Free The Reaping by M. Leighton Page A

I’d purposely avoided thinking of my myriad troubles.  Too much was happening too fast. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings and it felt better to just ignore it all, focus on what few good things I had going for me and not question the rest.
“No, Dad.  Honestly, I’ve been trying not to even think about all that.  This is just a night at Leah’s.  That’s it.  No big deal.”
He was quiet again.  Finally, I heard him sigh.  “Alright, but be home early in the morning.”
Relief washed over me.  “Ok.  Thanks, Dad.”
I raced into the house to pack a bag before I had to start dinner.  I flipped through my meager wardrobe, agonizing over what to wear.  I settled on a medium weight cable knit sweater, a pair of low-riding jeans and some Ugg boot knock-offs (I’d convinced Dad that I needed them to keep my feet warm on the walk to school in the winter).  I stuffed it all into an overnight bag, along with shorts, a t-shirt and a few toiletries, and headed to the kitchen to start the tacos.
A few minutes after six, I was ringing the bell at Leah’s.  She flung open the front door, took my bag in one hand and my hand in the other and dragged me up the stairs to her room.  From the instant she shut her door behind us, she didn’t stop chattering until Stephen pulled up at the curb.  When she saw his lights, she ran to the window and squealed excitedly.
“He’s here!  He’s here!”
“I can see that,” I teased.  I knew that my excitement should rival hers, especially since I’d been daydreaming about just such a night forever it seemed, but it just wasn’t there.  I could, however, find joy in her joy, which is exactly what I did.
She walked me to the door then reminded me, “So, I’ll find you as soon as we get there, ok?”
“Alright,” I said.  “Thanks for letting me come over.”
“Are you kidding?  This is, like, the best night of my life,” she declared.  “ And it’s only seven o’clock.”
I was still smiling when I walked out the door.  Stephen was just getting out of his car. I guess he had gotten tired of waiting for me.  He hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. 
“You look great,” he said, genuine appreciation glowing in his blue, blue eyes.
Leah had forced me to avail myself of all her newly purchased feminine products, which was a real treat for me, since they were all on the “silly” list seven doors down at the Porter house.  I’d put a few loose curls in my hair with her flatiron and used some of her lip gloss and mascara.  I’d even walked through a sprits of her perfume.  I felt like an alien, but in a good way.
“You, too,” I said, my comment as lacking in imagination as was his.  He did look nice, though.  But then again, he always did.
Once I was seated in the car, Stephen shut the door and rounded the front to the driver’s side.  The car smelled overwhelmingly of some sort of cologne.  It was probably a nice scent—in moderation—but it seemed that Stephen had doused every inch of his car in the stuff.  It was literally breathtaking.  I was forced to crack the window or risk passing out.
Just as I was in the beginning stages of a nasty headache, Stephen cut off the main road onto a dirt drive that cut through the woods.  It dead-ended at the edge of a grassy clearing.   When he parked, I jumped out of the car and took several deep, cleansing breaths.  Between the cologne and the football anecdotes, I was ready for fresh air and a change of subject. 
I straightened my sweater as I looked around.  According to Stephen one of the football players’ parents owned this land.  They had erected a series of cabana-like structures in the clearing that formed a semi-circle facing the lake.  In the center of the ring of tents was a fire pit surrounded by six long benches made from split trees.  A path led from the fire pit down to the dock which was decorated with tiki torches and Chinese lanterns.  Just