Chapter 23: Bonfire

The high school bonfire is a tradition I usually avoid like a plague. It’s held in a massive, muddy field behind the school, centered around a stack of wooden pallets that burns hot enough to singe your eyebrows. It’s loud, it smells like cheap beer and woodsmoke, and it’s the primary hunting ground for the Eastview social elite.

"You're actually going?" Leo asked me as I grabbed my jacket. He was sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his work boots with a stiff brush.

"Sarah wants to go. She says it’s the last real bonfire before the winter season hits." I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

"Stay away from the hockey crowd," he grunted, his eyes never leaving the leather. "They get rowdy when they’re together. Don't give them a reason to look your way."

"I know, Leo."

Now, standing in the field, I realize staying away is physically impossible. The hockey team is the center of the event. They’re the ones who lit the fire. They’re the ones standing on the back of trucks, throwing empty cans into the darkness.

I stay on the outer ring of the light, tucked into a group of band kids and art students who are mostly complaining about the cold. Sarah is next to me, nursing a lukewarm soda and vibrating with nervous energy.

"He’s looking at you," she whispers, leaning in close.

"No, he isn't."

"Maya, he’s been staring at the back of your head for ten minutes. If he keeps it up, even the sophomores are going to notice."

I glance over the flames. Jaxson is standing with his teammates, a red solo cup in his hand. He’s wearing a thick black hoodie, his hood pulled halfway over his hair. Miller is nowhere to be seen—probably still hiding after the Annex incident—but Chloe is there, hovering near Jaxson’s elbow, trying to look like the queen again.

Jaxson isn't listening to whatever the guy next to him is saying. His eyes are locked on mine across the fire. He doesn't smile. He doesn't wave. He just stands there, the orange light reflecting in his dark eyes, a silent challenge in his gaze.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

JAXSON: The equipment shed behind the north bleachers. Two minutes.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, my heart rate spiking. "I’m going to go find a bathroom," I tell Sarah.

"The bathroom is behind the bleachers, isn't it?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Be fast. Chloe looks like she’s about to start marking territory."

I slip away from the light, the darkness of the field swallowing me whole. The air is freezing once you leave the fire's radius, and the mud clicks under my boots. I reach the north bleachers—a skeleton of cold aluminum and shadows. The equipment shed is a small, wooden shack tucked underneath the structure.

I’ve barely reached the door when a hand grabs my waist and pulls me into the dark.

Jaxson doesn't say anything. He just presses me back against the rough wood of the shed and kisses me. He tastes like the beer he just drank. His hands are ice cold as they slide under the hem of my jacket, seeking the warmth of my waist.

"You're crazy," I breathe against his lips, my hands tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. "If someone follows us..."

"Nobody followed us," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s practically vibrating. "I spent an hour watching you talk to that guy from the orchestra. Who is he?"

"Just a guy from biology, Jax. You're jealous?"

"I’m tired of not being able to walk over and stand next to you," he says, pulling back just enough to look at me. The moonlight filters through the bleacher slats above us, casting stripes of silver across his face. "I spent the whole night watching Miller watch you. He’s still trying to figure out how he can get his tablet back."

"Let him wonder," I say, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "He’s too scared to move."

"It’s not Miller I’m worried about anymore," Jaxson says. He takes my hand, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. "It’s the silence. I'm trying to think what will happen if we screw up."

"Then we don't screw up."

He leans in again, slower this time, his forehead resting against mine. For a few minutes, the noise of the bonfire—the shouting, the music, the crackle of the wood—is just background noise.

But then, the sound of gravel crunching nearby makes us both freeze.

"I'm telling you, I saw him go this way," a girl’s voice says. It’s one of Chloe’s friends.

Jaxson doesn't hesitate. He pulls me deeper into the shadow of the bleacher supports, his body shielding mine. We stay perfectly still, our breaths hitching in the cold air.

"There's nobody here, Stacey. Let’s go back. The beer is going to be gone."

The footsteps fade away, retreating toward the fire.

Jaxson lets out a long, ragged sigh. Reaching for my hair and twirling the strands around his index finger. I slip my hands under his jacket, around his waist and rest my head on his chest. We stay like that for so long that our legs ache.

"Go back first," he whispers after sometime. "I’ll wait five minutes."

"Jaxson..."

"Go, Maya. Before Sarah comes looking for you."

I slip out of the shadows and head back toward the light, my skin still tingling where he touched me. As I reach the edge of the fire, I see Leo’s truck pull into the far end of the parking lot. He’s here to pick me up.

I walk toward him, wiping the smell of woodsmoke from my face. I then adjust the scarf around my neck. Hopefully, it won't slip. I can't let him see the hickey Jaxson just left.