Falter Kingdom. Michael J. Seidlinger

      “You get the invitation, man?”

      “No, but you’d think I’d get one. It’s my exorcism.”

      CONTENTS

Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Epilogue

       PROLOGUE

      Everyone I know is already talking in the past tense, going on and on about how this is all going to end soon. I hear it in the halls before class. I hear it when we should be trading homework. I hear it in the invites I get to graduation parties. I hear it from Becca whenever we do anything.

      “You can’t forget, Hunter. This is way serious.”

      Like I’m really going to forget.

      It’s all I can think about anymore.

      I’m told everywhere I turn that these years were the best years of my life. Our reign as seniors coming to an end, and here we are. But the way everyone’s saying it, it sounds like this is the best it’ll ever get.

      It can’t be that serious.

      But the more I think about it, the more it seems to make sense. Maybe I’m underselling it.

      Give it enough thought and I can basically warm up to any idea. Even if I don’t really feel like it’s serious, thinking about it a lot will make it stick. It will make it real serious.

      School is almost over.

      In the fall, I won’t be walking up the narrow steps to Meadows; I’ll be walking up the narrow steps that lead to the student union building at State. Think about that. Really try to let it sink in.

      Yeah, I guess it’s pretty final, huh?

      “I can’t believe we’re graduating. Like a month from now.”

      I’m chatting with Becca. We’re always talking online.

      She’s my girlfriend so it shouldn’t be weird. But sometimes it is. Well, not weird. It’s just kind of annoying. I like to sign out for a few minutes, just to cut out, and then sign back in. Becca thinks my house has shitty Internet. It’s an excuse that’s held and, man, I want it to hold on tight.

      But we’ve been going since almost the beginning of high school. Nothing’s changed since she asked me out toward the middle of freshman year. It’s been good. And it’s been a while, yeah. She’s gotten used to me and, really, I’ve gotten used to her. Even the things I can’t stand.

      Same as anything else:

      If I think about it enough, I get used to it.

      “You never did ask me to prom...”

      “It’s like a few weeks away right?”

      I watch the little icon flicker once, twice. It means Becca typed something but deleted it and started again. It also means she didn’t like what I said and now I’m going to have to be the one who fixes things.

      “You’re still going to ask right?” She adds an emoji, a teary-eyed cat.

      I look at the paused unboxing video, wanting so much to just watch the rest of it. Kind of ruins the enjoyment factor when I’m interrupted.

      I look at myself in the mirror hanging above my bed. It takes a second for me to realize that the person I’m seeing in the mirror is me. With time and aging, I can almost grow a full five o’clock shadow. Know what that means?

      That means a full beard. That means whatever it means.

      Becca won’t let me grow a beard, just like she won’t let me grow my hair out. I thought about letting it grow long, earlier this year. I’m a senior, I should kind of look older than I am, you know? Give my plain brown hair/brown eyes look a little face-lift.

      But yeah, I keep my hair short and face shaved. Becca’s preference.

      I look away from my reflection, plain looks and all, and push that thought aside. Get to fixating on that stuff just makes it harder to deal with life.

      Life is constant.

      It won’t let me just kick back and watch unboxing videos online.

      I send her an emoji, a winking dog wearing a suit.

      She replies, “?” and then “WTF.”

      I guess it doesn’t make much sense. I thought it looked like I was holding back a secret. Like saying, Never know when I’ll pop the question. “Pop the question.” Sounds like we’re getting married.

      That’s another thought to push aside.

      I type, “Surprise. It’ll be a surprise.”

      Becca types, “It better,” winking smiley where the period should be.

      I stare at what she just typed, fingers light on the keys.

      The winking smiley. Can’t stand the winking smiley. Becca uses it a lot.

      I go back to the tab with the unboxing video. I stare at the paused frame. I look at the time on my phone.

      Three A.M. It’s the weekend. Tomorrow’s—well, technically today’s—Sunday. Don’t have school, but that wouldn’t change much.

      I’m not much of a sleeper. I’ll stay up as late as I can when I want to. I stay up even later on the nights when I need to get the most rest.

      Go figure.

      But that’s my cue to exit. It’s my go-to excuse, “Got to go.”

      “Yeah, it’s kind of late.” And then she types, “Can’t believe it’s really happening. We’re graduating.”

      I tell her, “Yeah. So crazy. Night.”

      “Love you,” she types, with the heart emoji added.

      I