The Cemetery Boys by Heather Brewer

but the movie playing in my mind about Devon, the cliff, and my imminent doom still refused to stop playing. I had to know what exactly had happened the night before. I had to know if it really had been a joke, and it only seemed so terrifying because I was tipsy, or if Devon really had beentrying to kill us both and just messed up. I didn’t even want to consider the third option—that I was losing my mind. I mean, the idea of going crazy scared the shit out of me, what with my mom and all.
    After throwing on my shoes, I made my way quietly out the front door and across town to the Playground. I wasn’t surprised to see the boys there this time, or the bonfire they’d built on one of the graves. To them, it seemed, this was pleasure as usual.
    The flames cast eerie shadows of the boys onto the tombstones and the trees—elongated forms that made them look alien, strange. I kept my attention on Devon, who was standing apart from the group, looking up into the night sky with a dreamlike expression on his face. He was dressed in shades of black and gray, and I suspected that the grays had all been blacks at one time. I gave his shoulder a shove—light enough not to start anything, but firm enough to show him I meant business. “What the hell was that, Devon?”
    He barely flinched, but I could tell by the set of his mouth that he wanted to react. I wondered what made him stop, but then recognized his inaction for what it was: patience. I was still learning my place in their little group, and Devon was being forgiving of my actions. For now.
    From his shirt pocket, he withdrew a semicrushed packet of clove cigarettes. He held it out to me, but I shookmy head. Drinking was one thing. Smoking was absolutely another, and I refused to cross that line. When he could tell I wasn’t going to change my mind, he popped one into his mouth with a shrug, lit it with his skull lighter, and returned both to his pocket. It took him two inhales and exhales to formulate a response to my question. He didn’t meet my eyes, but as he exhaled, he said, “What the hell was what?”
    Behind us, Scot, Cam, and Thorne broke into laughter over something I hadn’t heard or seen. Shortly after, I heard music playing, which meant that one of them had likely brought out a radio or iPod or something. The song was one I’d listened to myself a hundred times, the singer rambling on and on about knowing what I did in the dark.
    What was I so worried about? Maybe it was just a stupid joke gone wrong. Maybe it was nothing to get pissed about in the grand scheme of things. But still. “Last night. The cliff. You know what I mean.”
    â€œYou were pretty drunk, my friend.” He sucked on his cigarette, making the ember glow brightly. As he blew out a ring of smoke, the light from the ember dimmed. His face looked gaunt in the semidarkness. “Maybe you fell. Maybe I saved your ass and you totally overreacted.”
    I tried to fix the night before in my mind—recall every moment leading up to falling over the edge—but couldn’t. Most of it was a blur. But Devon’s eyes . . . and that sensationof knowing I was about to die . . . that much I could recall. “I didn’t fall on my own.”
    â€œIt was just a joke. Call it an initiation, if you will. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It’s not often we accept anyone into our little group. We like you, Stephen. The boys like you. I like you. It just went too far.” He met my gaze then and held it for a good, long time. This wasn’t the face of a guy who was trying to screw with me, or dupe me in any way. This was the face of a guy who’d welcomed me into his group of friends without, I guess, much hazing at all. Just a quick warning about his sister and my balls, and after that, a harmless prank. I’d known a group of guys back in Denver who’d required an act of violence in exchange for