Almost Familiar

Chapter Eight Then and Now

Jensen

I flicked a bottle cap into the rusted coffee can beside the back porch, the metallic ting echoing through the quiet yard. I’d hit four in a row, new record, but it didn’t feel like a win.

My head was still back on Main Street, in that split-second when Ryden Walker had stepped out of a shadow he’d been gone from for twelve years.

Twelve years. And suddenly, there he was — same sharp eyes, same quiet edge, just taller and carrying ghosts.

Ryden Walker.

I hadn't said that name out loud in over a decade, but the moment I did, it felt weirdly natural again. Like slipping on an old hoodie, you forgot you owned. I sat back in the old porch chair and let it creak beneath me; my phone balanced on my knee. I haven’t told the others yet. Not Dawsen. Not the twins. Not even Easton.

Especially not Easton.

I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I didn’t know what it meant yet. Or maybe because Ryden showing up again, this version of him, older but still kind of familiar, made something in me twist. Not in a bad way, not really. Just… different.

Like the past wasn't as buried as I thought.

I had remembered Ryden in pieces. A kid with wild energy and too-big sneakers. The first to suggest a race. The last to call it quits. Covered in dirt, always laughing with Easton like they were made of the same spark.

Then one day, he was just gone. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a hollow space in the trio that never quite got filled.

I got used to that, eventually. Made new memories. Found new people. The twins. The rest of the group. I was good at adapting. Good at moving forward.

But seeing Ryden again cracked something open. And now, here I was, sitting on my porch like time had folded in on itself.

My phone buzzed.

Stellen: Diner. 10? Pancakes so bad they’re almost good.

I smirked. Classic.

I was about to reply when my thumb paused over the screen.

Should I tell them?

Tell them Ryden was back. That the kid we all used to know, the one who vanished, had grown into someone who looked like he carried half the town’s silence on his shoulders?

Would Easton even remember the same way I did?

Would she care?

I exhaled and typed back quickly.

JJ: Sure. But y’all owe me coffee strong enough to make me forget diner syrup.

I didn’t say anything else. Not yet.

That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. The room buzzed with summer heat and unsaid things.

Would Ryden show up on Sunday?

He’d seemed unsure, but not uninterested. Maybe something about seeing the town again, the preschool, the old fence line, was tugging at him too. Maybe he was chasing pieces of himself the way I sometimes did in old photos or songs I didn’t mean to play.

The group wouldn’t recognize him. Not at first. Not with the way time had stretched him out and made him quieter.

But maybe, just maybe… Easton would.

I didn’t know why that thought made my chest feel tight.

I rolled over, pulled my blanket up even though it was too hot, and closed my eyes.

I’d wait until Sunday.

Let the past speak for itself.