She smelled like cherry licorice and ozone. I’d never seen someone get struck by lightning before. People say it happens fast but that doesn’t explain it. It’s like a hammer from God— a torrent of blinding light and heat. Blink and it’s gone. I blinked and she was gone.

Molly Lake was my first crush. And I’m still working through it. At this rate I’ll hit retirement before I get to the second one. I wish I could say it was because we grew up on the same street or that we were the only kids born in ‘92, but that’s not the reason. It took time for most people, but eventually you’d understand that the universe gave something extra to Molly. Magic? Fate? Whatever soulfire poured into her— it didn’t match the rest of us. It shines brighter.

Destiny seemed to play with her the way kids play with a new pet. Extra love and attention. There wasn’t a single wish she had that went ungranted. But she never wished for big things— only for small moments to find a spark of joy in.

She’d crinkle a brow at the grey skies and wish that some sun would come. Twenty minutes later there’d be a hole in the sky shining with a gift just for her.

Later she’d muse about wanting to see flowers— only for wildflowers to sprout out of season.

No else believed it was *real* magic. But I knew better. She didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of us, and I wanted to find out why.

The first time Molly went missing we were in the seventh grade. The entire city of Missoula was tore apart during the search for her. Canvass efforts saw entire neighborhoods taking to the streets to knock on doors in an attempt to find her.

This went on for fourteen days. And then suddenly she returned. In the middle of Higgins street during lunch break at the schools. Molly Lake stood in the street as if she wandered out of time— unable to say where she’d been or who with.

This happened three more times before we graduated high school.

Some people hated her for the attention it got. Others were confused. I remained curious. Desperately so. I wanted to know where she left to and why she couldn’t remember.

And I wondered why she never took me with her.

We would spend school day afternoons in her basement. She had all the best games growing up since her mom helped make the artwork for game companies. Cadoo, Candyland, Apples to Apples? You name it, they had it. Her mom, Francine, tried to stop Molly from spending her allowance on candy or Big Dipper ice cream, but it would have been easier to carve the tops off a mountain.

We’d play through a game as she devoured a pack of watermelon sour patch kids or skittles. After a couple stomachaches, I decide to not join her dietary regime. You wouldn’t think eating candy is a character trait, but she made it one. She did that with everything.

By the time we got to high school, Molly had become a local legend. She had a cultish following among the conspiracy theorists and Reddit detectives. Unlike her own father, who was an actual detective with Missoula PD. Jonathan Lake couldn’t have been more different from his daughter. His steel grey crew cut stood opposite of her wild, red, mop of hair. He looked like a man that would order a gag restraint for a pun. Molly would be the one to deliver it. A sunrise bright smile cresting the horizon of his dour attitude.

The first disappearance his panic spurred the search. He proved relentless as he searched every factory, old house, and empty fields for her. But with each following one, he’d tense his whole body and go about his regular schedule until she returned.

Maybe he knew something I didn’t. Or he became the worlds most proficient stoic.

Neither he’d ever tell me. He didn’t share feelings on principle.