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knee, stretching her legs out.

“Aren’t you helping Coach out?” Kyle asks Adam.

“In a sec,” Adam says. “He doesn’t need me till they start.”

Kyle’s eyes stay on Mina, at how she’s stretching her arms above

her head, reaching up, up, up, like she can touch the sky. She’s the

smallest on the team—but when she’s on the fi eld, it’s like she’s ten

feet tall, full of strength and speed.

“You’re getting good moving around.” Adam pulls his baseball cap

off , sticking it in his back pocket.

T E S S S H A R P E

135

“Almost ready for a cane,” I say. “Go me.”

“Hey.” Kyle frowns. “You should be proud. Mina says you work

your ass off in physical therapy.”

“Is that what Mina says, Kyle?” Adam asks, and he grins at me

conspiratorially as Kyle’s face reddens.

“Your parents bugging you about college yet?” Kyle asks, like he’s

desperate to change the subject.

“They’re making noises. But it’s kind of early.”

“Maybe for you,” Adam says. “I’ve gotta start thinking scholar-

ships. I can’t go anywhere without help. And I’m not gonna get any

prizes for my grades.”

Kyle laughs. “Hell, no,” he says. “You’re gonna get one for being the

best goalie NorCal’s ever seen.”

Adam grins, standing up. The girls are starting to gather on the

fi eld. Our team’s in blue, the Anderson Cougars are in red. “Well,

here’s to hoping. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. I should get

down there before Uncle Rob gets too pissed. See you later, Soph.”

With Adam gone, Kyle and I turn back to the fi eld, our attention

honing in on Mina like a magnet to metal.

The team is lining up for the kickoff , and Amber says something

that makes Mina toss her head back and laugh, her curls bobbing

against the gray sky. She play-pushes Amber, who pushes her back,

laughing, too.

I watch Kyle watch her out of the corner of my eye. “You really like

her, don’t you?”

He jerks, the tops of his ears turning red. He doesn’t meet my

eyes, but looks down at his hands, digging into his jeans. “Is it that

obvious?”

“Kind of.”

136

F A R F R O M Y O U

He laughs. “Way to make a guy feel better.”

I shrug.

I don’t say what I’m thinking. I don’t tell him how lucky he is, that

he can just sit there and admit it, sheepish, but unashamed. Like it’s

his right. Like it’s okay, because she’s supposed to belong to someone

like him, instead of someone like me.

29

NOW (JUNE)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my

voice shakes. I can feel the panic rise inside me: Kyle
knows
.

“Shit, Sophie, give me a little credit,” Kyle says. “She

told me.”

My stomach lurches. Saliva fl oods my mouth, a hot, slick

rush that I can’t contain. I gag, moving past the Dumpsters,

and manage to get to an empty trash can before I start to

throw up, coughing and spitting.

Big hands grab clumsily at my hair, pulling it back as

the rest of my breakfast comes up. I jerk away from him,

my skin fl ashing hot and cold, goose bumps breaking out

everywhere. Finally I straighten up, wiping my mouth with

my hand, my eyes damp with tears, my throat raw. He steps

away from me again, leaning against the chain-link fence,

his hands in his pockets.

“Kyle . . .” I start, and then I stop, because I don’t know

what to say. I hate that he knows. It’s different with Rachel,

with someone safe, someone who didn’t know Mina.

The smell of vomit curls inside my nose, making the

queasiness roar back to life, and I press my fi ngers to my

mouth, swallow convulsively and breathe through pursed

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F A R F R O M Y O U

lips until it passes. I back away from the trash until my

shoulders are pressed against the chain-link fence that

separates the restaurant’s back lot from the Capri M-tel. I

can see people on the second level, walking back and forth

from the ice machine.

“I was so pissed. I yelled at her. I shouldn’t have, but I

did. I made her cry, I . . . I said some really shitty things.

And then she wouldn’t take my calls the next day, she

wouldn’t listen to me, so I left her that note. I just wanted

to tell her I was sorry. But she wouldn’t pick up, and then

the next thing I know, Trev’s on the phone telling me that

she’d been killed.” He takes a step back, like he needs the

distance as much as I do. “I fucking hate you sometimes,”

Kyle says. “Every time I see you, I get so pissed at you.

Whenever you’re around, I think about her telling me, the

look on her face . . .” He lets out a shuddering breath. His

Adam’s apple bobs under the collar of his polo shirt. “She

was so relieved. Like she’d wanted to say it forever. And I

was just—I was
shitty
. All I did was make her cry.”

“This is why you lied to the police.” It’s crazy, and

I’m furious that all of this, the months I spent trapped at

Seaside, was because of this. Because she’d trusted him, of

all people, with her—our—biggest secret. Because he was

mad at being tossed over for another girl.

I hit him, a hard smack across his chest that feels bet-

ter than it should. “You screwed up everything!” I burst

out. “I spent three months in rehab for a drug addiction I’d

already kicked
. My parents think I’m a hopeless junkie and

a liar! Everyone in this town thinks I’m the reason Mina

T E S S S H A R P E

139

was out at Booker’s Point. Trev won’t even look at me. Not

to mention that by giving the police false information, you

probably helped the murderer get away with it.”

“There
were
drugs,” he insists. “I didn’t make it up.

I heard the police had found pills. Who else would they

belong to? I didn’t want to explain to the Detective why I

was calling Mina so much that day, so I told him that Mina

had said you two were going out to the Point to score and

that I tried to stop her. I thought it’d get you in trouble.”

I want to hit him again, but I hold back this time. “Yeah,

well, you thought right. The only problem is the drugs

weren’t mine. Whoever killed her planted them on me.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ve really been clean this whole

time?”

“Do you want me to swear it on her grave?” I ask.

“Because I will. We can go there right now.”

“No,” he says, too quick, and I realize I’m not the only

person who has a problem visiting Mina’s grave. “I—I

believe you.”

“Oh great,” I snarl. “That makes me feel so much better.

Thanks a lot.”

He stands there, and now more than ever, he’s like a

massive, slobbery puppy. He sticks his big paws inside the

pockets of his cargo shorts, biting his lower lip, staring at

his feet. “Look, I’m sorry for lying . . . even though I didn’t

think I was totally lying,” he says. “But you did sleep with

my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t sleep with her while she was your girlfriend!”

“Whatever.”

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“Seriously,” I say. “Look at me.” He scuffs his foot on the

pavement, and I snap my fi ngers in front of his face until he

meets my eyes. “You don’t get to be pissy to me about this,”

I tell him. “Whatever she told you . . .” I let out a breath. I

can’t think about what she told him, about herself, or about

the two of us. Every time I do, I feel everything slipping out

of my control, my footing in the gray area precarious.

Nine months. Three weeks. Six days.

I tap the numbers against the skin of my wrist, a heart-

beat to build on.

“She liked girls,” I continue when I’ve got a hold on

myself. “She only liked girls. The guys were a cover. I’m

sorry, but that’s just the way it was.”

“I know that,” he says quietly. “I know,” he says again,

his face crumpling.

The back door of the restaurant bangs open. “Kyle,” calls

a man in a spattered apron. “We need you.”

Kyle ducks his head, so the guy can’t see how undone he

is. “Just a sec,” he mumbles. The guy nods and heads back

inside.

Kyle stares up at the sky, and I give him a moment of

silence to get himself together.

“I’ve got to get inside,” he says. He wipes at his cheeks

and clears his throat before pushing past me.

“Kyle, Mrs. Bishop can’t fi nd out about this.” I hate how

small my voice gets, that I’m practically begging.

What looks like sympathy fl ickers across his face before

he looks away. “She won’t fi nd out from me. I promise.”

He’s doing it for Mina and for himself, not for me, but I

don’t care, as long as it stays a secret.

T E S S S H A R P E

141

Mina had constructed her cage a long time ago, built by

shame from the beliefs she was brought up with. She may

have told Kyle. But she never wanted anyone else to know.

I plan on keeping it that way.

30

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO (FIFTEEN YEARS OLD)

My phone buzzes. It’s two a.m. and I’m half-asleep, but as soon as I see

it’s Mina, I answer.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

I get out of bed. Mina’s parked across the street, leaning against a

familiar blue F-150.

“You stole Trev’s truck? You only have your permit.”

“I
borrowed
it. And no one’s gonna catch us. Come on, let’s go.”

I pull my shoes on and sneak downstairs. I’m in pajama pants and

a tank top, but it’s a warm night and I don’t care. Mina beams when

she sees me coming out the door. “Where’s the cane?” she asks as I get

into the passenger seat. “You have another three weeks—”

“I’m getting better without it,” I interrupt. “It’s fi ne. I need to get

used to walking. Even the guys at PT said so.”

“Okay,” Mina says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

We roll down all the windows and head to the lake, singing along

to the radio. Taking the back road, we head toward a spot only locals

know, where we’ve spent hundreds of lazy hours over the years, swim-

ming and soaking up the sun.

The lake stretches out in front of us and Mina pulls over, parking

in a turnout by the side of the road. When we get out of the car, I can

T E S S S H A R P E

143

hear the soft lapping of the water against the rocks below. The moon’s

high in the sky, shining off the water. We’ve been coming to this spot

since we were kids, but it was easier to navigate the trail down to the

shore back then.

Mina helps me down the tricky stretch to the little beach. We strip

down to our underwear, and there is nothing self-conscious about her

when she tosses her shirt onto the rocks. I follow suit, slower, more

carefully. Mina walks into the lake, waiting until she’s hip-deep before

slipping under. She comes up with a splash, her dark hair fl ying every-

where as she beams at me in the moonlight.

The water is cold—almost too cold—against my skin, and goose

bumps prickle on my arms as I wade in aft er her. My toes dig into

the muddy bottom for better traction, but once I get deep enough, I

can lift my feet and let the water buoy me back and forth, weightless,

almost painless.

Mina fl oats on her back, staring up at the sky. “I heard something