Asher Raith is striding across the field at a steady but relaxed pace, exactly the way I saw him hundreds of times way back when. The breeze ruffles his fawn-brown hair just like in our memorial photo, though the waves are a little longer andshaggier now. His jaw has firmed and his shoulders broadened slightly.
But it’s him. It’s him, here, alive?—
I roll over, and there he is. My best friend, the boy I’ve loved from almost the moment we met, sprawled on the asphalt just inches away. His arms lie askew by his sides. Blood streams from beneath his jacket to mingle with the puddles of rainwater.
It’s red, so red, and Asher’s skin is so pale I’m not sure he’s got any blood left.
This is what I did.
A sharp laugh behind me snaps me out of the remembered nightmare.
In my daze, I’ve been gaping at Asher. My eyes have started to burn.
And the boy who was once my only friend is pausing just a few paces away, gazing back at me with his brow knitting.
My palm stings beneath my glove, where my bond mark used to be. A hook in my heart tugs me toward him?—
I stiffen my legs before they can move.
No.No.Fuck.
Of course he’s still alive. In this reality, we’ve probably never even spoken to each other. Because Other Elodie would obviously never have given a charity case anything but a sneer.
I can’t risk him shaking up my mission here. Can’t risk me shaking uphislife any way at all.
I already destroyed him once. I’m not going through that all over again.
Which means I need him to keep his distance.
A light but caustic remark lilts off my tongue much too easily after a weekend of studying my snooty doppelganger. “Stare any longer and I’ll have to start charging.”
Asher’s expression twitches, not quite a flinch. Salvatore was right—there wasn’t much that he let get to him, outwardly at least.
He turns away, and so do I, just as a playful arm slips around mine.
“There you are, girlie!” Mia Somerset grins up at me, her tiny frame making even my five-foot-four feel tall. “Busy weekend? I didn’t hear from you at all.”
A more statuesque woman walks over to us with a gracefully athletic gait. “Yes, you have been suspiciously quiet.” She raises a teasing eyebrow.
It’s Stella Kingsley, the classmate who showed up in Other Elodie’s videos the most alongside the twins and Cadance Hathaway. I only have vague memories of Stella from my own existence, but this version of her wears her light auburn hair tied back like mine does, today in an artfully messy braid.
I don’t think the other Stella ever took any direct shots at me, but the Kingsleys are up there with the Devines in prominence. She definitely never smiled at me like she is now. She probably never met my eyes other than to look down her nose.
While I was still prepping myself for this role, I didn’t dare jump into the group text thread the five friends had going. Now, I give them a sheepish smile of my own. “I was busy, but nothing all that interesting. Family stuff, you know?”
For good measure, I add a roll of my eyes that I practiced yesterday until my eyeballs were ready to fall out.
Madison saunters over and leans in to rest her chin on her twin’s shoulder. “Are we going inside or what? The humidity is killing my hair.” She tugs at a strand of her bob with a frown.
“Like you’ve got enough hair to worry,” Cadance retorts as she arrives. She primps her loose ringlets, which look artfully coiffed to me, and sighs.
Over the weekend, I found the easiest way to offset my anxiety about this meet-up was to think of Other Elodie’s besties not as mean girls who’ll be scrutinizing my every word, but as a pack of dogs I need to corral like my double did. Elegant Stella would obviously be an Irish Setter. Cadance is pure pretentious poodle. The twins are nearly the same breed, though Mia’s more of a chipper Yorkie type and Madison a sturdier Border Terrier.
Put on a confident front while stroking their egos, and I’ll master them just fine.
I go with the flow, letting the four of them herd me into Thesan Hall. It’s the larger of the two academic buildings dedicated to senior classes, named after a deity of light like every other structure on campus to fit the Luminary theme.
My performance must pass the smell test, because the other girls chatter on around me without any sign of sensing a change. Or maybe they’re just so self-involved they wouldn’t notice if I sprouted phoenix wings.
