by Kasie West
“I meant take a break occasionally.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Taking a break?” I gestured back toward his office.
He ducked his head. “I left my book in the office last night.”
“Reading. Is that how you people?”
He shrugged and blushed a little. “Um . . . no . . . Well, I just left off right in the middle of an important part.”
“Because you had to ice my shoulders?”
“How are they feeling?”
“Really good, actually.” And that wasn’t a lie. I was flushing out the lactic acid that had built up the night before.
“Good.” He lowered himself to the cement and his keys fell out of his pocket. He scooped them up and shoved them back in. “You think Coach is going to let you swim all four races?”
“How do you know about that?” That was my goal. Right now I was swimming three, but I wanted to add butterfly to my race schedule and Coach thought it was too much.
“Everyone who is ever around the pool knows about that, Hadley. You ask him on a weekly basis.”
I laughed. It was true. For a second there I thought maybe he and Coach had been talking, maybe he had some inside information.
“Have you had any college interest yet?” he asked.
“I’m scheduled to visit some, but I still have time to decide. I really want San Diego and I really want a swimming scholarship.” The coach there had been to several of my races. Adding the butterfly to my schedule might push him to make me an official offer.
“Is that all?”
“I know it’s a lot to hope for.” I put my arms up on the cement and rested my chin on them, inches away from his legs. My toes clung to the slanted portion of the wall under the water.
“If anyone can get it you can.”
“What about you? What are your plans next year?”
“Continue with my undergrad classes for sports medicine. Here in town.”
“You’re staying here?”
“I’m only eighteen, you know. I do have a lot more time to decide.”
I realized it must’ve sounded like I was judging him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound like . . . I’m just surprised you want to stay here is all.”
“I like it here. You don’t?”
“I . . .” I needed to get away from here, away from the ghost that hung over our house. I couldn’t say that to him, though. I didn’t say that to anyone. “I like it here. I’m just ready for a change.”
He smiled. “Change is good.”
He held my gaze, seeming to imply something more than what he was saying. I started to ask him another question when he quickly stood. “I better go, let you get back to practice.”
“Okay. Have fun reading.” That sounded lame but it was too late to take back.
When I climbed out of the pool thirty minutes later, I had a text waiting for me from Amelia: Red Café tonight. I will impart to you everything I know about fake Heath Hall.
After my second shower of the day and a much-needed nap, Amelia and I sat at our usual corner booth at the Red Café. Amelia took a sip of her soda, then offered me some.
“No.”
“Still punishing yourself?”
“Not drinking soda is a reward, not a punishment.”
“In what universe?”
“It helps my time.”
“You say that about everything.” Before I could respond she said, “I know, I know. If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, you’ll be sacrificed.”
I laughed. “That’s not how the quote goes.”
“I like mine better. Or how about this quote: Hadley has more self-control than . . .” She paused and I waited. “I have no idea how to finish that one. It was going to be good, but I couldn’t think of anything that has as much self-control as you.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t make me look bad.”
I picked up my burger. “Hey, I still eat greasy food. I don’t have that much self-control.”
She bumped her burger against mine. “Thank goodness.”
Maybe I did need to give up greasy food. That would probably help my time. “So tell me. What do you know about the masked man?”
She held up her finger, finished chewing, then dug her phone out of her pocket. She typed on the screen and turned it toward me. A picture of Heath Hall—dark hair and startlingly blue eyes looked back at me. The electronic glass was lowered over one of his eyes and a long scar came out from under it and down his cheek. “Look.” She scrolled down past the pictures and had me read the most recent post.
I read it out loud. “I’ll be at the Pacific High swim meet Friday night. Come see what I’ll be facing.” My eyes went to the post below that. It said, “Bravery makes us all heroes,” which was something Heath Hall liked to say in his movies. I rolled my eyes. As if jumping into a swimming pool was equivalent to saving the world.
“Yeah, I saw that when I looked before. He announced it. Who does something like this?”
She shrugged.
“So have you heard any theories about who he is?” I asked.
“Yes, lots. Everyone thinks he’s someone different. So he could be anyone at our school.”
“Or nobody at our school.”
“I guess that’s true,” she said. “But here’s that map of events he’s shown up at. It’s like a web with our school at its center.” She typed something and then showed me her phone again.
“Huh.” She was right. The Pacific Ocean spread out along the left side of the map, but the other three directions surrounding our school were littered with red dots, probably close to fifty of them. I zoomed out and noticed another small cluster inland, surrounding a city at least two hours from ours. “But what about these?”
“The theory is he moved from there to here a few years back.” She pointed at the first cluster of dots and then over to our school.
I narrowed my eyes, following her finger. I was irritated there were any theories about some random deviant. “Well, all I care about is that he doesn’t come to the pool on race day again. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“How?”
“I DMed him.”
Amelia dropped her hands to the table and turned her wide eyes to me. “What? You did?”
“Yes. I told him to stay away.”
“I hear he doesn’t respond to DMs. Wait . . . did he actually respond?”
“No.”
She waved her hand over my phone that was sitting facedown on the table, bouncing on her seat twice as she did. “See if he’s responded now.”
I sighed but then wiped my hands on a napkin and picked up my phone. One message waited in my DMs. I froze for a moment when I saw it was from him. Fake Heath Hall. He’d actually responded, and I found I was nervous to see what he’d said. No, this selfish fake spy hero wasn’t going to make me nervous. I clicked on the icon.
Well, I usually don’t do repeats, but now that I know it bothered you so much, I might take another run at the pool.
My mouth dropped open.
“What did he say?” Amelia asked, leaning close to look.
I tilted my phone toward her and she let out a gasp. “Do you think he means it?”
I grunted. “Yes.”
“You told him you were going to expose him?” she asked, obviously reading the message I had sent him. “But you don’t know who he is.”
“I was bluffing. He called me on it.”
“He totally did.” She laughed.
I returned my phone to the table. “It is now my goal to find out.”
“Find out . . . ?”
“Who he is.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “He’s in trouble. You always accomplish your goals.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Amelia smiled, then her attention was drawn across the restaurant. “Now I’m starting to think that every guy could be fake Heath Hall. Like tha
t guy in the booth over there. If I tilt my head and squint a little, he actually looks a little like Heath.”
“So you think the guy under the mask actually looks like Heath Hall?”
“Yes. That’s probably why he picked that particular mask. People probably always tell him that he looks like Heath Hall and so he decided to capitalize on it.”
I looked at the guy in the corner booth—squinted my eyes and tilted my head. He did look a little like Heath—minus the scar and technology, obviously.
“I’m going to go ask him if he’s the fake Heath Hall.” Amelia stood.
“Go for it,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t.
She sat back down. “You’re right. It’s probably not him. I’ve never even seen that guy at our school.”
I laughed. “Let’s get together tomorrow with our laptops. We’ll figure out who he really is. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
Five
The next day on my way out the door to Amelia’s, I stopped by my mom’s office to say goodbye. I found her on the phone in the middle of a conversation.
“I realize the run is still eight months away, but the work starts well in advance and most of our sponsors have already committed. We have to get T-shirts designed, our website up and running for registration. It’s a long process.”
I stood in the doorway for a minute, hoping she’d just look up and I’d wave, then point at my cell phone, letting her know she could call me if she had any questions. I even cleared my throat a few times, but she never glanced my way. Instead, she wrote in neat, even strokes in the notebook on the desk in front of her. I knew how long these phone calls could last.
Her office was a maze of clear plastic bins, her preferred method of organization. I had no idea how she found anything. Each was stacked full of T-shirts or flyers or personalized pens or visors or who knew what else.
I noticed her cell phone sitting on the desk next to her so I sent a text: Mom, I’m going to Amelia’s.
Her phone dinged and she looked at it, then up at me with an eye roll. I just smiled. She held up a finger to me.
Into her office phone she said, “I’ll send you the paperwork, then, and get back to you next week. How does that sound?” After a pause she clicked her pen and set it on the desk with a nod. “Okay. Thank you so much.”
She ended the call, then set down the phone.
I nodded toward it. “You didn’t even give yourself a two-week break? Already working on the next event?”
“Fund-raising breaks for no one.”
“How is it going? Getting sponsors?”
“We’re on track.” She glanced at her watch, then looked up. “Isn’t this early for you and Amelia?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call ten a.m. ‘early.’”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“We have a project we’re working on,” I said. She probably thought I meant something for school, but it was easier to let her think that than explain what we were really up to. “Can I take the car?”
“Sure. What time will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. Can I text you?”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
I nodded, thought about weaving through her plastic bin maze to give her a hug but changed my mind when she picked up her phone again. As if she’d read my mind, she kissed the air in my general direction. I turned and headed toward the front door.
I nearly ran over my dad, who was on his way into the kitchen.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“Amelia’s. I told Mom.”
“Sounds good. Don’t do anything stupid and remember who you are.” This was his standard line when I was going anywhere.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll remember exactly who I am when I’m doing something stupid.”
“Ha-ha.” He playfully squeezed my arm, then looked over my shoulder down the hall. “Your mom still trying to swindle people out of their money?”
“Fund-raising breaks for no one.”
He lowered his brow. “I’m pretty sure it breaks for me.”
“Yeah, me too.” I sighed. “Maybe she can let someone else be in charge of the next race.”
“Are you going to suggest that to her or am I?”
“Totally your job. I’m too young to die.” The second the words were out of my mouth I wished I could take them back. “Sorry.”
He pulled me into a hug. “Don’t be. You are. Far too young.”
Two hours later, I sat on Amelia’s bed, my laptop open in front of me, studying fake Heath Hall’s account. I was writing down anyone who’d commented on his posts and especially those he’d commented back to. Amelia had her laptop open as well and she was furiously scribbling names into a notebook of the people from our school who followed him. He had about six hundred followers, so it was taking her a while to weed out the ones that went to our school.
“So thinking back to that night at the pool,” Amelia said, pausing for a moment. “You can’t remember anything about him?”
“I remembered he was a he,” I said.
“Right.” She tapped the notebook with the pen. “What about his ethnicity? Was he white? Black? Latino?”
“He was wearing a rash guard. And the light from the pool makes everyone all glowy.”
She lowered her chin. “Seriously?”
“I was angry! And I was in my prerace zone! And . . . I don’t know. I think he was white?”
“You are no help whatsoever.” She picked up the notebook and ran her pen along the page, her lips moving silently as she did. “One hundred and seven people from our school follow him. If we weed out all the girls . . .” She counted again. “That’s seventy-two. He must be one of these seventy-two.”
I hugged one of her pillows to my chest. “You think the real person behind the mask follows his own fake profile?”
“Yes. I do. And do you know who is on this list of guys from our school who follow him?” She gave me a sympathetic look that I didn’t understand.
“I have no idea,” I said when I realized she was waiting for a response. “The fake Wolverine?”
“No. Robert.”
I held back a gasp and managed to keep my expression in check.
“Robert,” she said again as if I hadn’t heard her loud and clear the first time. “As in, your ex.”
“Yes. I got it,” I said before she could say his name for a third time. I didn’t want to think of my ex. I’d done a pretty good job of just that for the last several weeks. I didn’t want to think about his smile or the way he rambled when he was nervous and sang off key when he wanted to make me laugh. The way he’d dumped me out of the blue for a really stupid reason.
“If Robert is following him, maybe he knows something.” She waved her hand at my paper. “Did he comment on any of his posts?”
“No,” I said curtly.
“You have to talk to him.”
“What? No!” To be fair, Amelia wasn’t a bad friend for suggesting I talk to the guy who had ripped out my heart. I just hadn’t been completely honest with her about how “mutual” the breakup was. In reality, there was nothing mutual about it. Robert had broken up with me because he said I was too intense, too single-minded. So I took swimming seriously. It was my ticket to a good college. I had to.
“Come on. He’ll tell you. Just ask.”
I did not want to talk to Robert. I was over him . . . mostly. Talking to him would lead to a major relapse. I was sure of it. But maybe she was right. Maybe he really would know who this guy was. Why else would he follow a fake account? It didn’t seem like him at all. So he obviously had some sort of vested interest in what was happening. At the very least, he’d probably been to a few of the other disturbances caused by the guy. Maybe he’d seen something.
My eyes drifted to the wall above Amelia’s bed, where a painting of a distorted fish hung. I had always liked the painting: it reminded me of how it felt sometimes being under the water—a separate body experience. Am
elia said her brother’s girlfriend, Abby, had painted it. Her brother was a few years older than her. Sometimes when I saw them together I tried to picture if my brother and I would’ve had a similar relationship—both loving and annoying at the same time. The way my parents described him, it seemed like we would’ve been close.
A knock sounded on the door, then Cooper poked his head in. “Amelia, Mom wants to know if you want lunch.” Cooper’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Oh, hey, Hadley. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yes, hi.” I blushed a little. Cooper was cute, and for some reason, I felt like the fact that I had just been thinking about him was written all over my face.
“Tell Mom we’ll be there in a minute,” Amelia said.
“Will do.” He shut the door.
Amelia’s attention was back on me. “So? What do you think?”
“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
She furrowed her brow. “Gross, I don’t want to know. I was referring to Robert. Will you talk to him?”
“Oh. Yes. I will,” I said, glad for the chance to move past my embarrassing thought process.
“I’ll go with you,” she said, maybe realizing it would be hard for me.
“Okay.” I took the notebook from her and scanned the list. “Seventy-two,” I said. “We’ll talk to Robert first, but if he doesn’t know anything, we need to work our way down this list. Someone has to know something. Right?”
“Agreed,” she said with a nod.
My stomach twisted in a knot. I had to talk to Robert. The guy I’d been avoiding for the last month. This would not be fun.
Six
My heart fluttered at the sight of Robert. So I had been right to avoid him for the last month, but it obviously wasn’t long enough—there were still feelings lingering under the surface that I needed to stomp out for good. His blond hair seemed longer than I remembered, and his shoulders broader. His skin glowed with a tan from all his time running or at the beach. He liked the beach. I had successfully not thought about that and many other things about him and here we were heading straight for his car in the parking lot. I wanted to turn around and leave, but right as I stopped to do so, he looked up and met my eyes. If I left now, he’d know he still had an effect on me. He would not have an effect on me.
