Kayla stiffened. “And me, what?”
“You eat Reese’s Pieces for lunch!”
Kayla’s nostrils flared. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It means you don’t care!” Sage shouted. “Not like I do.” Her fury whirled inside her, drumming against her ears. “That was my scholarship. You know it was. I deserved it.”
It felt good to say the words, but she regretted them instantly.
Kayla was shaking. “You think I haven’t worked my ass off, too?” she accused. “I’ve always been second to you, Sage, and that was fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m not damn good, too.”
Sage hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any worse, but somehow she managed it. “Kayla—”
“No.” Kayla held up her hand. “I’m sorry your heart is screwed up. It’s total shit that this happened to you, that you can’t play.” Her eyes went glossy. “But that doesn’t mean you get to treat people like garbage.”
Sage opened her mouth, but Kayla was already walking away.
“I told you not to follow me!” Sage screamed after her. She sank into a squat, hands clutching her head.
Pull it together, Sage.
She didn’t have time for this. She needed to get to her car. People were counting on her. But she couldn’t show up like this, either. She had to bring her best.
Her legs twitched with pent-up energy, and she stood, checking her phone. She had plenty of time. She surveyed the grassy field used for extra parking. A quick dash to the end of it would clear her head.
Or kill you.
Sage’s heart beat faster. No, Dr. Friedman had just said at the checkup that moderate exercise was okay, as long as she listened to her body. As long as she didn’t ignore any signs. She took a step, then halted. Theoretically, sprinting could kill her. But so could riding in a car. She turned to pick up her bag, then changed her mind again and swiveled back, her hand tracking the pulse in her chest. If she didn’t release some energy, she’d probably have a heart attack anyway.
She took off.
“Sage?” someone called.
Sage’s too-thick heart sank. The voice was Len’s.
“Oh, my God,” Len cried. “Sage, stop!”
Sage sprinted faster, faster than she’d run in weeks. Faster than she’d maybe ever run again. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Why’d Len have to live so close to school? Why’d she have to see her? The universe really did hate her.
“Sage!” Len’s voice filled her head, which went light, just for a second.
Sage stopped and screamed. Len ran up to her, camera tight in her gloved fingers. Panic lined every inch of her, though for once she didn’t seem to be constantly watching where she stepped.
“What are you doing?” Sage yelled when Len caught up to her. Her head was clearer. The sprint had worked.
“Me?” Len’s eyes bulged, cartoon style. “You’re doing the one thing that could kill you! What were you thinking?”
Sage squared her body with Len’s, staring down at her. “Actually, there are quite a few things that could kill me. A car crash, for instance. Falling off a bridge. Overdosing on sleeping pills.”
Len blinked, open mouthed. “Are you taking sleeping pills?”
“What? No.” Sage rubbed her head. “I was making a point.”
Len’s stare was unnerving. “Why were you running?”
“Because I was pissed!” Sage said. “Forget it. It was one run. Not even. One forty-yard dash.” She turned and headed back to her bag.
Behind her, Len inhaled sharply. “Oh!” she said. “The shoes.”
“What?” Sage glanced down at her blue Asics, her practice pair, then back to Len, who looked like she was working something out in her mind.
“You’re playing volleyball.”
The phone slipped from Sage’s fingers, and she stopped, fumbling to catch it. “What are you talking about? Practice is right now. I’m clearly not there.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Sage had never seen Len so focused. She knew. Sage could see it in her eyes, in the confident stance of her body. Sage did the only thing she could think of. She went on the offensive. “What, are you stalking me now?”
Len took a step back, her face suddenly unsure. “Stalking? What?”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” accused Sage. “You followed me to Hendersonville and you don’t think that’s stalking? That’s the definition of stalking!”
“What are you even talking about?”
Sage’s mouth made a thin line. “Nothing. Forget it. I’m going home.” She grabbed her duffle.
“Sage.” Len’s voice stabbed into her. “I think you need help.”
She whirled back to Len. “Me?” she seethed. “All your weird shit and you have the nerve to say I’m the one who needs help?” She stepped close to Len, pulling herself up and glaring down at her. “You can’t control things with your mind, Len! You can’t kill babies with thoughts. And if you really believe that, then you’re as crazy as everybody says.”
Something in Len’s face cracked. Sage’s bravado rushed out with her breath. “I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it,” Len said, already speed walking away.
“Len! Come on, I’m sorry!” Sage started to go after her, but she couldn’t be late for the game. She cursed and wrapped her arms around herself. It was okay. She’d fix it, right after her team won the game. A couple of hours wouldn’t kill anyone. She dug out her keys and hightailed it to her car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
LEN
LEN BARELY REMEMBERED THE DRIVE TO THE TREE BRIDGE. She wasn’t even sure why she’d come, but she’d needed to get away, far away, and it was as good a place as any.
She slammed the door of Nonni’s truck—its metal thud a rip in the tree fabric surrounding her—and found the path, crashing down it before she could change her mind.
Of course she knew why she’d come. Why even bother to pretend? She stuffed her shaking, gloved hands deep into her sweatshirt’s front pocket. Last time, this place had beaten her. Last time, she’d completely freaked out and she was sick of it, sick to death of not having control of her own brain, of her own thoughts. She remembered how she’d asked, no begged, Sage to wipe off her hands because she’d lost all shame and she was a total loser and none of this was fair and she was just. so. angry.
The tree bridge appeared ahead of her, a taunt. She passed the spot where she’d cowered, frozen, while Sage had wiped down her hands, the sick slime of mortification oozing back over her. “Enough,” she spat to the ground. It felt good, powerful even. Like one of Dad’s mantras. Manifest your truth.
She stepped onto the bridge, teetering slightly to get her balance, and moved to the middle. “Enough!” The scream sent two birds scattering from the branches above her. She screamed again. And again. Over and over, until her throat ached.
Sage’s words snaked through her: OCD. I think you might have it. You’re as crazy as everyone says.
She’d show Sage. She’d show everyone.
Slowly, one finger at a time, she pulled off her gloves.
Len exhaled, long and slow, forcing down the slimy shame that threatened to overpower her. Her dad was right. She was strong. She could do this. And something internal told her that if she touched the bark, if she proved she could do it, even if she didn’t want to, then things would be better. She’d have regained control. She’d have beaten her own mind.
Carefully, she crouched low, her left hand hovering inches away from the fallen trunk. There were tiny pieces of things covering it.
No, not just things. Grime and disease. Shoes had stepped on this tree, carrying God knows what, and—
“Shut up!” she yelled, and slammed her hand hard against the crinkled wood.
For the first second, a rapturous joy came over her. She’d done it! She was okay. She still had control.
Then she started shaking.
“No,” she whisp
ered, but there was no one to hear, no one to help. Len stood, her hand outstretched. This had been such a mistake—she was always making such huge mistakes.
Her pulse banged in her ears, and it was so loud. She took a breath. She could drive one handed. She could make it home without her hand touching anything. It was fine. Everything was fine. She imagined dousing her palm with soap—scrubbing and running it under the hot tap water. Her body ached for the relief.
She was almost to the end of the bridge when she started crying. This place had beaten her again. Furious, she slammed her foot hard onto the trunk. Too late, she remembered the rot.
Her foot broke through.
If she hadn’t needed to keep her right hand clean, it would have been fine. She’d have braced herself with both palms, regained her footing, and gone on climbing down. Instead, she curled her right hand away, desperate not to touch the bark, and that threw her off balance. She screamed as she tilted over the bridge, her shoes trying to find purchase. At the last second, she whipped her right arm out, grabbing on to a branch and keeping herself from toppling into the rock-lined chasm below.
Righting herself, she scrambled back to the grass, tears streaking her cheeks and catching in the corners of her mouth. She stared down at her hands, her jeans, and the side of her shirt, all covered in dirt and wood rot, and cried harder. Her brain, her stupid messed-up brain, had almost killed her.
Somewhere—so far she couldn’t even place the direction—came the piercing, familiar cry of a blue jay. The harsh call was one of the things Nonni loved about the bird. It says its mind, she’d told Len. Don’t matter how loud you are. A blue jay’ll make sure you hear.
Len wiped her cheek against her shoulder. “I hear you, Nonni,” she whispered. She couldn’t do this anymore, not alone. Sage was right; dementia or OCD, whatever was going on with her, it was too big to keep to herself. Len hiccupped, a ridiculous sound considering she’d almost just died, alone, in the middle of the woods.
At some point (she didn’t actually remember starting to walk), Len began the hike back to the car. There was nothing she could do about it—she’d have to get the car dirty. She’d get some Lysol wipes and clean the whole thing down once she got home. And then her brain rerouted, rewound to her confrontation with Sage, because she had been on to something, hadn’t she, before their fight?
Why had Sage mentioned Hendersonville? Len was the one that went there, not Sage.
Slowly, an idea unfurled in her mind. It was wispy, first, like morning fog. But the more steps she took, the more solid the idea became.
The day Kayla cornered Len by the gym, Kayla had thought Sage was lying about why she’d missed practice. And the orange Asics—Sage’s game shoes—that Len had seen in Sage’s car. Len hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but then she’d noticed that Sage had different practice shoes. She dipped under a low branch. It might not mean anything. But what if the orange Asics were in the car because Sage had been using them? Len started to run, unable to shake the dread building along with her fuzzy, half-formulated suspicion. She didn’t know exactly what Sage was up to, but she had a horrible feeling she hadn’t gone home.
When she reached the pickup, Len hesitated for only a moment, then shoved her grime-covered hand at the door handle and yanked it open. Some part of her noticed that whatever the malfunction in her brain was, her panic for Sage had overridden it, at least temporarily.
She threw the truck into drive and U-turned back onto the Parkway. She wished Sage could see her, covered in muck, both hands firmly on the wheel. Len wanted to claw the dirt off her body. She dreamed again of soap, of scrubbing her hands, her whole self, of taking a shower forever.
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, warming with sweat. She was a hot mess, literally, but somehow, she was doing it. She was doing it for Sage.
A biker appeared on the road, and she slowed, tailing him until she had enough of an opening to pass. The speedometer ticked its way back up. Her mom always told her that it was the other drivers she was concerned about, but today, Len was that “other driver.” Distracted, half-crying, she put all the focus she could muster on getting safely back to her driveway.
The truck had barely parked before Len leapt out. The shower beckoned her, but she tore herself away from the idea, allowing only a couple minutes of hand washing before pulling on new gloves and grabbing the phone from the kitchen.
Sage’s cell went straight to voicemail, and no one picked up at her house. Len cursed and booted up her laptop. She opened Google, punching in volleyball Hendersonville. A huge list of school schedules came up, so she added recreational, but that turned up a ton of hits, too. She scanned several sites before thinking to add in the date. A new heading popped up: Hendersonville YMCA, A-league championships. Today.
“No,” Len whispered. “No, no, no.” Sage knew the risks. She wouldn’t—
Of course she would. Hadn’t Len just caught her sprinting?
The urge to bathe was so great that Len groaned as she forced herself in the opposite direction, to the front door, to Nonni’s truck.
She paused. She couldn’t drive, not like this, not with her mind short-circuiting because she couldn’t drench herself in soap. It had been risky to drive on the Parkway, but she’d had no other choice. But now—
Something pulled her attention behind her and she turned. The school.
“Stupid Force,” she said and starting running.
* * *
Kayla stood at the net, facing away from the gym door. Even from the back she oozed intimidation, but Len didn’t have time for skittishness. She forced her voice to boom: “Kayla!”
The gym went quiet as every eye focused on her. Even the coach stopped talking. “It’s an emergency,” she called, and to her astonishment, Kayla trotted over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Then, her eyes taking in Len’s dirtied clothes, she added, “What happened to you?”
“It’s Sage,” Len said. “I think she’s in trouble.”
Kayla’s natural confidence fell away, her face paling. “What kind of trouble?”
“I think she’s playing volleyball. Like, seriously playing. Right now.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain on the way,” Len said. “Come on.”
“The way where?” Kayla asked. “Slow down.”
“Hendersonville. At least, I think.”
“You think or you know?”
“I think I know. Come on, I need you to drive. And help me talk to her.”
Kayla held up her hands. “I don’t even have a car!”
“I do,” Len said. “Please. We’re wasting time.”
“Kayla?” Coach was beside them now. “You need to get back out there.” His eyes were wide and incredulous. “Your scout came a long way.”
“You know what could happen, right?” Len said, snapping Kayla’s attention back to her. “If she plays full out?”
Kayla turned to her coach. “Tell the scout I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go.”
Kayla pulled Len out the door, letting it close on Coach’s protests. “Okay, Madder. Lead the way.”
CHAPTER FORTY
SAGE
“THAT’S THE ONE,” KETIA TOLD SAGE AS THE CAPTAINS shook hands before the game. “The setter. She kept Flick and Lucy’s college team from the title game.” Ketia shot Sage a look. “I don’t wanna stick around if we lose this match.”
“We can’t think about not losing,” Sage said, repeating one of Coach’s truisms. “We think about winning.”
Mountain clapped her shoulder. “And that’s what we’re gonna do. For Flick. For Lucy. For all of us.”
Flick joined them at the service line, calling a quick huddle. “This is it,” she whispered. “We win this, we advance.” She glanced at the orange-shirted team on the opposite side of the net. “They’re good. They’re experienced, and they want it,” she said. “We have to want it more.”
As they piled th
eir hands on top of each other, Sage was sure her teammates must feel the want burning out of her. Her whole body ached with it.
“Do we want this?” Flick challenged.
The team nodded. Murmured. The referee blew her whistle.
“I said, do we want this?”
This time the team answered with one voice. The power of it sent a thrill up Sage’s spine.
Flick’s grin was fierce. “Then let’s take it.”
Ketia caught Sage’s arm as they moved to position. “I miss Jon,” she admitted. “But I’m glad we found you. You were born for this.”
Sage smiled and sank into her defensive stance, offering a silent thank you to the universe. She couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign that she was meant to play, that she was right to take this risk.
The match was intense from the first play, and much too close for comfort. The Pumpkins, while not quite as sharp offensively, were exceptional at defense, and Sage couldn’t push another of Coach’s mantras out of her head—defense wins games.
The teams split the first two games. The third went five extra points, but Sage’s team eventually took it and rode that momentum to a steady lead in the fourth. But a long hit by Derek set off a string of errors, letting the Pumpkins eke out a 22–20 victory to force a fifth, and final, game.
As Flick gave a quick pep talk about reclaiming momentum, Sage downed the last remaining drops in her water bottle. Her head felt light, maybe even a little dizzy. She sat on one of the metal chairs that served as a bench.
Ketia toed her shoe. “You okay?”
Sage nodded, wondering what she looked like that made Ketia ask. She was fine, just a little hot. The pace had been nonstop. She took her pulse. A little quick, but not crazy. She could do this. She wished she had more water, though.
“Tiny, you ready?” Flick called.
Sage looked up to see the rest of the team, hands on top of one another, waiting for her. She stood, adding her hand to the pile.
“Bring everything,” Flick commanded. “It’s all or nothing now.”
The game started promisingly enough, with Sage’s team taking a quick 4–2 lead, but a series of long volleys kept things close at 9–6.
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