When I was fifteen, I spent my afternoons with a group of kids everyone else avoided. They were known as the troublemakers, but I didn’t mind. We shared sodas and laughed a lot, and that was enough for me.
I lived with my dad above a laundromat, right next to a noisy arcade. That was our usual spot to meet before heading out. One evening, as we were getting ready to leave, I ducked into the arcade’s restroom.
The room was quiet, with several stalls. I chose one and closed the door. Suddenly, a low, gravelly voice from the next stall said, ‘I see you.’
My blood ran cold. I was frozen in place. After a moment, I gathered my courage and bent down to look under the divider. All I could see was a pair of ordinary sneakers. They looked completely normal, but I knew what I had heard.