I was 13 the summer we moved.

We left the city behind in a cloud of dust, trading traffic and noise for long, empty roads that stretched on forever.

Our new town, Hollowbrook, was, for a lack of a better term, frozen in time.

Main Street had a diner, a single gas station, and a convenience store that doubled as a bait shop.

Everyone seemed to know everyone.

My mom loved it instantly.

My dad muttered something about peace and quiet. I hated it. It wasn't just that I had to leave behind my friends, my school, my entire life. It was the fact that there was nothing here.

No movie theatres, no arcades, no malls, just houses, trees,

and a school that looked like it had been built a hundred years ago.

The first few days were the worst. Boxes stacked in every room, the smell of fresh paint,

the hum of cicadas outside. No Wi-Fi

for the first two days, which meant I had nothing to do but help unpack or stare at the ceiling,

counting the tiny cracks in the plaster. Then I met Ethan, Jake and Will.

It happened at the basketball court behind the school.

I wasn't even playing, just sitting on my bike, watching.

Ethan was the first one to talk to me.

He had shaggy blonde hair, a red socks cap pulled low over his face,

and a kind of easy confidence that made it impossible to dislike him. Jake and Will were always with him.

Jake was stocky, with a sharp jaw and a habit of cracking his knuckles.

Will was lanky, quiet, always a step behind the others.

Ethan dribbled the basketball absent-mindedly, squinting at me.

So, you just moved here, right?

...