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  Right. Of course. Cassian’s girlfriend from the year before had graduated and gone to college. Everyone was waiting to see who would be next. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  “Look,” Nessa said. “Look at the way he and Cynthia are talking.”

  Bree whipped her head around. “Cassian and Cynthia?” she said. “Hardly. They’re like cousins or something. They grew up on the same street!” Bree knew what was going on in everyone’s high school love life with the same degree of accuracy she knew the lives of celebrities she followed online. “Have patience, young Padawan. You have to—” Bree’s voice faded. She put a hand on Nessa’s arm. “Who,” she said, in a different tone, “is that?”

  “Who, where?”

  Bree lifted her chin in the direction of…

  “Oh. Luc Restouille?” Nessa said, following her friend’s gaze. “He’s on cross-country.”

  “He’s new?” said Bree.

  “Yeah,” Nessa said. “I guess so. He doesn’t really talk much.”

  “With those cheekbones, he doesn’t need to.”

  “Hormones, much?” Nessa said. “Bree, seriously, that guy’s kind of odd. He never talks. He’s really intense about running. Like a machine.”

  Bree rolled her eyes. Nessa swung a leg over the bench, heading for the trash. “One of these days, Nessa,” she said, “you’re going to stop running for no reason and start chasing after something more fun.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Twenty minutes after her last class ended, Nessa checked in with Coach Hoffman, who sent her off on a one-mile jog to start practice. Nessa felt the tension of the first day of school leaving her muscles as they warmed up and stretched out. With each footfall, her stride loosened into the natural and assured pace that was as familiar as her own reflection in a mirror.

  The course took her behind the football and soccer fields—she had a glimpse of Cassian heading the ball. Even from this distance she could see that his jaw was set and his attention fully focused. He was playing with his shirt off, the contours of the muscles running from his shoulders down to the waistline of his shorts.

  After passing the soccer fields, the course turned left and ran through a gap in the chain-link fence. The athletic fields at school backed up against a coniferous forest, and Nessa pushed through a terrarium of brambles that gave way to the orderly rows of stately pines. Nessa loved this part of the trail. The trees were like columns in a naturally occurring temple, the thickness of the growth creating an evening effect even on a bright afternoon. Nessa could see dust motes rising on the few slanting beams of light. She remembered why she started running cross-country in the first place.

  And then she remembered to speed up.

  Nessa came in from the warm-up lap with Cynthia in her sights. She noticed that a freshman had come up behind her—Hannah Gilroy, the fast freshman from pre-season.

  Nessa hadn’t realized how fast. She had to sprint to maintain her lead. Even as she began to hear the fear tracks playing in her mind—you can’t keep this pace going much longer; you’re going to puke; you’re going to end up leaning over your knees, breathing hard—she lengthened her stride, picked up her tempo, pushed her chest forward, and sprinted through the end of the course.

  Walking off the wave of nausea that almost always greeted Nessa when she ran her fastest—which she took as a sign she hadn’t been slacking off—Nessa made a decision. I’m going to always beat Hannah, she vowed to herself. If I make it a rule to never, ever let Hannah break out in front of me, it will keep me focused. Keep me on pace.

  For a second, Nessa flashed on another thought: What if I beat Cynthia, too?

  Coach Hoffman called the team over from the lowest bench of the football bleachers, where he was sitting with the first aid kit and his clipboard. Nessa loped over, crossing one foot over the other and dropping from the waist to stretch her IT band. She watched Cynthia, who was stretching sitting down, her legs wide, her fingertips resting on the toes of her brand-new running shoes. Cynthia bent her head to the ground, her ponytail fanning out on the grass.

  Luc arrived from his warm-up and stood near Cynthia. Because Nessa was behind them, she could hear Cynthia say to Luc, without looking up, “I’ve been running at night.”

  Luc didn’t look at Cynthia either, but kept his chin pointed at the sky, his hands on his hips. It was like they were spies exchanging information without looking like they knew each other. “And how’s that going for you?” he said.

  “Well,” Cynthia said, switching poses. “I don’t make excuses. I drive myself over to the trailhead on Route 18, I park my car, and I put in the miles.”

  Nessa realized she wasn’t the only one listening to their conversation when Tim Miller piped up. “You run in the woods?” he asked. “Is that safe for you? Shouldn’t you have company?”

  “I think I’m fine, Tim,” she replied coolly. And she was right. Very few people could keep up.

  Cynthia turned to Luc directly now, making it clear she was speaking only to him. “You wouldn’t be afraid of night running, would you?”

  Luc smiled, but not in a way that was necessarily friendly. More like he was accepting Cynthia’s challenge.

  Nessa lifted herself up onto her toes, working on strengthening her calves. Cynthia was never going to help her. Nessa would have to find a way to unlock her speed on her own.

  But then, walking to the locker room after practice, Nessa felt a hand on her arm and looked back to see Cynthia, falling into step next to her as if it were normal for the two of them.

  “You pumped for the season?” Cynthia asked.

  Nessa knew she should come up with an interesting way to answer that question, something that might be impressive, but she had nothing. “Yeah, pretty psyched,” she said.

  “You’ve been training hard,” Cynthia went on. “You scared?”

  “Of what?” Nessa said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe not measuring up? ’Cause you know when you commit to trying, to really going for something, that’s when you have the most to lose.”

  Nessa cocked her head and looked at Cynthia. Was this a trap? Was Cynthia trying to psych her out? Why would she do that?

  “If you don’t commit, you don’t stand a chance at all,” Nessa said, playing it safe.

  “Yeah, duh,” Cynthia laughed, walking past her, leaving Nessa with the feeling that she’d just been offered an opportunity.

  Nessa waited a second and revved up her courage. She could turn this around. Jogging forward, Nessa blurted out, “I want to run with you.” She didn’t care how awkward it came out, how direct. She needed to say it. “At night. I need to get faster.”

  Cynthia looked at Nessa for a full beat, and Nessa looked back. She knew she couldn’t look away first. She had to appear strong.

  “Okay,” Cynthia agreed. “Meet me at eight. At the trailhead at Route 18, by mile marker 12. I won’t wait for you if you’re late.”

  “I’ll be there,” Nessa said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nessa arrived home from practice just in time to help her mother pull groceries out of the trunk of her car. She took a bag and followed Vivian through the garage. Last night’s injured dog, Tucker, was resting in a crate. He looked up hopefully when he saw them approach, his tail thumping.

  “Aren’t you cute,” Nessa said to him. She slipped into the high voice she knew would make his tail wag faster. “How are you feeling, big guy?”

  As if he could understand her, the dog batted the plastic cone wrapped around his head against the crate door. “I know,” Vivian said, pushing her frizzed-out hair away from her face. “It’s not fair you have to wear the cone of shame.”

  Nessa laughed. Her mom talked to animals the way she talked to kids—like they were all in on the same joke. Animals trusted her immediately. Nessa had seen feral cats and snarling dogs settle under Vivian’s competent touch many times. Vivian had that effect on people too. When Nate was panicking, Vivian could reach
him in ways no one else could.

  “Help me with him, will you?” Vivian said to Nessa. She put her groceries on the step by the door to the kitchen, and Nessa followed suit. Without having to be asked, Nessa spread one of the old, clean towels on top of the folding table while Vivian opened the crate and then, reaching her arms inside, gathered up the dog’s full weight and lifted him gently out. Nessa helped, and together they placed Tucker on the table. Keeping one hand on the dog’s shoulder, Vivian reached behind to turn on the utility light.

  Nessa gasped. She was used to seeing wounds on animals who’d been bitten or gotten into fights, but she’d never seen anything like this before. While her mom looked at the wound, checking for signs of infection, Nessa silently counted the black-threaded stitches across the eight-inch gash. Twenty-two total.

  “What happened?” Nessa asked.

  Tucker raised his head, and Vivian reached her hand into the cone to calm him down with a nose rub. “Sue Little said she didn’t know. He ran off into the woods chasing squirrels and must have run into something bigger than he was. Poor guy managed to limp home on three legs. He had some torn muscle and a nearly severed ligament, which I stitched up. If it had been much worse, I would’ve had to bring him into the office for a transfusion.”

  Vivian rubbed the dog’s chest between his two front paws. “I’ll tell you what, Tucker,” she said. “I’m gonna call your mom and tell her she can come pick you up, that’s what. You’re healing nicely, and if you keep this cone on and don’t pick off all my nice stitches, you’ll be just fine.” Giving the dog one last pat, she nodded to Nessa, and they carefully put Tucker back in the cage.

  “So what do you think it was that got him?” Nessa asked. “A coyote?”

  “Bigger than that,” Vivian said. Closing the crate door, she moved toward the kitchen, picking up the groceries on her way. “And if it were a bear, we’d have seen gashes. They tend to maul, not bite.”

  “So what, then?” Nessa asked.

  Vivian shook her head. “Wolf, if you can believe it.” With her thumb and first finger pretty much fully extended, she replicated the expanse of the deepest punctures in the dog’s hind leg where the wolf must have locked on. “The jaw span’s pretty big, even for a wolf.”

  Nessa shivered. Vivian leveled her with a look that Nessa recognized. She nodded at her mother. It went unsaid that she wouldn’t repeat this to Delphine or Nate.

  It wasn’t just that Nessa was the eldest; she also knew about animals the way her mom did. Vivian had spoken to her about the wolves passing through Tether for years, as part of their slow repopulation of the more remote areas of Michigan. Nessa knew wolves weren’t like bears, who found the smell of garbage irresistible. Wolves liked fresh meat, and they knew about maintaining territory. They’d eat squirrels and hedgehogs if they got hungry enough. But attacking people’s dogs? This was something she hadn’t heard before.

  Inside, Nessa set the groceries on the counter and cruised straight for the living room of the small, split-level ranch. Delphine was on the computer and Nate was watching Nova—his favorite show. It was a good thing he liked educational TV, Vivian always joked. He was likely learning nothing at school because he got really mad when teachers told him to do something he didn’t want to do.

  Nessa flopped down on the sofa. She wasn’t thinking about the homework that lay ahead. Instead, she was dreading that she’d told Cynthia she’d meet her.

  Nessa slid up close to Nate, something she’d picked up from her mom. Her brother liked the feeling of another person pushing up against him—he even said he liked the feel of the blood pressure cuff tightening on his arm. But Nate was so absorbed in watching the show it was like Nessa wasn’t even there.

  Delphine looked up from the computer, taking in Nessa’s sprawled position, the grass stains on her legs, the sweat drying in her hair. “Rough practice?” she asked. Delphine made no secret of the fact that she thought voluntary exercise was crazy.

  “I need new running shoes,” Nessa said. “And spikes.”

  Delphine rolled her eyes. “You always need new shoes.” Then she went back to the screen. “Except they’re nothing I can ever borrow.”

  Pretty and popular, Delphine was also really into programming and had started writing code in seventh grade. She’d been sure that her outfit-selecting app would make her millions, but so far it just occupied the majority of the family computer’s hard drive space.

  Nessa let her head drop back and her eyes close, relaxing to the music of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, the tapping of computer keys under Delphine’s fingers, the mellow voice of the narrator describing the latest techniques for archaeological digs. Nate startled when a locomotive whistle sounded in his show and then settled back in against Nessa’s side. “Hey Nessie,” he said, like he used to do when he was just starting to talk and she was in second grade. He put his head on her shoulder.

  And for the next ten minutes, Nessa slept.

  After dinner, Nessa fished Vivian’s headlamp out of the catchall basket in the kitchen and headed toward the door. “You’re going for a run now?” Vivian asked from the table where she was sitting with Nate while he struggled to finish his homework. Considering how much Nate knew—about trains, birdcalls, the presidents, and the periodic table—it was amazing how hard it was for him to do something as simple as basic fractions. His homework could take hours.

  “A girl on my team swears by it,” Nessa said. “I’m meeting her.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll be careful,” Vivian said, and Nessa was about to let the door swing shut behind her when her mom added, “Do you think you could check on Tucker?”

  “Quickly,” said Nessa, going to the garage door. She had just enough time to look in on him and still meet Cynthia. But when she saw that the papers in the cage were dirty and Tucker wasn’t lying down, she changed them. This was one of her tasks at her weekend job at the vet’s, so she moved quickly. But still, by the time she’d finished, she was running a few minutes behind.

  She’d been planning on a slow, easy jog to the trailhead, but she had to sprint. Even so, she was late. Nessa saw Cynthia’s car, but no Cynthia. She put her hand on the car’s hood—still warm—and peered up and out into the woods, where she saw the flash of Cynthia’s pale arms and legs disappearing into the trees. She must have missed her by only a minute.

  “Hey!” Nessa called out. “Cynthia!”

  Cynthia didn’t stop.

  Nessa took off after her, switching on her headlamp, sprinting even harder to try to catch up. She knew she couldn’t catch Cynthia if Cynthia was running her race pace, but maybe Cynthia ran at a relaxed pace when she was just setting out.

  Then she saw Cynthia again, another flash of white. Or was it something else? The flash had disappeared. Thinking she might see farther out in front of her if she relied only on the moonlight, Nessa turned off her headlamp and increased her pace. She almost laughed when she realized that between the sprint to the trailhead and the burn she was putting on trying to catch up to Cynthia now, she was probably getting the speed workout of her life.

  Nessa ran farther. This was a trail she’d hiked many times—she knew the five-mile loop well. She wasn’t worried about getting lost, but Tim Miller was right. It didn’t feel totally okay to be out in the woods alone after dark. She almost tripped twice on roots growing across the trail, and the darkness was getting to her. She tried not to think about what could be lurking in the shadows, but it was hard not to imagine that someone could be waiting, unseen, to jump out for her at the last minute. And what could she do if that happened?

  Fear powered her adrenaline production, and Nessa moved at a faster pace than usual. The woods opened up into a meadow that Nessa hadn’t expected to reach yet—she was really cooking. She realized she was almost back on the road, and the run almost over. Nessa was hit with relief just as she broke through the thickest stand of trees and into the full moonlight. After the long run through darkness, it was sud
denly so bright Nessa nearly had to squint.

  The meadow stretched behind the house of a farmer whose land butted right up against the trail, and Nessa scanned across the field for movement. Straining for a glimpse of Cynthia, Nessa saw something at the end of the meadow, a dark shape against the light grass. She could not judge how tall the figure was or whether it was Cynthia or maybe a spooked deer, and then it was gone. With a renewed burst of energy, Nessa shot forward after it.

  She could hear the voice in her head telling her to slow down, telling her she didn’t want to gas out. But for once, she didn’t listen. As the tips of the grasses brushed her elbows, she heard the wind making a rushing sound, saw a gust dip into the grass on her left, like it was a hand making a print in wet sand. She lifted her knees higher, pushed out her chest, and sped up even more. Running out here—running totally alone—running in the dark where nothing looked quite like itself—maybe this was how you released what you had to release to go fast.

  At the end of the meadow, Nessa plunged back into the woods, still going full tilt, hearing her own breathing in her ears, straining to see down the path for another glimpse of Cynthia, holding out the hope that maybe the spurt of fast feeling she’d had in the meadow would translate into a gain on her rival.

  But Cynthia wasn’t there.

  Then who was? Nessa saw another flash of something out up ahead. The trail twisted. It was definitely something.

  She heard a sound—a small cry—and for a second it all came together. Cynthia must have hurt herself. She must be lying on the ground. A sprain? Something worse? By now Nessa was close to the spot where she’d seen the dark shape move. Cynthia gave a plaintive whine that ended with a shrill yip. And then a warning bark.