Free The Boys Are Back in Town by Christopher Golden

really alarm him. It was progress, of course, and he could not begrudge anyone that. On the other hand, the idea that the classic rock station was playing the Goo Goo Dolls—a band that had had its greatest success in 1998—got under his skin. Not that there was anything wrong with the band, but the whole classic rock format implied certain things, among them the suggestion that if you'd grown up contemporary with the music, you weren't precisely young anymore.
    Will glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter after one. He went through the rear gate of the chain-link fence that surrounded Cougar Stadium, but instead of going up into the stands he went around the rear wall toward the front. It was the coldest day of autumn thus far, and he wore a heavy black leather jacket over his favorite Red Sox jersey and a clean pair of blue jeans. Will sipped from the hot chocolate he had picked up at Dunkin' Donuts on his way.
    There were groups of parents with giant coffee thermoses threading along the yellow grass toward one entrance or another, and students in small gatherings—boys laughing, girls leaning up against the wall, smoking and eyeing the boys suggestively. In one arched entryway the cheerleaders for Natick High—the opposing team in today's game—were in a huddle, waiting for the festivities to begin.
    Around the front of the stadium the cars were parked at every angle, tucked into spots that had clearly never been intended to hold them. Though inside there were concession stands that sold hot dogs and pizza, fried dough and pretzels, there were people barbecuing in the main lot, tailgating, drinking beer. In that way, things had not changed at all since he had been a student here. The lot looked like a miniature version of the tailgating bash that always took place down in Foxboro before a Patriots game.
    Will sipped at his hot chocolate, warming his hands on the cup, and steam came from his breath and from the small tear in the lid. He looked at the main gate and saw the people lined up at the entrance and out on the sidewalks. A motorcycle cop pulled up in front of the entrance to Cougar Stadium and dismounted, blue light spinning on his bike.
    The parade had arrived.
    A broad grin spread across Will's features and he picked up his pace, hurrying along through parked cars until he merged with the mass of people who flanked the entrance to the stadium. He glanced around in search of familiar faces, hoping to run into some of his classmates, but at first he saw only students. The current batch of kids at Eastborough High seemed horrifyingly young. It had only been ten years, but as he studied the faces of the jostling boys and posing girls, he could not remember ever being that age.
    That's what we looked like, too,
he thought.
Kids. But we never felt that young.
He knew it was true, remembered all too well how world-weary and wise they had all believed themselves to be. Not children anymore, but
teenagers,
with all the presumptuousness that implied. Now he looked at the latest generation and marveled at their youth and naïveté.
    And how he envied them.
    The first car through the gate was an antique Dodge Charger with the logo of the Eastborough High Cougars painted on the hood. Will laughed out loud. The car had been leading the parade for something like thirty years and had been kept in working order all that time by the kids in the shop class. The driver of the car was Mr. Murphy, who had been Will's English teacher and had been partially responsible for inspiring him to seek a career in journalism. There were other teachers in the car but he recognized only Annelise Berendt, who had come in as principal of Eastborough the year after Will's class had graduated.
    They waved GO COUGARS banners and blew whistles, and then another car came through the gate carrying several other teachers and a heavyset, balding guy he assumed was Mayor Aaron Pirkle, if the sign on the side of the car was any indication.