Sawyer pulled on her sneakers and slammed her locker. “Whatever.”

“You know Kevin was never really that into her,” Maggie said, her voice low but just loud enough to stab at Sawyer.

“Go to hell, Maggie. He left you for me. So, if he wasn’t all that into me, he must have been completely over you even when you were dating.” Sawyer crossed her arms in front of her chest and cocked her head, feigning sympathy. “Ooh, that must have hurt.”

Maggie’s mouth fell open, as did the mouths of her cronies. “You are such a bitch!” Maggie yelled, nostrils flared, wide eyes moistening.

Sawyer shrugged and walked out of the locker room, hearing the girls closing in on Maggie, patting her back and cooing, “She doesn’t know anything” and “She’s a totally jealous bitch, Maggs,” behind her.

When Sawyer set foot on the track—leaned in and let herself run—she finally felt free, felt weightless, felt untouchable. The strain of Kevin’s death, of the note, of Maggie, and of Sawyer’s soon-to-be stepsister poured off of her as the sweat started to leave her pores. Suddenly, she didn’t feel needled or pinned down, and by the third lap she was shrugging off the note and the flowers—a coincidence, she told herself—an ill-timed coincidence. But no matter how fast or how far her legs pumped, Sawyer couldn’t outrun the tiny, niggling voice in the back of her head—but what about the peanut oil label? But what about the “you’re welcome” note?

Sawyer clenched her fists and pumped her legs harder, punching at the air as she whizzed down the track. The heat that broke in her legs was punishing, but she relished the aching feeling. It made her feel alive.

No one knew about my relationship with Kevin, she reminded herself. No one knew about what happened with Mr. Hanson.

She was looping the track again, closing in on the bleachers, when she saw him up on one of the top benches, oversized coat on, hood pulled up. She slowed to a steady pace and studied Logan. He didn’t look up at her from his perch, just kept his head on the notebook he was scribbling on. He looked up once and caught Sawyer’s eye; she saw his eyes grow, his cheeks redden. He immediately dropped his head and his hand went back to his pencil, working on his notebook. Sawyer ran past him, but something weighed on her.

Logan was there when she left Mr. Hanson’s room.

But I didn’t say anything…but maybe he saw?

Her throat went dry and she coughed, her diaphragm closing in on itself painfully. Her legs seemed to spin uncontrollably, and she found herself falling. Her arms went out instinctively and she was chest-flat on the red clay track, dust floating up in choking clouds. Sawyer rolled onto her back, sputtering, choking, coughing. Suddenly, someone blocked her light.

“Are you okay, Sawyer?”

Sawyer blinked, then squinted. “Logan?”

He offered her a hand, and Sawyer looked at it for a beat before taking it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She was surprised at how strong he was. Sawyer brushed the red clay dust from her damaged knees and coughed again. “I’m okay.”

“Let me get you something to drink.”

Logan disappeared, returning immediately with an icy bottle of water. He popped the cap and gave it to Sawyer, studying her as she drank. She took a large sip and held it in her mouth before swallowing, the cold liquid soothing the ache in her diaphragm.

“Thanks,” she said, breathing out icy breath. “That’s just what I needed.”

“You’re fast,” Logan said, smiling.

Sawyer nodded. “What are you doing out here?”

Logan looked sheepish. “I missed the early bus again. But it’s not like I expect you to drive me home or anything. I didn’t know you’d be out here running. Sometimes I like to come out here and think or write or whatever.”

Sawyer gestured to the red notebook tucked under Logan’s arm. “Is that what you were doing? Writing?”

“Something like that. Anyway, I’m really glad you’re okay. That was kind of a big spill. Kind of a Logan-style spill.” Logan’s smile went from sheepish to goofy and lopsided, and Sawyer had to smile back.

“Thanks, Logan,” she said, “I’m really fine though. I just got distracted. I tend to bail when distracted. You sure you don’t need a ride home?”

Logan seemed to focus on something just over Sawyer’s shoulder. She watched his goofy smile falter, saw his face pale.

“Logan?”

He pasted on a smile again, this one far less goofy, far less authentic. “No, thanks, Sawyer. I’ll be fine. I’ve got to go.”

“Hey.” She reached out and grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt. “Are we okay?”

“Us? Yeah.” He still didn’t look at her. “I get it. You’re not ready to date.” He turned on the last word and Sawyer almost thought she heard the word “me.” But he was already halfway up the bleachers by the time her brain processed it. She watched Logan snatch up his backpack and hop down from the bench, disappearing into the slatted shadows beneath the bleachers.

“That kid’s a weird one.”

Sawyer whipped around, sending a spray of ice water careening out of the bottle over her wrist, slapping her already soaked T-shirt and leaving a wet trail on Cooper’s chest. “Oh, crap.”

Cooper’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sawyer’s heart was in her throat, still doing a choking pound. “You didn’t,” she squeaked. “Okay, maybe you did.” Her eyes went to his wet chest. “Sorry—sorry about your shirt.”

Cooper was dressed almost identically to Sawyer: he was wearing the green and white Hawthorne High track uniform, fearsome, fisted, fighting hornet smack in the middle of his nylon tank top. Sawyer took a second to notice Cooper’s chest—and his broad shoulders, the bubbly muscles in his bare arms. “Why are you wearing a track uniform?”

“Because this is what the track team wears…right?”

“You’re on the team? You’re a runner?”

“I was at my old school. I thought I’d give the track team a try here. Coach let me on without trying out. My old times were pretty good, I guess.”

Sawyer studied Cooper, the way the thin material of his shorts fell over his tanned legs; they were thick with well-defined muscle. He didn’t have the powerful, sinewy legs of a runner.

“I know,” Cooper said on a smile, “I don’t look like I can run.” He seemed to be reading her mind, and Sawyer felt an involuntary shiver run through her. A dark cloud passed over Cooper’s face. “Are you okay? Let me get you my sweatshirt.”

“No.” Sawyer put her hand on Cooper’s arm. “I’m fine. I’m just wearing a refreshing beverage.”

Cooper slid back into that easy smile. “I prefer to drink mine, but whatever works for you. So, Ms. Nonbeliever”—he jutted his chin toward the empty track—“a friendly jog? Or an all-out race?”

Sawyer nodded and breathed deeply, testing out the ache in her diaphragm. The water seemed to have done the trick, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge—according to her father, it was both her best and her worst trait. She leaned over and set the water bottle on the bench, looking at Cooper through the dusting of long bangs that fell over her forehead.

Then she bolted.

She was on the track in a split second, legs pumping, wind slapping against her face when she heard the tail end of Cooper’s “Hey! Cheater!”

She vaguely heard his footfalls as he entered the track, could hear his huffing breath as he closed in on her. He was panting by the time he came up on her left shoulder.

“Is this how you win all your races?” he panted. “By cheating?”

Sawyer kept up her steady pace, her breath shortening. “So you know I win all my races?”

“And now I know how!” Cooper balled his hands into fists and put his head down, going head first into the oncoming wind, his sneakers kicking up bursts of red clay dust as he passed Sawyer by a hair. Then it was a shoulder, then a full body length. Sawyer felt the fire in her legs, felt her lungs expanding, and she blew by him. She crossed the finish line and hooked her arms over the bleacher gate, blowing on her nails when Cooper finished a few seconds behind her.

“What took you so long?” she said without looking up.

Cooper knotted her in a playful headlock. “Cheaters. Every one of you Hawthorne Honeys!”

Sawyer backed out of the headlock, laughing. “Honeys?”

A blush flitted over Cooper’s cheeks. “Honeybees. I meant honeybees.”

“We’re hornets!” She gave Cooper a hard hornet sting with her index finger, and when he came at her, she cringed. It was automatic; muscle memory burned in from dating Kevin, from never knowing just what it was that would set him off. She burned with shame.

He stopped. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Sawyer felt a nervous twitter rush through her. She licked her dry lips and forced a laugh that sounded false even to her. “I was kidding. Let’s get some water.”

Cooper followed her out to the center of the field, Sawyer suddenly stiff with embarrassment—was she afraid of everyone now? Cooper stayed silent, walking behind her.

They headed back toward the locker rooms, and Cooper sucked the last of the water from his bottle, stuffing the empty in his bag. “I guess this is where I leave you.”

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t usually shower in the girls’ locker room.” His eyes went over her head, gesturing at the Women’s Locker Room sign.

“Oh,” she said on a sheepish grin, “right.”

They stood in awkward silence for a beat before Cooper nodded, gave her a mannish chuck on the shoulder, and promised to beat her next time around the track. Sawyer grinned and was grinning still when Cooper disappeared into the men’s locker room; she went into hers.

The locker room was empty when Sawyer walked in, her half-dry track shirt stuck to her jog bra, her cheeks red hot and flushed. She slipped out of her clothes and into a towel and flip-flops, grabbing her shower bag and turning a shower on as hot as she could get it. When steam poured out of the stall, licking her knees and pressing against her chest, she slipped inside, letting the hot water rush over her, soaking her skin. She imagined it seeping into her aching muscles, dripping over her head and into her brain. She wished she could wash away the violent memories of Kevin, but knew the memories ran deep—so deep that she cringed even when she didn’t want to—and soon the water that rushed over her cheeks was salty with tears. She slumped against the shower stall and doubled over, letting herself cry until her stomach ached, until her skin was red and raw and overheated from the searing water. Finally, she turned the shower off and re-wrapped herself in her towel, shuffling to her locker.

That’s when she stopped dead.

The locker room was silent—so quiet that it seemed to hum with the vibe of desertion—but Sawyer’s locker seemed to scream. The word whore was spray-painted in an angry red across her locker door.

NINE

Sawyer stumbled back, foot over foot, clutching her towel around her but feeling the icy chill of the cold locker room air as it crept up her naked thighs. She swallowed repeatedly and knew that she would have to open her locker—what she would find, she wasn’t sure—wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Steeling herself, she used numb fingers to spin her locker combination, slowly pulling open the door. She let out a great whoosh of calming air when her locker contents appeared undisturbed—the usual jumble of school clothes tossed in a careless heap, a sneaker jammed with her bra, her jeans inside-out and balled up.

Looking over her shoulder, she quickly shuffled the wrinkled clothes out, putting her hand through the hole in her jeans.

Hole in her jeans?

“Holy shit!” Sawyer spat out the words—in anger or sheer surprise, she couldn’t be sure—and held what was left of her jeans out in front of her. The waistband was still intact—the rivets, the zipper, the zippy little 7 logo—but that was it. The denim was shredded and wagged in long, primitive tongues, the fabric edges already starting to fray. The crotch was torn out completely, and one of the pockets fluttered down like a broken moth when she shook the tattered fabric. She dropped the jeans and went for her T-shirt, her sweater—both had met the same fate, as had her running clothes. Her bra was a mess of overstretched cotton, the inner pads busted embarrassingly open, spilling out their little tufts of fluff. Her panties were gone.