They'll Never Catch Us Page 5

  I stood in the corner, watching my teammates pass around a bottle of something dark and threatening, and tried to make myself as small as possible until I could sneak out, undetected. But something kept me rooted in place.

  Lilly was perched on the counter, wearing a denim skirt and a floral top. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied into two space buns and she was sitting cross-legged so you could see a little triangle of her lacy underwear. She was either unaware or unbothered. Both ideas made my skin prickle. Lilly threw her head back and laughed, throwing her arm around Jade Kensington, the senior she diverted her attention to as soon as school started.

  Jade tucked a stray piece of Lilly’s hair behind her ear and leaned in, kissing her gently on the cheek. My stomach spasmed and something inside me cracked.

  It had only been a month since Lilly unceremoniously started ignoring me but it was enough time to make me think the entire summer was a dream. A blip in my imagination. She had been my teammate at the Elite Youth Runner’s Club’s summer program and we spent most hazy evenings together, driving around in her beat-up Buick sedan, bad country music blaring from her speakers.

  There was one sticky night up at Sweetwater Lake when the crickets were out, chirping into the heavy air. We were lying on a flannel blanket on top of the hood of her car, cracking jokes about the people who summer here. The ones who don’t bat an eyelash at spending forty dollars on a jar of honey or are willing to wait in line for half an hour to get nitro cold brew at the fancy coffee shop attached to Ellacoya. They crowd the lake in the warm months, then head to the apple orchards to take their autumnal photoshoots come September.

  “My parents’ clients are always talking about how brave they are for buying property in a town that was once called Deadwater,” I had said to Lilly, twirling a leaf in between my fingers. “But they don’t live here year-round. They don’t realize all the bad shit that comes with it.”

  Lilly grew quiet and hummed to the music. “At least it’s better than it was before. You weren’t old enough to realize what it was like when Shira went missing,” she said. Lilly was a freshman on the team when that went down. “It was a nightmare. She brought back so many old memories. My parents wouldn’t let me leave the house alone until she came back.” Lilly sat up and looked around. “I can’t wait to get out of this place.”

  She reached for my hand and squeezed it gently. “I can’t talk about this with my friends,” she said. “Everyone thinks it’s bad luck to talk about the cold cases. Or that I’m being a ‘downer,’ ” she said, using air quotes around the final word. “But they happened—and whoever killed those runners is still out there. How can we forget about that?”

  “We can’t,” I said.

  “That’s why I’m glad you’re here, Stella. You understand.” She babbled on for a bit longer, talking about her duties as president of the LGBTQ+ Alliance, what preseason would look like, and how she couldn’t wait for me to join the squad. Then she rolled onto one side so she faced me. Her lips were pink and full and curved into a smile. She leaned toward me with such authority, such clarity, that I leaned in, too. I was hungry for her.

  “Do you like me, Stella?”

  For a second, I wondered if it was a trick question. If she was going to laugh if I said yes, but I couldn’t lie. Not to her. So I nodded greedily and held my breath, waiting for her response.

  “Good,” Lilly said. “I like you, too.” She reached for my hand and pressed her lips against my palm, sending a bolt of lightning through my body. Then she intertwined her legs with mine and we stayed like that for a while, whispering into the night.

  Later, after she dropped me off, I crept into my room, though I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t be mad. No, they were thrilled that I was hanging out with the varsity cross country captain. But I didn’t want to answer questions. I wanted to go upstairs and climb under the covers, so I was alone with just me and my body and the desperate need to relieve myself of the heat between my legs.

  We had adventures like that for the rest of the summer, never talking about what we were or what it would be like when school started in September. Then, on the first day of preseason, I saw her and Jade together and it was obvious they were dating. When I tried to confront her, she just . . . ignored me.

  It was as if the moments we spent together meant nothing now that we were in the Edgewater High ecosystem, where Lilly Adams, the beloved senior captain, couldn’t deign to be seen with me, a lowly freshman. She and Jade were Edgewater royalty and I was left with a queasy feeling, unsure of who I could ever trust again.

  But Lilly was the first person who made me feel that way, who ruptured something inside of me that I couldn’t bandage up. I stayed needy and swollen all season while she flirted with Jade and led us through drills. It helped that they both weren’t competition. Lilly and Jade ran for fun, not for need. But at that party, I couldn’t help but feel like she was rubbing her relationship in my face.

  Now, walking into Tamara’s house with Mila and Ellie, I feel like I’m the chaperone. A few sophomores on the team hide their beers when I walk past, as if I would text Coach immediately. But I couldn’t care less. Their lack of discipline just makes them weaker.

  Ellie leads us through the massive entryway, decorated with funky, handmade pottery and bright, modern paintings, into the sleek white kitchen, where she promptly ditches Mila and me for the make-your-own-margarita station by the farmhouse sink. She never has any problem letting loose. She’s convinced the boozy gene won’t get her. To be determined, though.

  “You want a drink?” Mila asks.

  “Aren’t you driving?” I say. Top 40 hits blast over the speakers and I spot a shirtless Noah pounding clear shots at a bar set up in the living room.

  “I asked if you want a drink,” Mila says.

  I shake my head. “Not my vibe.”

  “Figured.”

  For some reason, her words make me furious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mila’s face grows red. “I just—”

  “You just what?”

  Mila falls silent, her mouth open just a bit. She looks wounded, which makes me realize that, yeah, I do want a drink just to prove her wrong. “Hey, Ellie, make me one,” I say over my shoulder.

  She swings her head around and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Just do it.”

  Ellie smiles in a mischievous way and turns around. When she walks back to us, she hands me a red plastic cup filled to the brim with neon-green liquid. “So, it’s best to sip—” she starts to say. But who has the time to play by the rules tonight? Not me, not with Mila here, acting like we’re friends.

  I tip the cup back and chug half of it at once. The booze burns my throat and my eyes start to water. It’s sugary and tangy and my stomach is on fire.

  Ellie’s eyes are bright and wanting as she sips her drink slowly. “Is this the night we finally get drunk together and braid each other’s hair and come up with a sisters-only choreographed dance?” Her voice is dripping in sarcasm but there’s a lightness to her. Sometimes, I look at her and wonder how the hell we can be related when her default mannerisms are calm and smiley, when her most defining quality is chill. But then I see her mouth get small and hear her knuckles crack and it’s like I can peer into her brain, where we both think the same thing. Win.

  I hold my cup out. “Cheers, bitch.” Ellie shoves hers into mine, and liquid sloshes onto the floor.

  “Man,” Mila says. “I always wished I had a sister.”

  “You can have her,” Ellie and I say at the same time. We both break into giggles. It feels good to laugh. To have the sound bubble up my chest and pass through my throat. It feels like practice, like running through cold air, like drinking a milkshake. I forgot the pleasure of cracking inside jokes with Ellie. Whenever Mom would take us to the grocery store or the hardware store, she’d plunk us down in the
corner with markers and paper. For the first few minutes we would duck our heads and laugh, elbowing each other softly. “Aren’t they sweet,” someone would say.

  “You can have her,” Mom would reply, dead serious, because it wasn’t long until our tender movements would shift into a fight. We’d spit and pull and choke until we were restless little puddles on the floor.

  You can have her. We never knew which one of us she was referring to.

  Mila smiles and cracks open a can of seltzer. Then suddenly Ellie glimpses something or someone over my shoulder and her whole body tenses. “Be right back,” she mumbles before pushing past some freshman and disappearing into the crowd. Now I’m stuck with Mila. Great. I throw what’s left of my cup back into my mouth and swallow hard.

  “Want a refill?” a sophomore manning the bar asks.

  I nod even though my throat still burns. He takes my cup and when he hands it back to me, I see the liquid is bright orange. I take a sip and try not to gag.

  “Come on,” I say to Mila. “Let’s find something interesting.”

  She trails behind me as we walk through the den, where a bunch of sophomores are making out in pairs in the dark.

  Mila wrinkles her nose. “Is everyone here always so PDA like this?”

  “Yup,” I say, wincing. “Shameless. All of them.”

  She laughs. “Barf.” Her response surprises me, but I’m secretly glad that I’m not the only person who can’t stand this mess. It’s so showy. So obscene. Made for people who aren’t exceptional on their own, who need something extra to feel alive.

  I take another sip and realize my second cup is empty. I drop it into the garbage and reach for an unopened beer can on the table.

  “So what else do people do around here for fun?” Mila asks as we walk out to the deck. “Other than not talk about the cold cases?”

  “You picked up on that?” I ask.

  “I tried to ask the guy at the pizza place about it and he acted like I had just told him to go fuck himself.”

  I grimace. “Was it Scott Childers? White guy with a gray beard? Orange Crocs?”

  She nods.

  “Yeah, that tracks,” I say. “His daughter Abigail was one of the victims. The second one.”

  Mila’s face pales and she covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m such an idiot.”

  For a second I feel bad for her. “There’s no way you could have known it was him,” I say. “They weren’t really in the press or anything.” She’s quiet for a second, looking embarrassed, and I feel the need to fill the space. “Well, there are great running paths up by Ellacoya,” I say. “There’s one called Foxfire Point that has the best views. The vista’s like a painting.”

  Mila nods and seems to come back to herself just a bit. “Oh, nice. Maybe we can go together sometime. I miss my running buddies back home. Always hated practicing alone.”

  I’m about to tell her hell the fuck no, that I don’t run with anyone—ever—and that “running buddies” are not my thing. But all of a sudden, someone bumps me from behind and I stumble, feeling dizzy and disoriented. My beer is knocked to the ground, splashing all over my shoes and I grab the deck railing to steady myself, wondering why the sky is now on its side.

  “Whoa, you okay?” Mila asks, holding her hands out as if to spot me.

  “Sorry,” I say, a flush creeping into my cheeks.

  “Do you wanna go home?” she asks. “I can drive you.”

  I look at the party, at the people I hate chugging shitty drink after shitty drink and—yeah, I really do.

  I nod. “Let’s find Ellie.”

  Mila leads the way as we walk from room to room, but my sister is nowhere to be found, lost in the maze of Tamara Johnson’s house. “What do you want to do?” Mila asks.

  Fucking Ellie. This is so classic. Promising to have the best sisterly night, then ditching.

  “Fuck it,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  “Do you live far from here? Will she be okay?”

  “More than okay.” It’s only a mile away and Ellie knows these roads by heart. We all do.

  “Okay, then,” Mila says. I follow her out to the front and into the passenger seat of her used Honda Accord. She revs the engine and turns the stereo to something soft and mellow. A woman’s voice sings delicate little notes then explodes, filling the car with longing and devotion as a man joins her for the chorus.

  Mila hums as she reverses and pulls out into the street. “I love this song,” she says.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “ ‘Silver Springs’ by Fleetwood Mac,” she says. “Reminds me of my old cross country course, my old team.”

  “You run to this?” I ask. It surprises me. The bridge is slow and melodic, coursing through my blood at half tempo before it crescendos into an explosion. Nothing like the generic garbage that fills everyone else’s playlists.

  “I run to sad shit. Dark shit. Light-your-insides-on-fire shit. Stuff like Nina Simone and Linda Ronstadt. My best friend, Naomi, used to make fun of me for it,” she says. “But it calms me. It makes everything go away. It makes me feel free.”

  My head is pounding and I want to tell her that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. But I don’t. Because I get it. All the Top 40 stuff makes me furious, all the clichés and fake hooks. It’s manipulative.

  I want to tell Mila I run to weird music too. Classical stuff, like Mozart and Chopin. Science podcasts, sometimes, when I really need a distraction. But Mila speaks first. “Which way?” she asks when we get to the stoplight.

  “A left here,” I say, nodding toward the dark eerie street. The lights blur in front of me and I wonder if this is what being drunk is like, if I’ll feel hungover in the morning.

  “You can keep going straight,” I say when we pull up to a stop sign.

  She maneuvers the car forward and I glance over at her hands. A tiny daisy-chain tattoo encircles her wrist, looping around like a poem.

  “When did you get that?” I ask.

  “The day we left my dad,” she says, her voice a little hoarse and far away. “Naomi and I got matching ones to mark the moment.” Mila pauses and grips the steering wheel hard. “He’s an addict. Pills. Mom gave him one last chance, but . . .” Mila shakes her head. “It was time for us to leave.”

  I want to tell her about my parents, about the Dark Years, about Mom’s relapse. How I felt it was my duty to protect Ellie after living with such uncertainty. How we won’t really know how it affected us until later, until we dig up that trauma and wallow around in it like mud.

  Mila leans back against the headrest. “We were thinking of moving down to New York, where my aunt Deb lives, but Mom hates the city. That’s where she grew up after my grandparents moved the family there from Puerto Rico. But Mom always loved the country, and she’d visited Ellacoya once before. So here we are.” Mila shrugs as if the move was no big deal, as if her mom decided to make chicken instead of beef. “It feels good to let someone know about my dad. I had a lot of friends in Hadbury, but they were kind of phony, to be honest. I couldn’t really trust anyone except Naomi. Learned that the hard way when my ex-boyfriend witnessed one of my dad’s episodes. He told everyone and then dumped me, saying I had too much ‘baggage.’ ”

  I open my mouth to say that’s why I never open up to people, too. You never know who will use private information as ammo. Mila smiles. “I probably shouldn’t be saying all of this to you. You must think I’m a freak,” she says. “But I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to make friends. Does that make me the biggest loser in the world?”

  I know I’m supposed to laugh but I just look out the window, booze buzzing in my brain. “You don’t want to be friends with me,” I say. “I’m dangerous. That’s what everyone says.” It’s easier to say what someone else is thinking before they do.

  Mila’s eyes stay focu
sed on the road. “I know,” she says. “I read about what happened with Allison Tarley last year.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. I need to flee, to get the hell out of here. But instead, I press my forehead against the cool window and look up at the sky. “Do you think I’m a monster?” I whisper into the glass.

  “No,” Mila says, matter-of-fact. “I mean, I might have done the same thing if I was in your position.”

  My stomach clenches and I motion for her to pull into my driveway.

  “Maybe that’s why I just told you all of that,” she says quietly. “Because I know you also have big shit to deal with. Let’s face it. You’re a force.”

  Something about those words makes me tense, makes my fingers curl around the door handle. There’s no point in being known like this, not here in Edgewater. “I have to go,” I mumble.

  “Okay.” She starts to say something else, but I can’t hear her because I fling myself out of the car and take giant steps up the driveway, listening for her engine to start back up. When it finally does, I pick up my pace and lunge for the door. As soon as I hit the first concrete step, my head lolls and my eyes rest on the ivy Mom planted last year, hoping it would grow a few feet to cover a couple broken bricks on the side of the house. No one expected it to rise from the earth and spread all the way up the trellis so it almost reaches Ellie’s bedroom window on the second floor, so it flaunts its strength and resilience. No one knew how much it could withstand. That’s what I’m thinking when I barf on our welcome mat.

  7

  ELLIE

  I wake up to my phone vibrating next to me on my pillow. I groan but reach for it, wiping sleep from my eyes as I make out the name on the screen. When I see who’s FaceTiming me, I smooth my hair down and swipe to answer.

  “Noah,” I say, angling the phone so it catches my good side. I stick my tongue out at him and he smiles.

  “Hey, babe.” Noah’s propped up in his bed, his chest bare, and I want to touch him through the screen. I shiver, remembering how it felt to have his weight on top of me, shifting back and forth.