Hurt by Travis Thrasher

funny.”
    “Not really,” I say. “I’d pick something with a bunch of funny people around me. Something crazy and hilarious.”
    “It would probably have bathroom humor. At least.”
    “There are worse things,” I say.
    She waits for me to share more, but I don’t want to share anything.
    I don’t want to tell her that I’ve been in a movie for quite some time, and it’s a horror flick shown around Halloween. It’s the kind of movie that makes you dart up the dark stairs by two at night and pull the cover of your blanket up by your nose.
    That’s the movie I’m in, until Kelsey walks by and changes the channel.

24. The Bridge
    I leave before Kelsey’s father gets home. I don’t want him coming home wondering what I’m doing there so late. Not that I think he’d mind, and Kelsey assures me it’s fine, but regardless I tell her that it’s time. She’s comfortable on the couch with her legs over my lap, and I think she’d be content to fall asleep like that. I would be too.
    Maybe it’s because I know Mr. Page is coming home any minute. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to rush things. Because deep down, I’m afraid to.
    Since every girl I like ends up dead or gone.
    Maybe it’s all of those things. Maybe that’s why I don’t spend much time kissing Kelsey before I leave. I know that she wants to—I can tell by the way she looks at me. And I do kiss her once before leaving. Not a good-bye, brotherly, friendly kiss, but a real good one. A kind that might be perfect simply because it leaves you wanting more.
    What do you know about kissing, you dork?
    I’m driving through the night thinking of kissing Kelsey and about epic love stories. It’s cold, but I’m smart enough to be wearing a cap and gloves and Uncle Robert’s leather jacket. Well, maybe not that smart, because I’m not wearing a helmet, but at least I’m warm.
    The winding roads tend to look the same, but as I make the usual turns that lead to my house, I find myself on a dirt lane nobody else is going to be driving on this time of night. Then I see a road I’ve never noticed before jutting to the left up a hill.
    The Crag’s Inn.
    That’s what I first think, because even though I’ve managed to see Iris again, I still haven’t ever been able to find the road leading up to the former lodge on top of the mountain.
    No, this isn’t the same road. But it looks similar.
    I slow down and then decide to see where it leads. It’s after midnight, and nobody’s waiting up for me at the cabin. At least I hope nobody’s waiting up for me. If there is, I’d better stay out here for a long time.
    The road is narrower than the main roads around Solitary, the trees closer to the sides. Perhaps I’ve always missed this road because the overgrowth has been so dense. Now the trees are barren and look like skinny kids huddling together on a cold night.
    I drive for ten or fifteen minutes until there is a turn in the road so abrupt that I’m glad to notice it before driving off into the woods. I slow down, and then I see another path descending into the woods.
    I steer my bike toward the path so I can see.
    The light shows a narrow path flattening with a stone edge on either side, then continuing on into the woods. For a second I can’t make it out, then I hear the sound of a creek and realize that what I’m looking at is an old bridge.
    I turn off my bike but leave the light on.
    This might be the moment the couple in the audience or the critic in the seat goes, Come on Chris get a clue what’s wrong with you and why haven’t you learned? But this is far less frightening than the abandoned cabin I found in the woods. And definitely less freaky than the dark underground tunnel that I can only go forward or backward in. Yeah, sure, I’ve learned there are some nasty things in these woods, like demon dogs and lisping old men, but I’ve also come to understand there are other things.
    I still never know when a bridge in the middle of