See How They Run

by Ally Carter

  “I know.”

  “So …”

  “So what?”

  “So it seems more than a little coincidental that the Scarred Man is supposed to be the prime minister’s head of security. And you think the Scarred Man killed your mother. And then the prime minister has a ‘heart attack’” — she makes air quotes around the words as she says them — “and ends up in a coma!”

  It’s not a coincidence. But it’s not the truth either. And no matter how much I care for Noah and Rosie, that’s the last thing I can tell them.

  “I know you’re thinking that it’s Dominic’s fault. But you’re wrong. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Noah asks, genuinely confused.

  For lying to you.

  For lying to me.

  For ruining your lives.

  But I can’t say any of that, so I just ask, “Where’s the party?”

  There should be music and lights and the not-so-hushed voices of people scurrying through the darkness, but Noah and Rosie and I are virtually alone in the moonlight. It feels like we’re the only people in Adria as Noah raises a finger and points to the inky darkness of the Mediterranean.

  “There.”

  I look, but I see nothing but stars and sky and salty water reaching all the way to the Italian coast. The moon is rising behind us, and the water looks so dark, so bleak. Once upon a time they thought the world was flat, and sometimes I still do. I want to swim out there, farther and farther until I reach the edge.

  But then I see it.

  There is a fire flickering in the distance, a tiny dot in the ocean of black sea and starry sky. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and make out the dark outline of trees, for me to remember the island that rests three or four miles offshore. As kids, Jamie used to tell me it was filled with monsters — dragons and minotaurs and the ghosts of the people who, a thousand years ago, let the city fall. And right now I’d prefer any of those creatures to the beasts I know are gathering on the island’s shores.

  I want to run away, to tell Noah and Rosie I’m sick or afraid of water or just plain afraid. But that’s the thing about being the girl who’s spent years convincing the world she’s not afraid of anything: At some point, someone is going to find out you’re afraid of everything.

  I’m just starting to open my mouth, to protest or turn away, when Noah points to the motorboat that has appeared on the horizon and is coming toward us fast. “Here’s our ride.”

  I’m pretty sure my jaw drops. My excuses fade away. The moonlight catches the long black hair that blows behind the girl who stands at the controls of the boat that’s pulling up to the end of the pier.

  I’m fresh out of excuses when Megan looks at us and says, “Get in.”

  “They say the island is bigger than the city, but I don’t think it looks that big. Do you think it looks that big?” Rosie has been talking nonstop since we left the pier. I’m starting to think she might be afraid of water. She’s in a puffy orange life vest and clinging to the side of the boat. “I guess maybe it could be that big, but … Everyone says it’s haunted, but I don’t believe it.”

  “Why?” Noah asks, teasing. He nudges her gently with his shoulder. “Don’t you believe in ghosts, Rosie?”

  “Oh, no.” Rosie sounds serious. “Of course I believe in ghosts. I just don’t think they’d waste their time haunting an island where no one ever goes.”

  “But if people didn’t think it was haunted then they might go there … and give ghosts a reason to haunt it,” Noah tries.

  But Megan shakes her head. “No one goes there because it is three-point-six miles from shore; there are no docks and no bathrooms, not to mention no Wi-Fi, cell signals, or running water.”

  Noah shrugs. “That too.”

  “There are dragons.” I don’t realize I’ve said the words aloud until Rosie spins on me.

  “Really?”

  Her eyes are impossibly big and blue.

  “No.”

  At that, Rosie looks incredibly disappointed, but recovers quickly.

  “So, Grace …” she starts slowly. “I was thinking that now that you’re feeling better, we should probably start —”

  “No,” I say again, cutting her off.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

  I don’t need to hear what she has to say to know my answer. “Dominic is just a man with a scar, Rosie. The prime minister had a bad heart and Dominic didn’t kill my mom. He didn’t.”

  The last words I say only for myself. I lean closer to the edge of the speedboat and let the mist hit me in my face. It makes me feel alive. Behind us, the lights of Valancia grow dimmer, and on the horizon the island looms larger.

  A few minutes later Megan is pulling up among dozens of other boats that float not far from the island’s shore. She drops anchor just as Noah pulls a small inflatable lifeboat from somewhere and jerks a cord, causing the raft to burst to life, inflating in less than a minute. Before Megan can step down into it, though, Noah swings her off her feet.

  “Allow me, my lady,” he says while easing her effortlessly over the side of the big boat and placing her gently into the raft. Megan laughs and hits him playfully on the arm.

  “Noah!” She giggles. “Put me down, silly.”

  I stand for a second, too stunned to speak. Then I look at Rosie. “Are they …”

  Rosie shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she says, then jumps into the little boat beside Megan.

  A second later, Noah and I follow.

  When we finally reach the island, I pull off my shoes and wade through the waves, heading toward the beach. The Mediterranean is cool as it laps against my ankles, and the shoreline is rocky beneath my bare feet. Someone has built a bonfire, and its flames lap up at an inky sky that, here, so far from the city, seems impossibly full of stars. There is music playing, a pounding bass that’s keeping beat like the lapping waves. And all around me, there are people.

  Beautiful people.

  Awkward people.

  People who are so engrossed with the person beside them that I highly doubt they even remember where they are.

  People who want to be anywhere but here.

  But as Noah and Megan and Rosie and I walk into their midst, no one notices, no one stares. At the beginning of the summer I was an anomaly, a mystery. A new girl. There are even more reasons for people to stare at me now, but no one here seems to know them. I vow to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

  “I wonder if Alexei made it home okay.” There’s a wistfulness to Rosie’s voice. “It would be weird, don’t you think? Going home. I mean … this is home. Isn’t it?”

  I have no home, I think, and then she looks at me.

  “Have you talked to him?” she asks.

  Even though there are probably fifty people on the beach, no one hears. We are anonymous, hidden by the island’s shadows and our peers’ complete lack of interest.

  “No. Why?”

  Rosie shakes her head. I think I see some meaning in her eyes, but I can’t decipher it. The beach is too dark, and I’m too bad at this — at having friends. So I just keep walking, following in Noah’s footsteps.

  From a distance, the party looks the same. There’s a bonfire raging in the center of the beach. Big pieces of driftwood circle around it and a few people gather in clusters, sitting on the wood or scattered across blankets and a few boulders. The beach stretches from the water to the big trees and dense forest that no doubt dominates the center of the island, growing untamed and untouched by man.

  It feels like Megan has brought us to the far side of the earth, some uncharted territory or unknown land — like maybe we are our own civilization, if only for tonight.

  We curve around the beach and, for a moment, the mainland is blocked by rocks and trees, and it feels like we’ve gone back in time. There are no roads, no lights, no signs of the twenty-first century. We’ve come to a place where even teenagers look different. Our
phones won’t work here. There is nothing but the music and the fire and the night.

  “Come on,” Noah says, looking back to make sure Rosie and I are still following.

  A low stone wall stretches across part of the beach, crumbling and overgrown by vines and weeds, and I know we aren’t the first people to set foot here. We are just the first in a very long time.

  “Don’t wander off, okay?” he says. A moment later, he looks right at me and repeats, “Okay?”

  “Yeah. Right. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  As we walk closer to the fire, I feel the heat of it, pulsing toward me like the music. Through the lapping flames I see Noah’s sister chatting with some English girls known as the three Cs: Chloe, Chelsea, and Charmaine. From this distance, Noah and Lila look alike, almost like the twins that they are. But when Lila spies us, she glares, and I remember that that is where the similarities end.

  “What are you doing here?” Lila snaps, coming forward.

  If I thought that our newfound sisterhood was going to bond us, I was obviously mistaken.

  “I wanted to be close to you.” Noah tries to swallow her in a hug. “Just like in the womb.”

  Lila rolls her eyes, then, for a second, lets her gaze drift onto me. Is she thinking about Ms. Chancellor and the Society? Or maybe about how Dominic followed us through the streets this afternoon and how I ran away? I’ll never know.

  “Just stay away from me,” she snaps at Noah, and I feel like I should say something, but all my witty banter has abandoned me, so instead I stand perfectly still for a long time, staring at the fire.

  It’s a mistake, and I know it. I can feel the flickering glow washing over me. But even if I turned away, I’d still see the way the light flits and moves across the trees, how the shadows dance in the sand. The whole party is bathed in the orange-red aura of the flames. Then the wind shifts. I smell smoke … and that’s when I start shaking.

  Noah and Megan have moved up ahead, talking to someone I don’t know. Rosie is no longer by my side. I am alone in the middle of the party, surrounded by the music and the flames.

  “Grace, no!” my mother screams.

  I close my eyes and shake my head and try to keep the panic at bay, but it’s here — it’s always here — closing in on me. I spin, looking away from the fire, trying to find air to breathe that doesn’t taste like smoke.

  I push away from the flames and only realize how far I’ve walked when I feel the sand beneath my feet turn to rock and grass. The smoke is fainter here. The flickering light is muted, and I can feel my heart stop pounding and my head stop spinning.

  I put on my shoes and pull a flashlight from my pocket. No one looks at me like I’m a freak because I have one. I just look … prepared.

  There are noises in the trees. I hear a few shouts, some laughing. Couples who have peeled away from the pack for a few moments of privacy, overanxious boys eager to jump out of the woods and scare some unsuspecting female who has been told tales of monsters and ghosts.

  No one dares to jump out at me.

  I let the beam of my flashlight dance across the trees and bushes, the outcroppings of rock and the boulders that, upon closer inspection, look more like giant fists, fighting free of the ground. I step closer, let my light and my gaze sweep deeper into the overgrowth. Vines have almost overtaken the island. They climb and crawl, and I swear I can almost feel them wrapping around my ankle. I kick and claw, spinning.

  And that is when I see it.

  Someone has carved something into the trunk of one of the ancient trees. I step closer, shine my light directly on the words, and make myself say them aloud.

  “Caroline and Dominic forever.”

  And just like that my blood turns cold.

  Moms aren’t supposed to have pasts. Not old crushes or first loves. But the words have been there for ages, I can tell, and it’s far too easy to imagine another night in another year — another party filled with other kids. I can’t help but see my mother here. Alive and young and in love. Long before my father. Long before me.

  Long before everything went wrong.

  Suddenly, I think I’m going to be sick. I want to cry, but I don’t cry anymore. My grief comes out of me in other ways. I can feel it in my pounding heart, my running feet.

  My promise to Noah is the furthest thing from my mind. Besides, I’m not wandering off. I’m fleeing, retreating, going deeper inland, exploring this new place that is actually incredibly old. I only know that I can’t go back to the music and the fire and the laughing. I don’t belong there. I’m far more at home in the dark.

  When I reach something of a clearing, I let myself stop. I can feel the moonlight upon my face. The music is fainter and the smell of smoke is all but gone. Wonder takes the place of panic. I don’t know how far I’ve run. I don’t care. I’m too mesmerized by the sight before me.

  A temple. A fort. Something is built into the side of a hill. I’m not sure what it is, but something draws me toward the massive pillars. Some still stand, and some have tumbled, spilling and breaking onto the ground, returning to the earth that bore them. Creeping vines cover almost every surface as if trying to pull the old walls down.

  In the darkness, I have no idea how large it is. My light is too small, almost insignificant as it sweeps across something that must have once been an entrance. But now there are crumbling rocks and sagging arches. It’s not safe — even I know that. But when my light catches the Society’s symbol, I step closer. It’s like a magnet drawing me into the dark.

  “I thought that was you.”

  The voice startles me, and I spin, remembering suddenly that I’m not alone on this island. It’s a voice I recognize but don’t quite know, and it takes a second to find the figure standing in the trees, one hand held up to shelter his eyes against the glare.

  “Lower the flashlight, will ya?”

  Spence.

  Spence has come to the party. Which means my brother is on this island.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask when he steps closer.

  “We heard there was a party,” Spence says, but he’s no longer looking at me. I watch him take in the trees and vines, the dim outline of crumbling towers and ancient ruins.

  “So in other words, Jamie followed me.”

  “Yes.” Spence flashes me a smile.

  “And he sent you to keep an eye on me.”

  “No.” Spence looks sheepish, charming. He gives me the kind of grin that probably goes over big with the girls around West Point. “I volunteered,” he says, but I’m not flattered, and I don’t say a single word.

  “Wow. What is this place?” he asks after a while.

  “Just some ruins,” I say, protective. If I’m not supposed to be here, then neither is he. And I’ve never been good at sharing.

  I should tell him to go. I should tell him I want to be alone, because I do. But Spence doesn’t know the truth about my mother. He has probably never heard of the Scarred Man. This is the closest I can get to being alone while in the company of another human being, so I don’t ask him to leave. I just think about how, when my mom was my age, she was coming to parties on this island. She was joining the Society.

  She was falling in love.

  For a moment, I think about Alexei. He must be back in Russia by now. Home and safely out of my blast radius. It should make me happy that I can no longer hurt him. But it doesn’t.

  I feel Spence coming closer. Soon his arm is brushing against mine, and I see him looking up at the symbol hidden among the ruins.

  “That’s cool,” he says. “What is it? It looks kind of familiar.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  It’s not a lie. I still have no idea what the Society is about or how it can be explained. I’ve been a member less than twenty-four hours, and I barely know more than I did as a kid, chasing after my mother down the streets of the great walled city. So I just tell him what every
body already knows.

  “A lot of people have ruled in Adria. The Romans and the Turks and the Byzantines. That’s probably the symbol of whoever built this place.”

  Despite the darkness, Spence jumps onto one of the fallen stones of the crumbling fortress. He looks like some kind of ancient marauder, claiming the island for a far-off king.

  “So, Jamie told me you moved here at the start of the summer.”

  The change of subject surprises me.

  “Yeah.”

  “He didn’t tell me you were so pretty.”

  When he jumps off the rock and lands in front of me he is close. Too close. I step back, but there’s a stone behind my foot and I stumble.

  I reach back instinctively, bracing for the crash that never comes. Instead, Spence’s arms are wrapped around me, holding me a foot off the ground.

  For a second, I am suspended in the air, caught between two realities. I could be Grace, the messed-up little sister. The murderer. The crazy girl.

  Or I could be the girl this stranger seems to see.

  I think about Ms. Chancellor and Jamie and my grandpa, and how they all want me to be normal. I’m supposed to get over it, move on. Pretend. I think about Noah and Megan, the people on the beach. This is what being a teenager is supposed to be, isn’t it? The Big Moments.

  And in this moment all I really want is to be the kind of girl whose biggest worry is whether or not this boy is about to kiss her.

  Then there is no more thinking. He is leaning closer and closer. I close my eyes and feel his lips brush mine. I try to stop thinking, worrying, being afraid. But my worries don’t go away. If anything, they multiply. I’m consumed by a new kind of panic. Who is Spence and why is he here and how am I supposed to face my brother after his friend’s hands have been in my hair and his lips on mine and …

  I’m stronger than I look, I know. And Spence stumbles back when I shove him.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Spence doesn’t sound sorry, though.