I snort, caught off guard by how much the sound hurts coming out. “She’s not wrong. I haven’t seen a real stove since September. Are you still working at the diner?”
She groans, dramatic. “Don’t remind me. They cut my hours, but at least I’m not dead. Did you pass the scholarship test thing? Auntie Kay said you’re killing it, but you never answer her texts.”
There’s a hitch in her voice when she says it, a little blade hidden in the question. I want to tell her everything, but I can’t even find the words for what’s happened to me. Instead, I picture the kitchen at home, back when everything was okay: sticky floor, calendar with crossed-out days, the smell of chocolate chipcookies in the air. I let myself stand in that kitchen for three whole seconds before the chill seeps back in and I have to move.
“I passed,” I say. “I’m actually at Westpoint now.”
She shrieks, and the sound is so real, so goddamn alive, that it hurts even more. “Fuck, Evie! You’re a beast!”
I laugh again, the real kind, and keep walking. My feet crunch over the gravel path, but I’m not looking at the ground anymore. I let her talk about her new boyfriend, about the cat that keeps pissing on her bed, about her dumb friends and their even dumber plans for the future. She doesn’t ask anything else about Westpoint. She doesn’t ask about what I had to do to stay here.
The conversation drifts, softens. She asks me what I’m doing now, and I lie, say I’m going to study in the library, say I’ve got to prep for the next round of exams. She’s proud, I can hear it, but I can also hear how far away I am. When she hangs up, it’s with a promise to call next week. I know she won’t, but it doesn’t matter.
I keep walking, not paying attention to the path. It’s only after my phone goes dead in my hand that I realize I’ve wandered off course. The lights are gone, the sky open and low. I’m on the edge of the field, the field they never talked about during campus tours.
The grass is trampled in uneven rows, a patchwork of dead spots where nothing grows. There are stone markers here, low to theground, and a giant, flat boulder with what looks suspiciously like blood stains on it.
A slow dread creeps up my spine.
I glance back toward campus. The buildings are lit up, gold and white, but it’s so far away. I could scream, and no one would hear.
There’s a sound behind me, and suddenly I am not alone.
I turn, careful not to stumble, and there he is.
He’s not anyone I know. He’s not even young, though the lines on his face are soft enough to fool someone less desperate. His suit is impeccable, dark as can be, and his shoes are so polished they hurt to look at. He’s standing just at the edge of the field, hands in his pockets, gaze cold.
I don’t know who he is, but every inch of me knows he doesn’t belong here. Not at this hour. Not with that look in his eye.
“Lost?”
I shake my head, too proud to show how much my heart stutters at the word.
He starts walking, slow and measured, as if the ground itself bends for him. “It’s dangerous here for a little lamb like you.”
I try to keep my spine straight, but I’m already shrinking. “I know. I was just… I was on the phone. I wasn’t paying attention.”
He steps closer. I can smell his cologne now, a heavy, expensive musk that masks something chemical underneath. There’s a ring on his finger, platinum, the band thick enough to double as a weapon.
“You’re Eve, aren’t you?”
His question lands flat, not really a question at all. I nod.
He circles me, slow, like he’s sizing up a purchase. I keep my eyes forward, because if I look at him, I think I might break.
“You’ve made quite an impression,” he says softly. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
I want to run. I want to disappear into the ground. But I know if I turn my back, he’ll pounce.
Instead, I stay still, let him finish his orbit.
He stops just behind my left shoulder, close enough that I feel the chill off his suit.
“You know what happens on this field?” he whispers.
I say nothing.
He chuckles. “What a wonderful surprise it will be when you do find out.”
