The Fall before everything

Logan Brooks, 17 years old - ML

Emily Hayes, 17 years old - FL

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The late afternoon sun cast a sleepy golden haze over Beaufort, North Carolina, washing the aging rooftops and narrow lanes in warm amber light. It was the kind of small town where everybody knew everybody—or at least claimed to—and secrets were hard to keep. The kind of town where tradition had roots deeper than the trees lining the churchyard, and rebellion was more of a whisper than a roar.

Seventeen-year-old Logan Brooks didn’t care much for tradition. Or roots. Or rules, really.

He leaned against the faded hood of his friend Eric’s rusting pickup, the smell of gasoline and salty sea air filling his nose as the engine idled beside him. The school bell had rung a half hour ago, and the parking lot had mostly cleared out—except for the cluster of boys laughing too loud, and the girls pretending not to notice.

Logan flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it beneath his boot.

He didn’t need to be told he was trouble. He knew. He wore it like a badge, invisible but undeniable, stitched into the way he walked, the way he smiled. His father wasn’t around, his mother barely tried, and somewhere along the way, Logan had decided that caring too much was for suckers. It made life easier, less messy.

At least, until last night.

The prank wasn’t supposed to end the way it did.

A freshman boy, desperate to impress, was dared to jump off the old cement factory platform into shallow river water—a rite of passage that had become legend among the seniors. But something went wrong. He’d panicked. Slipped. The splash was wrong. The silence after it was worse.

The hospital lights, the sound of sirens, the sick churn in Logan’s stomach—he could still feel all of it. He’d laughed at first. They all had. Then the blood turned everything cold.

Now, instead of a weekend full of parties and freedom, Logan sat in the principal’s office staring down consequences. Real ones.

Mr. Kelly, the school’s tight-lipped vice principal, folded his hands neatly across his desk and said, “You’re not being suspended, Logan.”

Logan looked up, confused. “What?”

“You’re being given an alternative. Community service. Tutoring underclassmen. Participation in the spring play. Every day after school. And you’ll report to Reverend Hayes for weekend service at the church.”

Logan stared at him, a flicker of disbelief cutting through his arrogance. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not. You have a choice—either accept this punishment, or face a disciplinary hearing. That’s expulsion.”

Logan swallowed the lump in his throat. Expulsion wasn’t an option. College applications were creeping closer, and his mother—though hardly present—would lose it if he threw away his future entirely.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

But he hadn’t expected her to be there.

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.

.

.

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The church looked older than time itself—white clapboard, a steeple that stretched against the blue sky, and ivy curling around its stone base like nature’s quiet claim. Logan arrived late on Saturday morning, still half-asleep and very much annoyed, only to find Reverend Hayes waiting on the steps.

And beside him, in a sky-blue cardigan and long pleated skirt, stood Emily Hayes.

She was holding a small box of hymnals and smiling like she had never been disappointed by the world. Her honey-brown hair was pinned back loosely, strands fluttering in the breeze like dandelion seeds. She looked... harmless. Like a breeze could knock her over.

Logan had seen her around school, of course. Who hadn’t? Always sitting alone at lunch, always volunteering for events nobody cared about. The kind of girl who didn’t exist in his world.

She blinked up at him. “You’re late.”

He frowned. “You keeping track of that, or...?”

“I keep track of a lot of things,” she said simply.

Reverend Hayes cleared his throat. “Emily will be helping supervise your time here. You’ll assist her, clean, organize, and help with the upcoming school play. Rehearsals start Monday.”

Logan looked between the two of them, stunned. “You’re joking, right? She’s my supervisor?”

Emily tilted her head. “Not your supervisor. Your partner.” Her tone was calm, unbothered. “You’ll need one. The church play is a lot of work.”

Church play? Logan felt the headache forming. This was going to be worse than he thought.

And then, just as Reverend Hayes turned to unlock the doors, Emily looked up at Logan and said, with soft sincerity that somehow made his chest tighten:

“Don’t worry, Logan. I promise I won’t fall in love with you.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Good. 'Cause that’d be the real tragedy.”

What he didn’t know was that the real tragedy hadn’t even begun yet.

End of chapter 1❤❤❤❤❤

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