Chapter 2: The Past of Summerville
Two years ago, Summersville had been brighter. The sun felt warmer, the air felt lighter, and laughter wasn't just a distant memory.
That was before she died.
Zoey Williams.
She was my sister's best friend, practically part of our family. She was over at our house more often than not, her laughter filling the rooms, her presence so alive that it was impossible to imagine a world without her in it. Zoey was funny, kind, always cracking jokes—even at her own expense. She had this way of making people feel like they belonged, like they mattered.
I never thought someone like her could be hurting so much.
That Saturday, everything had felt normal. The three of us—Mia, Zoey, and I—were in the living room, watching dumb YouTube videos. Mia, as usual, wouldn't shut up about how Zoey had a crush on me. "Marcus and Zoey, sitting in a tree," she sang, obnoxiously off-key. Zoey rolled her eyes but laughed, her cheeks tinged pink. I never led her on. I liked her, but not like that, and she knew it.
But that day, there was something different about her.
She wore an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled down past her wrists even though it was warm inside. She laughed, but her voice wavered. Her eyes looked hollow, as if she was there but not really there.
I should have noticed.
She was being bullied. For her eating disorder. For being "too thin," for something she had no control over. And it wasn't just that. She had been hurting herself. And none of us had seen the signs.
By Monday, she was gone. Zoey had taken her own life.
Her name was all over the news. The school shut down for the day. People who barely knew her posted about how much they'd miss her. But none of it mattered. Because Zoey Williams was dead.
At the funeral, I remember staring at her casket, numb. Something inside me broke that day. I quit football. I stopped talking to people. I stopped caring. The world moved on, but I didn't.
And now, two years later, she was standing in front of me.
The bell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. My classmates shuffled past, but I couldn't move. My heart pounded as I looked up.
There she was.
Zoey.
But that was impossible.
She was at the front of the classroom, standing as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't been buried two years ago.
I blinked. My hands felt clammy. My breath came in short, uneven gasps.
No. No, this isn't real. She's not real.
I rubbed my eyes, willing the hallucination away. But when I looked again, she was still there.
The same green eyes. The same wavy brown hair. The same Zoey who should have been six feet under.
I grabbed my bag, shoving my books inside with shaking hands. I had to get out of here.
I barely noticed the world around me as I walked home, my thoughts spiraling. Had I finally lost it? Was grief playing tricks on me?
A car horn blared.
I snapped back to reality, realizing I was in the middle of the street. My breath caught in my throat as I stumbled backward, the driver shaking his head at me before speeding off.
I let out a shaky exhale, trying to steady myself.
And then I heard it.
"You should really pay more attention to where you're going, Marcus."
The voice was familiar. Too familiar. My stomach twisted. I turned around slowly.
She was standing there.
Zoey.
I took a step back, my heart racing. "Why are you here?" My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
She tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"You died two years ago," I continued, my throat tightening. "You're not really here. You're not real."
Zoey's smile didn't waver.
"Are you sure about that?"