The Weight of Blood (66)

“I, um, it was an accident.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, my sister used to burn herself with a curling iron all the time. Back when she used to straighten her hair.”

Maddy squeezed herself into a tight ball with a shudder. His hand hadn’t left her shoulder. It felt good there. It looked good there.

“Hey,” Kenny said, shifting closer. “It’s cool. Accidents happen. You don’t need to hide that stuff from me.”

They stared at one another, and though he was attempting to comfort her, he also realized he didn’t need to hide from her either. At that moment, something unsaid passed between them. Something that had been hovering in the air since the day they got milkshakes. His heart thumped hard against his ribs, eyes shifting to her lips—how plump and delicate they seemed—as a surge of feverish longing pulsed through his veins, the need for her taking over reason. The whites of her eyes shimmered as he moved in closer . . . and closer. And right before their lips could touch, the engine roared, the radio squealing, windshield wipers coming to life. Maddy reeled back with a yelp, her head slamming against the passenger-side window.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” she babbled, fumbling with the door. She jumped out of the car and ran up her driveway.

Kenny gripped his chest, coughing up a gasp.

Holy shit. I almost kissed Maddy Washington!

David Portman’s Springville Massacre: The Legend of Maddy Washington (pg. 220)

In the desert of northern Mexico, there is an area called la Zona del Silencio, or the Zone of Silence. It’s considered to be the country’s very own Bermuda Triangle, where radio signals fail and compasses spin out of control, leading locals to believe that it was the site of a UFO crash. Researchers hypothesized that hundreds of years ago, a massive meteor with an exceptionally high iron content landed in the area, causing strange magnetic anomalies.

After Prom Night, the people of Springville wondered why their cell phones continued to malfunction, radio contact was near impossible, and GPS devices were unable to locate a satellite signal. Researchers argued there could have been a natural magnetic variation, similar to the Zone of Silence, that might have been overlooked, but testing disproved the theory. Further, no agency would build a power plant within miles of such a potential electromagnetic void.

During my various research trips to Springville, I visited the location where the country club once stood and placed a compass on the rock memorial. It spun in both directions. To this day, there is no official explanation for the phenomenon.

May 30, 2014

Kenny couldn’t wipe the grin from his face as he stepped inside his house close to midnight. It took him thirty minutes to drive away from Maddy’s.

He’d almost kissed Maddy Washington. He wanted to kiss her, more than he’d ever wanted to kiss anyone. It was a feeling he didn’t know he’d been missing, a rush of something more. The giddiness cut through his blood like a drug. High on hope, he floated up to his room.

Maybe he could convince her to come to Alabama with him. He’d talk to his coaches—they could probably find her a scholarship. After all, he was their top recruit, future starting quarterback. They would want to make him happy. He’d drive back to Springville to pick her up after training, help her move into her dorm, buy her everything she needed, make sure she had the warmest sweaters so she would never be cold. He’d teach her about football, music, and Black history.

She’ll probably want to get married before we do it, he thought. And he wouldn’t mind. He would wait for her. They’d have a small wedding, just them and close family, right before the draft. Then, she would really be all his. A virgin Maddy. He’d be her first everything—kiss, boyfriend, sex. He’d buy a house with the biggest kitchen he could find. Or maybe have one built, right next to the water. He’d make a lake if he had to.

He had a plan. And as it firmed in his mind like a brick, he walked into his room to find his father leaning over his desk.

“What’s this?” Mr. Scott said, books in hand.

“Yo, what are you doing in my room?” Kenny shouted.

“This is my got damn house!” he barked. “Now answer me.”

Kenny clenched his jaw, remaining mute.

Mr. Scott shook a book in his face. “Boy, your sister can waste her time reading all this Afro-centric junk, but you . . . I expected more from you. You should be studying game footage, not studying this crap. Where’s your head, son? You should be in the game! After all we did to get you here.”

“We?” Kenny scoffed, infuriated.

“Yes, we! Who put in extra hours at the plant to pay for private coaching, clinics, and dietitians? Who shuttled you to every game, sacrificed every waking hour, and put even their only daughter’s wishes second to yours? This isn’t just your win. It’s a family win. A family’s sacrifice for your dream.”

Kenny’s eyes flared. “My dream? This was never my dream. I just wanted to play football. I didn’t want football to be my entire life. I wanted to have a life!”

“You have a life!” he shot back. “A good one. Better than most. You know how many boys would kill to be in your shoes?”

Kenny opened his mouth but shut it. What good would it do? His father only heard what he wanted.

Mr. Scott narrowed his eyes. “Boy, what’s gotten into you? Is this about prom? Is that Washington girl distracting you?”