Free Snared by Stefan Petrucha

in full swing. Lindsay would have knowna lot of people. She could have relaxed, and Doyle would have been a thousand miles away, nodding at some other girl.
    For the second night in a row, she heard the odd chanting, the chimes, and the drum. This was another oddity. If Mark’s guardians were so hung up on New Age crap, how could they be so strict? So mean?
    She pictured them. Muscular. Severe. Nasty. Playing lousy music into the middle of the night just to torment Mark.
    â€œI’m hating this,” Lindsay said to her ceiling.
    The chanting grew quieter. The drums beat louder.
    â€œCrap.”
    Lindsay climbed out of bed. She went to the window and looked into the sandy alley below. A frame of light surrounded a black shade behind Mark’s window. The lines of light seemed to fade and brighten with shadowy movement. Maybe he was watching TV.
    But she didn’t remember seeing a TV in his room.
    She leaned away from the window. Knowing she’d never get to sleep, Lindsay dressed herself inshorts and a salmon-colored blouse, which she buttoned slowly. She slipped on a pair of flip-flops and left the room. Her ears were still alert, trying to pick up any revealing sound from the house next door.
    In the kitchen she grabbed a diet cola from the refrigerator and walked to the porch.
    Lindsay sat on the wooden bench, cradling the soda can in her lap. Dark water stretched to the horizon, where it met the sky. Both were black, but of different depth. The ocean was as dark as onyx. The sky was more of a plum black pierced by millions of tiny stars. She watched the ghostly white lines of foam crest and fall to the beach and listened to the rhythmic crash of the waves. She breathed in the salty air. Sipped from her drink.
    To the north, Ev’s bonfire party was probably still going on, with everyone paired off. Maybe tomorrow night Lindsay would loosen up a bit more, have a better time.
    She began to relax, letting the sound of the surf lull her. She thought about Mark, thought about what hanging out with him would be like. Not hanging out like they did that afternoon, with a windowsill separating them, but really hangingout. Going for coffee or lying on the beach. She wished Mark were with her now, sharing the bench and the cool night air.
    But would she get the chance to spend any normal time with him? She was only staying at her uncle’s place for nine more days. What if Mark was grounded the whole time and they only got to chat with a wall between them? That would be a major shame. Even though it had a Romeo and Juliet flavor, that kind of romance was completely unfortunate.
    She glanced at the house next door and was surprised to see movement on the porch. Her heart tripped rapidly. For a moment, she felt certain Mark was sneaking out.
    Please, let it be him .
    She squinted, trying to make sense of the shadow on the neighboring porch. Leaning close to the side railing, she was about to whisper Mark’s name, but paused. She was glad she did.
    The shape was too broad and short to be Mark. It seemed to glide across the porch like a black ghost until it emerged into the moonlight.
    Lindsay’s breath caught in her throat. Wearing the same slicker he’d worn the first time she sawhim, Jack, the more muscular of Mark’s guardians, descended the stairs. His feet sank into the sand, and he paused, staring out at the ocean. The slicker flapped against him in the breeze coming off the water. Lindsay pulled away from the railing, pushed herself tight to the bench. She held her breath, frightened she might be discovered.
    She didn’t want Jack to know she was there. He scared her. Both of Mark’s guardians did.
    Finally the stubby man left his place by the stairs. He walked across the sand toward the surf. When he reached the tide’s edge, he removed the slicker, and Lindsay saw he wore a loose, boxy bathing suit. Black, of course. Across the man’s back were numerous dark lines: a