Up All Night Read online

  Up All Night

  13 Stories between Sunset and Sunrise

  edited by LAURA SILVERMAN

  Algonquin 2021

  For all the night owls

  Contents

  Never Have I Ever

  by Karen M. McManus

  Like Before

  by Maurene Goo

  Old Rifts and Snowdrifts

  by Kayla Whaley

  Con Nights, Parallel Hearts

  by Marieke Nijkamp

  Kiss the Boy

  by Amanda Joy

  Creature Capture

  by Laura Silverman

  Shark Bait

  by Tiffany D. Jackson

  A Place to Start

  by Nina LaCour

  When You Bring a Dog to Prom

  by Anna Meriano

  Missing

  by Kathleen Glasgow

  What About Your Friends

  by Brandy Colbert

  Under Our Masks

  by Julian Winters

  The Ghost of Goon Creek

  by Francesca Zappia

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Never Have I Ever

  by Karen M. McManus

  If this were a normal Friday night, I would’ve left Katie Chang’s party before midnight. Curfew is nonnegotiable in the Finch household, and I’m way past it. But my parents are in Bermuda for their anniversary, and as Katie pointed out when convincing me to stay, “It’s not like they put a tracking device on your phone before they left, Grace.”

  Probably. My father didn’t become the detective with the most arrests on the Owens Mills police force without having a few tricks up his sleeve. It’s almost two in the morning, though, and I haven’t received a get your ass home text yet, so I’m probably safe.

  From parental ire, anyway. Not from playing what feels like an endless Never Have I Ever card game in Katie’s basement. Granted, I’m the one who suggested it, but we’ve barely started and I’m already yawning. Still, this is about as exciting as nightlife gets for our band-nerd crew, even when it’s well after midnight.

  “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” Malik Roy, Katie’s boyfriend, reads from the card he’s holding. The dozen or so people sitting in a circle on Katie’s threadbare rug all take a drink, except for me.

  “Liars,” I say.

  Malik rolls his eyes as he chugs the last of his beer. “Grace Finch, ladies and gentlemen. Oh-for-four in this game because she’s allergic to fun.”

  “Because I’m honest,” I protest. “You guys are only pretending you’ve done stuff so you can drink.”

  “Which. Is. Fun,” Malik reminds me.

  “I guess,” I mutter, shifting restlessly beside him. Every party at Katie’s house is exactly the same: we watch movies, we drink (but never too much), and we play some kind of game. Usually, the game is designed to let us experiment with being edgier than we actually are; last time, it was Crimes Against Humanity.

  Which is fine. Obviously. I’m Detective Steve Finch’s only child; mildly risqué card games and warm beer are as edgy as I’m supposed to get. I am, as my father likes to remind me, a Role Model. I used to chafe at being labeled “the boring one” in a group that’s not known for excitement, but I’ve come to accept it. Mostly.

  “Maybe you’re not asking the right questions,” someone says.

  We all turn at the new voice, and my pulse picks up when I see who’s leaning against Katie’s wall near the basement stairs. “What the hell is Caleb Manning doing here?” my friend Adita whispers in my ear. It shouldn’t be any surprise that Caleb’s at a late-night party—that’s pretty much what he’s known for, along with using his older brother’s ID to buy alcohol for said parties—but he’s never bothered with our crowd before. Everybody in the circle tenses, like a herd of gazelles that just realized a lion wandered into their midst during mealtime.

  “I, um . . .” I whisper back, trailing off as Caleb’s eyes find mine and he smirks in recognition. “I might’ve invited him.”

  Take that, Malik. Caleb Manning might be a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them.

  “Whaaaaaat?” Adita breathes, taking a bracing sip from her cup. Of Sprite. She drove here, but even if she hadn’t, she’s not a drinker. “When did you . . . why would you . . .”

  “It was a spur of the moment thing,” I say. “We were both in the principal’s office this afternoon.” My friend’s eyebrows arch higher as I add, “I was making copies of next week’s resolution for debate team.” Debate is one of the many, many extracurricular activities that Adita and I do together.

  “And what was he doing?”

  “I didn’t ask. It seemed, um, discipline-related.”

  Adita regards me doubtfully, and I don’t blame her. She’s one of the most careful, methodical people I’ve ever met. She needs a scholarship to get out of Owens Mills, and every move she makes is part of a complex calculation where the under­lying equation is always how will this look to a college admissions officer?

  Sometimes I want to ask her if she ever gets the urge to break out of our good-girl roles and do something unexpected. But it’s not a fair question; she doesn’t think she has the option. Even being in the same room as someone like Caleb is practically giving her hives.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have rocked the boat like this. But it’s too late now.

  Someone hands Caleb a beer and he takes it without looking at them, draining half of it in one gulp. His bright blue eyes rove around the room, a half-smile on his lips. Caleb is tall and lean, with shaggy, dark blond hair that frames sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, and he would hands-down be the most sought-after guy at Owens Mills High if he ever decided to lose the attitude. And the criminal tendencies.

  Adita plucks at my sleeve. “Are you into him?” she hisses.

  “Of course not! I was just being nice.”

  “Not to Katie you weren’t,” Adita mutters. And I have to agree: Katie looks more than a little terrified as Caleb moves closer to the Never Have I Ever circle. “Have you forgotten your father arrested Caleb? Or has he?”

  “Nobody’s forgotten that.” It was last summer, for trespassing in a skate park after dark. Before that, Caleb had been warned a few times by other Owens Mills cops about disturbing the peace and underage drinking, so that relatively minor crime landed him on probation. Along with a permanent spot on my father’s shit list.

  Which, admittedly, is part of why Caleb interests me. It’s exhausting being Steve Finch’s daughter for lots of reasons, not the least of which is the long list of people, places, and behaviors I’m supposed to avoid. When everything you do is scrutinized, there’s something fascinating about someone who couldn’t care less about rules.

  “He looks twitchy,” Adita says, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ll bet he’s high.”

  “So are we playing or what?” Caleb asks. He doesn’t sit, though—just sort of looms over Malik, who’s still holding the Never Have I Ever cards.

  “Uh, yeah. You know the rules, right? You just—” Malik goes to hand the deck of cards to the girl sitting next to him, but Caleb intercepts them.

  “Let me guess,” he says, deftly shuffling the deck with one hand. “You’re playing old school. Drink if you’ve done whatever the card says, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “That’s boring. We should mix it up, ultimate-challenge style.”

  “What does that mean?” Katie asks, her eyes on the spinning cards.

  Caleb drops them into his other hand and extracts a single card from the deck, holding it against his chest. “One-on-one. I pick someone to take a turn, and they have to do whatever the card says—right now. So who should it be?” He takes h
is time shifting his gaze across the silent group. “Eenie . . . meenie . . . miney . . . Finch,” he finally says, locking eyes with me.

  “No way,” I say. “That’s not how you play.” I turn to Adita for support, but she just shakes her head. The expression on her face couldn’t be more clear: serves you right.

  Malik, who’s looked nervous ever since Caleb walked in, starts to grin. Of course he would; the last few cards all had to do with getting naked. “Change approved,” he says. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Grace.”

  “Absolutely not—” I start, but Caleb’s already reading the card.

  “Never have I ever . . .” He frowns, full lips turning down. “Spied on a neighbor. Huh. That’s boring. Let’s do a different one.”

  “You can’t,” I say quickly, letting a relieved smile spread across my face. “That would go against the rules you just established. Anyway, Katie’s neighbors aren’t boring. She lives across the street from a haunted house, you know.”

  Caleb’s brow furrows. “A what now?”

  “Murphy Manor!” Malik crows. When Caleb doesn’t react, he adds, “Come on, you must’ve seen it on your way here. Giant Victorian that looks like it should be condemned? Same old dude has lived there for, like, fifty years.”

  Katie nods energetically, eyes wide. Her strange neighbor is one of her favorite topics. “Mr. Murphy’s wife died a few years ago from unknown causes,” she says, her voice dipping dramatically on the last two words. “Like, she wasn’t sick or anything, and she wasn’t even that old. Ever since then—and I swear to god I’m not making this up—we keep hearing weird noises, like someone’s crying or moaning. And sometimes I see a figure in the window that’s, like, transparent.”

  Caleb stares at her. “Are you for real right now?”

  “Oh, yes.” Katie smiles happily, her earlier nerves forgotten. “It’s totally haunted. Mrs. Murphy had all the money, you know. She inherited that house from her family and she was super cheap. People say Mr. Murphy got rid of her so he could finally enjoy life, but it backfired because her ghost is still there and she’s slowly driving him insane.”

  “Nothing slow about it,” Malik says under his breath.

  “Katie,” Adita says patiently. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “You haven’t heard the noises!” Katie insists. “Or seen the figure.”

  “Well, I guess that settles it.” Caleb stuffs the card into the pocket of his ratty leather jacket. “Come on, Finch. Let’s go spy on a haunted house.”

  “Let’s?” I ask. “When did this become a team effort?”

  The half-smile is still on his lips. “I can’t make you deal with a ghost all by yourself.”

  “We should all go,” Malik says, rubbing his hands together. Which isn’t surprising; he’s the self-appointed fun one of our group. If something interesting is going to happen, he’s not about to miss it.

  Adita glances between Caleb and me with a faint frown. She looks like she can’t decide whether Caleb is more likely to try to kiss me or kill me on the way to Mr. Murphy’s house—or which one would be worse. “Great idea,” she says drily. “We’ll turn Never Have I Ever into a late-night, live-action game involving trespassing on a potentially disturbed man, because what could possibly go wrong with that?”

  I avoid her glare. “The more the merrier.”

  She sighs. “Is that your way of saying I have to come with you?”

  Malik turns to Katie. “You in, Katie Kat?”

  Katie shakes her head firmly. “No thanks.”

  “Thought you were into ghosts?” Malik teases.

  “I am. I’m also into maintaining respectful boundaries with them. Especially when they live across the street,” Katie says. Caleb hands the deck of cards to her and she tries to shuffle them like he did, but only manages to spill them onto the floor. “Plus, I still have guests, so . . .”

  “There are enough people going already, anyway,” I say, getting to my feet before the crowd can mushroom even more. A yawn builds at the back of my throat—I almost never stay up this late—and I swallow it before shaking out my hands to wake myself up. “We’ll report back once I win this round.”

  The four of us have barely gotten down the front steps of Katie’s house when we see it—bright lights burning in half the windows of Mr. Murphy’s house, shining like a beacon into the darkness that surrounds us.

  “So . . . he’s still up?” Adita asks, her steps slowing. I’m surprised she made it this far, to be honest; loyalty to your bestie since fifth grade only goes so far. When it comes to College Admissions Math, trespassing = no Ivy League.

  “Or the ghosts are,” Malik says, raising his hands and wiggling his fingers to show just how not-bothered he is. “Boooooo.”

  “Ha, ha.” She shoves at his arm, stopping in place. “Forget it. Let’s go back inside. I thought he’d be asleep.”

  Caleb shrugs. “Maybe he sleeps with the lights on. But if not, who cares? We’re spying, remember?” He turns and walks backwards, arms spread out as he speaks in an exaggerated stage whisper. “The whole point is to be sneaky. He’ll never know we’re there.”

  “I don’t like it,” Adita says stubbornly. “This is a bad idea. I’m out.” She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head toward me. “You should be too, Grace. If Mr. Murphy is awake he’ll call the police on you, and your father will lose it.”

  I pause a beat. The night is cloudy and windy, the moon a pale crescent above us. The Changs’ house and Mr. Murphy’s are the only two at the end of their cul-de-sac, separated from the rest of the street by a wooded area. Everything is quiet and peaceful. “Only if we get caught,” I say.

  Caleb puts his hands together in a silent clap. “Grace Finch, ladies and gentlemen. Turning to the dark side.” He glances at Malik. “You bailing too, man?”

  “Nah,” Malik says, although he sounds less sure than he did a minute ago. “Come on, Adita, we’re just gonna peek in the guy’s window. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s a bad idea,” Adita repeats. “I’m going inside. And I’ll probably head home in like ten minutes, Grace, so you’d better be back by then if you want a ride.”

  “I can take you home,” Caleb offers.

  Adita rolls her eyes. “This night just keeps getting better and better,” she says. Then she backtracks through the Changs’ front door, shutting it firmly behind her.

  “Never have I ever been a tightass,” Caleb murmurs, and I swallow a guilty laugh. Adita’s right; she always is. But I can’t turn back now.

  The three of us cross the darkened street toward Mr. Murphy’s house. It must have been gorgeous when it was first built: graceful turrets, wide stairs leading to a stately front door, high windows with stained-glass detail, and beautiful crown molding everywhere. But years of neglect have left it decrepit and crumbling, the white paint peeling so badly that the entire house looks gray. The grass is almost knee-length, the bushes surrounding the house wild and unkempt. It’s the polar opposite of my parents’ neat, orderly Cape, and I have to admit: I kind of like it. There’s something dramatic and forbidding about the entire scene, almost as though we’re stepping into a dark fairy tale—or, like Katie said, a ghost story. An alternate reality where anything could happen.

  “We should approach from the side,” I whisper when we reach the edge of Mr. Murphy’s lawn. “Then make our way to those bushes under the window.”

  We’re halfway there when the wind picks up around us, causing one of the loose shutters on the bay window to rattle. Malik lets out a startled yelp, then drops to the ground with his arms over his head like he’s dodging sniper fire. “Did he hear me? Is he coming?” he asks, his voice low and panicked.

  Caleb and I both crouch beside him, waiting, but there’s no sound except the wind and our own ragged breathing, and no movement from Mr. Murphy’s house. “We’re good,” I whisper. “Maybe we should crawl the rest of the way, though.”r />
  “Adita might’ve had the right idea after all,” Malik murmurs, but he follows my lead to the edge of the bushes that run across the front of the house. I wanted to slip behind them but now that I’m here I realize it’s impossible; they’re too close to the house. So we creep beside them, hunched over, until we reach the bay window. Then I force my way between two bushes, their stiff needles pricking my arms, and stand on my tiptoes. “I can’t see inside,” I whisper. “I’m too short. Can you?”

  Caleb’s a lot taller than me, but still a few inches shy of the window. “Here,” he whispers over my shoulder, and before I realize what’s happening his arms have wrapped around me, lifting me a few feet off the ground. I exhale sharply, surprised at the suddenness of the movement—and yeah, okay, maybe a little breathless at the contact, too.

  But once I get my bearings, I have a clear view into the room. It’s filled with clutter, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Even with the lights blazing, it’s a dark and dreary space. Everything looks forlorn, from the circular rug in an outdated floral pattern to the mismatched lamps on either side of the couch.

  “What do you see?” Caleb asks.

  “A couch,” I start, but I don’t get anything else out before he grunts dismissively.

  “Nobody gives a crap about the furniture, Finch. Is anyone there?”

  My eyes rove around the room, flicking from one corner to the next. Even though I know Katie’s ghost story is bull, the back of my neck still prickles at the way certain shadows fall. The grandfather clock looming against the far wall looks a lot like a person, and I could see how glancing through the window during a certain time of day might—

  “Finch,” Caleb says. He’s starting to sound a little out of breath. “Speed up the surveillance. I don’t have arms of steel over here.”

  “I think we’re done, right? With the game?” Malik asks nervously. “I mean, we’re spying. We’ve spied. Nothing on the card said we had to do it indefinitely.”