Chapter 14 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
By Friday afternoon, the halls are pure chaos. Teachers pretend they still have control, but nobody’s listening. Dress code’s gone out the window—sweatpants, ripped shirts, sneakers squeaking down the halls like it’s already summer. The graduation ceremony was this morning, and the two seats labeled with my parents' names were left empty. Whatever, I'm done high school and that alone is great.
When I swing by home to grab my bag, the quiet slams into me like it always does. Six days. That’s how long it’s been since either of my parents came home. Six days of me texting into the void, getting back a thumbs-up from my dad or a flat I’m okay from my mom.
What kind of parents leave their son alone in the house with no explanation for a week?
I stand there for a second, duffel bag half-zipped, staring at the stillness. The couch cushions haven’t moved. The kitchen’s spotless. It’s like I live in a model home, not a real one. My chest tightens, a mix of worry and frustration battling it out.
But I shove it down. It’s retreat weekend. Time to forget. Time to get the hell out of this house.
I grab my bag, lock the door behind me, and climb into the car.
First stop: Caleb’s. He bolts down his porch steps with a grin, duffel bouncing against his side, and heaves it into the trunk before hopping into the passenger seat.
“Shotgun,” he announces.
“Obviously,” I say, smirking.
Next, Jemma. She comes down the walkway in jeans and a hoodie, curls catching the evening light. She tugs open the back door before I can say anything.
“You sure you don’t want the front?” I ask, glancing at her in the mirror.
She smiles. “Nah. If Caleb had to squeeze in back here instead of me, you’d have a pile of limbs and complaints. Three guys at the back... Nah, won't work.”
Caleb laughs, throwing an elbow dramatically over the armrest. “She’s not wrong.”
Her laugh joins his, and I can’t help grinning as I pull away from the curb.
We swing by Nate’s place, then Ryan’s, and soon the car is packed—duffels, drinks for the chalet, playlists on shuffle, everyone talking over each other.
It doesn’t take long before Ryan groans, hand pressed to his stomach. “I’m starving.”
“You literally just ate lunch,” Nate says without looking up from his phone.
“That was, like, three hours ago.” Ryan leans against the window like he’s wasting away.
I roll my eyes but pull into a greasy burger drive-through anyway. “If any of you spill something in my car, I swear—”
Then I glance at Jemma through the rearview and add with a wink, “Except you. I’d forgive you.”
Her cheeks color faintly, and she hides her smile behind a hand. Caleb notices and smirks, elbowing my arm like he wants to say something but thinks better of it.
We’re back on the highway with burgers and fries when Caleb kicks off his favorite game: Guess what I’m thinking about.
“Oh God,” Ryan mutters around a mouthful of fries. “This again? It’s always something dumb.”
“Guess,” Caleb insists, grinning.
“Basketball,” Nate offers.
“Nope.”
“Graduation,” I say.
“Not even close.”
“Food,” Ryan says, hopeful.
Caleb shakes his head. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. You all give up already?”
“No!” Jemma leans forward from the back, curls spilling over her shoulders as she wedges herself between the seats. “Give us a real hint.”
Caleb taps his temple with exaggerated flair. “It’s big.”
Ryan groans. “That’s not a hint, bro, that barely narrows it down.”
The car erupts into guesses—whales, the Grand Canyon, a stadium, “your ego”—and Caleb shoots them all down with smug delight. By the time he finally reveals it—“Hot air balloons”—the whole car groans so loud I’m surprised the windows don’t rattle.
“Hot air balloons?” Nate sputters, half-choking on his soda. “Who even thinks about hot air balloons?”
“I do!” Caleb defends. “I saw one on a billboard last week!”
The rest of us crack up, laughter filling the car as the sun sinks lower and the sky turns pink. Jemma’s humming along to the playlist, Ryan’s arguing about whether hot air balloons are even real transportation, and for the first time in a week, the empty house at home doesn’t matter.
Right now, it’s just the road, my friends, and the kind of night you remember long after high school ends.
By the time we turn off the main road and onto the winding gravel path, the sun has slipped behind the trees. The sky is streaked with indigo, the last scraps of light fading fast. The headlights sweep over branches that arch overhead, then—suddenly—the trees break, and there it is.
The chalet.
It rises out of the clearing like something from a postcard. Big. Warm. Golden light spilling from the windows, the promise of a fire flickering inside. Smoke curls faintly from the chimney, and in front, a fire pit already crackles, throwing sparks into the night air.
“Holy shit,” Ryan breathes, pressing his forehead to the glass. “We’re living here this weekend?”
“It’s huge,” Jemma says from the back, voice a little breathless. “Like—this could fit the whole class.”
And it will. Forty-something seniors, plus whoever smuggled in a friend or two. A final, messy goodbye to the last four years.
I pull into the gravel drive, the car crunching over stone. Doors fling open, voices rising in excitement. Caleb stretches like he just got off a cross-country flight, then shoulders his bag with a grin. “Boys—and Jemma—welcome to paradise.”
We all laugh as we haul our duffels out of the trunk. Jemma tugs her backpack on, curls spilling over her shoulders as she looks up at the chalet again, eyes wide. I catch the way the light glows in them, and something in my chest twists.
Inside, it’s even better. High ceilings, walls of polished logs, couches scattered around a giant stone fireplace that’s already roaring. The air smells like woodsmoke and pine, like summer and endings all at once. People are piling in behind us, voices echoing, laughter bouncing off the rafters.
Nate whistles low. “Okay. This was worth it.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, more to myself than anyone.