The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion.
Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack.
He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn't see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette.
He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they'd be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn't fall, pulling up on his arm.
"Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?" The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it.
They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.
Wes swallowed, his throat dry.
"Something's wrong," he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren't looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.
"Please listen to me this time, something isn't right," he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn't hear him.
Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down.
"It's okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back," came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. "I know it's sad, but you'll see your friends again, you'll see."
"No," he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. "No, we can't keep going." He didn't know why. He just knew they had to stop.
They had to stop before it happened.
It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears.
"Please," he pleaded. "Please, stop, you have to." He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat.
Why were they not listening?
"Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how's that sound?"
And then it was too late.
His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain.
The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—
Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream.
Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see—
He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn't had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow.
God. He hated nightmares.
He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it's way into the room from behind the fabric.
Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday.
They'd had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn't been cancelled today.
After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause.
He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall.
Kyle's door wasn't open yet, which wasn't surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically.
The house was chilly and quiet.
That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen.
His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked.
It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on.
Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His Dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder.
"Oh, Wesley." He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. "You're up early."
"Yep."
He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl.
"Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?"
Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow.
"No, I don't want toast." He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His Dad watched him.
"There's eggs in the fridge too if you—"
"Dad, it's fine." Wes didn't look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer.
The toaster popped, and his Dad startled.
Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed.
He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past.
"Aren't you late for work or something?" he said. His Dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast.
"Now that I'm finally settled into the office a bit more I don't have to be in till seven."
Wes clicked his tongue. "Oh. Joy." He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His Dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye.
"Your uh, tryouts are today, right?"
"Why's it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway." He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.
"Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—" Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. "But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us."
"We were fine with the job you had."
"I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I'm only doing what's best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family."
Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle.
"Well, that's news to me. We're hardly even a family anymore."
"Wesley," his dad's voice took on a stern edge.
"You didn't care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted."
"And this is exactly why I didn't." His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.
"What's that mean?" Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.
"It's clear that you're still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I'm doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley."
"By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?" Wes' heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away.
His dad scoffed.
"Don't raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays."
"That just makes it all better. Doesn't it?" he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin.
"The world doesn't revolve around you and what you want. It's no one's fault but your own that you're choosing to learn it the hard way."
"You're such a fucking hypocrite."
"Wesley!" his dad snapped. "One thing you won't do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?"
Wes held his dad's gaze, not backing down.
"After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend."
"What? Seriously?!"
"Yes, seriously."
Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit.
He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists.
He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn't mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.
If it was from Dad he was gonna—
Alien Fucker: ?
Oh. Right.
It made sense that he'd probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat.
Basketball Freak: Nothing
Alien Fucker: Didn't sound like nothing
Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again
...
it's whatever at this point
Alien Fucker: F in the chat
…
want me to talk to him?
Basketball Freak: no, its fine
Alien Fucker: K just lemme know
Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn't have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn't stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature.
Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn't helped any, looking back.
He picked fights with Dad like it was his job.
And Mom… He still didn't talk to Mom.
He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn't going to unfuck it.
Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.
Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school.
The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside.
At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends.
In chemistry Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class.
Wes bounced his leg on the stool's rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts.
Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.
"Once I take roll, you'll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay." An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing.
Hah. Served him right.
"Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today."
Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble.
Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.
"Yes, Mrs. Merriweather," he said.
Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take.
Wes used his notes from the lab he'd done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers.
Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn't watching. Wes couldn't tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it'd be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he'd guess it was history homework.
All Wes cared about was that Danny didn't bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he'd be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he'd glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him.
"Dude, chill out, you're making me nervous," he said quietly. He didn't even look up from his homework when he said it.
Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes.
"Mind your own business, Fenton."
Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more.
Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books.
He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person.
"Whoa man, sorry 'bout that." Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head.
"Don't worry about it," Wes said, trying to get around him.
"Hey wait, you're Wesley, right? Kyle's lil bro."
Well, that explained the smell.
"Uh, yeah that's me. Sorry, but I've gotta—"
"Dude, sweet. Name's Robbie, I'm pretty chill with your brother," he said.
"That's nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff." Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class.
"Yeah, totally! I wasn't here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—" Robbie said, following after Wes.
He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now.
"—but like Kyle's told me a lot about you, man."
"Cool?" Seriously, why was this guy talking to him?
"Yeah, I just wanted to say the group's mega on your side."
"Uh-huh. Cool."
Wait.
"On my side about what?" Wes slowed his pace.
"The ghosts, bro!"
"What about them?"
"Pf, bruh. We've lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We're trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit."
Wes scoffed. "Good luck with that. I've been trying since I was like six."
Robbie shook his head. "I know what'cha mean, bro. Dude's like a steel trap... or however that saying goes." Robbie shrugged.
Wes chuckled. "Let me know if you guys make any progress with him," he said. He'd meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously.
"Hell yeah, dude, that's what's up. You can count on me." He held out a closed fist to Wes.
He rolled his eyes but didn't hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie.
"Okay, well… I'm going to class now."
Robbie held up his hands. "Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it."
"Probably."
Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle's friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying.
Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later.
Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.
"Alright class, we're going to start talking about the stock market today." He said, pulling up Google on the projector.
Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown's lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn't exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.
Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out.
He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.
Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups.
Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they'd fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.
"Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!" He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid.
He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans.
There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn't. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification.
Mom: How was the first week of school?
His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed.
He didn't want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up.
Out of sight out of mind.
He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym.
The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home.
Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs.
Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year's team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.
"Ay, new kid!"
Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself.
"I hear you played point in Cali."
Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. "Yeah?"
The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior.
"I'm José. Wesley, right? " He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn't know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. "I was point-guard last year, and ain't no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot."
Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge?
"I guess we'll just see about that, won't we?" He smirked back.
Somehow José's smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual.
"I like you already, Wesley." He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he'd lose his arm.
"Just 'Wes' is fine," he said with a wince. José released his hand. "Ow," he muttered, shaking his hand out.
"C'mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen." José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn't have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming.
"Wes, this is Mark," he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head.
"'Sup."
"Next we got Joseph." José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. "We just call him Jo or Joey though." The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach.
Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn't have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.
"This is Anthony," José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes' height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down.
"Hey," was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on.
"Last but not least we got our boy Isaac." He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him.
"Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya," he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.
José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug.
"This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us 're Seniors."
"It's nice to meet all you guys, God, you don't know how long it feels like I've waited for today," he said. He rubbed his upper arm.
"I just hope you ain't rusty. I heard you got game." Isaac said.
Wes shrugged a shoulder. "I mean…"
"Humble," José nodded. "I like that about you, Wes. I'm 'bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way."
The rest of the group let out a chorus of "oh"s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn't fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling.
"Cool, dude. Just don't cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?"
The group oh'd louder this time.
"Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class," Joseph laughed. "Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone," he told the rest of the group.
"Hey, no judgment, Anthony's been needing another introvert to keep him company." Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle.
Anthony waved him off. "Shut up."
The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.
Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips.
"What're you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first." She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym. "Two laps around the gym, go!"
The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes' muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He'd forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.
It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.
They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence's mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time.
The group's synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious.
The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren't pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked.
José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes's side, groaned.
Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her.
"Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we'll move into cool downs."
Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn't want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared.
"Shit, man, you can actually play," he said, giving him a shake.
"So can you guys," he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. "You didn't take it easy on me that's for sure."
"Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell," Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches.
"You think so?" Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.
"For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus' make varsity," José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed.
"'Might'?" Wes quirked a brow.
"Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity," Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them.
"Damn, guess you're right."
"It's okay, you can take Joey's spot, he won't miss it," Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud.
"Asshole! And what the hell d'you mean I wouldn't miss it?" He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark.
"Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time."
Joseph's cheeks flushed pink.
"So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn't lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?"
"I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem," Anthony said from Wes' other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised.
Joseph pushed himself up. "Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven't been late because you're flirting with some guy."
Anthony snorted. "At this school? Gimme a break."
"Whatever, dude, at least I don't wanna fuck a ghost."
That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.
"If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash's 'Its not gay if he's dead' tweet just like everybody else," he shot back, lifting his chin.
Joseph's eyes widened.
Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!"
"No need to get defensive now, it's okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening." Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that'd caught the scent of blood.
"What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here."
Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck.
"Homie, no cap, I wasn't bi till I moved here. That probably ain't no coincidence, know wha'm'sayin'?
Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument.
"Oh come on—what about you, newbie?"
All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost?
"Uhm… I mean. Uh. I've only seen him once…" He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. "Also he's technically dead, right? Isn't that like, messed up?"
Everyone who wasn't Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath.
"He's new, give him a while, he'll come around," Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he'd "come around". What was wrong with these people?
Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac's grip and interlocked his arm with Wes'.
"Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now."
"Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who'da fuck you think you foolin?" José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.
"...Elliot said it'd help me get girls' numbers," he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.
"You actually listened to that clown?" Anthony grimaced.
"Bro, I thought you said you liked it?"
Anthony rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
"Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys." Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn't hate being there.
But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that's when shit went sideways.
There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.
"What the hell—"
"Ghost!" someone screamed, and that's all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits.
But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.
"Oh shit," José said, voice hushed. "It's Skulker."
"What? Who?" Wes whispered back.
"Dude, shut up! He's coming closer," Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes' mouth. He didn't even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.
It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes' heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost.
The ghost loomed over them. "Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?" Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes' ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light.
Wes wanted to say "no", maybe that would make it leave, but Joey's hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing.
"Well? Speak, you sniveling humans," it growled.
There was a moment's silence, then: "recently? No."
Wes, along with the rest of the group's attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.
But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. "Huh, you haven't?" Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. "My scanners say he's in the area." The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged.
"No matter." The cruel smile spread over its face again. "All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear."
Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost's arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had.
"Why hasn't someone hit the Ghost Alarm?" Mark whispered.
"Shh," José snapped.
Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking.
Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again.
The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—
Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white.
"Skulker, leave them alone," came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes' skin as the temperature of the gym dropped.
The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost.
"Oh thank fuck," Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes.
"There you are, Ghost Child," the cyborg said, sounding pleased. "I was wondering when you'd decide to—" Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym.
Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. "Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?" There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he'd just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn't suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him.
"Oh, 'sup. You guys might wanna, ya'know..." He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn't need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another.
Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle.
"Dude, what're you waiting for? Let's go!" José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors.
"Wait—" he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn't know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him.
He had questions.
But his new friends didn't stop until they'd dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.
I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment! I mentioned on AO3 a while back but I have a Spotify playlist for this fic if anyone's inch rested. :eyes emoji: also,,,,let's say,,, hypothetically theoretically,,, enemies to friends to lovers? Thoughts? Anyone?
Just saying that I've been laying the ground work,,, :eyes emoji: Take my hand dear reader and I will bring you a burn that is just,,, so slow