by Marissa Lete
“I wanted to surprise you!”
“This. Is. Insane.”
“Right? We’re taking it for a ride after school.”
“I’ve never wanted to skip school as bad as I do right now.”
“Seriously, though. Too bad we have that Chemistry test.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, what?”
“The test. In Chemistry.” Grace raises an eyebrow at me. “You seriously didn’t forget, did you?”
I slap my forehead, realization hitting me. “I must have written the date down wrong. I thought it wasn’t until Friday.”
Grace grimaces. “That really sucks. But hey, maybe I’ll finally do better than you.”
I roll my eyes, then open the door. “Time to panic study, wanna come?” I ask.
“Panic studying is my favorite kind,” she grins.
When we get into the classroom, I pull out the study guide I’d prepared over the weekend and start reading through it as quickly as I can. Unfortunately, the bell rings before I get to the second page, and then Mrs. Andrews is telling us to put away our notes. Her echo from last year begins a lecture, and I silently wish that last year’s class during this period had been Chemistry instead of Biology. Perhaps then I might be able to listen in and get some help for my test. But instead, the echoes are simply a nuisance like usual, not a cool superpower that can actually help me out for once. I’ll just have to try my best to tune them out.
“Good luck,” Grace whispers to me just before Mrs. Andrews comes by to hand us our tests. I give her a thumbs up and a nervous smile.
I get to work, and after struggling with the first few questions, I start to feel more confident, remembering things from class as I work out the problems.
Until a sudden, blaring noise fills the air.
I jolt in my seat, startled, and end up knocking my pencil off the desk. It rolls across the floor, out of reach. The noise continues, and I look around, disoriented. It takes several seconds for me to figure out what’s going on.
A fire alarm.
But no one in the classroom is moving.
Because it isn’t from today.
I rub my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. No, no, no. Not today. Not right now. How long does a fire drill last? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? I glance at the clock, realizing that I only have thirty minutes left to finish the test. And I’m not even halfway through.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I spin around to face Macy Blackburn, a girl I don’t know very well. She holds my pencil out to me with raised eyebrows. I pluck it from her fingers and mutter a soft “thank you,” turning around before she can notice the blush forming on my cheeks. She must have seen me jump at the noise of the fire alarm. The noise that she can’t hear.
Crazy. I must look crazy.
I lean forward, resting my head on my palm, and try to stare at the paper in front of me.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A chemical equation. All I have to do is balance it. Easy.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The next question is about covalent bonds. I remember reading about those.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Or am I thinking of ionic bonds?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
By the time the fire alarms stop, Mrs. Andrews is already collecting the tests. I scribble out an answer to the second-to-last question, knowing fully well that it’s going to be wrong, but hoping I’ll get points for at least attempting it.
When we get into the hallway after class, I can only think of five words to describe how the test went. “I did not do well,” I say.
“Guess you should have studied last night,” Grace replies. That, and I shouldn’t have heard a fire alarm blaring for half of the exam. “I actually feel pretty good about it,” Grace replies. I hang my head in defeat. I’ll never live this one down.
“Heard you got a sweet new ride,” Leo appears at Grace’s side, grinning.
“I did, and—”
“Shotgun. Called it.” Leo cuts her off, pointing at me.
It takes me a beat to catch up. “What? No way. You can’t do that!” I look between him and Grace. “He can’t do that!”
“Actually, he can,” Grace shrugs.
“Not fair. You told me we were going for a ride first!”
“But I didn’t even have to tell Leo,” she fires back. She has a point, but I still shoot a scowl at Leo.
✽✽✽✽✽
When I get home later that evening, Dad has the TV on and is sitting in his chair, snoring. Mom is tucked into her office, and there’s a casserole dish on the counter, a sheet of foil on top. To my surprise, the food is still warm. I make a plate, then go and sit down on the couch.
I try to look for the remote, but I can’t find it anywhere close to me, so I settle for watching what’s on. The news is playing, and after ten minutes of half-listening to the stories, a photograph comes on the screen that piques my interest. It’s just the front of a house and isn’t notable in any way except for one thing: an old, red truck in the driveway. Something about it seems familiar.
“We got a report about a break-in two nights ago on Highland Street,” the reporter says. “The resident has security cameras set up throughout the house, and when he was checking the footage recently he discovered a masked person entering his home at around two in the morning.” The screen plays a clip from the footage, of someone wearing all black opening the front door and walking into the house. “The footage shows the perpetrator walking through the house, entering multiple different rooms, and then leaving. Strangely enough, no items were taken from the house.” The photo of the house appears again, and I know why the red truck looks familiar. It was from the night I’d been followed by that black Suburban. I’d pulled into that driveway, and waited there until the car left.
“The video failed to capture any information about a possible vehicle, but this incident should serve as a warning to us all to keep our doors locked and to report any suspicious activity to authorities immediately.”
I stare blankly at the TV, realization hitting me. Someone broke into the house that I was followed back to. No items were taken, meaning they weren’t looking for money or anything to steal. They were looking for someone. And that someone could quite possibly be me.
✽✽✽✽✽
All night, I toss and turn, unable to fall asleep because I can’t stop thinking about the black Suburban and the person in the mask. What would have happened if I had gone straight home that night? Would they have figured out where I actually lived and tried to kidnap me? But why me? I can’t stop thinking about it, and the one time I’m finally able to drift off to sleep, I wake up from a nightmare of the dark figure chasing after me.
An hour before my alarm is supposed to go off, I roll out of bed and go stand in the shower, double-checking that the door is locked before I hop in. None of it makes sense, and there’s nothing I can do about it except hope they weren’t really after me, and that this will all blow over soon as some type of misunderstanding.
When I step out into the hallway wrapped in a robe, a hand touches my shoulder and I shriek, jumping away from it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Mom says, hands up in defense.
I put a hand to my chest, breathing hard. “It’s okay, sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.”
“I heard you up extra early. Did you sleep okay?” she asks, eyebrows drawn.
“Not really,” I admit, but I have no further explanation to give her.
She pulls me into a hug. “Sorry, sweetie. I hate those nights. Let me make you some breakfast.”
I hug her back, just a little too long. “Thanks, Mom.”
When I come downstairs several minutes later, there’s a plate of pancakes sitting on the kitchen table and a glass of orange juice next to it. I start to eat, hoping the food will give me some extra energy to make up for the lack of sleep.
When I walk out to my car half an hour later, I’m so tired that I almost don’t hear
the echo of myself calling out from next to my car. Almost.
“Hey, Maverick!” my voice rings out in the quiet morning air.
“Hey, Laura!” Maverick’s voice calls back from the abandoned house. Then gets closer. “I see you didn’t die from food poisoning, so that’s good.”
“I’ve actually been deathly sick, I had to go to the hospital,” I retort, followed by a fake cough, and then we both laugh.
“I’m just going to blame it on Tony, then,” Maverick replies, chuckling. I remember Penny calling the guy in the back Tony when I’d gone to Louise’s the other day. Would he remember Maverick? Would that finally let me have some solid evidence that this isn’t all in my head?
“The food was pretty impressive. Although I’m not sure if that’s only because I didn’t have to pay for it…”
“Don’t think too hard about it.” More laughter. Then a pause. “So…” Maverick continues, “Are you… doing anything tomorrow night?”
“I don’t believe I am, why?” my echo replies.
“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to, like, go out? To dinner, or something. Or whatever you want to do.” His voice raises a little in pitch. Nervousness?
There’s a pause, and it stretches on just a little bit too long.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to, I just—” Maverick quickly starts to add.
“No!” my echo cuts him off. Another awkward pause. “I mean, yeah. Yes. I— I would like that.”
“Are you sure?” Maverick’s echo chuckles.
“Yes. I’m sure,” my voice replies firmly.
“Okay, then,” I can hear the smile in his voice. “What do you want to do?”
“Dinner sounds nice. I like ice cream, too.”
More laughter. “Okay, so ice cream, and maybe dinner on the side.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” my echo replies.
“Cool. Well, I gotta go. But I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll come by around 6?”
“6 works.”
“Sweet. I’ll see you then.”
“Cool,” I hear myself reply, then Maverick’s footsteps retreat. My car door opens, then closes, and the sound of the engine running drifts away. Again, I’m left standing there, all alone, confused by the echo. But this time, I’m not left clueless, wondering when I will hear an echo of Maverick again—or if it will even happen. This time I have a day and hour that I can expect it to happen, and somehow that helps me feel a little bit better.
Chapter 8
The following day drags on, and I find myself checking the clock every few minutes. The anticipation is almost as bad as if I was actually about to go on a first date with a guy. Maybe it is as bad. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never actually been on a date with a guy—at least one that I remember.
Lunchtime brings a much-needed distraction because Grace is in full-on planning mode.
“So we’re all gonna ride together to the dance on Saturday, right?” she asks Leo and me.
“I’m down,” Leo replies.
“I think I’m gonna drive myself,” I tell her.
She frowns. “You’re not gonna ditch last second, are you?”
I put my hands up. “I already bought the cat ears. I’m fully committed now.”
“I’m not even going to complain about your costume choice, because you actually sound like you might show, and that’s a first.” Grace grins. I shrug in response. “You have to let me do your hair and makeup.”
“I think I can handle a nose and a few whiskers myself,” I say, imagining Grace going all out just for a cat costume. I mean, no doubt she’d make me look good, but I’m not sure there’s a point when I’m not into the whole dating scene.
“Please?” she begs. “Or at least let me get ready at your house.”
I sigh. “Alright, you can come to my house. But no promises on whether I’ll let you touch my hair or face.”
“I’ll come prepared anyways,” she winks.
“I’m not really into the whole getting-ready-together thing, so maybe I can just come over when y’all are done and ride with one of you?” Leo asks.
“Sounds like a plan.”
After school, I try to kill some time by hanging out in the parking lot with Grace. I’m standing by her car waiting when I see her walking towards me with Andy by her side. They seem to be having a great conversation, laughing about something as they get closer. When Grace looks up and sees me standing there, she says something quick to Andy and then turns in my direction, leaving him behind.
“What’s that about?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Nothing. It’s whatever,” she shrugs it off, but I see through her lie. I decide not to press the issue, though, since I’m not sure if I really want to know about whatever is going on.
“I need something to do for the afternoon. Are you busy?”
Grace hesitates, glancing across the parking lot toward where Andy is walking. “A little.”
“You know, I still think you deserve better,” I tell her.
She makes a face; whether it’s anger or regret, I can’t tell.
“But it’s fine. I’ll find something else,” I add before she can reply. Then I wave goodbye and hop into my car.
For the rest of the afternoon, I can’t seem to do anything productive. Every time I sit down and try to do homework, I end up getting lost in thought and stop after a few minutes. I try cleaning my room, but I just end up pulling a bunch of junk out from the closet, laying it on the floor, and then leaving it because I can’t focus enough to sort through it. I’m pacing back and forth in my room by the time six o’clock rolls around. At 6:03, I’m waiting downstairs about to give up hope entirely when the doorbell rings, an echo from last year. I sigh, then wait.
A beat later, footsteps thump down the stairs and the door opens.
“Hi,” Maverick’s voice is smooth, warm.
“Hey,” I hear my echo reply.
“You ready?”
“I am. Where are we going?” I listen carefully now, knowing that this is my chance to figure out where the echo is going to end up. If I can figure out the destination, I’ll be able to go to it and then hopefully be able to listen for the echo of us there.
“It’s a surprise,” Maverick answers, that smile in his voice again. The sound of it makes me feel warm.
“Well alright then,” my echo replies, and I want to reach through time and shake her, demanding answers. This isn’t good. If I don’t know where we were going that night, I’ll have to try and guess the location, which leaves a lot of room for error. But I’m more determined than ever to figure out what’s going on, so I follow the echoes out the door and hop into my car. I roll my window down, hoping to be able to listen to the echo of the car’s engine and tires so that I can follow it. It works pretty well while we’re in the quiet neighborhood, but as soon as we hit the main road, the car’s noise gets drowned out by the rest of the traffic, past and present alike.
I think, examining my options. Shorewick isn’t that big of a town, so there can’t be too many places to look. Or listen, really. I decide that downtown is probably the best date spot in town, so I drive there to start my search. I park in the large parking garage in the center of the city, and from there I walk along Main Street toward the busier strip of businesses. There are all kinds of places to eat around here, and I’m not even sure where—or how—to begin listening for the echo. It’s not very busy today, but it was definitely busier last year based on the abundance of echoes surrounding me. I don’t know how I’m going to pick out my own voice in the bustle of downtown noise, but I listen intently anyway.
I pass by a flower store, a bar, a burger restaurant, and a photography studio. As I walk, I try to imagine what my first ever date must have been like—if it even actually happened. What did we talk about? What was Maverick like? What did he look like? The questions never seem to end, and before I know it, I’m lost in thought, aimlessly walking down the street.
Eventually, I reac
h a stoplight and realize I’m at the edge of the cityscape. Up ahead are some large warehouse buildings, but to my right, there are some smaller business buildings. I turn in that direction, feeling desperate. About a hundred feet down the road, I pass an alley, and when I glance down it, I find myself staring directly into the grill of a big, black Suburban.
I stumble, recognizing the vehicle immediately, but then try to play it cool, keeping my eyes forwards and continuing my walk at a brisk pace. Maybe it’s not the same Suburban. Maybe they aren’t looking for me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the door of the Suburban pop open as I’m passing, and I know that I’m wrong. It is the same Suburban, and they definitely must have recognized me. I pause for a second, wondering. What if the Suburban and echoes of Maverick are somehow connected? What if the Suburban guy is Maverick? I hesitate, my desire for answers growing stronger.
“Hey, you!” a voice calls from the direction of the Suburban. It’s light, casual. And definitely not Maverick’s voice.
I make the mistake of looking back, and a hooded man is standing a few feet away from the Suburban holding something that looks like a wallet out to me. “I think you dropped this,” he tells me.
I look at the guy, knowing fully well that I didn’t drop anything. I can’t see his face because it’s shaded by the hood, and I’m not about to try and get a better look, either. Neither of us moves for a few seconds. I blink once, then twice.
And then I bolt.
A moment later, footsteps follow.
As I race down the street, a few thoughts go through my mind. First: why did I wander off to the edge of downtown where there aren’t any people, alone, at this time of night? Second: who is chasing after me? And third: why?
I run faster, adrenaline coursing through my body. At school, I’m not the fastest runner in gym class—but I’m not the slowest, either. I just hope that my speed can get me out of this. Or at least back to the main road, where there might be people around who can help.
Up ahead, the block ends and on the next one are the buildings I’d originally intended to go to. I strain to look at them, searching for some indication that they could be used as a refuge, but I can’t even see a neon “Open” sign, so I decide not to risk it. My chances of losing my pursuer might be better if I zigzag through the streets anyway. I make a hard right, sprinting along the backside of the shops I’d walked past minutes earlier. At my first opportunity, I dart right again, sprinting through a thin alley toward Main Street. When I hit the sidewalk, I veer left and use the few seconds I have out of the hooded guy’s sight to rush to the nearest door. To my relief, it opens when I tug on it, and I slip inside, attempting to get as far away from the windows as possible.