Disclaimer: The following is a prequel to Choices The Freshman and The Sophomore stories. It is a fictional adaptation. I do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer or own the rights to the characters Chris Powell, Jo, Kyle or Nicole. All of the characters, story line and events were originally developed by me, some areas in part with @maxattack-powell, in conjuction to her adaptation of The Freshman.
Epilogue
Her brown locks swirl around her head with the constant rush of wind as she races towards the edge of town. Top down, speakers vibrating, today brought the first break in four straight days of rain. The warm sun on her skin instantly lifted her mood. The jarring stench of rotting garbage in an overpopulated city has pleasantly been replaced with the familiar scent of cedars and pines warming in the summer sun.
She needed to come home. It has done her a world of good. Bill was right. Time with family, enveloped in their love and support, was exactly what she needed.
She takes one hand off of the steering wheel, adjusting the brown, oversized shades on her face. She glances at her passenger. They have only been in the car for ten short minutes but he has already punched each of the local radio station buttons a dozen times complaining that every one was at a commercial break.
The complaining doesn’t bother her nor does the incessant button pushing. It’s commonplace and that in itself feels good. The exotic world around her had become too strange and peculiar in the last year. She never had settled completely into her new existence.
As she continues towards the outskirts of town, she glances at a few local places of interest that bring back fond memories. She eases off the accelerator slightly as she passes Cherryfield High School. The parking lot is empty, school is out for the next three months. She smirks a little, seeing the building now as an adult, no longer a student.
The road through town curves and slopes passing through the historical district. A crew is working on the façade of a two story building with chipped white paint marring its wooden frame. As she passes the effort to preserve a piece of history in their small town, she takes a peak at the yards of a few of those old homes. Unfortunately, there are no for sale signs.
They pass one of the town’s bizarre attractions, the hedge maze. A family is pulling into the lot, a little boy racing eagerly towards the entrance.
“We should go there later,” her passenger says.
“Yeah?” she questions, glancing briefly at him before turning her attention back to the road.
“Yeah,” he nods. “Last time I went was with mom and dad. It was lame. It’d be fun to go with you again,” he shrugs.
For the first time in weeks, she smiles. “Missed me, huh?”
“Uh, no…” he frowns. She reaches over and playfully shoves him. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“I missed you too,” she says and exhales.
Their destination comes into view and she pushes down on the brake, slowing the car as she pulls off of the highway and into the parking lot.
A neon sign glows in the window announcing that they are in fact “Open.” The place looks dead inside. The only other car in the lot is an old, clunker of a yellow van.
She stops her car, putting it in park and she and Micah hop out.
It’s been so long since she had a good cup of chowder and a decent lobster loaf. The City may boast of an eclectic mix of food offerings, but there is only one Cherryfield, Maine and she has been spoiled by a lifetime of enjoying food from the sea.
Micah tracks up the wooden steps of the restaurant. It’s not much to look at. The wood of the building is the color brown that indicates it has never been touched with a paint brush or finish. The windows are mostly just screens and mosquito netting, and the door, hangs askew on its frame. Sitting at the edge of town, it was not a place she and her family frequented often but when they did, the food was always a treat.
She felt like getting out today and offered to pick up dinner for the family. Her mom has cooked hot meals as she nursed her wounded daughter back to the semblance of the girl they all knew this week. It’s the least she could do, she thought.
They walk inside and as they do, a door swings open from the men’s bathroom near the entrance. A young man with brown hair and bright blue eyes exits and makes his way through the vacant restaurant. He flashes a quick smile at her and says a polite “Hello.”
“Hi,” she replies and then lets out a small laugh. The pattern of his shirt includes ice cream cones, a design she finds odd but can certainly understand the appeal.
He makes his way to the side room of the restaurant, where a boisterous roar of laughs suddenly fills the space as he opens the door. The room is usually reserved for larger parties and the remainder of the restaurant is empty. The old door to the room swings open wide behind him, and does not close, freezing in place on its rusty hinges as he steps inside.
She hears another chorus of laughter from the group as she and Micah take seats on stools at the bar.
“Need a menu?” the owner asks them.
“Nope,” she smiles and shakes her head. “Want to get four lobster loaves and four cups of your chowder to go please,” she says.
The owner smiles at her and slaps his hand on the bar. “Coming right up little lady.” He turns and disappears through a curtain towards the kitchen in the back.
Morgan pushes the shades up and off her face, onto her head. She runs her hand over her hair, smoothing it after the wind rustled it in her convertible.
She and Micah look at some of the old memorabilia nailed to the ceiling overhead.
Lifting her face, suddenly a voice startles her.
She knows the voice as soon as she hears it.
“Morgan!” he calls. She turns and looks to the opened door of the side room and feels as if she has been slapped across the face as she recognizes the young man staring back at her in disbelief.
