After school, the plan is simple: walk home straight, eat three of Julian's secret stash Pop-Tarts, rot in front of the TV until Mom yells at me to do chores. That's the plan. But I guess my feet have other ideas, because suddenly I'm not following the plan at all.
First, I get this weird twitchy feeling in my chest. Like there's something I'm supposed to remember and I just can't, and it makes my brain all buzzy. I make it out to the student lot, but instead of turning left for home, I end up wandering toward the soccer field. There's woods at the far end—the kind of woods that look like they go back forever, dark and probably full of ticks or whatever. I've never, ever gone in there before, not even as a dare. I'm not the outdoors type at all. But today, for some reason, I cross the field and walk down the path everyone always says is haunted.
The second I get in there, the air changes. I know it's dumb, but it feels almost electric. The grass is wet and my sneakers are getting muddy, but I keep going. I push through a bunch of brambles (ouch, my arm), and then I'm in a clearing with this huge oak tree right in the middle. It's so old it looks fake, like something nobody could draw right.
I just sort of stand there. Breathing in dirt and rotting leaves and something rainy in the distance. And for once, I'm not freaking out. It's like... everything in my brain just goes quiet. I still feel like I want to run, but it's not panic. It's like waiting for a phone to ring. Like something's about to happen.
I walk up to the tree. It's weird, but it kind of feels familiar. I press my hand against the trunk. The bark is cold and damp and super rough, but I don't let go. It's almost like the tree is buzzing or vibrating, like it's alive and waiting for me to say the right thing.
I probably look super stupid, just standing there with my hand on a tree. I laugh at myself and wipe my hand on my jeans, acting casual, and start heading back, not paying attention to how the woods now somehow look darker than before.
When I get to my street, the sun is super low and the streetlights are starting to flicker. Grandpa Marc's car is in the driveway—it's this classic blue Lincoln and he's obsessed with it. He only ever comes over for holidays or when Mom sounds weird on the phone, so never on a Tuesday.
The house is quiet. I go up the steps and stop at the front door, because I can hear voices inside. Mom's voice is all sharp and quick. Grandpa's is slower, deeper. Every word sounds heavy.
"She's not ready," Mom says. She sounds angry.
"She's got to be," Grandpa says, and then, "Marc, you know what's at stake."
Then I hear Dad, but he's really quiet. I only catch "dangerous."
I freeze. If I open the door now, they'll know I was listening. If I wait too long, that's creepy. So I do the only thing I can: I slam the door and yell, "I'm home!" as loud as I can.
It goes totally quiet inside for a second. Then I hear people moving and Mom starts this fake laugh as I drop my backpack in the hallway.
Mom comes out first, trying to smile like nothing happened. "Hey, honey! You're just in time, Grandpa brought donuts."
Grandpa is already at the table with coffee. He grins and says, "Heard you're doing a project on the family. Hope you've got a big notebook."
Dad's off in the corner with his phone, but he waves and says, "Kim, you're late. Everything okay?"
I shrug. "I got caught talking to Julian. And then, um, I got lost. In the woods."
There's a pause. Grandpa looks right at me. "Woods, huh? Which ones?"
I shrug, pretending it's no big deal. "Just the field behind school."
Mom's hand grabs my shoulder. "You know not to go there after dark."
"Yeah, sorry," I say, though I'm not sorry at all. I'm not even sure I could explain why it mattered.
We have dinner, or something like it. Grandpa keeps telling weird stories about the old country, and how the family name used to mean something. It's funny, since Sebat doesn't sound like anything. He keeps giving Mom these looks, like she's supposed to remember all this stuff. Sometimes, Mom's hand will squeeze mine, like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
After dinner I watch TV with the sound off and do homework. My window's open because the moon is super bright and for some reason it helps me focus. I finish my history worksheet, and even write up my notes for lit mag, but it feels like there's a humming inside me that won't quit. Like a phone on vibrate in my bones.
I get in bed by midnight, but I can't sleep. I stare at the ceiling, listening to cars and barking dogs and every creak in the house. I must fall asleep for a second, because the next thing I know, I hear voices downstairs.
I sneak out of bed and stand at the top of the stairs.
"I don't want to force her," Mom says, and she sounds really upset. "She's just a kid."
"She's almost sixteen," Grandpa says. "And she needs to know."
Dad says something, but I can't hear what.
Someone slams a mug or something, and then Grandpa says, "It's happening. She'll feel it soon. Maybe she already does."
I sneak back to my room and sit by the window, hugging my knees. The moon is so bright it makes everything glow. I press my hand to the glass, half-waiting for it to break from whatever's buzzing inside me.
I close my eyes, but there's no way I'm sleeping.
So I just wait. Whatever comes next, I'll be ready.