The Bonfire

They won. Of course they won.

Wyatt threw three touchdowns in the second half. The final score was a blowout. The town of Crestview ascended into a state of religious ecstasy.

The Bonfire was held in the clearing behind the old mill, a tradition as old as the town itself. A massive pyre of pallets and brush roared in the center, sending sparks up into the black Texas sky.

Wyatt stood near the fire, holding a red solo cup he didn't want. He was high on adrenaline and exhaustion. Every thirty seconds, someone slapped his back. Someone screamed his name. Girls he had never spoken to were touching his arm, laughing at jokes he hadn't told.

"The Rifle!" his center, Davis, roared, throwing an arm around Wyatt’s neck. "You're a legend, man! A literal god!"

Wyatt smiled. It was the plastic smile. The mask was back on, welded tight by the heat of the victory. But his eyes kept darting to the edge of the woods.

*Where is she?*

He felt a tug of anxiety. Maybe she wouldn't come. Maybe she knew better.

Then, the crowd parted near the coolers.

Penny stepped into the firelight.

She wasn't wearing the fur suit. She was wearing a vintage oversized wool coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck, and her hair was brushed loose. She looked small against the backdrop of the towering pines and the roaring fire. She looked out of place among the varsity jackets and the cheerleading skirts.

She looked terrified.

She scanned the crowd, her eyes wide, searching. Then, she found him.

Her face transformed. The fear melted into a shy, hopeful smile. She took a step toward him. She was doing it. She was being brave.

"Wyatt," she mouthed, though he couldn't hear her over the music and the fire.

Wyatt’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Whoa," Davis laughed, squinting into the dark. "Check it out. Who invited the stray?"

The circle of players around Wyatt turned. Their laughter was sharp, fueled by victory and cruelty.

"Is that the mascot girl?" Miller sneered. "Why is she looking at you, Wyatt?"

Penny stopped ten feet away. The heat of the fire illuminated her face. She stopped smiling. She looked at Wyatt, waiting. She was waiting for him to step forward. She was waiting for him to claim her, like he promised in the dark.

Wyatt looked at her. He saw the girl who had wiped his tears. He saw the girl who made him feel human.

Then he looked at Davis. He looked at the cheerleaders watching him. He looked at the scouts standing by the kegs.

He felt the crown on his head. It was heavy, and it was suffocating, but it was safe. If he stepped toward Penny, he stepped off the pedestal. He became vulnerable. He became a joke.

The fear that had paralyzed him in the equipment shed came rushing back, but this time, there was no one to give him a juice box. This time, he had to save himself.

Wyatt’s face hardened. The mask slammed down.

He laughed. It was a cold, harsh sound that didn't reach his eyes.

"I don't know her," Wyatt said, loud enough for the whole circle to hear. He curled his lip in a sneer he had learned from his father. "Just some fan. Ignore her."

He turned his back on Penny. He lifted his cup to Davis. "To the champs!"

"To the champs!" the team roared.

Behind him, there was no sound of a struggle. No shout of indignation.

Penny stood frozen for a heartbeat. The firelight caught the shine in her eyes as they filled with tears. She didn't blink. She stared at the back of his varsity jacket—the number 12 that everyone loved, worn by the boy who didn't exist.

She understood. The boy in the shed was gone. The Rifle was all that was left.

Penny pulled her coat tighter around herself. She didn't wipe the tears away. She wore them like war paint.

She turned around and walked back into the darkness of the woods, disappearing as completely as if she had never been there at all.

Wyatt stood by the fire, the heat blistering his face, the cheers ringing in his ears. He drank from his cup, swallowed the bitter taste of cheap beer and betrayal, and realized with a sickening lurch that he had just won everything, and lost the only thing that mattered.