Two weeks of total radio silence from the other boys. Concerns for the how and why of the body’s disappearance had drifted away. The guilt however hadn’t, it had only increased. Fletcher let the thoughts rattle around in his head. What he did wasn’t right, but it was necessary or at least that’s how he was trying to justify it. Luckily, Ellis kept to his word and took over the entire biology project although that just made Fletcher feel more guilty.

There wasn’t much that didn’t make him queasy anymore. Everything felt like he wasn’t doing enough. He tried talking to Sam about it, but the other boys took their oath far more seriously. A knot was becoming a permanent fixture in the pit of his stomach. He needed answers, he needed logic, he needed everything to make sense but he couldn’t talk about it. What was he supposed to say? Hey, the boy’s body that my friends and I killed ended up going missing? As if that didn’t make him sound insane.

Shaking his head from left to right, he pushed the thought away. He had to stay focused at least until the swim meet was over. Leaving the locker room, Fletcher scanned the Olympic sized swimming pool. Swimmers gathered around the diving blocks, some already hopping in the water to warm up. The bleachers were filled with overbearing parents and overly passionate students. Swim never really attracted the same school spirit as football so the people that attended the meetings were always gunners. Taking a deep breath in, Fletcher smelled chlorine. Over the years, it became a calming smell, almost like home. Scanning the crowd, he noticed Beck. Before he even had a chance to say hello, she kissed him.

“You’re going to do great.” She said softly.

Beck was one of the best things in Fletcher’s life. She was consistent and driven which Fletcher couldn’t help but admire. Her beauty and grace were always a showstopper. He could have spent days listing off the things he loved about her, like the way her eyes shined like the sky on a clear day, or her soft smile when he’d said something stupid. Of everything that came after the night on the docks, Beck was the only thing that mattered to him.

“I really think this is a good look for you.” Beck said, pulling back on the side of Fletcher’s speedo. She let it snap against his skin while she laughed.

“Well thank you. Definitely not my top pick.” Fletcher replied as Beck ran her fingers through his hair. “I got to go warm up. Love you.”

With a quick peck on the forehead, Fletcher was off again. First, he needed to do a quick stretch and then he would begin his pre swim ritual. Walking over the diving blocks, Fletcher saw a wiry figure leaned against the door frame. It was Warren as indicated by his tight-lipped cocky grin. His luxury brand leather jacket and tight jeans clashed with the pool setting but he didn’t seem to care in spite of how warm he must have been. Warren slowly motioned for Fletcher to come closer.

Awkwardness was something Fletcher thought he was becoming accustomed to and yet one stare down from Warren and he was unraveled. Nevertheless, he walked over as he tucked his curls into a swim cap. Warren wasn’t his friend or anyone’s friend for that matter, but his appearance meant that he wanted something.

“Fletch, you coming to my birthday party?”

The nickname was the first thing to throw Fletcher off. An invitation to a party was just as obscure. A trick, it had to be a trick. Warren and kindness were like oil and water; they didn’t mix.

“I didn’t know I was invited.” Fletcher stated rather than saying no. No was harsh and Fletcher didn’t want to hurt Warren’s feelings although he wasn’t even sure if Warren possessed the ability to have emotions.

“You oughta come.” Warren waited for an answer, but Fletcher didn’t supply one. “It’s not a trick, Yates.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Come on, I need you to go. I made a bet saying I could get you to come even though you are a massive killjoy. They said you wouldn’t go to any party, let alone mine. Prove em’ wrong Fletch.”

Fletcher wasn’t sure why, but he took a step back as if the distance between them would end Warren’s intense stare. Hurt would have been the easy way to explain Fletcher’s feelings but it was more complex. He didn’t care that someone he didn’t know thought he was boring or a buzzkill, but it was a dull confusing ache that struck a chord in him. He wasn’t a killjoy; he just didn’t enjoy committing crimes on the weekends.

“Sorry, just not my kind of thing.” Fletcher half-heartedly shrugged before a high pitch whistle cut through the air. “That’s my cue.”

Stepping back, he shot a fake smile at Warren and hustled over to the diving blocks. He missed warmups but he wouldn’t let that phase him. Standing in front of the diving block, he took a long deep breath, put his goggles on and let his mind clear. All he had to do was swim. I’m good at swimming, I got this, Fletcher reminded himself.

Taking a look at the crowd, he kept his eyes out for familiar faces. Unfortunately, Warren decided to stay and take his spot next to Beck. Fletcher tried not to let it bother him but the creeping thoughts came back. He wasn’t a killjoy because he wanted a successful life. He had to stay focused on the future and swimming was his future. Finish high school, go to university, go to the Olympics. Easy, Fletcher just had to keep his head above water, and he would achieve his goals.

The whistle blew, and Fletcher dived into the water with the grace of a dancer. His mind was completely blank. His muscle memory completely took over. In fluid yet sharp movements, Fletcher practically glided through the water. Through the sound of thrashing water, he could hear the crowd cheering him on. I must be about to get my new personal best, Fletcher thought.

Competitiveness wasn’t a trait he admired. A nasty trait for those who feel that need to be the best. Overly competitive people ended up like Ellis, where every action became something to win. Fletcher refused to live like that and decided long before that competing against himself was far more proactive. It wasn’t about winning; it was about improving. No comparison to other people, just progress.

Ducking under the water, he performed what must have been a nearly perfect flip turn. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the other athletes hadn’t reached the other side of the pool meaning he was likely beating his time by a long shot. Kicking harder, he could feel the burn building up in his legs. In the midst of his kicks, he felt something slide over his foot, almost like a hand. Focus, Fletcher, he cursed at himself. He had to be imagining it. Self-sabotage was always one of his faults, but swore he could feel slimy, nimble fingers start to dig into his skin.

The digging sensation turned to yank but he kept pushing on, struggling to keep his head above water. A hush fell over the crowd as Fletcher's head went under the water. The pull just got stronger and stronger dragging him further and further down. He was going to drown. The water which had become like home to him was about to become his grave. Exhaustion began to wash over him, and his desperate kicks and paddles began to slow.

Fletcher didn’t know how much time had passed before the lifeguard hauled him out of the water. Embarrassment was too light a word for the shame Fletcher felt. One of the best swimmers in the state nearly drowning in his hometown pool was certain to be something he couldn’t live down. Sitting with his head between his knees on the tile floor, Fletcher wished for nothing more than whatever cosmic force was messing with him to smite him then and there.

A small audience formed around him, each person fretting over him. No amount of I’m fines would stop the onslaught of questions.

Clarity came over Fletcher. Sam was right, something was very wrong. Everything that happened in the past few weeks was adding up to be a mystery he was determined to solve. A trend was forming between Fletcher and water. Since the start of the strange occurrences, the water seemed to drag him down. It was all going to add up to something cataclysmic, that Fletcher was sure of but he didn’t intend to let it sit long enough to ruin him. This curse would not ruin his future, Yes, that was it, he was cursed and so were the other boys.

“Can someone grab my phone?” Fletcher asked no person particularly, but a swarm of people responded, each frantically looking for it. “It’s in my bag.”

A girl handed him his bag. Digging through it, he snatched his phone and texted Roman. Fletcher wasn’t sure why he chose Roman to text first, but it seemed logically. He always knew what to do. Fletcher wasn’t exactly sure what to write without it sounding insane. Hey Roman, I think something strange is going on with our whole situation, I can explain better in person, Fletcher typed and then he waited. Staring down at his messages, he could tell Roman was typing. With succinctness and grace Roman replied with, don’t text me.

Honestly, Fletcher didn’t know why he even bothered. Roman didn’t care and never would. Taking a deep breath, he repeated the message only this time sending it to Sam. In typical fashion, Sam saw the message but didn’t reply. Fletcher half considered trying Ellis but he knew that he wouldn’t be taken seriously.

Curled up under a towel, he had a choice to make. He needed the other boys to listen to him. Actually, listen to him, not just nod along and leave. Unfortunately, in the case of Roman, that meant they had to be face to face. Getting Roman to agree to a meeting was next to impossible. Fletcher also knew that there were very few guarantees in life but Roman going to Warren’s birthday party would certainly be one.

Slipping on his sweatpants over his speedo, he scanned the crowd for Warren, but he must have taken one of his famous Irish goodbyes. One of the few nice things about people like Warren was just how predictable he could be. Most likely he would be sitting alone in the courtyard waiting for whoever he intended to harass strolled by. Fletcher left the pool using a side door, trying his best not to be seen. Once he was outside, he realized how awkward he looked. His thoughts immediately went to how terrible his hair must look then to the fact he forgot to wear a shirt.

Just as he expected, Warren was sitting on a courtyard table with a grin playing at the corner of his mouth as if he was expecting Fletcher. Warren motioned for him to sit down but Fletcher hesitated. Was one conversation with Roman worth the risk that Warren carried? Probably not, but Fletcher needed answers. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, he heard an all too familiar screech come from behind him.

“What the hell was that?” It was Beck and she certainly sounded angrier than Fletcher would have expected her to be. He debated if it was him losing the race or wandering off without telling her that was causing her face to turn an unflattering shade of red. “You embarrassed me.”

Embarrassed her, the words echoed in Fletcher’s mind. It was as if she hadn’t seen the exact shit show that HE had put on. If anyone should be embarrassed, it was him. The entire swim team saw him floundering like fish on land and yet she was the one who was embarrassed. He took a breath and let the anger wash over him. She had no right to act like it was about her.

“I’m sorry.” Self hatred flowed through his veins. He wanted to unleash his frustration on her, but he was too much of a coward. “I don’t know what came over me. I just freaked.”

Warren sat with a twisted smirk on his face like this was some sitcom for his amusement, but Beck didn’t seem to care. She just kept talking in spite of Fletcher’s clear displeasure with the conversation.

“I want what’s best for you, you know that…but what’s best for you isn’t losing to some B grade swimmers from public school.” She put extra emphasis on the words public school as if that was some sort of insult. “Get it together.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Honestly, I don’t even want to speak to you right now. Get together and call me.” She stormed off like she had an actual point.

Fletcher loved her but that didn’t make loving her easy. She didn’t have a point, she wanted to pick a fight and he was too tired to play along. In between the time she left, and he turned back to the table, Warren lit up a cigarette. Smoking on school grounds, classy, Fletcher thought to himself.

“Hell of a woman, isn’t she?” Warren sounded more like a seventy year old than a sixteen year old. “So, what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from a shirtless Fletcher Yates?”

“I’ll come to your party-”

“One condition. No Beck. If you’re a killjoy, she’s a drain on all of society's happiness.”

“Fine, what time?”

“7:30.” Warren took a drag of his cigarette in a way that made Fletcher only embarrassed to be near him. “Glad to have you coming. It was very important to me.”

The way Warren spoke awoke Fletcher's survival instincts. He fought his fight or flight instincts and tried to keep on track. There was only one simple goal he had to achieve and that was to get someone to believe him. The first step was Roman. He would be at the party for one conversation, how bad could it be?