Page 5 of Midnight Between Us
I’m stuck in the first aid tent, drowning in humidity and other people’s questionable life choices.My scrubs are practically a wet towel at this point.The industrial fans feel like a cruel joke, and if one more guy staggers in asking if I have anything for ‘just being too high,’ I’m faking a seizure and medevacking myself out of here.
This isn’t how I envisioned my life, but here I am—trying to figure out when I can jump out of this town—again.There’s a small cut along my forearm I didn’t notice until just now—probably from the boy who stormed into the first-aid tent like he was on fire.Spoiler: he wasn’t.Just took a dramatic tumble off the inflatable slide.Left a trail of candy and tears behind him.
A band plays near the lake.The music drifts through the fabric walls of the tent, both upbeat and vaguely nostalgic.The fireworks haven’t started yet, but the air feels ready to split wide open.
I press a cold pack to a teenage girl’s ankle.She winces.Her boyfriend stands nearby, watching me like I might spontaneously unravel in front of him.
I won’t.
I’ve already done that years ago, quietly, when no one was looking.
“Keep this on until the swelling goes down,” I say, softer than I mean to.
She nods, biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry.He murmurs a thank you—but doesn’t quite meet my eyes.He probably knows about me or thinks he does.People around here always swear they know.
Maybe he heard something at the coffee shop.That’s where everyone learned I was back—after almost a year of being here.As long as you stay away in a remote cabin by the lake, no one will ever give two shits about who you are or even try to figure out why you’re here.
Here’s a tip for anyone who comes to Birchwood Springs: if you want to hear the latest gossip in town, drop by The Honey Drop for excellent pastries and all the information you can swallow.By now, many believe that I used to sleep around like my mother—a total lie.That my grandfather ran me out because I was just like her—I left of my own will.That I came back smaller somehow, like a shrunken version of the girl I used to be, all because I’m a medical failure.
If I were a terrible doctor, I wouldn’t be here.It’s because of my credentials that they shoved me in this forsaken town.But I can’t say anything because it’s part of my contract.I just smile and avoid everyone outside office hours.
They love a good cautionary tale in Birchwood Springs.
You are free to leave this town.You can even change your name if you’re desperate enough.
But you can’t outrun a reputation that doesn’t belong to you.
Since things have settled, I peel off my gloves.My palms are damp, but there’s nowhere to wash them, so I settle for a squirt of hand sanitizer.I duck out of the tent and lean against the frame.The lake glimmers with carnival lights, reflections dragging across the surface as if they’re trying to escape.
It’s beautiful, but only if you don’t look too hard.
“Hey,” Del, one of my only friends in town and the owner of The Honey Drop, says as she walks over with two paper cups.
“My savior,” I claim.
She hands me one of the cups.
I sip from it and breathe in the tea latte.“Thought you weren’t coming tonight.Too busy to save my ass.”
She waves a hand as if saying I’m being just too fucking dramatic.“I closed a few hours ago and just finished cleaning up,” she shrugs, brushing a curl from her face.“The town board begged me to stay open past midnight, but I had zero fucks left for the day.Brought your tea latte.I owe you the pastries.We sold out.”
“Thank you.”I lift the cup and take another sip—hot, earthy, with just the right hint of sweetness.My throat warms before I say, without thinking, “When I was away, this festival might’ve been the only thing I missed.”
Del gapes in mock horror.“Thank you, bitch.I feel all fussy and warm on the inside.”
“You left before I did,” I repeat because maybe if she had stayed ...I don’t know what would’ve happened though.“So what’s there to miss, right?”
It doesn’t come out bitter.Just ...tired.But it’s all true.She wasn’t here anymore.Del was two years older—one grade up—but we were close.I worked my ass off trying to graduate early just to leave with her class.My grandparents put their foot down.Even when I had enough credits, sixteen was “too young” for college.They didn’t care that I was ready to pack and forget all about this place.
I don’t share that with Del.There is no point in rehashing what happened then.I glance around searching for a safer topic.Something neutral.Something that doesn’t feel like salt in an open wound.I just can’t go there.I don’t want to remember.
If Gale, Nysa, or Blythe were here, it’d be easier to have a conversation, especially if Blythe brought baby Everly.Believe it or not, most conversations are less dangerous when explosive diapers are involved.You just offer to change it and let the conversation shift naturally.
“Why did you leave before senior year?”Of course, Del doesn’t let go.She leans into the silence, trying to ensure I’m ready to speak up because she’s done waiting.“Mom told me you left only a week after I did.”
My grip tightens around the paper cup, knuckles pressing against the warmth.No one’s ever asked me that out loud.Not Nysa nor Atlas.They saw me leaving and accepted it.In fact, they helped me pack my grandfather’s truck when I stole it just so I could get across the country.
Why can’t Del do the same?
