first chapter


When the bell finally rang, signalling his freedom from Mrs. Paige's stress-inducing lecture, Thomas all but ran for the door. Shoving his textbook and writing supplies into his backpack he left the classroom with a curt nod to Mrs. Paige. She eyed him unimpressed until he was out of sight in the corridor overflowing with students. Thomas had not turned in his biology essay today either, and he knew that he was pushing his luck with this woman. He had sat with the paper last night, working on the final touches to make it perfect, but it just wasn't good enough. His A in biology was on the line, and only an A-worthy assignment could save him. Then again, if he did not turn in the paper on Monday, he could kiss his perfect grade goodbye for good.

He elbowed his way through the crowds to his locker and turned in the combination with ease. He scanned the contents of the narrow space with a sigh — so many books he should be taking home over the weekend. The biology book had made a semi-permanent home in his bag, but eventually Thomas settled for letting the French textbook and his notes from history class join it. He doubted that he'd have time to go over the notes, but there were A's to be had in that class too and it couldn't hurt to bring them along.

Thomas moved to the side a bit when his locker mate came up with his arms full of books. Siggy flashed him a smile that broke into a yawn so wide Thomas had to laugh.

"Oh, sorry, man," Siggy said and wiped the yawn tears from his round face. "Gon' sleep for two days when I get home."

"Didn't sleep in class, then?"

Siggy furrowed his bushy, dark brows and smacked his lips. He pulled his locker open and dropped the books haphazardly on the bottom. "Janson called me out yesterday, said one more time and I'll be spending the rest of the semester in detention. Man, ain't no chill in him. Get on his bad side once, you better watch your step all year."

Thomas rolled his eyes and zipped up his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder. He scanned his locker one more time, then shut the door and mixed the combination. "Well, you have a good one, see ya Monday," he said and gave Siggy a pat on the back.

"And you, man," Siggy replied.

The rush of students had already come and gone, everyone equally ready for the weekend to start. Thomas walked the long hallway, listening in on small groups of friends talking about movie nights and parties they were going to. A girl with a long, blond braid smelling of sweat exited the gym as Thomas passed, speaking loudly on the phone with someone.

"Give me an hour," she said. "You come pick me up in an hour, I'll be ready, I swear…"

The rest of her conversation faded away behind him. Everyone seemed to have plans, and Thomas knew that many were going to the same party tonight. It was the Carpenter siblings who had arranged an Oktoberfest of sorts at their place, free for all. A corner of Thomas's mouth shot up — he had other plans for tonight, and they didn't include awkward eye contact or trying to stay away from Gally Carpenter in the guy's own backyard.

The chilly air hit Thomas like a wall when he left the school building. Autumn had come fast once the unusually warm September gave way, and Thomas had yet to break out his thick jacket from deep within his closet. He had a scarf on, but it didn't make much of a difference. He wrapped his arms around himself and quickened his step. Suddenly the parking lot was way too far for his liking. He rounded the corner of the outdoor stadium and saw the dark red Ford Focus parked by the road, ready to go. He smiled.

With Newt by the wheel and Minho riding shotgun, Thomas had little choice but to hop in the backseat. Dark rock ballads blared from the blown out speakers and comfortable, hot air leaked out when Thomas opened the door. He hurried to close the door behind him and made a brrr sound just to amplify the cold to his friends.

"No jacket? Mine's in the back if you want it," Newt said and glanced at Thomas in the rearview mirror.

"Just turn up the heat," Thomas sneered.

Newt did as he was asked, then hit the gas and turned out onto the road, away from Balmier High and toward the long awaited weekend. A song they all liked came on the radio and they sang together in broken voices, the notes more false than not. Minho's singing wasn't so bad, but he had never been interested in music much. None of them cared how they sounded, they knew each other too well. Newt drummed on the steering wheel while Thomas played air guitar in the back. Minho pulled down the visor and sang into the make-up mirror, an invisible microphone in hand.

The three of them had rode to and from school together like this ever since Newt had moved in from The East two years ago. He was a year older and owned a car, the lucky bastard. Before that, Thomas and Minho had taken the dreaded half-hour ride with school bus. Minho took his driver's license on his 17th birthday but had never afforded a car, and Thomas just never came around to it. School took up too much of his time considering what collage he wanted to go to next year.

Thomas knew that their little trio was going to have to split up after graduation, and it hurt him a lot. He was aiming higher than most, his interest for the biological sciences having grown considerably during high school. There were no such programs at their local university, the closest being three cities away. Thomas wasn't sure what Minho wanted, but probably something sports related. He was the best track runner there was his age, and he'd won the Young Hearts Charity Marathon three years in a row. But wherever Minho went, it couldn't be farther away than a long car ride could solve.

Newt, on the other hand, was planning something completely different. He'd talked about it a few times, put the idea out there. Of course nothing was certain yet, but it still clenched Thomas' heart when he thought about it — Newt wanted to go back to his home country. He had never wanted to move to The West when his father found new love, and although he seemed to like it here now, he missed home a lot. Thomas could see it in his eyes in history class.

Thoughts like this made their way through the rocking music into Thomas's consciousness, but he shook them off. It was only October, and lots of things could still happen.

Newt turned off the main road into a neighbourhood of smaller houses with little patches of grass and gardens. Most looked exactly the same, although dressed in different states of luxury or neglect. About ten rows of houses down the road, Newt pulled up on the sidewalk and stopped the car.

He turned around in the seat to face Thomas. "I guess you ain't coming to the party tonight, then?"

Thomas felt just the tiniest tinge of guilt, but is washed away quickly. The corner of his mouth shot upwards again in an innocent but cheeky smile. "Sorry, baby, I'm booked for the evening." Newt raised one eyebrow and smiled smugly, knowing exactly what Thomas had planned and with who.

Minho gave Newt a hurtful look. "What, ain't I good enough to dance with?" He put his hand over his heart and pouted.

Newt rolled his eyes and they all laughed, then Thomas grabbed his and Minho's backpacks and they exited the car. They waved as Newt made a u-turn on the street and drove off back the way he'd come. He had dropped them off on Thomas's driveway, which was empty at the moment. His mom had already left for work then.

"See ya for the run tomorrow?" Thomas asked and handed Minho his backpack, which was considerably lighter than his own.

"Bright and early, sunshine, I got practice at eleven," Minho winked.

Thomas grabbed his outstretched hand and they bumped shoulders — their usual goodbye — then Minho took off in a jog down the street. He lived in the only green house in the neighbourhood, only three doors down. That's how they had met so many years ago, on a barbecue held by another neighbour.

Thomas fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door. It was dark inside and dead silent. A homely smell of cooked meat and brown sauce hung in the air, making Thomas's stomach growl longingly.

"Mom?" he called just for the fun of it, enjoying the silence that followed. Not that he minded his mom being home, but with all the things he had planned for tonight it was much more fun to have the house to himself.

After all, it had been almost a year since he'd seen Teresa last.

He kicked off his shoes and turned into the kitchen, where a little lunchbox sat on the dinner table with a folded note standing on top of it. Eat up, back Sunday, it said simply, and then a kiss of bright red lipstick in the corner. Thomas popped the lunchbox in the microwave for a couple of minutes, then sat down and enjoyed the steaming hot concoction of mushroom sauce on thin steaks and mashed potatoes. All the while thinking about Teresa.

They weren't a thing, as people around him continuously assumed. Thomas didn't have the hots for her as Minho liked to point out. But he had missed her like crazy this past year, and he'd been looking forward to this little reunion for weeks. She had gone as an exchange student to a faraway country, and the huge time difference had made keeping in touch difficult. A few texts now and then, a call or two. Not that they needed to talk much — their parents had known each other since way before they were born, so Teresa and Thomas had practically grown up together. That's why Thomas knew exactly what he was going to do to surprise her tonight.

He put away the dishes and went into the living room, which was pitch black now since darkness was falling outside. He lit the light chains in the bookshelves and brought out a few candleholders from the cupboard to place on the coffee table. He had already rented two of Teresa's favourite movies in an online store, and their favourite game, The Ones Who Came Back, lay ready to be played by the TV. He checked the cabinets in the kitchen and found the two bags of chocolate-coated popcorn and taco chips he'd asked his mom to buy earlier. He poured them into matching bowls, put them on the coffee table and stepped back to take in the whole living room.

Perfect. He checked his watch — twenty past six, leaving him forty minutes to take a shower and get dressed. More than enough time.

He hopped in the shower and turned the heat of the water way up. He liked the scorching feeling of it, although the steam took hours to vent out afterwards. He even decided to wash his hair. He had just put the shampoo in there and massaged up a good lather when the lights in the bathroom died.

The sudden blackness caught Thomas off guard and he almost slipped where he stood. He turned the water off and reached out to flip the light switch, but nothing happened. He let out an exasperated sigh — a power outage was definitely not part of the plan tonight. He turned the water back on and blindly rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. Then he got out, found the towel where he'd left it on the toilet seat and dried himself off. As he made his way to the kitchen in the dark he tried every other light switch but none of them worked. He figured that his entire neighbourhood was effected by the blackout since he could not see any lights through the windows across the street.

A little faith returned to him when he entered the living room and found that the candles he'd lit made the room look very cozy. Perhaps they could have a fun night after all once Teresa showed up.

Thomas grabbed his phone from the sofa armrest and checked for any messages. Nothing but some stupid Facebook notification about the Carpenters' party. He went in on his message history with Teresa. Her last text was from this morning when she wrote that she was boarding her last flight home in about an hour. Thomas tapped the message bar and typed in a quick text.

power's out here :P but there's still board games ;)

He hit send and tossed the phone on the sofa, then grabbed it again when he realised how dark the house was. He turned on the camera flashlight and went back to his room where he towelled himself off. He grabbed whatever lay on top in his drawers and ended up wearing grey soft pants and a long-sleeved, green shirt. He didn't care much what Teresa thought of his looks.

He checked his phone again — ten to seven, and no reply from Teresa. That's when he saw the little red text right below his last message. Failed to send, it said. When he looked at the top of the screen, he saw a little red cross where his signal bars should have been.

"Great," he said out loud. No electricity, and no way to contact Teresa.

He went back to the living room and sat down on the sofa to play some games on his phone. It was the only piece of entertainment there was as long as the power was out. He put on some tunes to cancel out the silence, and then he waited.

And waited. A lump was forming in his stomach. The clock on the top of his screen ticked past seven, then half past seven, then a quarter to eight. At eight o'clock Thomas had enough. He looked up Teresa's cell number in his contacts and went to the house phone in the kitchen. He hadn't even dialled the number yet when he realised what was missing — a tone. Phone line was dead, too.

Thomas slammed the phone back in place a little too hard and it fell right off again. He put it back a little gentler, then went back to the sofa and laid down. What could he do? He couldn't even call Teresa to see if she was alright and on her way. He couldn't check the internet for information on the blackout of if her flight was delayed for some reason.

Annoyed and a bit uneasy, Thomas did the only thing he could think off. He pulled a pillow below his head and made himself comfortable, then tried to go to sleep with the music still playing on his phone. He turned a few times on the small sofa, but eventually the long week of school got to him and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

He woke up what felt like hours later by a loud, weird sound coming from all around him. It faded in and out, like the growl of engines on a very old truck driving by, but from above. Thomas rose up and rubbed his eyes groggily before walking over to the window to check what it was. Some half-asleep part of his brain knew what the sound was, but it wasn't until he saw them that his mind snapped wide awake in realisation.

Airplanes. Dozens of small, dark-painted airplanes dotting the black sky above. He stared at them in disbelief as his insides coiled up. This wasn't right. It wasn't real, yet his every cell knew that it was awake and not dreaming. Thomas's muscled tensed and he wanted to back away from the window, but his curiosity was stronger than fear.

Just then, a boom so loud it could break his eardrums sounded somewhere nearby and an explosion of light pierced the darkness. A split second later, the windows on Thomas's house shattered inwards.