Summer Chill by Lorena Pimentel
Here’s the thing: I was hoping I was wrong. But I wasn’t.
The old, abandoned house was being torn down. Out of all the beginning-of-summer traditions, we hoped our senior year would bring an epic party.
I told Nancy, who told Max, who told Todd. And so we went, dark into the night. I felt the familiar smell of old ivy.
“Hey, Nance, see this?” I turned around, showing her the door at the end of the hall, which was open. I felt my skin crawl.
But here’s the thing: Nancy wasn’t there. I was hoping I was wrong. But I wasn’t.