“She saved you.”
* * *
—
I haven’t seen Noah since the night he gave me the book on the Oak Tower trail, and by the time I get to chemistry, our one shared class, my fingertips are buzzing. I’m itching to be near him, even if I won’t be able to feel the heat vibrating off his skin or run my thumb against the fine hairs on the back of his neck. I get there early, just to make sure I can grab a desk in the back so we’ll share a lab station all year. As the bell rings, he jogs through the door.
My heart stops as his eyes find mine in the classroom, bustling with that first-day-of-school energy. A slow smile spreads across his face and he darts through the rows of desks to slide into the seat next to me. His sandy hair flops down over one eye and he raises his hand to push it back.
“Hey,” he whispers as he drags his forefinger down my bare arm. I shiver.
“Hi.”
My heart races and I can’t stop looking at his round green eyes. Or his taut biceps, which are now just out in the open as he unzips his varsity cross country hoodie. He crosses his arms over his chest and presses his knee against mine beneath the desk. I swear I might faint.
“Missed you,” he says.
“Me too. At least I have this,” I say, nodding toward my wrist.
Noah’s brow furrows and his eyes dart around the room. He leans in toward me. “Yeah, Ell. I was thinking. I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for you to wear that anymore. Maybe you can just keep it in your pocket or something, you know? What if someone sees?”
My face suddenly feels hot. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s not like it says ‘Noah Brockston made this.’ ”
“You never know. I’m just worried, I guess.” Noah looks away and part of me feels for him, knows this is hard. But the other part of me is just plain mad.
I open my mouth to protest, but Noah pouts. “Please, Ell. Just for a little.”
I soften. He always has this power over me. “Okay,” I say, and untie the string from my wrist. Noah looks relieved as I slip it into the pocket of my shorts.
“Ellie Steckler?” Mr. Darien calls. He’s standing at the front of the lab wearing a long white coat. He reminds me of that doctor who saw me sixty miles away in Newburgh, where I knew no one would recognize me. The one who pursed his lips when I told him why I was there. He patted my hand and smiled with his eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he said as I wiped tears from my cheeks. It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like years.
“Here,” I call, masking the tightness in my throat.
For the next forty minutes I try to listen to whatever Mr. Darien is droning on about, but with Noah’s knee suctioned so firmly against mine, it’s hard to think about anything. When the bell rings, it’s like a spell has been broken.
Noah turns to me as he quickly packs up his bag. “I gotta hit Coach’s office, but I’ll catch you at lunch, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. I don’t mention Tamara or how she’ll be there, too. I let myself pretend that we’re a real couple, a normal couple.
“Bye, babe.” Before he stands, he wraps his palm around my thigh and squeezes. I clench my body to remember this feeling.
“Bye,” I whisper as he walks out the door.
When I get to the cafeteria, the cross country table has already assembled toward the back of the room. Last year, I hadn’t earned a spot at the main table, even though I was the only freshman to make varsity. Now that I’ve come in the top ten at State and proved myself independent of Stella, thankyouverymuch, one of those seats is mine. And now that Noah’s the captain of the boys’ team, maybe he’ll plop down next to me. Maybe.
“Yo, Baby Steckler. Think fast!” I drop my tray to the table and open my arms to receive something damp and heavy.
“What the hell is this, Bader?” I hold up the ball of fabric and try to shake it out.
“My sweaty boxers,” says Todd Bader. He’s one of Noah’s best friends, but he’s still just a dumb jock, dopey and boob-obsessed. Lucky for him, he’s blessed with thick golden surfer hair, perfect teeth, and a six-pack that he shows off a little too often at practice. Too bad he’s a total dick.
“Ugh, fucking gross,” I spit, and toss them to the floor. “Who has hand sanitizer?”
Raven Tannenbaum throws up her fist, which is wrapped around a small plastic bottle. “He did it to all of us,” she says. Raven flips Bader off across the table and he responds by turning two fingers into a V and wiggling his tongue between them. “Ugh, gross,” Raven says, shuddering. “Wanna sit, Ellie?”
Despite Raven’s basicness, I have to applaud her for how nice she is. Stella calls her vanilla, the ultimate diss, but she was always sweet to me in Hebrew school. Plus, she trains hard as hell.
Honestly, though, it kind of sucks to be Raven. Her older sister Shira was an Edgewater golden girl until she ran away a few years ago. The police spent all their resources looking for her, canvassing every trail for miles. Everyone thought she was another murder victim, and that whoever turned Edgewater into Deadwater had finally come back. We were in middle school then and the whole town went under lockdown. No bike rides or walks to the diner. No jogs around the lake. We weren’t allowed to be alone anymore—well, the girls weren’t allowed to be alone anymore. The boys could do whatever they wanted.
But a month after she went missing, Shira came back with some older dude who ran the goat-milk yogurt stand at the farmers market. She was wearing a ring and made some apologetic statement about how they had gone to Atlantic City to get married since she had turned eighteen and knew her parents wouldn’t approve. She said she needed a break from everything. From SAT prep, cross country meets, and her parents’ demands to get into a good college. No one forgave her, though. How could they? The whole town was pissed the police department had spent so much time and money looking for her—and that she had turned Edgewater into a news story again, a haunted town that drove away tourists and homeowners and attracted killers.
Shira moved to Philadelphia after that, leaving all the drama behind, and her parents split up, unable to deal with the media attention or the stress. Raven and her mom had to move from their fancy farmhouse to a one-bedroom cottage by the pizza place. No one’s heard from her dad since then. Raven stopped going to track camp that summer and started wearing cheap running clothes from the secondhand store in town instead of Julia’s parents’ shop. Even though Tamara and Julia stuck by her side, everyone talked shit behind her back for a while. It’s been five years and Raven never mentions that time. At least not to me.
Now Raven looks at me expectantly. “This seat’s open,” she says, motioning beside her.
“Thanks,” I say. “But I gotta save room for Stella.” She turns back to her turkey sandwich. A wilted piece of lettuce hangs over one side.
I make my way around the long rectangular table and find a seat at the end, where Stella will be able to fit. But when I see who’s already sitting there, I groan.
“Mila Keene.” Her name comes out of my mouth like a statement, not a greeting.
She looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Uh, hey. I’m Ellie Steckler,” I say, like a normal person. “Sophomore on the team. Didn’t get to say hi at practice.”
Mila’s face brightens into a warm grin as she unwraps her lunch. “Nice to meet you. I just moved here.”
I bite back the words I know right as Stella shows up. “Ell, we have to remember to pick up more heating—” She stops when she sees Mila. “Oh,” she says. “Hi.”
“Hi!” Mila says. But her smile disappears when she sees Stella scowling. “I can go if this is your seat.”
I roll my eyes. “No way. Scoot down, we’ll all fit.”
I can feel Stella seething, like she wants to drag her nails down my skin, hoping to draw blood. She’s done it before. And s
o have I. But let’s be real. This girl’s new and has no friends. We can at least be nice to her during lunch.
“So, when did you get to town?” I ask.
“Last week,” Mila says. She takes a bite out of what looks like an expertly wrapped burrito and chews slowly.
Stella grunts beside me. “Drama back home?”
I kick her under the table. Seventeen years old, and this idiot will never learn any social skills. But Mila laughs.
“You could say that. Fights with Dad. Mom and I chose each other. They’re getting a divorce, blah blah blah, same old sad story. Boring, huh?” She takes another bite.
“I’m basically falling asleep,” I say.
Mila swallows and laughs again, a deep hearty one that’s actually nice to hear.
Stella is silent next to us, save for the obnoxious crunching sound she makes snapping baby carrots between her teeth.
“What do you think of Edgewater so far?” I ask.
“It’s okay,” she says, looking around the cafeteria. “Everyone seems pretty nice, but it’s a little creepy, I guess.”
“Ah, so you’ve heard about the cold cases.” I pop a grape in my mouth.
She nods. “When I told people we were moving here, that was the first thing everyone brought up.” Mila pauses and looks at me, curious. “Do you ever worry the killer will come back?”
I shrug. “Honestly, no one really brings it up.” I lean in toward her. “We try not to mention the murders around Raven Tannenbaum. Her sister went missing a few years after the last murder and everyone thought she was another victim. It was a whole thing.”
Mila raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Weird. But things are okay now?”
“Seems that way,” I say. “Right, Stell?”
But Stella’s looking right past me. She pushes her chair back and stands. “Noah.” Her voice is gruff and loud when she says his name, so unlike how it sounds when I roll the letters around in my mouth. She turns it into noise.
Noah walks to us and stands directly behind my chair so I can feel his heat. I want to tackle him right here in the caf.
“Hey, Stella,” he says, a little annoyed, like talking to my sister is a chore.
“We need to talk about the Fall Cross Country Formal,” she says.
Noah wraps his hand around the back of my chair and I so desperately want to place my fingers on top of his. I sit on them to stop myself.
“Coach already reserved the gym and the caterer,” Noah says. “Tamara is on decorations. We just have to figure out the program.”
Stella crosses her arms. “Fine. Tomorrow? First period? I have study hall.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Noah says, doing a military salute. “Whatever the great Stella Steckler wants.” Bader and some of the other guys laugh and I force myself not to join in. Noah may be a little bro-y in public, but, ugh, it’s kind of endearing.
“Are you talking about the formal?” Tamara asks, appearing next to Noah. “The customized banners just arrived this morning.”
“That’s right, babe,” Noah says. “You’re so good at this stuff.” He flashes her a wide, toothy smile and my insides curdle as he leans in to plant a wet kiss on her cheek, and then her lips. She rests a hand on his chest and I try not to leap from my chair and yank them apart as they shove their tongues down each other’s throats.
I turn back to my lunch and make a mental note to ask Noah to please not make out with his fucking girlfriend in front of me anymore, though I know it’s no use. Noah Brockston will do whatever he wants. But most of the time what he wants is me.
* * *
—
The doorbell rings just after dinner, when I’m icing my knee on the couch in front of a brand-new episode of some Real Housewives franchise. Praise be this dumbass show for making me forget how Noah barely looked at me during lunch and that I don’t even have anyone to complain about it to now that Bethany’s on my do-not-call list, population: one. I’m also zoning out to try to take my mind off the fact that I came down too hard during jump squats at practice and my knee is killing me. Coach Gary even winced while barking out orders. He didn’t let me stop, of course, but I could tell he noticed.
“Who is that?” Mom yells from her office. “Ellie, can you get it?”
I heave myself off the couch and drop my dripping ice pack into the sink. By the time I hobble to the door, Stella is already there. “Move, I’ll get it,” she says.
“Sure, your highness,” I mumble.
She reaches for the handle and throws back the door. “Coach Gary,” Stella says like she’s been expecting him.
“Ah, there she is,” he says, arms outstretched. He’s wearing the same neon tracksuit he had on at practice and looks like he’s spent the past few hours holed up in his office, watching tapes and writing down drills.
Mom basically sprints into the foyer. “Coach! To what do we owe the honor?” She clasps her hands together like he’s the rabbi coming over for Yom Kippur break fast. “Can I get you something? Water? Seltzer?”
Coach throws up his hands. “The most hospitable home in all of Edgewater. No, no, I’m fine. I won’t be long. I just wanted to talk to Stella about the team. Mind if we post up here?” He motions to the stools at the breakfast bar.
“Not at all!” she practically shrieks. No one asks why this conversation couldn’t happen at school or why Coach Gary makes unannounced house calls. But then again, no one questions him. After all, he’s brought the team to State all five years since he’s been here. His girls—and we’re always called his girls—have placed every time. People credit him for keeping the program on track, keeping us safe.
But now, after Stella’s incident with Allison Tarley, he’s on thin ice. Why else would the school board have assigned someone to watch over practice?
Stella and Coach settle into their chairs and I hang around just in case I’m part of the conversation. But then he turns to me. “Give us a sec, Ell, okay?”
I slink back to the living room, but I can still hear them thanks to our home’s open-concept plan Mom loves so much. Assholes.
Coach waits until he thinks I’m out of earshot to continue. He’s one of the only people who knows—or at least thinks he knows—how to get through to Stella. But he’s a pusher, and a yeller, and what works with my big sister often breaks everyone else. “Listen, Stella. We’re both on the chopping block this year,” he says. “They’re watching us—the school board—making sure we both stay in line.”
My shoulders tense and I suspect Stella’s do, too. That’s supposed to be behind us now. Coach promised.
“You’ve got to behave,” he says. “And with Mila being here, I’m not going to pretend that your number one spot is safe. You’re not guaranteed anything,” he says.
Stella kicks against the stool and I can feel her fury from here. He’s riling her up, making her question herself, making her doubt her abilities, her strength. I’ve seen him do it a million times before. But usually to Raven or the others who don’t have Stella’s grit.
“You’ve got to be ready to challenge Mila. Her being here is a good thing, you know.”
Stella groans, unconvinced.
“You’re going to learn how to push each other, to use your skills to make each other better. You might learn a few things from her, too, like how to control yourself, to channel that fire.” He grows serious. “Stella, you have to remember this is a team sport. I can bring this squad to State with or without you, but I’d rather do it with you. You just need to show the scouts you know how to be sportsmanlike and that you won’t crack under pressure. Can you handle it?”
“Of course,” Stella says in her clipped voice. She sounds pissed, rage curling inside her.
“I know you can,” he says. “I see that in you.”
I force myself not to turn around and look at their faces, but my
heart starts pounding.
“I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me that she was coming to town. I was caught off guard,” Stella says.
Coach laughs and claps Stella on the back. “But wasn’t it more fun this way?”
“No,” Stella says.
“Come on. You always perform better when you’re on your toes.”
“I don’t like surprises,” she says. “You know that. It messes with my brain.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Stella never would have admitted that last year. Maybe Breakbridge really did work some magic.
“Well, you’re going to have to learn to deal with it,” he says. “Plus, you also have Ellie hot on your tail.” My skin burns at the mention of my name. “You can’t discount her. She’s a fighter and she’s got talent. She’s hungry, I can feel it.”
Stella doesn’t say anything. A mixture of pride and fear swells in my stomach. All this will do is fuel Stella. Thicken the lines between us. Coach knows that.
“You know you can win regionals, maybe even State on your own. But don’t you want a team title, too? Mila can help with that. Ellie, too. You can show the scouts that you can be on a team. College coaches value that.”
Stella pauses and I can barely hear her cautious breathing. “Sure,” she says.
“Your head needs to be in the game.”
“My head is always in the game unless you do something to throw me off.”
“Stella,” Coach barks, his voice hard and sharp. I flinch like I’m bracing for impact. But then their voices drop and all I can hear is murmuring and the scratching of stools against the floor. Suddenly, Coach is towering over me on the couch, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “G’night, Ell. See you tomorrow.”
“Night, Coach,” I say. The door shuts and Stella comes back into the living room. “What was that about?” I ask, playing dumb.
But Stella busies herself fluffing pillows like she’s Mom or some bullshit. “Nothing,” she says. “You wouldn’t get it.”
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