Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Nora Shalaway Carpenter
Cover illustration copyright © 2020 by Fabio Consoli
Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Running Press Teens
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104
www.runningpress.com/rpkids
@RP_Kids
First Edition: March 2020
Published by Running Press Teens, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Running Press Teens name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group.
The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019934247
ISBNs: 978-0-7624-6758-7 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-6757-0 (ebook)
E3-20200124-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One: Len
Chapter Two: Sage
Chapter Three: Sage
Chapter Four: Len
Chapter Five: Sage
Chapter Six: Len
Chapter Seven: Sage
Chapter Eight: Sage
Chapter Nine: Len
Chapter Ten: Sage
Chapter Eleven: Len
Chapter Twelve: Sage
Chapter Thirteen: Len
Chapter Fourteen: Sage
Chapter Fifteen: Len
Chapter Sixteen: Sage
Chapter Seventeen: Len
Chapter Eighteen: Sage
Chapter Nineteen: Len
Chapter Twenty: Sage
Chapter Twenty-One: Len
Chapter Twenty-Two: Sage
Chapter Twenty-Three: Sage
Chapter Twenty-Four: Len
Chapter Twenty-Five: Sage
Chapter Twenty-Six: Len
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sage
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Len
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sage
Chapter Thirty: Len
Chapter Thirty-One: Sage
Chapter Thirty-Two: Sage
Chapter Thirty-Three: Len
Chapter Thirty-Four: Sage
Chapter Thirty-Five: Len
Chapter Thirty-Six: Sage
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Len
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Sage
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Len
Chapter Forty: Sage
Chapter Forty-One: Len
Chapter Forty-Two: Sage
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Discover More
FOR JOSH,
who always believed,
and for Garek, Zander, and Lyra,
who remind me daily that anything is possible
Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.
Tap here to learn more.
ONCE WE ACCEPT
OUR LIMITS,
WE GO BEYOND THEM.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
CHAPTER ONE
LEN
THE FIRST THING LEN NOTICED WAS THE FLOOR. THAT WAS always the first thing these days, her eyes constantly scanning the places her boots had to touch. Unless she jumped about four feet, there wasn’t a single clean tile to step on.
She didn’t remember noticing them last year—all the streaks and brown bits littering the hallway—but that seemed impossible. Had she simply not cared?
“Move it, loser,” someone muttered behind her. She didn’t recognize the voice, but it didn’t matter. Len was used to the insults. She didn’t take her eyes off the floor.
“Weirdo,” the kid said. “Seriously, hurry up. Varsity’s already started.”
Len’s chest cramped as she tried to decide where to step.
“Come on!” someone else groaned, and Len forced herself to move up in line, one foot, then two. The sole of her boot tracked through a dark brown streak, and she told herself it wasn’t dog shit. Someone else would have noticed if it was dog shit, right? And why didn’t anyone else seem to care?
The slick squeaks of shoe soles on hardwood echoed from the gym. It’s just mud, Len thought again, repeating the word like a mantra. Mud, mud, mud.
“Three dollars, please. Four if you want the raffle.”
Len blinked at the librarian. When had he started taking ticket money? And what was Len even doing here? She didn’t like volleyball, not really.
The librarian held out his hand. “You coming in, Len?”
“I—uh…” Heat speckled her face and neck. Had she always had such trouble making decisions? She turned to leave when the memory of why she’d come to the game jolted her. The phone, ringing, ringing. Seven p.m. on the dot. Fauna.
Len couldn’t go back home. Not yet.
“Jesus, Lemon,” said the first voice. “You in or out?”
Len shoved her cash onto the table and pushed her way into the gym.
CHAPTER TWO
SAGE
THWOPP!
Sage started forward, even though there was no way the ball would reach her. Probably wouldn’t even make it over the net. That hollow thud meant a too-slack hand, a poor serve. Still, she crouched low, weight on the balls of her fire-orange Asics, in case she needed to sprawl.
The ball kissed the net, rolled a few feet sideways along the top, then dropped back on the opponent’s side, sending Sage’s bench into near-hysterics. Sage’s Southview Rams hadn’t defeated their hometown rival Asheville High in three seasons, and that missed serve kept her team alive.
Go time. Sage walked back to the server’s box as the scoreboard ticked 13–14. Varsity matches went best of five, and this one had gone to the last game. Match point for Asheville. Again.
Kayla Davis ran up to her. “You got this, Sage,” she said. “You got it.”
Sage nodded. The line judge tossed her the ball.
Coach Craig held up four fingers beneath his clipboard, but Sage didn’t need the signal. She knew Asheville’s weak-side hitter was just that—weak. Even if she hadn’t studied the game tape for the past three nights, a few plays into the match revealed who was most likely to shank her serve.
From the bench, her teammates shouted themselves hoarse.
“Pound it, Sage!”
“They can’t touch you!”
“Come on, baby!”
Sage twirled the volleyball in her hands, then bounced it once—her ritual. She heard the cheers, but also didn’t, like she knew she was breathing without thinking about it. She extended the ball onto her left palm.
If she mis-served, her rivals won.
The referee whistled, signaling her.
Sage stared down the opposing setter, making her think she was the target. Then she tossed the ball an
d hammered a topspin directly at position four. The girl barely had time to protect her face before the ball hit her elbow and ricocheted out of bounds.
The Rams’ bench almost lost its mind. On the court, Sage performed the celebratory Ace ritual with her teammates—two stomps and a clap—but her face stayed stone flat. The ref tossed her the ball. Coach Craig held up another four.
This time Sage backed against the wall. She tossed the ball high, then leapt to meet it in a jump serve—more intimidating than her topspin, but not as fast. Asheville’s receiver got a better handle on it, but the ball shot into the net and dropped to the ground before her setter could even touch it.
15–14, Rams advantage. Unlike the first four games that went to twenty-five points, the fifth game of a match only went to fifteen. But you had to win by two. This was it, then. Or could be. Sage walked back to the service line.
“Timeout!” Asheville’s coach called. Kayla slung her arm around Sage as they joined Southview’s huddle. “You got this,” her best friend said, squeezing her shoulders. “I know you got it.” Sage allowed a tight nod.
“One point and they’re back in it!” Coach quieted the bench with a look. He pointed at Sage. “They’re trying to ice you,” he said, like she didn’t know. “Hit six this time.”
Sage made a face. “Four’s shanked it twice. I’m in her head.”
“She knows you’re coming for her. She’ll be ready.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Sage. “She can’t hit it.”
Coach raised his eyebrows, daring her to continue arguing. Last year Sage had ignored a call, and Coach had benched her, star player or no. It probably cost the team the game. “Six,” he repeated. The whistle blew.
Sage held his gaze to let him know she disagreed, then cracked her neck and walked back to the server’s box.
“Just one more, Sagey.” Ella Cruz smacked her hip as she trotted past.
Only Ella could get away with calling her Sagey. But, then, nobody fed her sets like Ella.
Sage picked up the ball, the team’s energy thrumming though her. Most of her teammates, good as they were, wouldn’t trade positions with her for the world. She sensed this instinctively, the same way she intuited when a player was going to tip almost before the player did. With the game in the balance, her teammates didn’t want the serve. Didn’t want the risk of failure. That was the difference between Sage Zendasky and the rest: these were the moments she felt most alive.
Sage slapped the ball with her palm, her mouth twitching a faint smile just to mess with Asheville’s players. This was why she showed up early to their three-hour practices and why she often stayed late. Why she played in an off-season travel league. Why she spent practically all of her free time with a volleyball in her hands.
The whistle shrilled. Sage tossed the ball…
and crushed it.
Asheville’s back middle—position six—dug the serve perfectly. Sage had a heartbeat of indignation—told you, Craig—while she raced to position in the back row. She sunk down as Asheville’s hitter connected with the ball.
“Me, ME!” Lyz Greer called, causing Sage and Nina Marto to scissor away from her.
“THREE!” Ella shouted, flipping a short set to the middle. Kayla drilled it, but position six made another perfect dig. Five times the ball exchanged sides, Asheville’s hitters clearly avoiding Sage.
Come on, thought Sage. One time.
“Short!” screamed Ella as Asheville’s middle flicked the ball over the blockers. Hannah Wainwright dove backward, managing to punch it up with her fist, but the ball rocketed toward the back wall.
Asheville’s bench erupted as Sage took off. The ball was nearly a body length in front of her, but high, and she just might…
the wall…
She sprawled instinctually, hurling her fist upward. It connected, sending the ball sailing back to the court.
“MEEEE!” called Nina.
Sage heard Nina the moment before her momentum took her into the wall. Concrete met her cheek as her ankle turned awkwardly. She cursed, but pushed herself back to position in time to see Nina’s free ball cross the net.
Asheville was disorganized, clearly thinking they’d won the point when Hannah shanked. They managed to get the ball back in three, but with an easy free pass right to Sage. Ella’s eyes lit as she set Sage’s perfect pass to Kayla.
Asheville formed a double block, but Sage saw the hole behind it.
“Q!” She shouted the code letter. “Kayla, Q!”
Kayla attacked the net like she hadn’t heard, but at the last second pulled back her swing and tipped the ball into the gap behind the blockers.
The ball floated—movie-style-slow—and dropped to the floor.
“AHHHHHHHHH!” Sage screamed so her heart wouldn’t burst. Her teammates echoed her, high-fiving and jumping on one another. Kayla thrust her chest out, nodding like a pro footballer while Ella punched the air.
“You!” Sage said, rushing Kayla. “That was perfect!”
“YOU!” Kayla said, shaking her. “I thought we were dead. Did you hit the wall?”
“Yeah, she did,” said Ella, slapping her back. “She be crazy.”
Sage smiled, light-headed from the high of victory. Hannah raced toward her, and forgetting her ankle, Sage leapt to meet her in a shoulder bump. As she peaked, she registered it all simultaneously: Kayla’s whoops; her teammates’ converging; Coach’s wide and seldom-shown grin.
The thrill of it twitched her heart as she reconnected with the ground…
And fainted.
CHAPTER THREE
SAGE
“GIVE HER SOME ROOM!”
Sage blinked as blurred faces sharpened into focus above her. She tried to push herself up.
“No.” A woman pressed her hand firmly against Sage’s shoulder. “Don’t move.”
“Why?” Sage shielded her eyes. The lights seemed brighter from down here.
“You passed out for a few seconds,” Kayla said. Sage found her face, upside down, in the mix. “You’re okay,” she added, and even though Sage knew she only said that to make her feel better, it worked.
“I’m going to elevate your feet,” said the woman kneeling beside her. She was in her late forties maybe, with unruly red hair that had seen too much dye. Coach Craig appeared on her other side.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Sage Zendasky.” She turned, trying to avoid the glare of lights directly above her. “I’m fine, really.”
“Excuse me!” a familiar voice called, then another.
“That’s our kid!” Her parents’ faces appeared above her, crinkled in worry.
“I’m okay,” Sage said as Mom knelt beside her.
“Honey,” Mom said, “what happened?”
Sage wished she knew. This was all so unnecessary. She hoped most of the crowd had left.
The red-haired woman cleared her throat. “What day is it, Sage?”
“Uh… Wednesday.” She squinted at the woman. “Who are you?” If she’d really passed out, why wasn’t the school’s athletic trainer examining her?
“I’m an EMT,” the woman said, “a mom from the Asheville team.”
Sage reached behind her long dark ponytail. No bump. No pain. “Did I hit my head?”
The EMT exchanged a look with her parents. “You passed out when you jumped up with your friend,” she said. “She caught you, but… you dove into the wall during the game.”
Dad’s thick eyebrows squished. “Don’t you remember?”
“My head didn’t hit the wall,” Sage said. “It was more of my cheek area.” She touched the spot. “And not that hard.”
The EMT let out a sharp breath through her nose. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“How many now?”
“Four.”
Mom squeezed her hand. “I told you you should have eaten more.”
“Oh.” The EMT sat back on her heels
, the relief in her voice palpable. “You didn’t eat?”
“I ate,” said Sage.
Mom shook her head, flashing her a told-you-so look. “Cereal’s hardly a meal.”
“Mom—”
“That explains it, then,” said Coach Craig. “Doesn’t it?”
The EMT checked Sage’s pulse, and then finally allowed her to sit up. “Do you feel light-headed at all?” she asked. “Nauseated?”
Sage shook her head.
“Doesn’t she need a test or something?” Dad asked. “She could have a concussion.”
Enough was enough. Sage pushed herself past the EMT’s grip. “I can’t have a concussion. My head didn’t actually hit the wall.”
“Honey, lie back down,” Mom ordered.
“I don’t think she has a concussion,” the EMT said, as if Sage hadn’t spoken. “But if she gets a headache or starts feeling queasy, take her to the emergency room right away.”
Kayla put her arm on Sage’s shoulder, edging her away from the swarm of concerned adults. Their teammates clustered at the bench a few yards away. Some of them had already slipped sweatpants over their spandex shorts, but most of them simply stood, arms crossed, watching Sage and Kayla approach.
“Everything all right?” Hannah asked as they joined the rest of the team.
Sage gave a short jerk of her chin, her no-big-deal nod. “Apparently, I didn’t eat enough.”
Kayla smirked. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Laughter rippled through the team; everyone knew Sage loved to eat. Even in front of guys, she’d eat till she was full, because how stupid was it not to eat what you normally would just because there was a boy around? She couldn’t believe some girls actually did that.
Ella bumped her shoulder. “You can’t scare us that way, Cap’n. Not if you’re gonna lead us to states.”
Sage smiled and sat down to unlace her Asics. At the start of summer conditioning, Coach had made them each write a goal. A lot of girls wrote, “regional champs.” Some, like Ella, had dared to write, “going to states,” a feat Southview had never accomplished. Sage hadn’t told anyone yet, but her goal wasn’t just getting to the state tournament. It was winning it.
The Edge of Anything Page 1
