EIGHTY-SIX | UNDER THE BLEACHERS

“Under the bleachers?” I scoffed to myself, though I typed out a message saying that was fine, that I’d meet them there. Kathrena had said she’d be late, so I was in no hurry to rush outside just to wait around in the cold.

I was stood at the edge of the cafeteria, leaning against a wall with faded, peeling cornflower paint. I dropped my phone back into my pocket, and was about to leave when I saw the queue for the lunch line shrink.

Throughout October the school was selling autumn-themed drinks. They were disgusting, apparently – no match for the coffee shop in town, or so I’d heard – but I imagined that, at the very least, they’d be warm.

One of Rowan’s quieter friends, Jade, had been buying them religiously, and they usually smelt pretty nice, too: sweet and spicy, wrapped up with cinnamon and cloves. 

I ducked through the tables, trying t