See How They Run

by Ally Carter

  “His name is Dominic,” I say, repeating the words I have told myself over and over since that fateful night.

  “Yeah, Dominic. I saw him. And I don’t trust him.”

  But I’m already shaking my head. “He’s just a man with a scar. Not all people with scars are evil.”

  Noah gives me a look. “Of course not. But think about it. You say Dominic killed your mom —”

  “He didn’t,” I blurt. But Noah doesn’t hear my tone. He doesn’t read the pain that lives behind my eyes.

  “Yeah.” Noah waves my concern away. “But he’s supposed to be the prime minister’s head of security, right? And then the prime minister’s heart mysteriously gives out right in the middle of the G-20 Summit? On the Scarred Man’s watch? The prime minister is in a coma, Grace.”

  “I am aware, Noah.”

  “Don’t joke. And don’t tell me that’s a coincidence,” Noah finishes strong.

  It’s not, but I don’t dare say so.

  “I was wrong,” I tell him. “Okay? Dominic didn’t kill my mother. My mother’s death was an accident.”

  I don’t choke on the word — and for that, at least, I’m grateful. But Noah still hears a little of what I don’t say.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Noah has been my designated best friend since my first night on Embassy Row. But he wasn’t there the night the prime minister finally cornered me. He didn’t see the way Dominic put himself in danger. And he can never, ever know that the prime minister was shot and Ms. Chancellor was the one who picked up the gun and pulled the trigger. Noah may be my best friend and all, but I’m pretty sure he’s not ready for the international implications of a high-ranking diplomat from one country actually shooting and seriously wounding the prime minister of another. Wars have started for less. And if Noah knew the truth … if anyone knew the truth …

  I think about Grandpa and the president and the diplomatic implications.

  And then I think about the Society and wonder what they’ve already done to keep the truth a secret. I don’t want to know how far they might go to make sure it stays that way.

  “Grace. Gracie!” Slowly, Noah’s voice brings me back. Then he smiles and squeezes my hand.

  “You okay?” Noah is a good enough friend that he actually cares about the answer to that question. Which means he’s too good a friend for me to actually give it.

  Instead, I kick a small stone that sits on the path, watch it tumble down the hill, and say, “Come on.”

  A few minutes later we’re stepping back onto Embassy Row. The sun has started to set across the Mediterranean, and the flags of the embassies all blow in the salty breeze, like soldiers standing guard against the massive wall that has held Valancia safe against intruders for at least a thousand years.

  Wordlessly, Noah falls into step beside me, his long legs eating up the ground, two of my strides matching one of his.

  “So,” he says, spinning around and walking backward, “what are we going to do now?”

  “Now, Noah, I go home.”

  “Okay. Good plan. First stop, USA. We’ll tell your grandfather and Ms. Chancellor that you’re going to spend the evening with me. I’ll give them my best responsible-role-model smile, and they’ll be putty in my hands. Then what? A movie?”

  “No, thank you,” I say, trying out my best good-girl voice.

  “No movies. Check. Hey, Lila’s planning a thing later. We should go.”

  Lila. The realization almost stops me. Noah doesn’t know the truth about Lila.

  “Grace?”

  “Oh, right.” I shake my head. “That’s a great idea, because your twin sister is such a fan of mine.”

  “No. It’s a great idea because you are my aforementioned best friend and it is summer in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”

  Noah is grinning at me, teasing, mocking just a little. He doesn’t know that he should hate me. Fear me. Pity me. I should like him for that, but in the end I can’t respect anyone who could be foolish enough to be sucked into all of my lies.

  As the sun dips lower, shadows descend on Embassy Row. Noah stops, and I have no choice but to turn and face him.

  I can’t help but notice he’s stopped smiling.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re up to something. And you’re not telling me, and that offends me. Just a little. It hurts.” Noah motions to his heart. “Right here, Grace. Right here.”

  I’m almost certain he’s joking. Almost. He laughs, but then, in a flash, he’s serious again.

  “You’re scaring me, Gracie. Just tell me what it is. Tell me and let me help you.”

  But no one can help me. Not anymore. Not ever again.

  “I’m sorry, Noah,” I say as we reach the US embassy’s gates. The marine on duty nods to us but doesn’t speak. He’s almost invisible, and Noah and I are almost alone.

  “I will see you later, Grace.”

  “Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

  He points at me. “At Lila’s shindig, right? I’ll meet you right here. In this spot. Nine o’clock. Because you are going to go with me. We are going to be typical teenagers for a brief, three-to-six-hour window this evening.”

  I can’t help myself. I laugh a little as I ease toward the gates.

  “Take care, Noah.”

  “I’m taking that as a yes. You heard that, Martin.” Noah points to the marine. “She said yes.”

  Martin opens the gates and I step onto US soil, but Noah is still calling at me through the fence.

  “I will be here, Grace. And you’d better be here, too, or else I’m storming the fences. Or” — he looks up at the imposing iron bars that surround the embassy’s grounds — “I’m going next door to Germany and getting Rosie to storm the fences! Don’t make me cause an international incident.”

  Martin is laughing as I step toward the doors. When I glance back I can’t help but notice that Noah’s grin is wide and honest. He doesn’t see the truth about me because he doesn’t know where to look for it. Buried deep. Paved over. If he knew me better he might see through my facade, so I swear that Noah can never know me better. I am safe in my mother’s homeland, my grandfather’s house. Embassy Row is my new home, and I’ll be fine here as long as I’m surrounded by strangers.

  I’m just starting to tell myself that it’s okay, that no one here will ever guess the truth about my mother’s society or my terrible secret, when I see the doors of the residence open and I hear a familiar voice say, “Hello, Gracie.”

  The boy in front of me is not a stranger, and yet he feels like one. His hair is shorter, practically shaved. His arms are leaner, his posture better. But the hardest thing to realize is that he isn’t looking at me like he used to.

  He called me Gracie.

  But I am not his little sister. Not really. Not anymore. I’m the monster who killed his mother, and now both of us know it.

  I knew I’d have to see Jamie eventually, but I’d assumed I’d have time to prepare, to brace myself for him lashing out, fighting back against the thing that killed his mother. I knew I was going to have to deal with this someday. I just never guessed that someday would be now.

  Before I can blink, Jamie lunges for me. He’s faster than he used to be, stronger. In a flash, his arms are around my waist and my feet are off the ground. I close my eyes and feel his harder-than-I-remember shoulders beneath my hands as he spins me around and around. For a split second, I let myself forget that I’m not little — that I’m not safe. This is my big brother, the boy who slayed all my monsters. But just as soon as I’m back on the ground, I remember: The monster is me.

  Guilt makes my eyes burn. I want to run and hide, but I just stand there, looking at my big brother.

  “What … what are you doing here?”

  Something happens when the sun sets in Adria. There comes a moment every day when the sky is clearer, the water is bluer, and the e
ntire city looks as if it’s made of gold. It actually glows, and when my brother smiles, the honey-colored light hits him and he looks like he’s wearing a halo.

  “Surprise!” On anyone else, Jamie’s smile would be cocky. But on him it’s so natural and easy that it makes me want to cry.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask again.

  “Do I need a reason to come visit my favorite sister?”

  I’m his only sister, and that’s what I’m supposed to say. It’s my line, my joke. But I can only ask, “What about West Point?”

  I can’t even imagine my father’s response should Jamie wash out. But of course that thought is preposterous. Jamie doesn’t fail. Not at anything. Not ever.

  “West Point is still there,” he tells me, trying to tease, but I don’t laugh anymore. My brother, of all people, should know that.

  “Why aren’t you there, Jamie?”

  “Relax, Gracie. I’m on leave. We’re finished with basic, and we had a few days, so we —”

  “We?” I ask just as another boy steps through the embassy’s door. It’s the one used for the ambassador and senior staff. For family. But I have never seen this boy before in my life. And yet, instantly, I know him.

  He is like every boy on every military base in America. At least from a distance. Even in civilian clothes, boys like him are always uniform, with their nearly shaved heads, muscular shoulders, and bulging biceps. He is caught in that space between man and child. A little baby fat is still in his cheeks, but he has the body of an adult male.

  I know without asking that he was some kind of high school sports stud. Football? No … wrestling. The boy takes a step; I watch him move, and I know he was some kind of hotshot high school wrestler just as surely as I know my own name. He carries himself like someone who hasn’t yet been beaten. But high school — and even West Point — are not like the world at large. He doesn’t know what I know: that, eventually, everybody gets taken down.

  “Gracie, I’d like you to meet John Spencer,” Jamie says. “Spence, this is my sister, Gracie.”

  I hold out my hand. “Grace.” I glare at my brother. “He’s the only one who gets to call me Gracie.”

  Spence takes my hand and tips the cap that he wears over his too-short hair. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says.

  This makes me laugh. “Ma’am?”

  “Yeah, don’t you know, Gracie?” Jamie puts an arm around me. “We’re in training to become both officers and gentlemen.”

  Jamie thinks he’s funny. He’s trying to make me laugh again, but I just look at John Spencer. Spence.

  “You go to West Point, too?” I ask him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’re both on leave so you just happened to pop across the Atlantic Ocean?” I say.

  I don’t ask how many phone calls Jamie has shared with Grandpa. With Dad. I don’t want to know how many hours they have worked and worried behind my back, strategizing how to pull me back from all the metaphorical cliffs — and all the real ones, too.

  Was this Jamie’s idea?

  And does anyone really think this can do anything but go terribly, horribly wrong?

  Spence and Jamie share a glance before Spence answers, “My grandmother was from Adria. I’ve never been, and when Blake said he was coming this way, I decided to tag along.”

  “Blake?” I ask.

  “Blakely.” Jamie says our last name as if that should explain it all. “Blake. You get called by your last name a lot at West Point, and …”

  “Oh, I get it. Spence. Blake. Very cute. Very fun. You guys are adorable.” My brother is looking at me. No, I realize with a start — my brother is seeing me. He’s not like Noah. He’s known me longer — better. And I’m afraid that Jamie is going to see all of my new secrets, read them in my eyes. It’s the one thing I can’t ever let happen. Not again.

  Suddenly, I step back. I feel my brother’s arm fall away. “It was nice meeting you, Spence. And, Jamie, I’ll see you soon, but I’ve got … things to do.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Jamie. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I came a long way to see you. Now let me see you. I miss you.”

  When I pull away again, Jamie moves in front of me, blocking my path. This isn’t some maneuver they teach at West Point. It is Sibling 101, and Jamie’s always been a natural.

  “Wait,” he says.

  “Don’t,” I tell him.

  “Don’t what?” He is using his Big Brother tone, daring me to deny that he is taller, stronger, faster. Older. But he has spent two semesters already at West Point, and I’m no longer the girl he left behind. The me who lives in Adria feels more like an only child.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I say, my voice too low for Spence to hear it.

  Jamie is facing me, away from his friend. Maybe that’s why he allows a look to cross his face, almost like I’ve slapped him.

  “I’d never lie to you, Gracie.”

  Except you have, I want to say. You lied to me every day for three years. You are still lying if you dare to stand there, looking like a part of you doesn’t hate a part of me.

  But I don’t say a single word.

  “Gracie —”

  “West Point cadets don’t get leave, Jamie. And if they do, they don’t leave the country.”

  “Well, actually,” he says, sidling closer, “we do have a break between terms. And we are allowed to leave the country if we miss our kid sisters.”

  He wants us to pretend, to act like nothing’s wrong and nothing happened. But I am so, so tired of making believe. I have been living a lie for three years. My mind is having a hard enough time remembering the true version of events; I can’t bear another fake one.

  “Don’t you mean, if your kid sisters have nervous breakdowns? West Point cadets get to go on big international trips then?”

  I wait for Jamie to joke again, to laugh. Or, better yet, to walk away. Yes, walking away would be so much better than standing in the fading light, pity filling his eyes.

  “I’m fine, Jamie. You didn’t have to come check up on me.”

  But he just shakes his head slowly, side to side. He sees right through me.

  “Now who’s lying?”

  Spence has drifted back inside, and for once, Embassy Row is quiet and still.

  “Do you have a good therapist?” Jamie asks, slipping from brother to father to mother. My role is still the same.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going?” he demands.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to get better?”

  “Yes!” I don’t know.

  When a pair of women pass by on the sidewalk, Jamie takes my arm and pulls me deeper into the shadows of the embassy’s yard. The women speak in rapid Adrian, the language of our mother. And for a second I swear I can almost see her standing on the other side of the fence, calling out that it’s time for us to come home.

  “I know you know.” Jamie’s voice shakes. “I know you remember what happened, so don’t tell me you’re okay.”

  I’m supposed to say something now. Something good or kind or clever. Something to show just how sorry I am and just how much progress I’ve made. I’m supposed to make my brother stop worrying.

  But the truth is, if my brother was smart he wouldn’t be worried. He’d be terrified.

  “Grace —” Jamie starts, but I can’t listen to any more — I can’t take any more. The guilt and shame have been weighing on me for three years, and the only thing I can do is pave over them with rage.

  I deserve my guilt, but I shouldn’t have to live with Jamie’s betrayal, with all of their lies.

  “You knew!” I can’t help but shout. “All those years, you knew the truth and you never told me!”

  I expect Jamie to lash back, to fight. He’s a soldier now, isn’t he? But he’s just shaking his head.

  “You’re my little sister. Protecting you is my job, so I’m not going to apolo
gize for not telling you the truth. You can yell at me all you want, but I’m not sorry.”

  “You had no right to keep that from me!”

  “I had every right!” Jamie shakes his head, almost like he’s locked in a nightmare, trying to wake up. “It was better when you didn’t know, Gracie. I’d make you forget all over again if I could.”

  “You lied. Everyone lied. Grandpa and Dad and … them, I understand. But not you, Jamie. Never you.”

  “You didn’t see you, Gracie. Mom was dead and you were dying. Really. I’m not exaggerating. The guilt was killing you! I hated seeing you in that place. I don’t know how much longer Dad and I could have taken it — watching you scream and shake and yell about the Scarred Man. You just couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it anymore. So when they decided to stop fighting and let you think what you wanted to think, I didn’t care. I wanted to lie. I wanted to forget about everything as much as you did. About Mom. And you. And the intruder, and how —”

  “The intruder?” For a moment, I’m sure that I’ve misheard him.

  “The burglar. The intruder. Whatever. The man who was there. The reason why you …” My brother can’t say pulled the trigger, and despite the setting sun, some new light dawns.

  Jamie doesn’t know.

  Not the whole truth. Not really.

  They lied to him, too.

  No one ever told him the truth about the Scarred Man. He doesn’t know about the Society or the prime minister or Ms. Chancellor. He only knows that his kid sister fired the shot that killed his mother. He has no idea why.

  It should anger me, infuriate me. I should charge into my grandfather’s office and call him out on all of his lies. But then I realize that Grandpa might not even know the truth. Maybe Ms. Chancellor and her Society have been manipulating him, too. Their cover-ups could go back at least three years. They could go back a thousand.

  I should end it all right here and now, but for once I am on the inside. For once, Jamie is the person left behind.

  I must stay silent long enough for Jamie to soften, because he smiles.

  “Are you at least a little bit glad to see me?” he asks.

  I shrug, play along. “The jury is still out.”