Archive of Our Own ^beta

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    I chuck the last of Larry’s bags into the back of his uncle’s beat-up Camry before reaching behind my head to readjust my prosthetic. Larry of course, is hunched over a bulky cam Corder reviewing some footage we took during our last ghost hunting session. However, just as expected there’s no ghosts in sight. It’s almost like I’ve told this dope over a hundred times that it doesn’t matter which device you record from; you can’t pick up ghost sightings.

    Larry sighs and closes the flip-out screen, not before groaning.

    “Sal, I don’t think I’ll be able to withstand this. It’s gotta be over for me.”

    “Dude, you’ll be fine. Didn’t your mom say they make meatloaf every Friday?” I reassure, patting his shoulder-well, at least trying to, considering our height difference.

    “You don’t get it, man. I swear these people are allergic to metal. We’re gonna be listening to fucking Mozart on the way there. I swear.” Larry whines, brushing a hand through his long hair. Larry was about to leave for a whole month to stay at his uncle’s place up near Montana. He not only spent the past ten weeks complaining about it, but he also attempted a shitty breakfast-in-bed surprise for his mom, hoping she’d let him stay. We can all see how that turned out.

    “Lar! Can I call you that? Lar the Epic Bear! Say goodbye to your Halloweeny friend over here and get your ass inside. We need to head out.” His uncle yelled, really pushing his newfound nickname for Larry.

    I look up at Larry, who looked like he’d seen a ghost (which is kind of funny considering he’s seen an actual ghost before). He gives me a look that screams, ‘Please just kill me already.’ I released a light chuckle and pulled him into a side hug.

    “You better write me, and if we’re lucky, we could try to score a call or two,” I say, pulling away.

    “No shit I’ll write you. I think I’ll die without any outside communication,” he replies. He kneels down to my ear and puts a hand on my shoulder. “That’s if these people don’t turn out to be a bloodthirsty cult trying to sacrifice me. You know, like in the movies-”

    “Don’t be ridiculous.”

    “It could happen, and when it does, you’d better be sorry.”

    I rolled my eyes and playfully shoved him off. I gesture for him to get in the car, and in just five minutes, he’s off, waving goodbye from the rear window.

    I’d miss Larry while he was away, I mean, I was practically by myself this summer. Ash was in California for gods’ sake, Todd was at computer camp, and like hell I wanted to third wheel with Chug and Maple who just discovered they might be meant to be. I’d just finished junior year, and this was my last summer in highschool. The last summer I’d be seventeen and listening to heavy metal. The last summer I’d be seventeen and doing anything. I hated this. Larry left like what? Three minutes ago, and I’d already missed him. What was I even supposed to do for the next two months?

    …

    The next week I mostly hung out with Gizmo, listened to music, attempted to chat with Megan, or I’d go on walks. On this walk in particular I’d gone a different route than I’m used to. Typically, me and Larry would walk just down the street from the apartments to this gas station that sold these bomb pops. There was this one time I dared Larry to shove one up his butt for five bucks. I’d like to not revisit the ending to that one.

    However, instead of going down the street like usual, I’d gone the opposite direction. It was mostly just neighborhoods and road but up ahead I could see a big stone building. It was hard to tell from afar but there was a big cross engraved into it, just above the main entrance. On a large wooden sign next to the structure wrote ‘Nockfell Church of Christ’. I guess this was where the town’s church was. I’d always heard it was here, but I’d never seen it for myself.

    My eyes widen from the sight of a male figure just on the grass outside the building. He looked like he was picking weeds with these beige garden gloves that looked way too big to be his size. All of a sudden, the boy turned around and it was none other than Travis Phelps.

    The Travis Phelps.

    Except he wasn’t wearing his usual purple long sleeve and green shorts. He instead wore a short sleeve purple polo shirt and loose denim shorts that were covered in grass stains. I hadn’t seen him really around other than in math class. After the whole bathroom conversation, he’d left me alone for the rest of the school year. No more remarks, and definitely no more punches. I was grateful of course but it always left me a little curious. Why? Had I said something wrong that day? Either way it felt strange to see him out in the wild like this, especially after not thinking about him for so long. After over analyzing for what felt like a good minute or two, Travis finally notices me. His eyes go wide, and he drops the current weed in his hand.

    “Sally Face?”

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               “Travis!” I blurt out awkwardly. “Funny seeing you here,” I scratch the back of my head.

               “It’s the church.” Travis replied bluntly, his serious gaze nearly shattering my prosthetic. No duh I’d see him here, it’s the mother fucking church god damn it.

               “Um…well, what are you doing?” I ask, attempting to move this interaction. He continued to pick up the weed he’d dropped moments ago and pointed to a bright blue bucket laid beside him.

               “Picking weeds.” He stated, in the same serious tone he’d used before. I didn’t know what to say next. What does one even say to someone who used to bully and punch them but also had a weird heart to heart about their alleged father issues in a school restroom? Hmm…speaking of fathers, Travis’s dad is the preacher of this Church, isn’t he? That means Travis is probably picking weeds right now because his father told him to. Or worse! His father threatened to beat him up if he didn’t pick the weeds. Or maybe he was just yelled at…that sounds about right. But what if—

               “Trav!” a young squeelish voice shouts, thankfully putting an end to my internal ramble on why Travis is picking weeds. “Are you finished with the weeds?”

               Travis turns his head swiftly, picking up the blue bucket with the same speed. “Uh…No.” he replies. Suddenly a small girl comes storming out from what could’ve been a back entrance to the church. She looked about twelve and had dark brown chestnut hair that fell just past her shoulders. Next to Travis, her skin color was nearly identical to his.

              “Must I do everything myself?” she mumbles, tugging out about four weeds in five seconds. “Is this how you stall all day? Take a million years to do one job—no wonder father says you have no backbone,” she continued, tugging out weed from weed.

             “Mary, can you please shh,” Travis nearly begged, gritting his teeth. Travis looked almost flushed—or maybe embarrassed is a better way to put it? I’m surprised. After seeing how Travis reacts to me merely finishing a test fast, I thought he’d be way harsher to this mystery girl.

              All of a sudden, the girl takes notice of me. Her demeaner changes in an instant and she appears more guarded, serious. She glances at Travis who gives her an ‘I don’t know’ face and she looks back at me.

               “Hi,” she states. Except it sounded more like a question than anything.

               “I’m Sal Fisher, I live at the Addison apartments a couple blocks away.” I say in attempt to break the tension. She glances back at Travis one last time and nods.

               “So, you go to Nockfell as well I presume?” she asked. Man for a seventh grader she spoke insanely punctual. Though, I could tell she was just asking me to be polite because the look she’s had ever since she saw me screams ‘this person is different’. I was used to this though. That look of discontent.

               I nod and give her an opening to end this conversation. What I wasn’t expecting however, was her to say, “Guess that makes you two classmates, huh? Let my brother Travis over her take you to the juice bar,” she states. Travis instantly looks at her, shaking his head in disapproval. But she just ignores him. “Our church takes donations there. Don’t be afraid to spare a penny or two,” she finishes, shoving Travis closer to me.

…

               Me and Travis finish at the juice bar and I leave with a cup of orange juice. Travis, on the other hand left with a cup of lemonade and from what I can tell from the look on his face, it’s just as sour as him. We sit beside each other on a nearby sidewalk, and I don’t know what’s worse. The scorching heat from the sun under my prosthetic or this awkward tension that seems to be getting stronger by the minute.

               “So, that was your sister?” I ask, using my shirt to blow air on me. “I didn’t think you had any siblings,”

               “I have two sisters,” he states, wiping his sweaty forehead with his arm. I could tell his guard was still up high and I didn’t think it would be lower anytime soon.

               “Really? I’ve never seen them before,”

               “They’re both younger than me. They won’t be in high school for a while,” Travis replies swiftly.

               “Makes sense,” It was quiet again. You know what? I can’t stand another minute of this. “You know, I meant what I said that day,” I start. “We can be friends,”

               From the corner of my eyes, I can see Travis looking at me. He doesn’t speak for a minute but eventually he looks down at his shoes and then back at me.

               “Why?” He finally speaks. “But why?”

               “Like I said before, I don’t think you’re a bad person, Travis.” I say, looking toward him. He doesn’t say anything. I chuckle, “You know, I think this is the quietest I’ve ever heard you be?”

               “I-I didn’t know how to face you, after you know…” he admits, his face hidden in the palms of his hand. “I still don’t,”

               “That’s okay, I’ll just keep myself around until you can,” I say without thinking. Travis looks at me and puts his hands back down on his lap. He’d been crying—or at least shedding a tear or two. I hadn’t seen him so vulnerable since the bathroom, and even that time I hadn’t technically seen him.

               He takes a sip of his lemonade and covers his mouth with the palm of his hand. “We should head back now,” He states, quiet again. All I can do is nod before getting up and walking back home.

…

               It was weird seeing Travis Phelps like that. Seeing him being so…hidden? He’d never been like that before—I mean this is the same kid who tried to trip me after class every day of freshman year, the same guy who shoved me against my own locker as a sophomore, and of course the same dude who punched my face just this year. I don’t know who this new Travis was—or maybe he was always like that. Maybe I was just getting the fake Travis.

               I lay awake in bed next to Gizmo who was sleeping soundly. I think I know what to do.

I need to crack the case of Travis Phelps.