I swing the side door open and frigid wind whips me in the face, stinging my cheeks and my neck. I scan the yard to see Ellie facing away from me, walking awkwardly in circles on the lawn with her head lolled back. I rush toward her, my bare feet slipping in the dewy grass, and try to remember the best ways to guide a sleepwalker back to bed. Those old WebMD articles said never to wake them, to just sort of nudge them along. And that usually worked when we were little. I press gently on Ellie’s back, maneuvering us both back toward the house. But that’s when she starts talking.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie says, her voice authoritative and loud. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. I’m coming for you.”
I inhale sharply and my heart weighs heavy in my chest. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own feelings about Mila disappearing, I didn’t realize Ellie was freaking out too. That she feels as alone as I do.
A lump forms in my throat, and just as I reach forward to grasp the door handle, Ellie’s eyes flicker open. “Stella?” she mumbles, swiveling her head side to side. “What?”
“Shh,” I say. “It’s okay, Ell. We’re going back to bed.”
Ellie looks around, nervous and uncertain, but lets me lead her up to my room. “Can I stay with you tonight?” she asks.
I nod and guide her upstairs to my bedroom. She slips under the blanket and I crawl in next to her, waiting for her breathing to become rhythmic, her body to relax. “You and me forever, Ell,” I whisper into her hair. “You and me forever.”
* * *
—
As soon as we get to school, the loudspeaker crackles overhead. “Attention all Edgewater students,” Raven’s mom, the school secretary, calls in her high-pitched voice. “Homeroom is canceled this morning. Please make your way to the gymnasium for an all-school assembly.”
A wave of students move in unison, and I start walking, letting the crowd push me down the hall. I turn to ask Ellie what she thinks this is all about, but then I realize she’s not beside me anymore. I scan the sea of bodies for her long dark hair, but she’s nowhere. I go on alone.
By the time I enter the gym, the air is cloudy from dust particles swept up by students clamoring for a spot on the bleachers. There are hardly any seats left, but I find an empty perch in a row full of kids in the marching band and ignore their stares.
I crane my neck to see if Ellie wandered in with the rest of the stragglers, but I don’t see her. Suddenly the room quiets. Principal Pérez and Detective Parker emerge from the door in the corner and make their way to the microphone at the half-court line. Pérez steps up first and clears her throat. The audio system shrieks and she offers us an apologetic smile.
“I wish we were here under different circumstances,” she says in a soft, steady voice. “But I am devastated to inform you that Mila Keene’s body was found early this morning.”
Gasps ring out beside me and my vision blurs. I must have misheard. Pérez’s voice sounds odd in my ears—distorted and garbled—as she continues speaking.
“Detective Parker and his team are continuing their investigation as we try to find out what happened to this special, bright young woman. But in the meantime, all of us here at Edgewater High want you to know that our guidance counselor’s office is open for you. Classes will be canceled for the rest of the day, and all of the teachers and faculty will be here for your support. Seek each other out in these moments. Band together. Do not be afraid to ask for help.”
A few small sobs echo in the rafters and the quiet sounds of crying fill the empty space. But I can’t even cry. I won’t cry. Because this must be a mistake. Mila is alive. She has to be. Her laugh was too big, too full for me to never hear it again. I never got to tell her I was sorry. I never let her play me more of that sad music she liked, never got to tell her that I read all about Susie Barstow. I never let her in.
Detective Parker moves in front of the microphone. “Like your principal said, we will continue our investigation, and your support is more crucial now than ever before,” he says. “If you know anything about where Mila was before her disappearance, or if you have any idea of who might want to harm her, we need to hear from you. I will be stationed in Principal Pérez’s office and we will protect your privacy.”
Parker pauses and clasps his hands in front of his chest. “I must also tell you to be safe, safer than you have been in recent years.” Suddenly, the air is still and no one seems to even breathe. “We haven’t ruled out the possibility that Mila Keene’s death is related to the other cold cases.”
Someone gasps and Principal Pérez looks away, her brow knit, as Parker continues. “So, again, if you have any information about Mila Keene, please come forward.”
For a second, no one speaks. My heart pounds in my throat and I don’t know how to even process this information. Then a few hands shoot up. Someone in the back speaks first. “So you’re saying she was found on the Oak Tower trail?” they ask in a too-loud voice. My ears ring.
Pérez looks warily at Parker and he responds. “We will not be sharing any more details at this time.”
“Did she die like the others?” someone else calls out. “Were her shoelaces missing?”
“Like I said, we will not be sharing any additional details.”
Pérez nods at him and they retreat through the doors, to her office, where undoubtedly they will be waiting for tidbits of information from my peers, these rubberneckers, people who didn’t know anything about Mila. They’re the onlookers, the ones who can’t wait to post about how much they loved and missed Mila. Who are already itching to mourn her publicly and celebrate all of her achievements. Who are desperate for attention, for bits of conversation to share with their cousins at Thanksgiving, crap to talk about in their college application essays. They are the people who love living in Deadwater, who will use it as a fun fact for the rest of their lives. They’re the people who don’t even remember Marlisse, Beatrice, or Abigail, but will continue to say things like, Those dead runners? Yeah, that was my town. Can you believe it? It could have been me.
But it couldn’t have been you. It couldn’t have been just anyone.
Because something about this isn’t right. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Mila’s disappearance be related to the cold cases? Why would the killer lie dormant for years, only to come back and take Mila as his next victim? It’s impossible. Someone wanted Mila gone. Someone couldn’t take her messing with the Edgewater ecosystem, turning everything upside down. Someone wanted to hurt her, to kill her. But who?
* * *
—
After the announcement, the halls are on fire. Little clusters of students huddle together, leaning against their lockers, weeping into each other’s jackets, performing the role of grieving friend. Others whisper with looks of hunger plastered on their faces as they scroll through their phones, looking for tips or tweets about Mila. And all I can do is keep walking, moving one foot in front of the other because if I stop . . . if I pause . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to start again.
I walk past the lockers and the entrance to the cafeteria, until I reach the athletic hallway. I take a right, past the science wing. I want to run. I want to run so fast and so far that my legs collapse and my heart breaks free from my chest, red and raw and pumping. But I know if I leave, if I take one step out of this building, it will be news. Stella just up and left. Can you believe it? She must have been running from something. Heartless. Bitch. Monster.
That last word was already smeared across my locker like blood. But I’m used to it now. My shell is hard like a turtle’s. My skin is made of stone.
I lean against a trophy case, catch my breath, and close my eyes. But all I see is Mila. Her mischievous, friendly smile. Her eyes looking at me, seeing me for who I am, who I wanted to be. I didn’t let her look at me that way.
“Stella.” Tamara strides up to me, her arms wrapped around a stack of books. Her eyes
are red and soft.
“Hi,” I say warily.
“We’re going to have a little get-together at the resort to, I don’t know, just be together and talk. Like a support-group thing. You should come.” Her voice cracks and she tucks a stray braid behind her ear. “We’re gonna head over there soon,” she says. She looks around at our crying peers. “Being here is freaking me out. Mila would have laughed her ass off at these vultures.”
She’s right. Mila would have.
“Okay,” I say. “I will.” We’re both quiet for a sec. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask. “I’ve been an asshole about the search party, the charity run . . .”
Tamara looks right at me. “You were an asshole. But I get it. I miss her too,” she says. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Plus, I wouldn’t trust anyone either, if I knew someone was trying to frame me by slipping Mila’s ID into my locker.”
My heads snaps up. “You think someone was trying to frame me?”
Tamara shrugs. “I’ve always been right about my gut, and my gut is telling me that you had nothing to do with Mila’s disappearance. I’ve sent mean texts too, you know. Everyone who thinks you did this is just trying to find a simple excuse so we don’t become Deadwater again.”
“So you didn’t tell Pérez about the ID?”
She shakes her head.
“Tamara!” Julia calls to her from over by her locker, where she’s huddled with Raven.
“I gotta go,” Tamara says. “See you at Ellacoya.”
My heart pounds desperately and I know I need to run or else I’m going to lose my mind. I rush out of the building as sneakily as I can and dump my backpack into our car. It’s only four miles from here to Ellacoya, but if I take the long way, around the lake and up through the boat launch, I can turn it into six. I’ll arrive sweaty and beet-red, breaking all of Mayor Dickerson’s rules about running alone, but who cares at this point? My brain is about to explode and I need this. I need to clear my head. I need to find a way to make sense of this.
I take off behind the gym and quickly find the dirt path. It darkens as I creep farther into the woods. The trees canopy above me and within a few strides I feel calm, relieved. The leaves are shocks of reds and oranges and yellows and the fallen ones crunch underfoot. Soon my breath is steady and I tread over roots and logs and little moss kingdoms. I feel at home. I don’t think of Mila anymore. I don’t think of anything.
My watch vibrates against my wrist, clocking the beginning of my third mile, and all of a sudden I hear something rustle in the woods. It’s too heavy to be a deer, too soft to be a bear. They’re feet, human feet. And then a voice rings through the silence.
“You have got to keep your shit together.”
My body slows and my limbs are heavy. The voice is coming from my right, male and deep. Harsh and focused. Instantly recognizable. It’s Noah. I peer through the trees but it’s hard to see clearly. His voice peters out and then I hear rustling again.
I run another quarter of a mile up the elevation to get a better view.
“You don’t understand. You never could. This isn’t about you.”
I freeze in place, my feet glued to the ground. I’d know that voice anywhere. Ellie.
I crouch down and separate the branches with my fingers. She’s leaning up against a tree, facing away from me. Her pale neck is bright against the foliage and her long dark hair blends into the bark. Noah’s to her left, kicking the brush at his feet. His hair is messy, tousled, and he throws his backpack to the ground in rage. I cover my mouth to keep from calling out.
“Look,” he says. “You’re being dramatic. Everything is fine. No one knows about us.”
“It’s not fine,” she says. She’s terrified but speaks with the same defeated tone she uses when I play my podcast on the car speaker or decide what’s for dinner. She’s not ready for a fight. She doesn’t have it in her. She knows this is one she won’t win. “I’m sick of lying,” she says.
I rise to my feet and inch to my left, trying to get a closer look. But as I step, a branch snaps and turns in my direction. “What was that?” Ellie asks, fear in her voice.
I stand so desperately still, willing myself to blend into the branches.
“Nothing, babe,” Noah says. “You’re being paranoid.”
Ellie turns back to him and points a finger in his face. “Don’t call me babe,” she spits. “You don’t have the right. Not anymore.”
I feel breakfast coming up in my throat. I want to run into the clearing and shove him away from her, tell him to leave her the hell alone after all he put her through. But something stops me. What if Ellie lied to me about breaking it off with him? Is this really a conversation you’d have with an ex? What if they’re still together? I can’t stomach that, on top of everything else.
I know I need to get away, to leave this scene, and burn the memory of it. There’s no use in tiptoeing back to the path, so I make a break for it and run. I run like I always run and race myself to the road, flying through the trees, the brush, the woods, until I make it to the boat launch where Mila’s phone was found.
There’s still yellow police tape around the canoe stand, crisscrossing over the paddles.
I sidestep it all and try my hardest not to stare, not to imagine how Mila’s phone got there. I bolt for the side door to the lodge, where I know there’s a single-use bathroom. And as soon as I make it inside, I fall to my knees and vomit into the toilet.
* * *
—
I’m taking a few minutes to clean myself up when someone knocks on the door.
“Stella? Is that you?” Tamara calls out.
“Just a sec,” I say. “Ran here. Just washing my face.”
“For sure,” she says, and I force myself to unlock the door. “Everyone’s over in the den,” she says.
I steady my breathing and follow Tamara through the lodge and into the same room where Mayor Dickerson warned us not to run alone. About a dozen other members of the cross country team have assembled on the plush couches and cozy armchairs. The fireplace glows with sturdy flames and an unfinished puzzle sits on the wooden coffee table.
“We were just talking about how Mila had begun to really settle in here at Edgewater,” Julia says, a hint of snootiness in her voice. “How she was so adaptable.”
I bite my tongue and just nod.
But to my surprise it’s Tamara who snorts. “Sure, Jules.”
Julia’s face grows red and she shuts up quick. The others go around and say generic things about Mila, how she was smart and funny, fast and nice. One girl, a sophomore, tells a story about how Mila saw her struggling to screw in her spikes during practice one day and helped her, as if that was the greatest, most meaningful moment in the world.
As they talk, my stomach cramps in revolt. My chest tightens and I twist my fingers around themselves, trying to sit still. To not do anything. To not make a scene.
After a while Raven turns to me, her freckles pronounced on her pale skin and her head tilted in concern. “What about you, Stella?” she asks with little affect. “Do you have anything you want to share?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to block everyone out, to remember Mila’s smile, the way it felt to talk about our parents, about the need to win. What it was like to find someone who might understand.
“I never met anyone like her,” I say. It’s all I can manage.
“Nice,” Julia says, rolling her eyes. “Original.”
But I ignore her and continue. “I’ve never run with anyone like her. She was so determined. So free. Even practicing with her was like racing at regionals.”
The room is tense and I wonder if I’m making a mistake, if I’m giving everyone even more ammo against me, if I’m playing into the narrative they want to believe. But I keep going, determined to give Mila’s talent its due. “She
was better than I was,” I say. “She made me better. She made us all better.”
“So is that why you threatened to kill her in those text messages?” Julia mutters under her breath.
I push the chair back and stand. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Julia quiets for a second, almost scared, and the room is silent, everyone waiting for one of us to make a move. Julia’s eyes flash fire until Bader clears his throat in the back of the room.
“Anyone else ready to not talk about their feelings for a while?” he says.
The tension breaks and the others laugh. Someone slaps him on the back.
“My parents are running the bowling alley all night. Throwdown at my place!” Bader yells.
Julia jumps up. “I’ll go for a beer run.” Pretty soon the room is empty and it’s just me and Tamara left in the cozy den.
She starts folding blankets and placing them back in their baskets, then kneels in front of the massive coffee table and sweeps an armful of puzzle pieces back into their box.
I don’t know if it’s her red-rimmed eyes, or the way she’s breathing like she might burst into tears, but a lump forms in my throat. “Here,” I say, grabbing some pillows our teammates left on the floor. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks,” Tamara mumbles without looking at me.
“It sucks, right?” I ask, trying to find the right words. “Everyone treating Mila like a news story.”
Tamara cocks her head and looks at me. “You know, you’re the first person who’s acknowledged that,” she says. “The others . . . they’re just pretending they were best friends with her now that she’s gone.”
“People want a story,” I say. “They all want to whisper about how we’re going to become Deadwater again. Everyone’s forgetting she was a person and that someone did something to her.” I shake my head and swallow the lump in my throat. Please don’t cry, I tell myself. Not in front of Tamara.
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