extension, now regularly bothered you. You could barely be bothered to remember their names. Bobby, Johnny, and something else stupid. Eddie? Who knows… 

Bobby, the ring-leader type was grinning widely at his supposedly clever insult while the others laughed in his ear and high-fived him over it, and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, now highly annoyed by their presence. Though Ray had warned you several times in the past ‘not to engage’. 

“Hey idiot, a gallon isn’t even that big! Especially not compared to a person!” You shouted back. “You’re not even clever!” 

“Okay, well your boyfriend is still a fucking fatass!” He shouted back with a glare, obviously hating being corrected by you. 

You didn’t bother to correct him about Ray not being your ‘boyfriend’ - too annoyed by his general mouth-breathing to care. 

You didn’t hesitate to hop down off the swing, and when you charged a few steps over to him, Ray shouted after you, his voice ripe with worry, trying to stop you. 

“Y/N-!” 

But it was too late - you were already heaving your arm back and letting loose, throwing your half-melted, half-eaten popsicle at him, causing a mess of bright red, cold juice and mush to splatter all over his face and his shirt. You found yourself satisfied that it looked like blood. 

“Ew!” He screamed. His lackeys laughed, and he glared at them. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you little bitch!” 

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” You taunted him, giving a very obviously fake and exaggerated shiver of fear before you let out a mocking laugh. “What are you gonna do - strangle me with your bra?” 

His lackeys let out another round of laughter at this, and he became even more flustered, and even more angry because of it. 

“I’ll bash your head in with a fucking rock and dump your body in the woods! It’s not like your dead daddy’s here to protect you!” 

With this comment, you made a vicious charge toward him, your hands outstretched like claws and ready to kill. But before you could get any closer, someone taller and stronger than you - someone who definitely wasn’t Ray, wrapped an arm around your waist and held you back, using your own energy to spin you back around toward the swingset, away from Bobby. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

When the oddly calm voice grunted boredly in your ear, you heaved out a sigh of frustration. It was your older brother. 

“Seriously?!” You cried out at him, crossing your arms, intentionally leaning past him to give the bullies a sharp glare. They were all laughing at you now, laughing at how easily you had been stopped. (Little did they know that the only reason you hadn’t fought him harder was because you had no desire to stop him - you didn’t want to hurt him with anger you had built up against someone else.) “Those fuckers deserve it-!” 

“Language.” He told you sharply. “If Dad heard you talking like that, he’d make you hold your tongue for an hour.” 

You wanted to make a comment about how your dad was no longer around, but you didn’t want your brother to make you hold your tongue just to prove a point. It was a punishment in which you were forced to stand with your tongue between your two fingers, something gross and uncomfortable to remind you of the consequences of ‘not thinking before you speak’. So instead, you rolled your eyes, and remained silent. 

Your brother then turned to the boys. 

“Everett, looks like that bike chain is broken,” He said, nodding toward the pile of bikes that the bullies had dropped. 

Everett? Is that what the fucker’s name was? 

The specific boy nodded slowly. 

“You can bring it by our place anytime and I’ll fix it up for you. Number seventeen, the one with the blue door, you know it, right?” He nodded again, and your brother smiled. “I can probably fill the tires for you, too.” 

“Uh… thanks.” Everett said, entirely awkward, clearly unsure how to handle being greeted with a favour after he had nearly cheered on someone getting into a fight with you. 

“Seriously?!” You shrieked out, appalled by this. 

Rather than responding, your brother then gently guided you by the shoulders, beginning to walk away, and Ray naturally followed. 

“Come on, it’s time for dinner.” He told you. 

“What was that?” You gaped. “You offered to fix the guy’s stupid bike-” 

“Sometimes you have to kill ‘em with kindness.” Your brother told you, clearly still smiling even though you couldn’t see his face. “Something I’m sure you’d know all about, brat.” 

He emphasized the nickname - something he started calling you when you were much younger and the two of you used to fight much more, now a symbol of the fact that the one of the only people in the world you truly got along with was him. He was one of the only people you let get away with calling you names. 

You rolled your eyes sharply again. 

“Yeah. With kindness.” You snorted, bitterness clear in your voice. 

That park had been torn down since then, and sometimes Ray walked past the old patches of grass that hadn’t grown back, and he thought about your brother. He thought about someone who wanted to kill the world with kindness - and he wondered what that world would have looked like. But he knew it could never be possible. 

… 

Ray sat on the porch waiting for you. 

Somehow, this had become the most concrete part of his day, the thing that anchored him to the earth better than his mother’s cooking and the way she cried late at night when she thought he had fallen asleep and couldn’t hear through the thin, drafty old walls of the house. Though Ray had so many other routine aspects to his life, this one had become the one that he clung onto the most in order to keep him sane. 

Every single day, without fail, when you got off your shift at the cannery, you would come home, wash up, change your clothes, and you would skip dinner to instead spend the evening sitting on the porch with Ray while the two of you weaned a stale old cigarette from a pack that you had bartered with someone to get. 

Despite Ray’s attempts to try to get you to eat, sometimes waiting with a plate of ‘leftovers’ that his mother had sent him with still dutifully hot in his lap, wrapped up in tinfoil for you, you claimed that you weren’t interested in food after such a long day - something you said with increasing frequency these days. Sometimes you would pick at the food Ray had brought you if he truly nagged about it, other times you would come with a bottle of drink in hand, proclaiming that it was a good day because you had gotten your hands on ‘something special’. 

Ray liked the feeling of going to bed fuzzy-headed and numb from the liquor. He liked the almost magical quality of the liquid, and how it made him forget about his problems for a while. But he knew that he shouldn’t like the feeling. He had seen what had happened to your mother, and he knew that he should be more afraid to end up like that. 

You were running a bit late tonight. Which didn’t entirely surprise Ray, but still - it worried him. 

Usually you were home when the sun was still bright, long before the last buses stopped running, having plenty of time to spare before the county-wide mandated curfew. But with increasing frequency these days, you were coming home later - having to sneak around the military patrols that happened every night around curfew, risking getting caught, risking getting fined for being out past curfew, risking being thrown in jail. 

Sometimes you didn’t come home at all at night, and Ray felt like a stupid worrying hen, up all night, peeking through his bedroom window every five minutes to see if the light had turned on in yours across the way. He felt like an idiot, losing out on sleep, waiting for some signal that you were home safe while his brain ran wild about all the ways that you could have been dead, dying, or hurt. 

Even now, Ray sat on the edge of the porch, huddled on the edge of the short three steps, his hands grasping his knees - and he hated the worry that started to overtake him. He hated that he was so used to taking care of you. 

Ray had known you since the two of you were young - you, your mother, and your brother had moved from DC to this much more isolated community in Maine when you were just eleven years old. Your father’s death was still so fresh when your family had been uprooted and your whole life had been changed. 

He had been a very high ranking member of the military, and at that age, you had not been shy about boasting that he died as a war hero. You proudly wore one of his medals as a necklace - though Ray noticed that in the past few years, it had been allocated to a small metal tin that used to hold dried oats that you now used as a keepsake box. And now, you didn’t boast about your father the way that you used to. You didn’t speak about him unless prompted by someone else. 

Your mother had originally been the one working in the cannery when your family first moved here. But it wasn’t long before her spiraling grief over your father meant that she stopped showing up to work, and your brother quit school to take over providing for your family. You looked up to your brother with just as much shine as you had your father, and you took every available opportunity to praise him when you could. 

When you first moved in, Ray’s mother insisted him over with an offering of her freshly made oatmeal raisin cookies, and the two of you became fast friends. He was the first one you knew at the small, local school, and - loud and mouthy as you were - you were the only one who didn’t call him ‘Giant Gut Garraty’ or other such names, and you spoke out against others for making fun of him. 

He couldn’t put into words how grateful he was that not too long after your arrival, the bullying stopped, at least when you were around. Most of the boys in school were more than terrified to admit that they were afraid of you. Of course, this meant that Ray was rattled twice as hard for ‘keeping a girl as his body guard’ when you weren’t around - but those times were rare. 

The two of you spend every single day together - did homework together, spent weekends exploring the woods together, played board games together, read books together. There were few waking moments in your lives that you didn’t spend together, being naively happy. You and Ray were always side by side, no matter what. 

In his mind’s eye, Ray could still remember it - the two of you happy and laughing as kids. But it felt too long ago to truly see. Too long ago to be real somehow. There was only the two of you now. Two ghosts of those happy kids. Only the porch, only one cigarette, only the breath in which the smoke lasted until it disappeared those few feet up into the air. 

He could say that the two of you bonded by proximity or convenience, but he knew that truly, you wouldn’t have stuck so close together if it wasn’t also love. Whether it was completely platonic or some idiotic wandering into the romantic that would be a terrible, heart-breaking mistake - Ray Garraty loved you. And he knew that you wouldn’t keep coming back to sit on this godforsaken porch every single night if you didn’t love him too. 

Maybe that’s why he worried more and more when you didn’t show up. Not because he was worried that you had died or gotten hurt - because he knew that you could hold your own. Any man coming at you with ill intentions had no clue what kind of hell he was in for. But he was growing more worried that… truly, you didn’t love him in return. He was worried that you wouldn’t have sat in the darkness and waited for him if the roles were reversed. 

It was only in the past two or three years that you and Ray started to drift apart. 

And the whole time, he had been fighting like hell to hold onto you - trying his best to keep taking care of you, trying to stay in your life. 

But he knew exactly what had happened. He knew what had caused the grand cosmic shift. 

When you were sixteen, when your brother was freshly eighteen and had truly become ‘the man of the house’, it was up to him to decide what would become of you when you turned eighteen in just a few short years. It was a fitful, fateful time for young women - you would either be assigned a back-breaking work duty or be assigned a husband by marriage laws, something that the government had instituted to try and increase birth rates. However, it could lead to you being shipped halfway across the country, never to return, being forced to spend your life with a total stranger that you had never met before. 

So in the face of this, trying to pick the best possible option for his family - your brother signed up for The Long Walk. At the time, when you were both still so young, Ray had considered proposing to you himself. But he knew it was a stupid idea, and he knew that - as headstrong as you were, you would never accept a proposal from him with the idea that it didn’t come from a place of genuine love. Not that he didn’t love you… But you would never want to be ‘saved’ by him - not like that. 

So your brother, at the tender age of eighteen, so fresh faced and young, became a lucky qualifier for The Long Walk. Because he was born in DC, he got an extra entry - one as the home state walker, and one as the shiny militant boy from the capital. And naturally, someone pulled some strings to make sure that he got his time in the spotlight. Before he could blink, they outfitted him with all the best gear - stuff he never could have paid for himself, and they gave him an insight of the upcoming month’s weather report, some extra dry rations, and a map of the route. The same route that was taken every year, of course. But he would get a preview of the terrain - including that hellish steep hill that took out at least half a dozen boys every single year. 

The people running the whole thing were lucky. They had a perfect winner on their hands. Someone who would look so great on all the pamphlets, someone they could make a great promo movie out of. Someone they could get to smile at the finish line without hesitation, someone who would stand tall and pose next to The Major with no disdain in his heart. Someone who would wish for something grand, but tangible and practical - like a big house for his family to live in, or a kind, loving husband for his sister. (They kept impressing this upon him when he said that he wasn’t sure of his wish, hoping to get a kind of ‘royal wedding’ out of it too, something they could get another broadcast out of.) They had already printed posters with his face on them, said that they loved ‘his look’. He took after your father - a real hero in the making. (They kept calling him ‘a rabbit’, and you had no clue why.) 

And while Ray watched on from his kitchen window, wickedly curious about all the military personnel weaving in and out of your house, you were promised a shining light at the end of the tunnel. After a few rough years with your father gone, the military had finally come to rescue you, being the heroes that you always knew they were. They promised you a great life filled with any luxury you could want, anything money could pay for - not a single worry in the world. 

When you bragged about this to Ray, he couldn’t help but to think that he would be left behind and you would never have to think about him again. You were finally leaving him like he had always feared. But you were so happy, and he couldn’t take that from you. 

All you would have to do was sit and wait for your brother to win The Long Walk. It would be easy - it was practically guaranteed. They even brought in a brand new twenty-five inch color television for you and your mother to watch the broadcast on, and Ray and his parents sat and joined you and your mother for it. 

When he fell nearly right out of the starting gate, your heart stilled in your chest. You hid behind Ray, bracing for a horror you were told you would never have to see. But he barely had time to get his first warning before he rushed back up again, and he laughed it off. For the next two hundred miles, he didn’t pick up another warning. Not one. He was strong, and steady. 

It was that strength that caused you to put all your faith in him, believing that winning would be so easy for him. It was that strength that had you smiling brightly and humming joyfully as you got ready on the morning of the third day, getting ready to stand on the sidewalk in Freeport so that you could wave at your brother and toss a bag of his favourite hard caramel candies at him. You were nothing but excited to see him, joyful that you could give him the extra boost he needed in order to win. 

Because he was going to win - you were sure of it. 

… 

“How do I look?” You asked, turning to Ray. 

You, your mother, Ray, and Ray’s parents had come to watch. Large crowds weren’t allowed to gather yet, not until there were just two Walkers left. But you were all ‘family’, and the local cop guarding the route hadn’t questioned it when the five of you had piled out of the car to stand on the sidewalk, so it seemed to be okay. 

You were wearing one of your best dresses - one you would have worn to church back on the base. But your mother hadn’t gone to church since moving to this new place, or made you go, which did surprise you. Your father had been big on going to church, and your brother still read the bible regularly - he even took one with him in his backpack when he left for The Walk. You had never been big on religion - too many rules for your liking, too much nitpicking (so much arbitrary mess about who was and wasn’t a good person when you found that you could decide for yourself). But that was far aside from the point. 

You had grown quite a bit since your church going days, so Mrs. Garraty had used her sewing machine to add a couple of fabric panels to the sides of the dress and one to the hem to lengthen it in order to make it fit better, and though the fabric didn’t match, it looked like an intentionally styled choice. Especially with the use of the thin brown belt that you had added on, and the old new brown leather heeled shoes you were wearing from a secondhand store in town, purchased specifically for this occasion. 

Ray reached out and straightened the stiff, well starched (thanks to his mother) white collar of the dress, pressing it down to the back of your neck - you had been fiddling with it so much in the car due to your nerves that it was all out of sorts. He noted in his mind that you did look beautiful, but he wondered why you had dressed up so much for this - he wondered why his mother had made him dress up so much for this. His own starched button up and old, slightly too tight ‘nice occasion’ shoes were definitely bothering him. 

“He’s your brother - why would he care what you look like?” Ray posed. “I’ve seen him pick bugs out of your hair before.” 

He was pointing out the obvious, of course. Your brother had seen you muddy from playing outside and covered in your own vomit while sick. You had never sought to impress him before - so why did you seem so antsy now? 

“Yeah, but there’s gonna be TV cameras.” You replied, nervously smoothing down the bottom of your dress. 

Oh. You weren’t worried about impressing your brother, you were worried about the presence of The Long Walk itself - as though you could impress the concept of the race, as though you needed to be as shiny as possible for The Powers That Be. 

“They’re not gonna be pointed at you.” Ray let out a scoff of a laugh, trying to let you know how ridiculous you were being. You frowned at him, and he realized how harsh it sounded - as though he was mocking you, as though you weren’t worth filming, and he tried to recover. “They’re focused on the Walkers. That’s what people are watching TV for, right?” 

‘They want a stupid death race. Not pretty girls waiting on the sidewalk.’ Ray thought pitifully. 

You nodded, and let out a simpering, nervous breath. 

“Still, I’m the sister of the winner. Somebody might wanna interview me.” You said, giving him a cheesy grin, and striking a proud pose. 

It was like any other time - like the two of you were just joking around in the backyard while hunting snails with big rocks. You were so confident in your words. You were so damn happy on such a dark day. 

And he didn’t have the stomach to tell you that you might be wrong. 

Your brother wasn’t ‘the winner’. Not yet, at least. And it wasn’t even guaranteed that he would be the winner in the end. But again, Ray had to choose his words carefully to avoid hurting you. 

“Nobody is going to interview you,” He chuckled, trying to sound soft and joking, trying to hide the hurt he was concealing for you, the terror he held deep in his heart for you if your brother did not win. “We’re gonna watch your brother pass, say hi, and then we’re going home. But yeah - you look fine. You look great.” 

You smiled at this, holding your head high. 

“Do you think The Major’s gonna be here?” You asked, eager and bright. 

Ray deeply resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

‘He’s not gonna take you onto the truck and fuck you.’ He thought bitterly. He bit his tongue - hating how cynical it would have sounded. He hated how you talked about The Major, like he was some god-like figure to be admired, like he could do no wrong. But now wasn’t the time to get into an argument with you about it. 

“Why don’t you go see if you can spot them?” He said, motioning for you to peek out. 

He didn’t intend for you to wander into the middle of the street, and he was just glad that you were innocent looking and pretty and that the guards standing by didn’t shoot you on sight for it. 

“What’s she gonna do if he doesn’t show up?” Ray’s father asked in a hushed whisper, his voice dull and grinding. 

“William, don’t-” Ray’s mother scolded him. 

“I’m just saying, we haven’t had our eyes on the broadcast in - what? More than an hour. A lot can happen in an hour.” He huffed, checking his watch. “What are we gonna do if he doesn’t show up with them?” 

“I’ll handle it.” Ray said quietly. 

Both of his parents gave him an odd look, as though they hadn’t even realized he had been listening. They didn’t know that he had been preparing himself to deal with this situation from the moment your brother left your front door, waving goodbye to you. With your brother gone, taking care of you was Ray’s job now. And further proving that point - your mother didn’t say a word, standing a few feet down, clearly having heard them. Instead, she took a bottle out of her jacket pocket and took a sharp swig. 

“Oh, it’s them!” You cheered as you saw figures far off down the road, and Ray stepped out and grabbed you by the wrist, having to use a bit of force to pull you back onto the sidewalk while you kept craning your head desperately to see. 

It wasn’t long before the trucks guiding the motorcade pulled up, and a horribly shocking sight followed. 

A string of stumbling, half dead, filthy boys. Maybe half a dozen of them at this point, whittled down from the fifty that they had started out with. They were zombies - half alive, barely keeping pace. One of them was leaving a trail of bloody footprints, his feet making horrible wet squelches on the pavement as he went - his shoes were long gone, and it seemed like his socks were nothing more than a mush of threads blended into the horrible mess of blood under his feet now. Somehow his face was stony and firm and he was completely silent, not letting out a single sign of being in pain as he stared ahead with an entirely dead expression on his face, marching forward. 

One of the boys was crying, muttering quiet words that couldn’t be discerned. His eyes were wide and the tear tracks on his face were cutting through rough dirt and grime, and his shirt was covered in blood - dry and rusting, clearly someone else’s. 

One of the boys was wearing pants that were visibly soiled on the back, walking with a gait of true discomfort because of it, distanced from the others, likely due to the smell. Up until now, it had never even occurred to Ray that The Walk did not stop - not even for bathroom breaks. 

One of the boys appeared to be missing half his face - bright pink, raw flesh exposed on one side, as though he had been scraped across the pavement and gotten back up somehow. His lips were partially gone, revealing teeth to the air in places they should not have been seen, the flesh grey in some places, seemingly rotting from being untreated after the injury. 

Those were the ones worse off, but still - they were all tired, all filthy, all clearly exhausted and mentally absent because of it. 

The sights, the smells, things he never could have imagined, even in the darkest corners of his own mind - it made Ray want to vomit. It was nothing like on TV. Ray was utterly horrified. 

During the broadcast, they cut away from horrible things happening, they cut angles so it didn’t show things like bloody feet and shit soiled pants and raw, scraped up, fleshy faces. How the fuck could they keep this from people? Somehow, they managed to use the broadcast as a highlight reel of brotherhood - boys sharing things, smiling, laughing, joking. And when they weren’t - it was glory shots of them marching forward with determination, showing their toughness, showing how real men moved forward to go after the things they wanted in life. 

Then - there was your brother. Rounding out the pack, and looking no better than anybody else. The quality of the television broadcast had hid so many of the sins. Where he had just looked dirty and tired on TV… he looked downright dead in person. 

You cheered your brother’s name and clapped, but nobody else in the group joined you. Ray was shocked that you still found the ability to cheer happily - but he guessed that was the entire reason you came, wasn’t it? Even if you were faking happiness, you had come to cheer your brother on. You had to put up a good front for him. 

When your brother looked over his shoulder at the group and gave a smile, Ray knew in an instant that something was wrong. His eyes were sunken and sickly, his face seemed lifeless, his lips were cracked and chapped in a horrible way. There were dried red scabs rimming his nose, as though he had been having nosebleeds, and his hair was soaked - though it hadn’t been raining. He was drenched in sweat, his shirt also showing evidence of it, much more so than any of the other terrible-off Walkers. 

He let out a horrible cough, and when he raised his hand to give a wave, the grossly discoloured veins running up his arm were undeniable as his shirt sleeve rode up. 

“I love you!” You cheered. “You’re gonna fuckin’ win it all!” 

“Stop swearing!” He yelled back, still determinedly stuck on this. “But I love you too!” 

And then - he gave another horrible, deep cough. 

You balanced right on the edge of the sidewalk and tossed a small bag you had been holding - a bag of candy that Ray had advised you not to throw. 

Your brother stumbled slightly, and caught it. 

“Warning, Warning 49! First Warning!” 

Somehow, he recovered so quickly, and gave an intensely bright smile that lit up his dead face when he saw what you had given him. 

“You could have warned me, brat!” He called out to you. 

By now, you were jogging swiftly on the sidewalk to keep up with them, and Ray was right behind you, trying to keep up. He would have to pull you back eventually so that you didn’t jaunt halfway across Maine in the worst possible shoes trying to follow your brother. So that you didn’t end up seeing something you would never recover from. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You called back with a grin. 

Your brother opened the bag and immediately began offering the candy around to the other Walkers before he took some for himself, and there were smiles and some other small cheers. 

Some chatter could be heard among the Walkers. 

“Dude, you got presents?” 

“You’re actually sharing?” 

“Your sister is hot!” 

“Shut up, Mikey! Don’t make me push you.” 

“It’s all empty threats with this guy. He’s too nice.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t talk like that about a guy’s sister, man-” 

“If he doesn’t push you, I will, shitstain.” 

Your brother let out a string of harsh coughs, cutting through the chatter, and you had to ask that dreadful question. 

“Are you okay?” Your voice warbled with worry for the first time, and Ray’s stomach twisted. 

“I’m fine! I’ll see you at home!” He yelled back. “Take care of Mom while I’m gone, brat!” 

He gave you another smile over his shoulder and Ray stopped you at the end of the intersection, tugging gently on your elbow to get you to stop walking. You stared on, keeping your eyes focused on the Walkers, focused on him. Ray didn’t pull you back to the car yet, because he knew that you would be determined to watch your brother disappear over the horizon, as far as you could watch him go. 

He was now laughing with the other boys as they ate the candies, and the boy who had been crying seemed better off. So something good had come of this. That was the most Ray could have hoped for, right? 

“Did he seem okay to you?” You asked, an unsure tone creeping into your voice for the first time ever in the years that Ray had known you. 

“He looked fine.” He told you, lying as boldly as he ever had. “He looked good. He’s strong. He’ll be okay.” 

The only thing Ray could hope then was that the other boys would fade quicker than your brother did - quickly enough for him to get to a hospital in time to be saved. He hoped that they had some treatment for whatever was wrong with him. 

And then, as if a cruel god was intentionally listening, willing Ray to believe in dread rather than hope - his prayer was answered in a blink. 

“Warning, Warning 7! Second Warning!” 

“I can’t do it! I can’t do it no more!” 

It was the most anguish filled cry that Ray had ever heard in his life. It was a harsher pain in his gut than when Bobby and Everett had pinned Ray down and punched him as many times as they could, citing that him having ‘more cushioning’ meant that it wouldn’t hurt. 

The boy who had shit himself was now crawling on his hands and knees, his mouth open wide as he bawled. 

“I wanna go home! I want my Mama! Please!” 

One of the men got off the slow moving truck and slid a gun off his shoulder, lining it up with the boy’s head as he wept. A move so entirely cold, uncaring. It was so jarring to watch. 

Ray grabbed your arm bruise-tight and whipped you back around to face him, forcing your face into his chest with a hand tight on the back of your head. You immediately squirmed, trying to push him away, and somehow - he found more strength than he ever had in his life to hold you. 

“Ray! Ray, what’s happening?!” You cried, wiggling in his grasp. 

Ray’s chest tightened when he noticed your brother running back toward the boy. 

“Warning, Warning 49! Second Warning!” 

“Come on, come on! You gotta get up! Get up! We can still do it! We can still make it!” Your brother yelled at him, trying to encourage him, grabbing him by the arm and trying to drag him up. 

“I wanna go home!” The boy sobbed. “I just wanna go home!” 

“Ray, what’s happening?!” You screamed again, adding to the chaos. He held you as tightly as he could, determined not to let you look. 

“Warning, Warning 7! Final Warning!” 

“Get the fuck up!” Your brother cried out, his voice scraping his throat with intense, ripping desperation.  

It was the first time you had ever heard him swear. He had always been so deeply against ‘foul language’ because your father had been. 

The man put his finger on the trigger of the gun, and Ray’s stomach nearly exploded. 

“Go!” He screamed at your brother. “Fucking go! You can’t do this in front of her!” 

Your brother gave you a mournful look, his eyes flickering from the crying boy toward the back of your head, and then, hesitantly, he turned his back and ran forward to catch up with the other Walkers. 

A gunshot rang out, and you flinched against Ray’s chest and began sobbing. 

“Ray, please-” You choked out, your hands digging into his once pristine shirt, wrinkling it intensely as you couldn’t bear to look on your own. 

“It wasn’t him.” He assured you. “He tried to help, but-” 

“Fucking of course he did. He - he always needs to help.” 

You forcefully pulled yourself away from Ray, stepping out into the road once again - something that made his already upset stomach churn harder and made him feel lucky that nobody went after you. You only stopped to stand still once you got visual confirmation that your brother was alive and well. 

And then - your eyes lingered on the body of that poor boy for a long time. 

It felt like hours later when Ray finally managed to peel you out of the street. 

Of course, something changed in you that day. You used to believe that The Long Walk was all about glory. You had been blind to the death and horror of it all. But that was the intention behind the broadcasts, after all. 

Somehow, even after crying all the way home - you still believed that you would be meeting your brother at the finish line. 

… 

It was such a small cut on his hand. 

He probably hadn’t even noticed it at first. 

When his hand started to swell up, and turn red, and then purple, and then putrid black - he hid it well. He used the scarf that Ray’s mother had knitted him to wrap it up, and with the long sleeves of his shirt covering his arms, nobody saw the terrible purpling veins going up his arm - the signs of infection making its way through his blood, slowly killing him. It was easy to write off the dark circles under his eyes as tiredness, exhaustion from walking for days on end without sleep. It was easy to say that his hair was drenched with sweat from the effort, rather than from a deadly fever. 

It was such a small cut. A random, seemingly harmless fall on an old metal bridge, the instinct of his arms out front to catch himself. An old bridge that just happened to be unmaintained and rusting. 

With medical intervention, the survival rate for tetanus is about ninety percent. Without treatment, the mortality rate is about one in four.

Ironic that there were four walkers left when your brother truly saw the worst of it. His muscles started to spasm, his breath struggling through his lips in harsh wheezes as he fought for every last bit of air. He stumbled on the road in front of the other boys, and as much as he tried to fight it, telling himself that he could keep going as he became dizzy from the lack of oxygen - eventually, he collapsed to the ground. 

“Warning, Warning 49! Final Warning!” 

In his final moments of life, your brother was hunched on his hands and knees on some dark back road, far from his family, his face horrifically discoloured, his eyes bulging as his lungs burned, yearning for a breath. But still, a gun was carelessly shoved in his face as the screen cut to a much shinier photo of him, one that had been taken weeks before when he had been much more lively, and the announcement of his elimination from the competition played. 

There is no prize for fourth place.

You rushed out of the room in tears, utterly hysterical, and Ray had to chase you on and on through the sprawling grass behind your houses before he finally caught up to you and swept you into a hug. The two of you collapsed to the ground, and you cried into his chest until the sun set, unable to move him, and him unwilling to force you anywhere when you were so fragile. 

Strangely - the two of you never talked about it. You never spoke about your brother’s death with him, never tried to process it in any other way than crying while he held you. It was a specter of a presence that you refused to acknowledge. 

It wasn’t long after that day that you stopped wearing your father’s medal, and then, in a blink - you started changing so much more. You picked up smoking and drinking, you started wearing heavy make-up and jeans. Seemingly just because you knew that most government pamphlets mandated that women wear skirts for jobs, and while there were no specific laws against women wearing pants, you seemingly wore them more in your spare time just to spite the feminine uniform you had to wear during the day.  

He knew that your brother’s death had affected you in such a harsh, terrible way - but he hated that you never talked about it. Any attempts that he made to force a conversation about it had you changing the subject or simply walking away from him. And while it was clear that you fully acknowledged that your brother was dead, clearly not delusional in believing that he was still out there somewhere, often quipping back at Ray with things like ‘he’s gone’ or ‘he died, why do we need to talk about him?’ - it was clear that you hadn’t truly taken the time to process it. You had refused to believe that The Long Walk might kill him, and when it did, you never acknowledged the huge hole that it caused in your life. 

You simply became a different person. One who hid things from Ray. One who came home late or not at all. One who needed cigarettes and booze to survive. One so much different than the girl who stood on the sidewalk that day, cheering her brother on with a bright smile on her face. 

And of course, it was just then that you strolled in, proving Ray’s point. 

He was never sure why you rushed to change your clothes after work. Yes, your work uniform wasn’t pretty, but he never got the sense that you were someone who cared too much about your looks. When your mother used to scold you for getting mud on and ripping holes in your nice dresses, you used to laugh at her and shrug it off. 

He could only suspect that you dressed up more lately because you snuck out after dark, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where you went. That part bothered him. He had been tempted to follow you at times, but he had never been brave enough to actually follow through. You joked to him that you went to underground rock concerts - and sometimes you came back smelling like weed, and that worried him more. 

Yes, he wasn’t officially your keeper and he couldn’t stop you from breaking laws - not unless he locked you up somewhere. And he had definitely thought about that, and then realized how insane it sounded and shook the thought off. It would break him to see you arrested or hell - even gunned down in the street like his father had been, just to prove some damn point. He knew you would be stubborn enough to stand up and accept a gun in the face rather than putting your head down and sucking The Major’s balls for everyone to see. 

Making that point especially clear, on this evening, in addition to your usual wide-legging jeans that were far too tight around your hips and thighs, and your usual beat-up old sneakers with black marker all over the toes and soles (some of which Ray had put there with your permission when your legs had been dangled over his lap), you were wearing intensely thick, dark eyeliner and an old white tee shirt with the sleeves cut off that you had defaced with a black marker. It had some stars drawn on it, and a large caption on the front that said FUCK THE MAJOR in bold, messy letters. 

It made Ray’s stomach twist with anxiety. (Which harshly battled with attraction and a twinge of lust because he could see your nipples poking through the fabric and he could see the natural teardrop shape of your breasts because you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, perfectly complimenting the little bit of your soft stomach that stuck out from the bottom of your shirt above the very low rise of your jeans.) If you were caught wearing something like that, something with those words on it, you would have been arrested without hesitation. You were becoming far, far too bold. 

Maybe he did have a twinge of nostalgia for the days when you wore flowery dresses and white stockings - days when you giggled and smiled more. Days when he never noticed your figure and he certainly never would have thought about peeling those jeans off you to see what was underneath. He loved you now, he always would love you, but - he wanted to go back. He missed the simplicity of those days. 

“What the fuck is that?” Ray asked, his voice harsh and accusing as you came to sit beside him, naturally heaving yourself right down beside him on the porch steps without a second thought. 

“What?” You shrugged, trying to play dumb. 

You reached over to the breast pocket of his button up shirt where you knew the cigarette and lighter would be waiting, dug up from the loose floorboard of his bedroom floor where he kept a stash of your important things and his own. Both of you knew that if you tried to keep your own cigarettes at your place, your mother would have found them and puffed them all away within a week. 

He batted your hand away, hoping that he would be able to convince you to go home and change before the two of you settled into your nightly routine, knowing that it would likely be futile. He hoped that he would actually be able to enjoy this night with you - even though the sun was quickly turning the sky orange and there wasn’t much of it left to enjoy before you both had to get home when curfew hit. (He hoped that you would actually go home for curfew and stay there.) 

He just wanted to spend some time with you. He just wanted to enjoy you. He didn’t need your shirt being spotted by someone. He didn’t need you being hauled off in handcuffs. He didn’t need to be worrying about you when he had so much already on his plate. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He clarified, though you both already knew what he was talking about. “Go change.” 

You let out a scoff and rolled your eyes, and his insides soured. He knew what was coming. 

“No.” You snarled, entirely confident, not even giving it a second thought. Ray rolled his eyes, and you shook your head. “You’re not my fucking father.” You fired back easily. “Unless you wanna become some militant, scum-sucking pig-” 

“Says you, who used to call him a hero.” Ray argued. He found it ironic that you now so easily fired off such horrible names toward the military, when they used to be such precious heroes in your eyes. 

Your face fell, and he wasn’t surprised when you shifted the subject. 

“I’m just saying, you have no right to dictate what I wear. And I wouldn’t expect you to be so fascist about it.” You told him, your voice quieter now. “I’m off the clock, and I can wear whatever I want now.” 

You groped for Ray’s breast pocket again, the minimal bit of contact unintentionally making him warm as your fingers successfully captured the cigarette and the lighter this time. He became too weak and dumb to stop you a second time as a whole body tingle set in, and you flashed a victorious smirk as you brought the cigarette up to your lips and sparked the lighter. He had to push down thoughts about how long it had been since the last time the two of you hugged as he tried to navigate his way back toward the point. He tried not to be jealous of that tobacco being squeezed so dutifully between the plumpness of your lips and sucked on. 

He told himself that he wasn’t pathetic and ultimately weak in the wake of you. 

“Yeah but you can’t wear that.” He pressed, gesturing toward your shirt. “No matter what fuckin’ clock you’re on.” 

You exhaled a harsh puff of smoke, shaking your head as you extended the cigarette out to him. And still, as annoyed as he was with you, he took it. He knew that he could likely use the calming effect right now. He took a greedy lungful, getting too dizzy waiting for your reply. 

“It’s a shirt, Ray.” You hissed, almost whispering. “Calm down.” 

“God, you are such a - such a fucking faker.” He huffed in return, smoke flying out his nose with the fury of his words. 

Your face contorted at this, partially frustrated, partially confused because you genuinely had no clue what he meant. He took another hot draw and then hesitantly passed the smoke back to you, and moved on heatedly to explain himself. 

“You wanna rebel so badly, but you don’t have the balls to.” He said, his words casual, yet somehow bleeding with anger. An anger that had been building up for months toward you. “You go out all night partying, you complain about the system, but you don’t make the effort to make any real change. And I bet if The Major walked around that corner right now, you’d piss your dumb, tight little pants-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Garraty.” You bit back, your voice dull rather than fighting. Truly - you knew that he wasn’t the enemy. You took a draw, and then added on: “You know nothing about my life, or what I’d be willing to do.” 

He stared at you with harsh eyes, like a dog glaring through a cage, silently begging to be let out, as the smoke whipped past your lips. 

‘Because you shut me out.’ 

He wanted to be bitter. He wanted to yell and stomp and cry over the fact that you had been trying to phase him out of your life since your brother’s death. He wanted to be more outwardly pissy that you weren’t leaning on him. He took the cigarette back from you and you frowned at him. 

“You’re gonna get arrested.” He snapped, knowing that his worry for you came off as bitter frustration. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it. You rolled your eyes again, and it only further pushed him. “Do you know what those military prisons are like? Do you have any idea what they do to people?” You remained silent, and he couldn’t contain himself. “They shave your head, they waterboard you. They tie you up and leave you hanging for hours until the muscles in your arms go and your lungs start to give out, they-” 

“Yeah, because you would know.” You hissed back. “Please, enlighten me from your time locked up.” 

Ray knew that you wouldn’t listen to reason, and he remained silent. 

“Or was it just horror stories from Daddy trying to get you to keep secret about the old copies of Neet-she that he kept under the floorboards?” 

He should have been more offended about you talking about his father, but he had pulled the ‘dead dad’ card first. 

“Shut up.” He sighed, taking another puff, looking off into the warmth of the orange sky rather than at you. 

He hated that he found you pronouncing ‘Nietzsche’ incorrect to be oddly adorable. He hated that he let you take the cigarette back from him without another word. He hated that he had nothing else clever to say, letting the two of you fall into an easy silence as the sun fully set in the sky. 

The two of you finished off the cigarette in silence, and as usual, he let you have the last drag from his fingers when the cherry was just barely biting at his skin - taking that bit of pain for you so you could properly enjoy it. (In the back of his mind, he pretended that you were kissing him on purpose - that you would have wanted to kiss his fingers because you loved him like that too.) 

When you were done with it, he stomped it under the heel of his old, worn-out shoe - a pair that used to belong to his father. As the silence lulled between the two of you, and as he suspected that you would likely get up and leave any moment - he knew that he couldn’t wait much longer. 

He had to tell you. 

“I’m doing The Walk.” 

He announced it suddenly, hoping to rip off the metaphorical band-aid, making it quick. In a moment, the air changed around the two of you. The calm, warm night air turned bitter and your relaxed posture - leaning back on your elbows with your legs outstretched completely shifted. You sat up straight and looked at him with a tense expression: a mixture of pure fear and dread painting your features as you waited for him to clarify, as though you thought your ears were mistaken. 

You were waiting for him to take it back. 

Ray exhaled anxiously, hated what would come next. 

“I was selected for The Long Walk. I’m the home state walker. I-” 

Anything further he had to say was disrupted by a harsh slap across the face. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and though you had clearly intended to hurt him, the stinging pain wasn’t nearly as bad as the shock - the shock that you would hit him. 

“Ow!” 

“How could you do this?” You screeched, your voice bellowing out in a terrible yell as you shot up off the porch, trying to distance yourself from him as though he had some kind of terrible disease. “How could you do this to us?!” 

He barely had the capacity to take in the way you used ‘us’ - as though the two of you were certainly a couple, as though you were married, as though you were undoubtedly an item that he was selfishly trying to break apart without consulting you first. (Which was how he felt about a lot of your actions as of late, ironically.) Maybe that was already how you felt about the status of your relationship - your friendship so close and certain that you didn’t need a romantic label with Ray for that ‘us’ to be more important. Losing him as a friend would already hurt too much. 

Perhaps in your mind, you were looping in his mother as well - that ‘us’ being the two of you, the women who would have to mourn him when he (in your mind) inevitably didn’t come home. He didn’t have the room to think about it, because once again, his worry for you flared up. 

“How the fuck could you be such an idiot, Raymond Garraty? How could you be so selfish?!” 

There were ordinances in place against too much noise - especially after dark. And your yells were against those rules. You were definitely too emotional to see that right now. You were angry and too wound up to care that you were being too loud about it. 

“Can you keep it the fuck down?” He hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get a noise ticket!” 

You clenched your jaw and shook your head, crossing your arms sharply over his chest, hating that this was his only response. 

When your words truly hit him, he added on: 

“Selfish? How the fuck can you call me selfish when I’m doing this for the betterment of-?” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit!” You screamed back, and he immediately shushed you. You ignored it. “You fuckin’ hypocrite! You hate everything they stand for and you’re gonna turn into some fucking toy for their amusement? Don’t tell me that you of all people have fallen for the bullshit in those pamphlets - not after everything your dad taught you.” 

He knew that he could never make you understand. His father’s death had driven him toward The Walk with a divine purpose, not away from it. 

“It’s not about the goddamn pamphlets.” He shook his head. “Or the posters, or the commercials. I’m doing this for me.” He knew he couldn’t tell you his real reasoning, or surely - you would slap him again. You would try to stop him. Or even more insane - you would try to help. “We need the money-” 

“No!” You shouted again. “Not ‘we’! Don’t loop me into your stupid, nut job idea!” 

“Can you stop yelling, please?” He begged, his stomach twisting horribly at the idea of you getting arrested right before he had to leave for The Walk. 

Fuck - if one of the neighbours called in about a simple noise ticket (which was was already bad enough to have on your record), and someone following up on that ticket saw your shirt, you would be thrown in jail without a second thought. And then, Ray would have to win The Walk and use his wish on getting you out, which is not what he had intended to do. 

You stood there, your hands hovering tightly at your sides, looking like you were resisting the urge to slap him again. You rubbed your palms tightly on the denim, and then you huffed out: 

“Eight by five.” 

You couldn’t even look him in the eyes now. You were staring at the ground, your breath coming out in shallow bursts. 

He knew that you had your arms stuck to your sides to keep your hands from shaking and he had to resist the urge to jump up off the porch and sweep you into a hug. He had a feeling that you likely wouldn’t accept his affection right now, but he wanted so desperately to comfort you. He wished that he had another cigarette to offer you, but the rest were still up in his bedroom, tucked under that floorboard - right alongside the books his father had hidden for him and some old notes that the two of you had exchanged in class, back when that felt like the most rebellious thing you ever could have done. 

“What?” Ray gaped, having no idea what you were talking about. 

“Eight by five. That’s the size of the cardboard box they’ll send you back in. Or - whatever’s left of you. Your ashes, at least.” 

Your voice quivered as you said this, showing the first bit of your anger and spite giving way to fear and sadness - showing the true bereavement you felt for a man who was still alive in front of you. These days, you thought of The Long Walk as certain death. You thought Ray was nothing more than a dead man in front of you, waiting to be shot. 

Ray hated that you didn’t seem to believe in him. That you seemed so determined that he could not win. But part of him couldn’t blame you. Your brother had been practically guaranteed success, and still - 

“My brother now sits in a box on the fucking mantel.” You said, the words grinding against your throat harshly as your barely contained sobs strangled you. “You pass by him every single time you come into my house. He makes a great ornament, along with my drunk, catatonic mother-” 

“I get it, alright?” He huffed back, the guilt beginning to gnaw at him now. He was putting you through it again - forcing you to sit in front of a television for days, just waiting for him to win or die. 

“No. No, I don’t think you do.” You spit back bitterly, breathless as you tried your hardest to choke back tears. “They don’t even send back your tags. They reuse the same ones every year. So you’re gonna be wearing a number that some other guy died in.” 

You heaved out a sigh and collapsed back down beside Ray, too weak to stand any longer. 

“Why are you trying to scare me?” He asked, gentle, contemplative. “You really think I don’t know what I signed up for?” 

“If you knew, you wouldn’t have signed up.” You told him, your voice still entirely bitter, but quiet now as the power seeped out of you, becoming too tired to further argue. 

You turned your head away, but he still saw the way your hand moved toward your face, hastily wiping at tears. 

“I’m not scared of dying.” Ray declared defiantly. 

You shook your head harshly. You wanted to protest - wanted to tell him that he was selfish again. You wanted to cry out: 

‘I’m scared of you dying, dickhead. What about me? What am I supposed to do when you die?’ 

But instead, you stayed bitterly silent. 

Ray hated how your lack of response felt like a knife twisting through his gut. He wasn’t sure how he had been expecting this to go. He knew that you would never take it well. Goodbyes were never fond for anybody. He knew it was never going to be good, which was probably why he had been avoiding telling you for as long as he possibly could. But still, he had naively hoped that your last night together would be better than this. 

In the back of his mind, he had dreamed that it would be much, much different than this. And that hope led to him saying something incredibly stupid. 

“I’m not scared of dying - but I don’t wanna die a virgin.” 

In the back of his mind, he did have a dreamy perspective on the whole thing. He thought that this confession would elicit something passionate from you. It was more than likely something that you already knew, just from being around him nearly all his life and knowing that he’d never had a girlfriend before, knowing that mostly everyone assumed that you were his girlfriend. You let people assume it, even though the two of you had never even kissed before. 

He imagined that him being brave enough to actually say the words aloud would prompt some kind of reaction from you. Especially knowing that he was going off to near certain death. You would want to give him one last great night before he left, you would want him to not spend the night worrying about the horrors ahead, and the two of you would lock yourselves in his room and spend hours making love. 

You would tell him that you loved him. You would mean it. He would tell you that he couldn’t say it back until he reached the finish line - and he would make it there. He would think about you the whole time to make it there. 

Maybe a version of you from a few years ago would have been emotionally moved by this statement. A version of you that had still believed The Long Walk was winnable before your brother was killed by an old bridge. But now - 

You let out a dry, bitter laugh. You whipped your head back toward him, and your expression was nothing short of venomous. But still, somehow he wasn’t prepared for the words you hurled at him next. 

“You’re a pathetic idiot, Raymond Garraty. And I don’t pity you.” 

Ouch. 

He let out a soft sigh, defeated, and still - you kept going. As if willed on to prove beyond a doubt that he was so utterly wrong for trying to prompt sex out of you, especially after doing something as stupid as signing up for The Long Walk. You needed to hurt him as badly as he hurt you by signing his life away. 

“You know, just cause I have a pussy, doesn’t mean I’m gonna pity fuck you.” You spat the words viciously, and it was a terrible slap in the face to him. It was a righteous reality check that had him quickly ripped away from his visions of sweet skin on skin and whispered ‘I love you’s. “I’m not gonna get all weak in the knees just cause you signed yourself up for a death march. I’m not gonna send you off cum drunk and happy with a kiss on the cheek. I’m not gonna fucking reward you for this. I am not that girl.” 

Deep down, he knew this was how he should have expected it to go. Still - your words left him a little wounded. 

“I get it.” He mumbled. “I’m an idiot.” 

“Understatement of the fucking year.” You said tiredly in return. 

A large part of him knew that your hostility was coming from a place of love. You were terrified of losing him. 

Your entire family had already been taken from you by The Long Walk. Your father when working as a guard (and inevitably an executioner) on The Walk. He had gotten killed in the crossfire when someone charged the motorcade. (At least, that was the story Ray had overheard your mother telling his parents). Your brother had died trying to follow a supposedly easy path to victory, trying to gain a better life for you. 

And even though your mother was still alive and breathing - she was a ghost of a person, consumed by grief, intentionally killing herself with every passing day, drinking herself to death as she sat between portraits of your father and brother, frozen in time where she had lost them. She pretended that you did not exist because you served no true purpose in her life. You were not either of the men that she had lost, so she did not acknowledge you. 

The Long Walk had wiped out your entire family, and it was coming for Ray next. 

At the end of the street, about a mile down, a pair of bright, blinding headlights pulled up. It was a military truck, three soldiers - a small unit on a nightly patrol. 

Instinctively, Ray checked his watch - one that had belonged to his father. 

“It’s getting close to curfew. You should go home.” 

It was only a short walk next door, but if the two of you were caught out here, especially while you were wearing that fucking shirt - it wouldn’t just be a warning or a ticket with a fine, it would be something much worse. Ray might even be banned from doing The Walk. It would be easy to replace him with someone else. One of the many eager people who had entered and not been chosen. And if his place was taken from him - boom, there goes all the fucking plans he made. 

Instead of getting up and running off home, you remained stony and silent, sniffing back tears, refusing to look at Ray. Even as the truck’s headlights drew closer, you didn’t seem too scared of getting caught, which made Ray all the more anxious. It was a presence that crept along, driving at a crawl, shining a spotlight between the houses to check for any ‘illicit activities’ - mostly so that people knew they were being watched, that was most important of all. 

You didn’t speak on the matter of curfew - you didn’t say goodnight or goodbye or tell Ray to fuck off. Instead, you brought up something else entirely. 

“You’re gonna need boots.” You stated. You knew it was likely hopeless that he would win. But in your mind, now, you were fighting to give him the best odds. “The handbook recommends boots. You’re not gonna get very far on those shitty old things.” 

You gently kicked his foot, and he took a glance of shame down at his father’s old shoes, the soles already peeling away in some places, the laces ratty and worn and ready to snap. He wasn’t surprised that you still remembered things from The Long Walk Handbook - he had seen you pouring over it viciously in the days before your brother had to depart, as though you knowing everything in it would help him somehow. 

“Grand fucking observation.” He sighed, utterly sarcastic, taking a glance over his shoulder, trying to see how far away the truck was - still far, barely crawling up the street. “Give me fifty bucks to buy a new pair before tomorrow and I’ll be on my way.” 

He knew that you didn’t have that kind of money. Between your mother’s habits and her ability to sniff out money wherever you hid it, the fact that you often gave her money to get her off your back, and the fact that your job never paid that well in the first place - it was money you did not have. There were no stores in the desolate town anyway, not ones that sold good clothing. If anybody could scrounge up money for clothing that wasn’t patched together and second hand - they went to the city to buy it. 

So he didn’t have the time or the money to get a new pair of boots before the nine am call to the front of the line. 

“Come with me.” You breathed out, no true authority in your voice, knowing Ray was so used to following you that he would easily take the order. 

You pushed yourself off the porch, walking off confidently. Hesitantly - taking another glance behind him to see how far off the truck was, hating the feeling of being watched even though they couldn’t yet see him, he moved to follow you. He followed you through the overgrown grass that had spurted up between your two houses. He was surprised when, instead of walking to the side screen door that led into your kitchen, you moved back behind the house, and went over to your brother’s long untouched old tool shed. 

He caught a glimpse of your mother through that screen door - in the same place that she always was, sitting in front of your old TV, the light of the screen being the only one cast through the house at this time. She was watching a highlight reel that one of your father’s friends had made for her after she begged to see her son again. Footage from his Walk, playing on a loop over and over again - the last bits of his life, stuck, frozen in time. She sat there, and watched him, and drank. And that was her life now. 

Ray had a passing thought about his mother ending up like that if he didn’t come home. Except for the fact that she would have no special favours to call in, and she would only get to see him again if they found him worthy of putting in their films. Which wouldn’t happen if he was particularly pathetic - if he ended up in twentieth place, or did something gracefully stupid, like dying first. 

He had to shake it off, literally forcing the thoughts out of his head as he turned back to you and took the extra steps to catch up, coming to stand behind you at the shed’s door. He watched as you grabbed a small key from above the door and then struggled with the large padlock - it being particularly sticky and tough after not being opened for so long. 

Eventually, you did get it to work for you, and you opened the door and tossed the loose lock inside on the floor. When Ray lingered awkwardly by the door, you huffed out: 

“Come on.” 

He stepped inside, and you reached overhead, pulling on a small chain for the single lightbulb - one you surely thought would be dead. Luckily, it still cast a dull yellow light over everything, and you crouched down and began to look through the many boxes that had been allocated to this space as unimportant. Things that had been cast in here as junk, but were still too good to get rid of completely. 

To the left, Ray noticed a waist-high tool bench. Your brother used to be very good at mending things. He was the kind of person who could get an old jewelry box to play music again, old rollerblades to spin. He had fixed dents in Ray’s mothers pans and sharpened her knives when needed. He was someone always ready with a kind hand and a helping smile. 

The bench however, seemed frozen in time. The wall above it was consumed by a large map - and Ray quickly realized that the bright red marking highlighted on it must have been the route that your brother had been given for The Long Walk. He had to wonder if this would be of any use to him, if they performed the same route every single year… but surely, they wouldn’t be so stupid. So many things could go wrong if they did things that way. Sabotage, a potential ambush, people cheating somehow. 

There were also lists of supplies that he would need, and several of your father’s medals displayed - almost as if they were motivators for him while he prepared for the journey. 

“Here.” 

You turned back with something in your extended arm, and Ray’s stomach gave another harsh twist when he saw that it was a pair of military grade combat boots. 

“These belonged to my father. They’ll probably fit you.” 

As though the cool aura of a ghost had taken over the room, a chill shifted down Ray’s spine. Though you had stopped wearing his medal, Ray knew how… careful you were when it came to your father’s memory. How precious you were about his things being just so. You kept one of his shirts on a hook in your closet, and one time Ray had accidentally knocked it over, and you had called him a clumsy moron and not spoken to him for more than a whole day. (The longest that the two of you had gone without speaking since you had met.) 

He knew this was a big gesture coming from you. Monumental, in fact. You hated that he had signed up for The Walk - but you were willing good faith onto him to force him to get through it and come out on the other side. You weren’t going to let him die so easily. 

He reached for the boots, and once he got a good grip on them and tried to take them from you, you refused to let go. You looked into his eyes fiercely, looking for any kind of deadness - any sign that this was a suicidal streak, any sign that he was doing this because he had truly given up on you. You saw none, and that scared you even more. 

Why the fuck had he signed up? 

“Back out.” You said, your throat clenching down on the words way too much for your liking, turning it into a sad, sorrowful whisper rather than the firm order than you intended. “You know it’s a death sentence. You don’t have to do it-” 

“I can’t.” Ray argued gently. “The backout date already passed. They changed it. Too many guys were backing out morning of and leaving them scrambling for replacements.” 

“Fuck off.” You hissed, shoving the boots toward him, causing him to let out a grunt as the heft hit him squarely in the gut. Again, he knew your anger was not truly directed at him. 

This was sore news to you, though strangely, you understood it. It was too much effort to have back-ups bussed out and waiting in the wings. They could have too much uproar on their hands if the potential replacements threw fits in disappointment if they didn’t get to participate. So many people got those last minute jitters, got too emotional saying goodbye to their loved ones at the starting line. It was easier when people had distance from the start of it, when they could be sure weeks out and then unsure when it was too late to back out. 

Ray knelt down and started untying his old shoes, looking to try on the boots and hopefully, if they fit well, exchange his old shoes for these. The boots were sturdy, and they would carry him a lot farther. His stomach soured when you moved over to the work bench, turning your back to him, and he heard you sniffling once again, poorly concealing more cries. He couldn’t see it, but you were running your fingers over your father’s medals, thinking about him. 

You had never told a soul before, not even Ray - but on the morning that your brother had left for The Walk, he had been escorted to the startling line by a soldier who was a dear friend of your father’s. And that man gave you a letter - an envelope slipped into your pocket with the whispered words that you shouldn’t tell anybody. You had become so distracted with watching your brother’s progress on TV that you soon forgot about it, didn’t even consider what it might be. It was only days later, when you were laying in bed, soaked in tears and woefully mourning your brother’s death that you had seen the paper hanging out of your jacket pocket, thrown over the back of your desk chair in a haste, and you remembered it once again. 

It had been your father’s handwriting. Something he had written to your brother years previous with you only mentioned as a third party. It had been written shortly before his death. And it explained everything. 

Though your father had fought in The War and thought it was a valiant cause, and at the time, he had won medals for saving his fellow soldiers and civilians along the way, he was beginning to see through the lovely haze that the military painted. The War had been won. There were no more dangers for him to be protecting innocent people against. There was no need for him to use his power and authority to harass everyday people. And though he loved his country and what wearing the uniform represented, he was beginning to question the orders that he was being given. 

When they asked him to work on The Long Walk, that was the last straw for him. 

At first, he refused. He saw no point in callously killing young boys in the name of some contest - but of course, The Major went through the one vein he knew would make your father truly bleed. His family was threatened. They told your father that his son was ‘guaranteed’ a spot on The Walk when he turned eighteen, whether he entered or not, perhaps ‘even sooner’. They told him that his daughter would make a nice prize for one of the Walkers some day, a nice ‘treat’ to dangle on a race with no finish line, threatening to change the rules altogether. He threatened other things that your father ‘dare not write down’ - and you couldn’t imagine what horrors they had taunted him with. 

So he surrendered, and he joined them. And they made his death look like an accident. A war hero who was taken down by a young man who didn’t even know how to use a gun. In reality, he had been shot by one of his fellow soldiers from an angle that cameras couldn’t see. His death hadn’t been quick - he had been shot in the gut and dragged behind the motorcade for more than a mile. That was something you had read on the back of the letter, written in guilt by your father’s friend, something he thought you ‘needed to know’. 

It had happened out of view of the cameras, just another act of censorship where life was so much different than what they showed on television. A punishment of agony and humiliation where the Walkers were allowed to laugh at him, mock him, and even piss on him as he slowly died. A clear warning to any other soldiers who considered speaking up against The Long Walk. 

Of course, your father had no idea it would happen. He was just writing the letter as a case of insurance, feeling the pressure encroach on him. Wanting your brother to remember him truthfully. But it was too late. His son was hauled off to a fate he was supposed to be protected from, and you were the last one left standing. It was a truth that never should have gotten to you - and it only did because of a man whose life your father had saved once, and a sense of loyalty that no longer fit this world. 

Your father’s best friend had held onto the letter for a long time, debating whether or not he should give it to you. But seeing your brother be taken away and knowing that he might not come back, knowing that you were finally mature enough to handle the contents of what your father had written down - he finally delivered it to you. Your father had died abandoning a naive child, but the young woman who was waving her brother off needed to know the truth. 

Reading that letter changed you. You had been someone who fed into all of it since you were a child. Uncle Sam protects us. America The Beautiful - The Land of The Free, and The Home of The Brave. So why the fuck would they kill your father on purpose? Why would they go after the bravest man you knew? That wasn’t freedom. That wasn’t justice. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but you came to realize in such a short, crashing time - it was all rigged. It was all fucked. They picked your brother as their favourite and they couldn’t even stop him from dying. And they abandoned your family the second that they were no longer of use to the US Government. 

So - what now? Where the fuck were you supposed to from here? 

They were about to kill off the last good man in your life, the last thing you had to love. They were about to finish taking everything from you. And then what? 

Ray felt strange as he stood up wearing your father’s boots. They fit well, and they had the odd comfort of having been worn-in for many hours by someone else before. 

“They fit.” He said dully, unsure if you were listening or if you were mentally someplace else. 

You didn’t respond, and he hoped that he could have the worn-in comfort of telling you another horrible thing while you were too far gone to hear it. 

“When I win, I’m gonna kill The Major.” 

Your breath stilled in your chest. You wanted to ask ‘how’, but knowing him, he already had a plan. He wouldn’t have set out on this if he didn’t. He wasn’t going to hash out the details with you, but it was probably a stupid plan. 

Of all the fucking stupid, thoughtless things - 

If there was a small chance of him winning and being able to come home, he was going to ruin it. He was going to be arrested on site or shot in the fucking head. Winner for the press, be damned. They would never let him get away with it. 

“Moron-” You wheezed, almost unable to breathe past all the intense emotions you were feeling. “You fucking-” 

Acting purely on the rage flowing through your veins, you reached underneath the wood of the work bench and groped blindly for something you knew had to be there. Ray’s entire system tightened with panic when you whipped around with a gun in hand. He had no clue what kind of gun it was, he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to identify it on sight - but he had to guess that it had been your father’s sidearm when he was active on duty. Somehow, you had ended up with it and hidden it here. 

You pressed it tightly to Ray’s neck, and he backed up one step, then two, until he was tripping over the boxes, his entire body tight with anxiety as you crowded up against him, pressing the barrel into his throat tightly enough to make him gag. 

What the hell were you doing? 

Ray didn’t know that it wasn’t loaded. 

Your brother made sure the few bullets that you had were stored separately - the goody-two-shoes part of him was always hell bent about stuff like that. He had been the one to screw a metal bracket under the table to hide it, not wanting to get caught with it. Perhaps the worst thing he ever did was keep it when his too good nature meant he should have turned it in after your father’s death. 

Yes, you and your brother both had gun training at a young age because your father insisted upon it. But what the hell would the two of you ever have to shoot at?

“I should fucking kill you right now.” You choked out, horribly breathless as fat tears streaked down your cheeks - somehow, you were the one infinitely more afraid while he had a gun pressed to his neck. “It would be quicker.” 

If he was so determined to die, you should be the one to do it. He belonged to you - he had nearly all his life. His death should be yours too. Why should they be the ones to take him from you? Why should they get to take more from you? 

He was yours. 

You should be the one to do him the mercy. You should get to keep him close by. You should get to visit him. 

You shouldn’t have to accept another set of ashes in a damn box. 

Ray stared you down with wide eyes, seemingly more terrified for your mental state than the fact that there was a gun pressed to his neck. Tense emotions flashed through him - a spark of panic, fear, worry, love - but not once did he look truly terrorized. He swallowed thickly, and brought a shaking hand up, prepared to take the gun from you. Not for a second did he ever truly believe that you were ready to actually shoot him. 

Of course, just then - the military patrol truck made it to this point on the street. The blinding lights came around the side of Ray’s house first, and it gave him just enough time to act fast. Not even considering you as a potential danger of your gun, not considering it a danger at all when wielded by you, he shoved past you and reached for the door to the shed, grabbing it and shutting the two of you inside. And then, realizing it would be a dead giveaway, he reached up and yanked on the chain to the lightbulb overhead, turning it off. 

As the headlights and the shifting manned spotlight on top of the truck came closer, Ray realized that there was a small window beside the shed’s door. It was partially obscured by boxes, but the two of you might still be spotted through it. So, trying his best to hide, he shoved himself right up against you, unintentionally pinning you to the work bench with the gun tightly wedged between your bodies in order not to be seen through that window. 

You were both silent - barely even breathing as the lights passed, as the loud diesel engine of the truck chugged on, taking far too long to pass. Once it was gone, you were both swallowed up into a terrible darkness. But neither of you bothered to reach up and turn on the light. 

Instinctively, hating the feeling of the metal pressed up against his body, Ray reached over and snatched the gun from your grip, and you let it go almost too easily. He put it on the work bench top and abandoned it there - hoping it would stay there, out of your hands. 

Ray stood with his hands on either side of you then, trapping you against the work bench, glaring at you with intense anger in his eyes as you were overwhelmed by the heat coming off him. You were too tired to escape, and you were forced to listen to him now. 

“You’re the moron if you think that pointing a gun at me is any kind of good idea,” He huffed, his breath annoyed and hot against your face. 

You scowled at him, your eyes settled into a mixture of anger and horrible sour love that he had never seen from you before. 

“Why the fuck do you wanna wave that thing in my face when you could be pointing it at those assholes outside? Why are you being so fuckin’ petty, huh?” He spoke in a low, bitter tone, and the sourness in your gut clashed horribly with something you never wanted to admit was lust while you stared at the pink of his lips, so damn close. “Why the fuck would you point it at me when you could point it at someone like The Major? You have a gun and the skills to use it - you could be making real change. But you have such a pissy fucking attitude. All you wanna do is get drunk and whore it out at rock concerts-” 

You slapped him again. This one stung more - maybe because that comment had been more personal, and you put more behind it. Maybe because he had been fishing for something he had only suspected up until now, something that kept him up at night that he hated to think about. That part of your nightly activities, part of the reason you snuck around was because you were out with other guys. 

And maybe the horrible sting across his cheek now confirmed that for him. 

“Stop doing that!” He hissed, reaching up and gently grasping at his cheek, hating that his teeth hurt slightly now. 

“You really think that’s what you’re gonna do?” You bit back, your throat horribly tight once again. 

Ray was slightly dumb - maybe from the slap, but he wondered if you meant that he was going to be the one whoring it out at rock concerts. 

“You’re gonna make ‘real change’?” You echoed back his words in mocking, and he looked at you dully, believing that he didn’t need to confirm it with words. Of course he believed that’s what killing The Major would do. “You think that you’re gonna change the world when you have your brains splattered all over the fucking pavement? You think that anybody is gonna remember Ray Garraty after you become just another dead Walker? Do you think that you’re gonna be anything more than just another toy for their game?” 

He hated the pinch of your words - the idea that even you might not care to remember him if he died out there. Something that stung harder than any slap to the face ever could have, something that poked his heart like a sharp pin piercing through a balloon, making his insides pop, forcing all the strength out of him, all at once. It was probably the build-up of emotions that drove him to it, drove him truly insane. The fact that he had pictured this night so differently, wanting it to be a beautiful, gentle goodbye, and you were fighting him every single step of the way. 

And now, he needed his own way to fight back. 

He leaned in before he could think, crowding just a bit further into your personal space, alright so tight near you, and before you could blink, he smothered you in a messy, inexperienced kiss. You let out a startled noise - even with all his talk earlier, somehow, this had been the last thing you expected. You reached up to grab at his shirt, initially in a rush to push him off you, because no - you weren’t going to let this happen. You weren’t going to let him do that soft, predictable thing. You weren’t going to let him kiss you sweetly and ‘make love’ to you one time right before he went off and got his brains blown out. 

Even if you had wanted this for years, you weren’t going to let it happen now. You weren’t going to let him scoop out your insides and break you in the worst way, leaving you to be nothing more than a drunken ghost sitting next to your mother. You weren’t going to let him fuck you, eternally fucking you up in the process.