Chapter 1: We are all Split River Devils.
My mother, Lizzy, was crowned Homecoming Queen in 1983 at Split River High School. That same night, she watched her best friend, Walter Clark, die on the field. His death shattered her, and she spent years mourning him—running as far from Split River as she could. But twenty years later, she was forced to return with my dad, Jamie, and us—her two kids, Evan and me—dragged back to care for her dying father, Philip.
The story of Walter Clark was a ghost that lingered in our family, resurfacing as Evan and I entered our freshman year at Split River High. Our mother had fought hard to send us anywhere else, but our father insisted that her past trauma wasn't a good enough reason to disrupt our education.
Evan and I had been swimmers since we were toddlers, the only sport our parents could ever agree on for us. No matter what else we showed interest in, swimming remained non-negotiable. Fortunately, Split River High had an excellent swim team, and our talent didn't go to waste during our four years there. But no matter how many races we won, how many records we broke—Mother never came to a single meet on the SR campus.
In the fall of 2013, my brother and I began our senior year at Split River High. We had high hopes for the swim team, dreaming of full-ride scholarships to our top schools. I told Evan that swimming was our golden ticket—our way out from under our controlling parents. Evan, on the other hand, saw it as his chance to finally get away from me.
But deep down, I knew the truth. No matter how far I swam, how fast I ran, I would never escape this hellhole.
I drowned in the Split River High School pool.
No one noticed at first. No frantic shouts, no rush to pull me out—just the assumption that I was fine, that I'd surface any second after my dive. But I didn't.
It was my brother, Evan, who realized something was wrong. While everyone else stood by, he jumped in fully clothed, cutting through the water to reach me.
My vision blurred into a swirling, watery world, my lungs filling with chlorine and silence.
Death by suffocation. No future. No way forward.
I woke up floating in the pool, staring up at the mismatched concrete ceiling tiles. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, their glow fractured by the rippling water around me. Everything felt still. Too still.
Turning my head slightly, I saw a pair of pale feet dangling in the water, unmoving. A sick realization settled in my gut. I wasn't just watching something horrific—I was part of it.
The water was eerily calm, a stark contrast to the chaos on the pool deck. My brother, Evan, was kneeling beside my lifeless body, desperately trying to force air back into my lungs. His hands trembled as he pressed down on my chest.
"Don't you fucking leave me," he choked out, his voice raw. "I cannot do this without you, Felly."
The paramedics arrived, their voices sharp and urgent. Swim teammates pulled Evan away, but he fought against them, his screams cutting through the thick air. I tilted my head, watching the scene unfold as if it were happening to someone else.
My feet drifted down, touching the cool tile of the shallow end. I stepped out of the water, instinctively grabbing a towel and running it over my arms. My body didn't feel wet, but I moved through the motions anyway. Slowly, I walked toward my brother, reaching out to touch his shaking shoulder.
"Evan, I'm right here," I said softly.
He never heard me.
Instead, a quiet throat-clearing made me turn. A boy with glasses stood a few feet away, watching me expectantly. I didn't recognize his face, but something about his clothing—the faded jeans, the old-school striped shirt and jean jacket—felt familiar. His smile lulled me into a false sense of calm.
"Come on, Felicity," he said, gesturing for me to follow. "It's time for you to meet the group."
I reached for a towel, but it slipped through my fingers like air. My skin was dry—wrong. The act of drying off felt like muscle memory rather than necessity. Swallowing hard, I grabbed my discarded swim team sweatshirt and shorts, pulling them over my damp swimsuit before slipping into my white Vans.
The weight of everything—the pool, Evan's screams, my lifeless body sprawled on the deck—pressed in at the edges of my mind. But I shoved it down.
Without another thought, I followed him out of the pool area and into the dimly lit hallway leading toward the gym.
"What group? Who are you?" I demanded, picking up my pace to match his.
He barely glanced back, adjusting his glasses with an easy smile. "I'm Charley. And welcome to the afterlife at Split River."
I skidded to a stop. My heart—or whatever ghostly version of it I had left—thudded in my chest. "The afterlife?"
Charley nodded, still walking as if he'd just told me we were heading to math class. "Let's go to the Afterlife Support Group meeting. Mr. Martin can explain all of this better than I can."
"Wait—" My voice cracked as my knees wobbled beneath me. "Are you saying I'm stuck here?"
Charley finally stopped, turning to face me with an expression that was somewhere between sympathy and impatience. "It's… complicated." He reached for my hand, giving it a small tug. "But I promise it'll make more sense soon. Just come on."
I hesitated, glancing back toward the pool doors. The muffled sound of voices—of life—still lingered on the other side. But deep down, I already knew. I wasn't going back.
So I swallowed hard, took a shaky breath, and followed him into the gymnasium.
The doors closed softly behind us, sealing me off from the world of the living. Ahead, the last few cheerleaders wrapped up their practice, their laughter and chatter echoing through the gym. But off in the far corner, away from the noise and energy, sat a circle of twelve chairs.
"I am not about to cheer my way through the afterlife," I muttered.
Charley smirked, raising an eyebrow. "We leave that to the living. They can't see us or feel us. It's one of the small perks of this whole death thing."
"That is not a perk," I shot back.
Up close, the chairs were as bland as I expected—generic tan plastic, arranged in the stereotypical therapy circle. I stared at them, unimpressed. "You've got to be kidding me. We have therapy?"
Charley just patted my shoulder and kept walking.
Some of the chairs were already occupied. A girl with jet-black hair and a lollipop between her teeth looked me up and down, smirking. "New blood on a Tuesday. And a jock, no less. Interesting." She rolled her eyes. "Wally's gonna wet himself with excitement."
"Ignore her," Charley murmured. "That's Rhonda. She's a piece of work."
Before I could respond, an older man with glasses—who looked exactly like a dead teacher should—clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone, let's take a seat."
I hesitated before sinking into the open chair next to Charley, my pulse racing even though I wasn't sure I even had one anymore. The others settled in, and just when I thought the meeting was starting, someone else slid into the chair beside me.
I turned my head—and my stomach dropped.
Split River sweats. A football jacket. Black hair. Sharp, knowing brown eyes.
Walter Clark.
Wally Clark to his friends.
I gripped the arms of my chair, my knuckles white. It boy from my mother's high school . Well, dead-alive. Well—whatever the hell we were.
Trapped thirty years.
You have got to be shitting me.
"I'm so glad you decided to join us," Mr. Martin said, his voice calm and steady. "I'm Mr. Martin, and we have a new student with us today." He gestured toward me. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I sat there, frozen, gasping like a fish out of water. Finally, I forced out a hoarse, "I'm not really much for intros." My voice felt foreign to me. "My name is Felicity Parker. Everyone calls me Felly. I died today."
A heavy silence settled over the group.
"Welcome to the Split River High Afterlife Support Group," Mr. Martin said. "It takes a lot of courage to be here, and I'm glad Charley was there to help you."
I nodded stiffly, but my gaze stayed locked on Wally Clark.
He grinned at me, something unreadable flickering in his expression.
And I—God help me—I smiled back.
I couldn't resist him.
Did I remind him of Lizzy?
The room blurred at the edges. A wave of nausea twisted in my stomach, and suddenly, I was lightheaded. My breathing hitched as the world tilted. I put my head between my knees, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Hey, you're okay," Charley's voice was steady, reassuring.
"Just breathe, Felly." Wally was suddenly there too, crouching beside me, his voice softer than I expected.
The others murmured in the background, but I couldn't focus on them.
I was dead. And there was no waking up from this.
I was dead.