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so hard that I won’t be able to pull myself out again.

Ten months. Five days.

I toss my phone into my purse and walk down the beach

with Rachel and Kyle.

There are some pockets of strained silence as we make

our way through the group of familiar faces. Kyle’s hug-

ging people and smiling at girls, introducing Rachel as I

follow behind, my eyes cast down. A shyness I haven’t felt

in forever suffocates me.

“I’m gonna get some water,” I tell Rachel, zeroing in on

one of the coolers tucked farther down the beach. It’s less

mobbed over there.

She nods and waves me off with a look of understand-

ing, though I can feel her tracking me, making sure I’m

okay as I break from the crowd. I look over my shoulder

and watch her for a second, see the way she smiles at Kyle

in the fi relight. He’s already ditched his shirt, now tucked

into his back pocket.

“Watch it,” says a sharp voice.

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I run smack into someone and stumble backward, my

footing unsteady in the sand.

Amber doesn’t even reach out to try to help me. She

stands still, her arms folded, as I teeter, trying to keep my

balance. When I’m fi nally steady, she stands there, disap-

proval radiating off of her.

“Hi, Amber.”

“Sophie,” she says, and I’m impressed—she could freeze

ice with that voice. “I can’t believe you thought it was okay

to show up here.”

I feel tired all of a sudden. I don’t want to do this. Not

here. Not ever. “Let’s just avoid each other.” I start to move

past her.

“You know, I never got what she saw in you. You wrecked

yourself. And then you brought her down with you.”

I stop. We’re drawing attention now, and my skin crawls

at all the eyes on me. “Let’s not talk about it. I don’t want

to fi ght.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Amber snaps. “I don’t have to

listen to you. You shouldn’t be here. You should be in jail.”

“Hey!” Rachel comes up, scattering sand everywhere,

her shoulders tense. “Leave her alone.”

Amber’s mouth twists in disapproval at Rachel’s funky

bubble skirt and the necklace she’s made out of Scrabble

tiles. “Freak,” she mutters.

Rachel’s face lights up; her eyes fl ick up and down

Amber’s body, taking in her perfectly tousled beach hair

and sparkly eye makeup. “I’m taking that as a compli-

ment,” she says.

Kyle comes up behind Rachel, looming over her like he’s

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F A R F R O M Y O U

our personal bodyguard. He crosses his arms, brown eyes

narrowing. “Sophie and Rachel are here with me. Don’t

talk about stuff you don’t know shit about, Amber. Leave

us alone.”

Amber’s eyes widen when Kyle defends me, then she

defl ates. “Whatever. You wanna stomp on Mina’s grave

with the person responsible, Kyle, you go ahead.” With

another disgusted look at me, she tosses her hair over her

shoulder and stalks off.

I let out a long breath. “Thanks.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, eyes on the sand.

“She was being a jerk.”

“Come on, just ignore her,” Rachel says. “Let’s get some-

thing to drink.”

“I should check my phone. I left it in the car.” It’s a lie,

but I want to be alone.

“I’ll come with,” Rachel offers, but I wave her off.

“It’s fi ne. Trev probably texted me. I just want to check.

Be right back.” I need a few minutes by myself. There are

too many familiar faces here.

Before either of them can protest, I’m walking away as

fast as my bad leg allows. I’m halfway up the beach, con-

centrating on navigating through the sand and getting my

phone out of my purse when I hear someone calling my

name.

“Sophie! Hey!” Adam comes jogging up. There are wet

spots on his faded T-shirt, and his hair’s dropping into his

eyes. “Kyle sent me after you. He didn’t want you to go

anywhere solo.” He looks down at the phone in my hand.

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287

“Thought you were getting your phone.” I fl ush, but Adam

smiles. “Hey, it’s okay. Amber was being mean. I’d want

to get away, too. Can I come with you, at least, so Kyle’s

doesn’t get mad at me?”

“I’m just going to my car; not that exciting.”

“I’ll tag along. Hey, you want?” He offers me a bottle

of coke, which I take gratefully. I twist it open and take a

drink as Adam gestures for me to keep going. He follows,

hands in the pockets of his board shorts. I don’t look down

at my phone, even though I want to check to make sure I

didn’t miss any texts. “How’s your garden?” he asks as the

beach fades into pavement.

“Good. Thanks again for helping me with that soil. What

about you? How’s your summer?” The one light in the park-

ing lot is about to die. It’s quieter up here, the noise from the

beach fading as we walk farther away. I unlock my car and

dump my purse onto the front seat. I fl ip my phone over so

I can see the screen. There’s a missed call from a number I

don’t recognize. My heart skips a few beats before starting

to pound in my ears.

Is this it?

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Adam. I walk a few steps down

the path before entering my voice mail code. I take another

drink, expecting Trev’s voice on the message, but it isn’t his.

“Hi, Sophie, this is Tom Wells from the
Harper Beacon
.

I’ve been thinking about our conversation last week. I’ll

hope you’ll get back to me; I’d really like to talk about your

side of this story. On the record. Give me a call back.”

I frown and delete the message.

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F A R F R O M Y O U

You still talking to the detective?
I text Trev before putting

my phone on vibrate and pocketing it so I’ll feel it. I can’t

stop the thread of worry working through my brain. I tell

myself instead that it’s a good sign he doesn’t have time to

text me.

“You mind if we hang out here for a sec?” I ask as I walk

back to Adam. He’s sprawled against my car trunk, his soda

in his hand. “Things out there are kind of . . .”

“I get it,” Adam says.

I hoist myself carefully onto the car trunk, my legs

swinging. Adam boosts himself up beside me.

“Who was on the phone?” Adam asks.

“Oh, I’m just waiting for Trev to text me. He’s supposed

to come by later.”

Adam raises an eyebrow. “You guys fi nally getting

together?” He laughs when he sees the look on my face.

“What? Everyone always talked about you two like it was

this predestined thing. Why do you think I never asked you

out?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, making me laugh.

“
You
wanted to ask me out?” I grin and take a sip of

soda. “When was this? Before or after Amber?”

“Before,” Adam shrugs, grinning. “I had a big crush on

you in second grade. Trev’s lucky.”

I don’t bother to hide my smile. “Well, I’m not dating

Trev,” I say. “Trev is . . .” I try to fi gure out a way to put it.

That feeling that went beyond friends, beyond family, but

wasn’t the right kind of love. “Trev is Trev,” I say fi nally.

“And dating . . . dating is not for me. Not right now, at

least.”

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289

“I get that. You’ve got a lot going on,” Adam says. “Con-

centrating on being healthy is important. You’re going to

meetings, right? Uncle Rob said you were at the Church the

other day.”

“Been talking about it with my therapist,” I say. “He

thinks it might be good for me.”

“It’s interesting,” Adam says. “I go sometimes with Matt

so he won’t ditch. I dunno, listening to all those stories . . .

It’s like people fuck up all the time, but I think it helps to

admit it, you know? To ask for forgiveness? Most of the

time, you get it. People are really good at forgiving, if you

just ask for it.”

“Some things, though, you can’t forgive,” I say. “Some-

times you do or see things that are so bad. . . .” I take a

long sip of soda, thinking about Matt, about how he’d prob-

ably killed Mina, Jackie, and his baby. I think about Trev,

and how everything he wanted had been stalled by our

secrets. I think about Rachel, fi nding me on that road, bro-

ken and bloody, and never showing any fear. I shake off

the thoughts, pasting a smile on my face. “Anyway, Matt’s

doing good with the meetings now, right? He looked really

healthy when I saw him.”

“Defi nitely,” he says. “And, I mean, he did a lot of things

that were bad. Made a lot of mistakes. My mom wouldn’t

talk to him for six months. But Uncle Rob got him clean,

got him to work the program, prove to her he was serious.”

“It’s nice that you have him looking out for you,” I say.

I pat the phone in my back pocket absently. Trev should’ve

texted me by now. Where was he?

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“Yeah,” Adam agrees. “He stepped up when Dad left.

Helped Mom out with money and stuff. He did so much for

me—there wouldn’t be half the recruiters coming to see me

play if it weren’t for him.”

“That must be crazy to think about,” I say. “All those

people, coming to see you. I’d freak out.”

“Yeah.” Adam grins nervously. “But in a good way, you

know?”

“You’ve worked really hard,” I say. “You deserve it.” I

wish Trev would text me. I take another long drink of soda.

My mouth’s dry. I feel too hot all of a sudden. I swing my

good leg back and forth and frown when it hits the bumper.

“You excited about senior year?” Adam asks.

“Kind of.” I blink, rubbing at my eyes. I struggle to

swallow, and when I try to take a sip, I miss, spilling soda

everywhere. My arm feels weird and heavy.

“Easy,” Adam says, taking the bottle out of my limp

hand and sliding off the trunk.

I blink again, trying to clear my throbbing head.

“Sorry, Sophie,” he says quietly. “I like you. Always

have. You’re a nice girl.”

The words take a second to work themselves into my

brain. I can’t concentrate; my eyes droop. I feel like I’ve just

done six shots of tequila in a row. “You . . . what? I don’t . . .”

I try to get up off my elbows, but my arms and legs are

like Jell-O. I can barely feel them.

Drugged.
The word fl oods into me, a too-late realization

that breaks through the sluggishness.

“Oh, God,” I mumble with numb lips. “No.” I try to get

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291

up again and slide off the trunk, but he’s there, holding me

up. His face is inches away from mine; I can see a spot on

his jaw that he missed shaving.

“No!”
I push at him, a solid wall of muscle, as he crowds

me against the car. I need something. The bear spray. It’s

in my purse. I have to get it out. . . . If I can just reach it . . .

“Sophie, don’t fi ght it,” he says, and he’s so gentle when

he holds my wrists together, it scares me more than if he

had punched me in the face. I kick out with my good leg,

but my bad one is so rubbery that it won’t take my weight,

and I sag against him farther.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t want to do this the fi rst

time. I tried to warn you but you just won’t stop,” Adam

says. I push at him again, trying to tilt my body to the side

as he loops some hard plastic around my hands, pulling at

the end of the zip tie, binding my wrists together. “You have

that reporter asking questions, you went to Matt, you went

to Jack, to Amy. You’re too nosy, Sophie. Just like Mina.”

I open my mouth, cottony and dry from the drug, to

scream, but he’s too fast for me. He claps a hand over my

lips and shoves me as I struggle against him—when had he

opened the car door?—and I fall onto the backseat of my

car, dizzy as he lets go of my mouth to yank the keys out

of my pocket.

“It was you.” I croak out. I have to say it. I need to hear it.

Leaning over me, he says, “It was me.” A quiet confi r-

mation, an almost relieved revelation, the last words I hear

before he slams the car door shut and I pass out.

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