by Kami Garcia
My phone pings again. Reed will probably keep texting me all night. I glance at the message and I suck in a sharp breath. I don’t think this one is from Reed.
watch your back bitch
Another text appears on the screen.
you can’t stay home forever
The house phone rings again.
“Where’s the cordless?” Mom calls from the hallway.
“In here.”
She pokes her head in my room, and I point at Dad’s chair. “Under Dad’s jacket.”
Mom digs through the clothes and finds the phone.
“Hello?” She tucks it under her chin, picks up one of the T-shirts piled on the chair, and starts folding. “What did you say?”
The color drains from her face and she drops the shirt.
“Who is it?”
Mom hangs up and stares at the phone. “I don’t know. But he was threatening you.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Reed?”
“Positive. I would recognize his voice.”
“What did he say?”
The phone rings again, startling me. Mom’s finger hovers over the buttons on the cordless. “Don’t answer it, Mom!”
She ignores me and stabs one of the buttons.
A few seconds pass.
“I’m calling the police.” She hangs up and hurls the phone into the hallway, watching it roll across the carpet.
“Mom? Was it the same person? Tell me what he said.”
“I don’t want to repeat it.” She twists her wedding ring, her hands shaking. “It will upset you.”
“The way it’s upsetting you right now?” Seeing her so rattled makes me nervous.
Mom touches a framed photo of Dad on my dresser. He’s not wearing his Marine Corps uniform or cammies. He’s dressed in his red-and-white league soccer uniform, with a ball tucked in the crook of his arm. “If your father were here, he would know exactly how to handle this.”
“We can deal with it. Just tell me what the guy said.”
She takes a calming breath. “He said, ‘Watch your back, bitch. You can’t stay home forever.’”
The same thing someone texted me.
A prickling sensation spreads up the back of my neck, like dozens of tiny spiders crawling over my skin.
“Who calls someone’s home and says that kind of thing?” Mom paces in front of the bed. “I hope the people who have been harassing you feel terrible when they finally find out the truth about Reed.”
“That’s not going to happen.” My throat feels like it’s closing up. “Tess called. Reed passed the drug test. No one will believe me now.”
Mom stares at me in shock. “How could he have passed?”
“I was online trying to figure that out. It’s easier than you think.”
The phone rings again.
“Don’t answer it this time, or he’ll keep calling,” I tell her.
“Fine.” Mom presses her fingers against her temples. Her nerves are frayed. “I’m going to get a glass of water and take something for my headache. Do you want a snack? You haven’t eaten much all day.”
“No thanks.”
She rubs her neck and walks into the hallway.
The phone rings again.
“Unplug it,” I yell, but the doorbell rings and drowns out my voice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mom yells.
I stand up slowly. The RoboCop brace throws off my center of gravity and I’m not used to it yet. As I walk into the hall to unplug the landline, the doorbell rings again.
“I’m coming!” Mom shouts.
The phone is still ringing and I yank the cord out of the wall.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I hear Mom ask.
“I want to see Peyton, if that’s okay.” The sound of Reed’s voice knocks the wind out of me, and I reach for the wall to steady myself.
“Is this a joke?”
I peek around the corner.
“No. I took my drug test this morning, and it came back clean.” Reed sounds excited, like a kid. “Didn’t Peyton tell you?”
“She stopped caring about your life when you pushed her down the stairs. But I’m thrilled to hear that you found a way to cheat on the test.”
“I didn’t—”
Mom points at him. “Don’t you dare show up here and lie to me. Now, get your ass off my property or I’ll have you arrested and you can spend some time in jail, where you belong.”
Reed backs up and steps off the porch. “Can I just talk to her for one minute? I’m trying to make this right.”
“You want to make things right? Tell the truth. Peyton doesn’t deserve to be harassed because of your lies.”
“Who is harassing her?” Reed’s voice sounds deeper—and colder—his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me who it is and it won’t happen again.”
“Are you going to push them down the stairs, too?”
Why is she provoking him? If she pushes him too far, he could snap.
Mom starts to close the door. “I’m reporting this little visit to the police. Don’t come near my house again.”
Reed tries to say something, but Mom slams the door so hard that a framed piece of my little-kid artwork falls off the wall and hits the floor.
“Did he leave?” I ask.
“He’s probably still outside somewhere.” Mom paces, twisting her wedding ring back and forth on her finger. “I need to call Hawk.”
If we’ve reached a Hawk-level situation, Mom is panicking.
Mom’s older brother is an all-around badass. He was in Dad’s Force Recon unit, but Hawk was the only Recon operator in their unit who made it home from Iraq. My uncle said goodbye to the military, and now he’s a private security consultant.
His specialty?
Risk assessment and crisis management.
“Mom, this isn’t a crisis.”
“Someone is threatening you. Reed is calling constantly and now he’s showing up here. I’m afraid to leave you alone when I go to work.” She takes out her cell phone. “And what about school?”
“This will blow over.”
“Do you honestly expect me to let you go back to school on Monday so we can test that theory?” she asks. “You’re going to have to transfer or we’ll get you a tutor.”
“I can’t just transfer to another school. Reed screwed up my knee and lied to everyone about it. He tested clean, and now people think I’m the liar. If I run away, he wins.”
“This isn’t a game. There’s no winner. If your father were here, he’d say the same thing.” Her voice cracks.
But he’s not.
My chest tightens, with the familiar longing for my dad. “Mom, you’re overreacting.”
“It’s better than losing my daughter.” She dials my uncle’s number and retreats to the kitchen.
I spend the next twenty minutes eavesdropping on Mom’s call with Hawk.
“I don’t need the risk percentages,” Mom says. “If you think he’s dangerous, that’s all I need to hear.”
Not good.
I pace in the hall outside the kitchen, but Mom’s side of the conversation isn’t giving away much.
“Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?” she asks. “You’re on your own and you have the boys.”
My pulse ramps up.
Mom can’t be thinking what it sounds like she’s thinking.
I storm the kitchen the moment she hangs up. “I’m not going to stay with Hawk.”
He lives in Mom’s hometown, in Tennessee, with his twin sons. The last time we visited was six months before Dad died. I haven’t gone back since then. It’s too hard. Now Hawk visits Mom whenever work brings him near DC.
“Your uncle agrees with me. Staying here is dangerous. Someone is threatening you, and we have no idea if Reed is involved. And Reed is stalking you.”
“Fine. I won’t go back to school until this dies down. I’ll do the home tutoring thing. But I can’t leave. It
will look like I’m running away.”
“I don’t care how it looks.”
“But I do.” I’m not letting Reed’s lies force me out of my school—or DC.
Mom crosses her arms. “It’s not your decision.”
“A small town like Black Water probably doesn’t even have a physical therapist. I can’t lose my scholarship. I won’t let Reed take that, too.”
“There are two state universities less than forty minutes from Black Water, and a major city an hour away. Hawk is going to make some calls, and I’ll call Dr. Kao in the morning.”
She has it all figured out.
“I can’t live with Hawk. He’ll want to talk about what happened to Dad.”
My father died in a cave-in, in a tunnel underneath an abandoned building. Hawk was on the roof of another building nearby, keeping watch and listening on the two-way radio. He heard everything. He was also at the recovery scene and, later, he read the autopsy report.
But I don’t want to know the details.
“Hawk is your uncle and he loves you. He’s not going to talk about what happened to your dad unless you have questions,” Mom promises.
“I won’t. Ever.”
Mom touches her wedding ring. “One day you might want to hear the whole story.”
My chest tightens like a hand is squeezing what’s left of my heart. “I already know how it ends.”
CHAPTER 8
Black Water
MOM ORGANIZED MY temporary move and transfer to Black Water High School in less than forty-eight hours. The threatening phone calls were a serious motivator. We received three more calls after Mom got off the phone with Hawk. Mom reported the threats to the police, but there wasn’t much they could do, so we just unplugged the phone again. The police suggested filing for a restraining order to keep Reed away from me, but Reed was out of control. It would take more than a piece of paper to intimidate him.
I didn’t get another text from the prank caller, but Reed texted me eleven times, which was more annoying.
The morning we left, I lugged a huge suitcase out of my closet and filled it with armloads of clothes. Clean or dirty—everything made the cut. How was I supposed to know what I’d need in Tennessee? My family had always visited in the summertime, and it was November.
I packed the important things last—my soccer cleats, even though I wouldn’t need them; the framed photo of my parents from my nightstand; a raggedy stuffed bunny I slept with, a birthday gift from Dad when I turned five; and the crooked friendship bracelet Tess made me in elementary school.
When it was finally time to leave, Mom couldn’t get me in the car fast enough. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I let her listen to mind-numbing soft rock stations.
The fall soccer season was supposed to be my victory lap, after three years of leading the girls’ varsity team to the state championships. Then in the spring, I’d showcase my skills with my select team. The hard part was supposed to be over, but now it was just beginning. Hawk came through on the physical therapy front—the only detail about this move that mattered to me. A doctor who specialized in sports therapy agreed to work with me.
Six hours into the drive, Mom turns off the radio in the middle of “The Piña Colada Song,” which means she wants to talk.
“Does Tess know you left?” she asks tentatively.
“Lucia told her.” The only one of my friends who seems to believe me. “I’m sure Tess doesn’t care. The last conversation we had lasted less than a minute and she called me a liar. I haven’t heard from her since then.”
Mom turns off at the next exit. “The truth will come out eventually. It always does.”
“That’s a cliché.”
“It also happens to be true.”
After the last three weeks, I’m not holding my breath.
The off-ramp merges onto a narrow two-lane road without a McDonald’s or a gas station in sight, just a green sign that reads: BLACK WATER 20 MILES. Crooked wooden fences wrapped in barbed wire separate the road from miles of pasture. Aside from the occasional weather-beaten barn, there’s nothing out here except cows.
Lots of them.
“Is this the road we usually take?” I look out the window in time to see a huge black cow taking a dump near the fence. “I don’t remember it being so … farm-like.”
“I took the back roads. Your dad preferred the highway. But Black Water is ‘farm-like’ no matter which road you take to get there. Before they built the grain processing plant, the only thing that came out of Black Water was Division One football players.”
“Football is archaic.”
“Don’t let your uncle or anyone else in town hear you say that,” she teases.
It doesn’t bother me if everyone hangs out at football games. I’m planning to spend all my free time rehabbing my knee.
Up ahead, I see the high school stadium. A white letterbox sign next to the parking lot reads, WARRIORS VS. STALLIONS. FRIDAY NIGHT.
The parking lot is full of pickup trucks and Jeeps.
“It’s like we’re at a country music concert.”
“That means we’re in the right place.” Mom pulls into the first free parking space and takes out her phone. “Before we go in, I need to check my work email.”
My knee is achy and stiff from the drive. “I’m going to stretch my legs.”
As soon as I get out of the car, it feels better.
Mom wasn’t exaggerating when she said everyone in Black Water loves football. I’ve never seen so many cars at a high school game. Even stranger, there’s nobody else out here except a kid riding a skateboard and three guys, who look like they’re in high school, drinking beer on the tailgate of a pickup.
Back home, there were usually more people hanging around outside the stadium than filling the seats inside.
The skater weaves between the trucks, dodging side mirrors like a pro. He coasts into the row next to ours. His hair is buzzed on the sides, with a short strip of hair running down the middle of his dark brown scalp.
Maybe this town isn’t as different from DC as it looks. A black kid with a fauxhawk wearing high-top Vans and an old-school Green Day hoodie is a good sign.
The skater does an ollie and the board does a perfect flip, righting itself in midair. He’s about to nail the landing when someone darts between two cars and kicks the board out from under him. I recognize the asshole with the mullet. He’s one of the guys I saw drinking in the back of the pickup.
The kid lands on his butt and winces.
The guy with the mullet laughs. I’m surprised he has the guts to laugh at anyone else when he’s sporting a bad ’90s haircut and a T-shirt that says: THE HIGHER THE TIRES, THE CLOSER TO GOD.
The jerk’s friends wander over, cracking up like idiots. The taller guy has pockmarked skin and a unibrow. His buddy has two separate eyebrows, but he doesn’t seem to know his shirt size. His T-shirt is stretched over his gut like a sausage casing. These two shouldn’t be laughing at anyone, either.
The tall guy with the unibrow points at the skater. “Looks like you need some practice, Tucker. Maybe you should go back to California and hang out with the other skate freaks.”
Tucker stands, brushes off his jeans, and picks up his board without a word. He either knows the drill or he’s smart enough not to antagonize them. He keeps his head down and stays close to the parked cars, giving the three guys a wide berth. He almost makes it past them when the jerk with the mullet lunges to the side and snatches Tucker’s skateboard out of his hand.
Tucker tries to grab it, but he’s not fast enough. “Give me my board, Garrett. Why are you hassling me? I didn’t do anything.” He doesn’t have a Southern accent like Garrett and his friends. Maybe he really is from California. I feel bad for him. He looks at least two years younger than the guys bullying him.
Garrett leans the skateboard deck against his shoulder. “You made me look stupid in class today because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”
“Because I answered a question right?” Tucker asks innocently.
“I bet he did that shit on purpose.” The guy with his gut hanging out eggs Garrett on.
Garrett nods. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.” With his free hand, he grabs the front of Tucker’s hoodie and yanks the kid toward him.
Tucker is so much shorter than Garrett that he has to balance on the balls of his feet. “I swear I wasn’t trying to make you look bad.”
“But you did.” Garrett tosses the skateboard to his friend. The guy with the unibrow catches it and brings the board down hard against his knee. The deck snaps in half.
“No, man! Come on.” Tucker scrambles to collect what’s left of his skateboard. As he bends down to pick up the pieces, Garrett plants his work boot against Tucker’s chest and shoves him backward.
Mom comes up behind me. “What’s going on?”
She follows my gaze and sees Tucker hit the ground—and three older guys laughing at him. Mom narrows her eyes.
I know that look.
“I’ll be back.” Mom marches between a Bronco and the truck parked beside it. For someone who is paranoid about my safety she rarely worries about her own.
I catch her arm before she makes it past the front of the Bronco. “You can’t go over there alone, Mom.”
“Of course I can.”
“I’ll go.” I try to squeeze by her.
“You just had surgery, Peyton. You’re staying here. I can handle those Neanderthals. But call Hawk and tell him to come out here anyway. Those three boys need a good scare.” Mom takes off before I can stop her.
I pull out my phone and follow her. I don’t think I have Hawk’s number. It’s not like we call or text.
Shit.
Where’s Mom?
“Leave me alone,” Tucker pleads.
Garrett grabs Tucker and hauls him to his feet.
I catch a glimpse of a figure darting between two cars near Garrett and his friends. It’s another guy.
Mom cuts between two trucks and yells, “Get your hands off him!”
Garrett and his friends look over at Mom. They don’t notice the mystery guy charging toward them.
