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FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

“Seriously, this is creepy. What are we doing here?”

MIna leaves the keys in my car so the lights will stay on. I get out,

shutting the door as Mina props herself up on the hood. Her hair is

illuminated by the headlights. She looks unearthly, almost glowing,

and I’m struck by it for a moment, half-forgetting that I’ve asked a

question.

“I told you, it’s for the
Beacon
.”

“Mina, the only people who come out here are tweekers and cou-

ples who don’t mind screwing in a backseat.”

I skirt the edge of the cliff . The drop down is an endless gape of

darkness. My leg’s stiff from being in the car. I stretch it out, nearly

overbalance.

“It’ll just take a few minutes. Get away from the edge, Soph.”

“I’m feet away from the edge.” Okay, maybe only about a foot, but

still, plenty. “What is so important about this story? Amber’s going to

be pissed that we’re late.”

“I’ll tell you later. Aft er I fi gure . . . Aft er I write it. Seriously, get

away from there. I just got you back from your aunt; I’m not gonna let

you fall off a cliff . Come over here.”

She snaps her fi ngers and I stick my tongue out, but walk away

from the edge so I’m closer to the car. “You should at least entertain

T E S S S H A R P E

293

me until your Deep Throat or whoever shows up.”

“I’m so proud of you for that reference.” Mina places a hand against

her chest dramatically, wiping away pretend tears with the other.

I kick dirt at her and she squeals, scrambling farther up the hood

until she’s pressed up against the windshield. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she

says solemnly. “But you have to promise not to breathe a word.” She

looks to her left , then her right, before leaning forward and hissing:

“Alien takeover is imminent.”

“Oh no! The little green men are coming!” I fake a gasp, and she

beams at me for playing along.

I hear the crunch of footsteps before she does, in that last brief

moment when everything is still okay.

Mina’s sitting on the hood, so her back’s to him. I’m facing him,

and at fi rst, it’s too dark to see something’s wrong.

Then he steps into the beam of the headlights, and I realize two

things in quick succession: the person—a man—coming toward us is

wearing a ski mask.

And he has a gun pointed at Mina.

“Mina.” I choke on her name. I have no air; it’s all been sucked out

of my lungs. I grab her arm, drag her off the hood of the car.

We have to get away, but I can’t run—I won’t be fast enough. He’ll

get me. She needs to leave me behind. She needs to run and not look

back, but I don’t know how to tell her this; I’ve forgotten how to speak.

I almost fall as her shoulders knock into mine. Our hands grasp as

her mouth drops into an
O
, her eyes fi xed on the man as he advances

on us.

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He stops just a few feet away, saying nothing. But he points to me

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F A R F R O M Y O U

and gestures with the gun, his meaning clear:
Get away from her.

Mina’s nails dig into my skin. My leg shakes, I lean against her

and she takes some of my weight.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Mina whispers between

quick, staccato breaths.

“There’s cash in our purses.” I falter over the words. “Keys are in

the car. Just take it. Please.”

He stabs the gun at me again, quick and angry.

When I don’t move, he strides forward. He seems impossibly huge

in that moment, coming toward us. Terror seizes me so quickly, so

harshly, so unlike anything I’ve ever known, that if I could, I’d shrivel

beneath the weight of it. Mina whimpers and we stumble back, still

clinging to each other, but he’s too fast. I’ve been so distracted by the

gun that I don’t see what he has in his other hand before it’s too late.

The rebar connects with my bad leg, smacking the twisted bone.

I yell, a wretched cut off sound, and I collapse belly-fi rst onto the dirt.

My fi ngers scrabble at the ground, dig in. I need to get up. . . . I need . . .

“Sophie!” Mina starts toward me, and then she screams as the

rebar swings into my line of sight and glances off my forehead. My

vision blurs, my skin splits open. Pain, white-hot, stabs through my

skull, wetness trickles down my face, and the last thing I see, hear,

feel, is him raising that gun, speaking muffl

ed words behind a mask,

then the sound of two shots, fi red one aft er the other, and a warm

splatter: her blood. It’s her blood on my arm.

Then there’s nothing. No shooter. No blood. No Mina.

Just dark.

59

NOW (JUNE)

My eyes are heavy. It takes a huge effort to open them. I

blink, trying to focus on the gray blur in front of me.

Upholstery.

We’re driving.

Adam’s driving. Speeding down the twisting road that

goes around the lake.

Adam killed Mina.

And he’s going to kill me.

I have to stay awake. I blink rapidly, struggling to sit up.

Everything tilts crazily, making me dizzy, but maybe if I

get upright, I won’t feel like puking.

I can do this. I’m a drug addict. I’m supposed to be good

at this. I just have to fi ght the high. This is nothing.

It has to be nothing. I have to think—I need to get out

alive. They’ll never know it was him, they’ll never catch

him, if I don’t.

“Come
on
,” says Adam angrily.

Breathing quietly, I sneak a peek at the front seat. Sweat’s

pouring off his forehead as he punches Send over and over

on his phone. No one’s answering, and the third time, he

fi nally leaves a voice mail: “I need you to come, okay? Just

no questions. Meet me at Pioneer Rock. Now. Please.”

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F A R F R O M Y O U

Who’s he talking to? Who’s going to come? Matt. They’re

in it together.

I swing my legs so my feet touch down on the fl oor mat.

I’m starting to feel less dizzy now that I know I’m messed

up—whatever he dosed me with is starting to lose its edge

already. I didn’t drink enough.

Adam’s focused on the road, and I scoot until I’m sitting

up, close to the door. I can’t tell how far we’ve gone from

the beach; the lake is miles long, nestled in hundreds of

acres of dense forest.

They could dump my body anywhere. No one would

fi nd it.

How long had it been? Surely Rachel’s missed me by now.

He turns a curve too sharply, and the car jerks, tires

skidding against the road, throwing me hard against the

car door. We pass a sign that says PIONEER ROCK VISTA POINT

(3 MILES).

Shit. We’re already on the other side of the lake.

I can’t jump out. The door’s unlocked, but he’s going too

fast. I’d be dead the second I hit the road—but my phone’s

still in my pocket. I can feel it, and I slide my butt down

until it edges out, falling behind my back.

“What are you doing?” Adam snaps, and I freeze, our

eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. I can feel nausea ris-

ing in the back of my throat, and I push it down. My eyes

skitter to the door, then back to the mirror.

“Don’t even think about it,” Adam says. He raises the

hand that isn’t clutching the wheel. The hand that’s holding

the gun. “Sit still,” he commands.

T E S S S H A R P E

297

I sag against the backseat, nudging my phone to the side

with my hip.

He lowers the hand holding the gun to his lap, the other

hand on the wheel. His attention is only half on the road,

but it’s better than nothing.

I inch my bound hands to the side, brushing against the

cell phone screen. It brightens, and I sigh in relief, unlock-

ing it with a swipe, one eye still on Adam. My shoulder

keeps knocking into the window because he’s taking the

turns so fast.

I swipe the screen again, selecting the last person I

texted: Trev.

Adam’s phone rings. My fi ngers skitter across my cell’s

screen. He startles, swears, and then grabs his phone.

“Why weren’t you answering?” he yells into the phone. He

fl inches. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—” He stops,

listens. He’s completely focused on the conversation.

I seize the opportunity; it’s the only one I’ll get. I tap it

out, awkward with tied hands:
addam pionerock 911
. I press

Send and return my hands to my lap.

“You have to come!” Adam pleads into the phone. “Just

meet me at the rock. I need your help.”

If I lean to the right, I can see the gun resting in his lap,

just lying there. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way right now.”

He pauses, his gaze skittering to me in the backseat. “I’ll

explain then.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat,

his free hand going back to the gun. The car speeds up,

winding down the mountain road. We’re almost to Pioneer

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F A R F R O M Y O U

Rock. I can see the light from the ranger’s station across the

lake out the back window.

“You know this is crazy,” I tell him. “You took my car.

People at the party are going to notice both of us are gone.

Kyle sent you to watch me; he’ll notice.”

“Do you really think Kyle sent me after you?” Adam

says. “Come on, Sophie. You’re smarter than that. Now,

you’re gonna tell me who’s been helping you. I know about

Trev. What’s the redhead’s name? Did you mix her and Kyle

up in this? And the reporter? What did you say to him?”

I have to breathe deeply to keep from panicking. Remind

myself that Trev is probably still with the cops. That Rachel

and Kyle are safe in a crowd of people.

It’s just me who’s dead.

“What are you gonna do, Adam? Kill all of them, too?” I

ask shakily. “You aren’t thinking this through. You thought

it through before. I know you did. You were prepared last

time. You brought the rebar and the pills so you wouldn’t

have to kill me. That was smart. It worked, didn’t it? But

you’re not ready this time, so why don’t you just think for

a second?”

“Shut up.” Adam wipes fresh sweat off his face with a

shaking hand. But soon as he touches the gun again, his fi n-

gers steady, like the feel of it comforts him. “You’re gonna

tell me everything you know. About Jackie. About Mina.

And about who knows what you know. I’ll make you.”

There’s no reasoning with him. He’s going to kill me no

matter what.

We round a curve, passing by another sign: PIONEER ROCK

VISTA POINT (1 MILE).

T E S S S H A R P E

299

I can’t waste another second—I need a plan. Now.

If I can’t calm him down, I might as well make him

angry. Make him lose control, slip up. I need a window of

opportunity.

“I’m not telling you shit,” I say, with a lot more strength

than I’ve got. “You’re a fucking murderer, and so is your

brother. Your whole family—there’s something wrong with

you.”

In profi le, I can see Adam’s pretty-boy face twist, the

mean gleam in his eyes a stark contrast. His hand tightens

on the gun. “Fuck you,” he growls between gritted teeth.

“You don’t know shit about my family. We look out for each

other. We rely on each other. We’d kill for each other. That’s

what family does.”

It fi lls me, the anger, trampling every other feeling in its

power. He took away the most important person in my life

and he’s sitting there with a gun, ready to kill me, lecturing

me about
family
. I want to throw myself at him. I want him

writhing on the ground, want him to feel what she felt. I

want him bleeding while I watch and laugh and refuse to

call the ambulance until it’s too late.

I want him dead. Even if I have to do it myself.

The idea surges through me, giving me strength, and I

push up on my knees on the back seat and lurch forward,

clumsy with the drug and adrenaline. I manage to loop my

bound arms around his neck; the edge of the zip tie bites

into his windpipe, and I pull back with all the force I’ve got.

The cut-off gasp he makes, stifl ed instantly by the zip tie