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Around a campfire, sit a group of girls telling gruesome and spooky urban legends: there's the girl who, for a joke, wrote a love note to Satan, signed it in blood, and burnt it and who was found in the morning naked, hanging from a jump rope in the garage; the man who tied heavy chains around his murdered wife's body and tossed her into a lake, then came home to find her sitting in his chair smiling, soaking wet; and this - the three girls, Kristy, Desiree and Kristi, who sneaked out of cheerleading camp in their red convertible one summer afternoon and flashed a smile (and a little bit more) at two boys in a rusty pickup truck. Suddenly the boys were everywhere, hiding in the woods at night, stalking them. "Boy Heaven" is their story...
nudged it with my toes. I managed to walk into the water up to my breasts, but I turned back when I felt something cool and fast slide between my thighs. I looked back to see a fish, nearly a foot long and pure black, cutting its way through the water without a sound—a thick arrow made of flesh. I couldn’t help but think of the redhead’s leeches, so I ended up spending the rest of Free Swim on my beach towel, digging my toes into the gritty sand, waiting for Desiree—who, I knew, would not leave
the shiny fading leftovers of a well-lived life. But, swam today in the state’s deepest lake was going to have to wait. She wasn’t joking. I could see that. I didn’t like her, but I knew what it was like to get your period when you least expected it. Disaster. Once, during cheerleading tryouts, I was wearing a pair of white shorts when Desiree came over and whispered into my ear so loudly I had flinched: “There’s blood on your shorts.” I’d run for the locker room, and she’d followed, and I’d
thirty or forty feet away from us now. The sun had made a golden rectangle out of the windshield, which blinded me briefly, and then we were passing each other in opposite directions on either side of a solid yellow line—close enough that the wind between us shook the Mustang and seemed to rock their old station wagon. And when I glanced over I saw, in a brilliant glimpse, the expression on the driver’s face. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and I could see that his lips were moving, that
overhead as if the world were coming to an end. From the other side of the lake I could hear cheers and a trumpet playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I felt, by then, as if I’d been on my back at the edge of Lovers’ Lake staring up at the show in the sky for my whole life, but also that it had begun and ended in an instant. “Time to go!” Slippery Lips called out. I started to stand up, but someone touched my shoulder. Desiree. She and T.J. were right behind me. He was lying down on a beach
happen to you.” She picked up her fork then and pointed it at me, her head cocked to one side. I stood up fast from the table, my heart pounding, walked away without taking my plate, and never spoke to her again. On the last day, her father would pick her up in a long tan car and, as he drove her away, she would wave at me, but I wouldn’t wave back. 16 What was, I would wonder (just as I’m sure she had wanted me to wonder), the terrible thing—the terrible thing that would happen or had