All characters in this story are age 18 and above. Part 1 contains no sex, but is useful for setting the context of the later installments.
*****
Kaine pushed open the door to the last compartment on the late train. Finally! He'd spent hours going through the cars, carefully nonchalant, seeking her face. Now that he found it, though, he allowed his gaze to gloss right past her. He slumped into a seat across the aisle, in a sudden pitch-black mood. Happy birthday to me, he thought. He no longer deluded himself with hopes that they might strike up a conversation—it was clear Kendra had completely erased him from her mind.
Man up, he chided himself. It really wasn't unthinkable that she wouldn't recognize him; it had been seven years, and rough ones at that. He was clawing his way out of the hole—or was it deeper in? He couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was that he wasn't on the bottom anymore. He'd risen from foot soldier to enforcer to lieutenant, and now on the outside, was a respected member of a very disreputable organization. But they had saved his ass when he had no one to watch his back, so who was he to judge?
Time had been much kinder to her. She was quite stylish, and not in the artsy way she'd been in high school. Her look now whispered money. The silky blouse and camel-colored skirt were a conservative length, but the slim cut showcased her curves, and freshly straightened hair swung down her back, emphasizing a sexier, more confident walk. Still, her smile held that same touch of vulnerability that pierced him the first time they met. Every detail of that year was seared in his memory.
***
Sunlight streamed through the window of Keith's bedroom. It was really just an uninsulated shed someone had slapped onto the side of the house decades ago, but the teen kept it immaculate. A plastic milk crate held jeans rolled up like newspapers, his faded black trench hung from a nail on the plywood wall. He squinched his eyes against the brightness, but it did no good.
"Come on, dude," he muttered, pushing himself off a pallet of old cushions, the couch they came from long gone. Yesterday his neighbor Lacy had told him school was starting. She kept him on track about these things, though she'd graduated ten years ago. He filled a bucket from a hose connection and did his morning ritual: brush teeth; wash face, pits and crotch; and hit the deodorant. He ran his fingers through thick, unnaturally black hair. A little greasy, but so what? He washed it once or twice a week at Lacy's, but he'd never make it to school on time if he stopped for a shower over there. She always found an excuse to get in.
On his way out, he stopped to check the fridge. It was a habit, like checking the coin return on vending machines and pay phones. Never anything there, but you might get lucky. Today, just a couple forlorn soldiers in a battered Natty Light case. He slipped one in his coat for lunch.
"Where the hell you think you're going?"
Keith started. He hadn't seen Ronald Everett lurking in the shadows of the dark living room.
"School, dad."
Ronald scoffed. "Pussy. When I was your age, I was making cash and getting ass."
"Yeah, dad."
"Guess you're gonna fuck off to college and turn queer."
"Yeah, dad." Keith dug out his key, unlocking the front door as fast as he could.
"What the fuck did you say?" Ronald took a few scuffling steps toward him but it was too late. Keith was on the porch and bounding down the steps. "You owe me a beer, you sonofabitch!"
Keith started up his '82 Ford Fairlane and slipped in his earbuds. Death metal filled his world. He'd bought the car working at the gas station over the summer. It was a five-mile walk both ways and a bitch in the rain, but so worth it. Keith spent weeks banging out dents, sanding off rust, painting it black and cleaning up the interior. It was still a beater, but it was beautiful to him.
He was a senior this year. It was his last year of school, and it was going to be a good year. He could feel it. Millville, New Hampshire was a blue-collar town of about 3,000 people, unremarkable except for its proximity to a state prison, a Pepsi bottling plant and a state college about 40 minutes away. Everyone ended up at one of the three. Not many at the last.
Keith was a gifted young man, but he often felt splintered in different pieces. He aced advanced classes effortlessly, but no one in those classes associated with him, or he them. He was, after all, an Everett: redneck royalty—his dad a regular at the drunk tank and both of his uncles doing hard time for murder. Keith had a reputation for the same bad temper. In middle school, he'd beaten a classmate unconscious. The little shit had started it, not knowing when to shut up about Keith's mother, but no one had listened to him, and the incident firmly secured his place amid his family's reputation. Townspeople regarded the sullen man-child in an old trench coat as a 6-foot-3 ticking time bomb.
It amazed him how many of their daughters seemed to like that. Girls like Tricia, who wore the tightest jeans imaginable and her body weight in mascara, and the cheerleaders, popular girls who wouldn't speak to him at school but developed emergencies at parties and suddenly needed a ride home. He obliged them all, and kept condoms in the glove box for just such occasions.
Keith parked his car in the school lot, then leaned against a brick wall at the front entrance, looking for a friendly face. Soon enough, he spotted one.
"Sup, Ray? Lemme get one of those."
The red-headed 17-year-old sucked his dwindling cigarette and leaned back to take an exaggerated look at Keith. Braces glinted in his mouth when he spoke, contrasting with his wispy moustache.
"Damn, man, you grow another foot since last week?" He tapped two out his soft pack, chain-lighting another for himself.
"That's what your mom said," Keith joked. He had grown four inches over the summer. Sometimes he didn't recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror.
"Thass OK," Ray talked with the cigarette tucked tightly in the corner of his mouth, something Keith greatly admired. "When you get that NBA money, remember who made you a man. Speaking of which," his eyes strayed over a clutch of freshman girls passing by.
One smiled at Keith, before reddening and glancing away. Her friends hugged in on her, giggling as they walked off.
Ray watched their retreat. "I hate to graduate this year. These are the best years of my life, goddamn! "
Keith looked unimpressed. "You sound like a dirty old man."
"You mean you ain't gonna hit that? She wants you, man."
"She's just a freshman. It's not even a challenge."
"I know! At that age, they're like Helen Keller: deaf, dumb and fine."
Keith cracked up, then stiffened as a stick-thin blonde separated from the crowd.
"Nah, man, I have enough trouble with crazy stalker bitches as it is," Keith griped.
"Where you been, Keith? I called you all last night." Tricia had a sharp voice, sharp nails and sharp eyes. With her feathered-back hair, he wondered if she was deliberately going for a bird of prey look.
"Around," he said vaguely, pushing off from the wall. "Look babe, I still have to pick up my schedule and everything. I'll get with you later. OK?"
Something of her pointiness softened. "Make sure you do," Tricia pouted. "Ray, I know you got another square for me."
Keith made it to college-prep English just before the bell rang, and Ms. Pinkerton frowned but pointed him to an assigned seat. The class was full of the same nerds and preppy kids as last year—one of the downsides to attending a small school. He was preparing to doze off when the door cracked open and an alien descended among them.
