“I should've stayed and waited for the bus.”

I contemplate the strobe-like effect of the lightning reflecting off the raindrops. The sky is dark but I'm not sure if the sun has set or just been blacked out by the storm.

“And missed the light show?” Jake asks from his corner of the screened patio. It turns out his lock-picking skills were not as advertised.

“Mother Nature doesn't have anything on the fireworks I'm in for if my mom gets home before I do.”

“Please. You live in Grand Estates. Discipline, like everything else there, must be done discreetly.”

I want to argue with him, tell him I’m in for the beating of a lifetime. Anything to wipe that mocking expression from his face. But he's not wrong. As long as I’m home for dinner, they probably won't even notice I'm late. And even if they do, I won’t be punished. My stepfather hasn’t been married to my mom long enough to feel comfortable punishing me and my mom is too distracted by her new life to care. So really my only reason for wanting to get home is to play Superheroes of the Apocalypse. And I suspect learning of my nerdy addiction to video games will not make Jake mock me any less.

“What about your parents? Will you be in trouble?”

Jake's expression darkens and I immediately regret asking. Small talk is not a talent I possess, but it seemed like a safe enough question. This is why I prefer online chat rooms where the worst thing that could happen if you say something wrong is the other person logging off. But the way Jake looks now is giving me flashbacks of when he said no one could hear me scream.

“I’m always in trouble.” He suddenly smiles, exposing a dimple at the corner of his mouth.

I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Jake had come to stand next to me while we were talking and I now feel forced to make eye contact, something I usually avoid by looking anywhere else. His eyes, which I always thought to be brown, are actually a dark blue. Stormy, like the sky outside.

“It seems to be dying down. We should probably make a break for it.”

I look outside to see he is right. It’s still raining, but not pouring and the lightning has stopped. For now, anyway. I nod and we start off in the direction of the gully.

“So how did you know about the cabin anyway?”

“My dad grew up not far from here and his dad used to take him hunting. When we moved back, he insisted on continuing the tradition despite my lack of interest.”

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As I listen to him talk, I realize he sounds nothing like the felon everyone makes him out to be. I want to ask him about his life before moving to Grandeville but I don't want to risk bringing back that dark look from earlier. He may not be a criminal, but he is still downright scary.

“Convenient,” I mutter, then something occurs to me. “How did you know where I live?”

“Duh, we ride the same bus, remember?”

I remember, I just never thought he noticed where I got off. I am usually one of the first to get on the bus and I sit near the front. When annoying teachers don't delay me, that is.

“Besides, I live right behind you,” he continues. “On the other side of the fence.”

“Oh.”

While the subdivision I live in is mostly surrounded by woods, there is a small RV park amongst the trees about two hundred feet from my backyard. I can't think of anything else to say at this point so we continue the walk in silence.

When we reach the gully, I am dismayed to see the small stream has become a rushing river. There is no way I am getting through the storm grate now.

“That was my way in.” I look helplessly at Jake.

“I know another way. Follow me.” He takes off in the direction of the RV park. So this is how it ends, I think as I follow the virtual stranger home.

“So this is where you live?”

I try not to sound disdainful. The RV really isn't much smaller than the apartment my mom and I lived in before she remarried.

“Home sweet home,” Jake says, rifling between one of the storage compartments on the outside of the RV. I wonder if he's going to invite me in. And whether or not I will say yes if he does.

But he doesn't. He just makes an “Aha” sound as he pulls out a hammer. Getting bludgeoned with a hammer is really not my first choice of ways to die, but I guess murder victims can't be choosers.

“What's that for?” I am impressed by my ability to ask without stuttering.

“You’ll see.”

He heads toward the fence in my backyard and begins pulling nails out with the hammer. Within minutes, he has one of the planks removed and is starting on the second.

“It turns out the hunting cabin has better security than your gated community,” he laughs.

“Why do I get the feeling you've done this before?”

“My girlfriend lives here and her dad doesn't exactly approve of our relationship.”

I don't know why I am surprised, and a little disappointed, to hear he has a girlfriend. He may not have blond hair and baby blue eyes like Austin Bennet, but the slightly curly, almost black hair he tries unsuccessfully to tuck behind his ears along with the recently discovered dark blue eyes certainly qualify him as “tall, dark, and handsome.” I wonder why I never noticed before.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling suddenly awkward as he removes the second board leaving an opening large enough for me to slip through. I wonder if this is what the end of a date feels like, with the girl wondering if the guy is going to kiss her. Except this isn't a date and he's not going to kiss me. “I guess I will see you Monday. On the bus.”

“Sure.” He replaces the board and I can no longer see him. “Just don't be so scared to sit down next time.” He starts hammering and I am saved from having to respond.