“Wow. That’s some dedication to journalism right there,” Marshall said.
Hannah couldn’t tell whether he respected it. She kept her face neutral. “I’ve read some of your work, as well,” she said. “I really loved the piece about Belgium. About…”
Marshall waved his hand, as though that were yesterday’s news. “I used to do stuff I was proud of, sure. But these days, as I’m sure you know, we’re up to our ears with Nantucket events, silly stories that make the islanders smile. Honestly, it’s been a load off my mind. Do you want to know the last time I was threatened? It’s been years, now. I don’t miss it.”
Hannah remembered all the letters and emails she’d received in the wake of her Miami story, threatening words that she eventually hadn’t been able to read.
“I imagine it’s nice,” Hannah offered.
“I don’t miss the other side of this,” he told her. “But I have a hunch that you would.”
Hannah furrowed her brow, preparing to lie.
He held up his hand. “Suffice it to say, even if we could accommodate a harder-hitting piece or two, I don’t know if we could pay you what you’re worth. Looking at your résumé is intimidating for most of our staff.”
Hannah didn’t know what to say. Although she wanted to argue with Marshall, she guessed he was right. She was too good for this job, and she also wasn’t keen on making herself smaller for it. But before she could figure out how to respond, Marshall’s phone rang.
“Marshall Albrecht,” he answered curtly. And then, he got to his feet with shock. “You don’t say.”
Hannah was well-versed in matters of panic. She knew something was wrong.
“We’ll have someone come out there immediately,” Marshall said to whoever had called. “Thank you.” He hung up and sat down, his face drawn. He looked Hannah dead in the eye and asked, “Did you bring all this big city drama from Miami with you?”
Hannah cocked her head. Her first thought was Minnie—that something had happened or she’d acted out at school or run away already. But it couldn’t be.
“What happened?” Hannah asked.
“There’s been a mysterious death,” he said. “A wealthy man from Nantucket. One of our council members, in fact. Thomas Bard. He was found in the water.”
Hannah knew that a death like that in such a small, tight-knit community was a shocking thing. Probably, Thomas was beloved. Probably, a scandal was involved. She felt her journalistic instincts coming on strong.
“Do you want me to head out and ask a few questions?” she asked, sure that this kind of story was one that Marshall would give to someone like Hannah.
But Marshall shook his head. “Like I said, money’s tight at the paper, and we have staff on hand to cover this. But hey, maybe we can accommodate you down the line? Keep us in mind if you have any pitches. Oh, and welcome to Nantucket. Don’t be a stranger if you see me around.”
Marshall shook her hand again, then led her out the door. As she headed outside, she heard Marshall call out for one of the newspaper staff to come into his office for a meeting. She dared a glance back to see a man in his early thirties, excited, eager to dig his heels into this story. She ached with jealousy, then turned back to walk the rest of the way to her crummy secondhand car.
6
Minnie had never been the new kid before. Born and raised in a wealthy part of Miami, she’d always known exactly where she fit into society. She’d known that her father was beloved, that her mother was deemed “weird but fine,” and that Minnie herself was “sort of funny,” “sort of pretty,” and “sort of good enough to be Gavin’s girlfriend.” Now, dropped into the context of Nantucket Island, she had no idea what she was, besides just “new.”
During first period Spanish class, Minnie was asked to introduce herself to her classmates in Spanish. Because she’d been raised in Miami, her Spanish was much better than everyone else’s, which her teacher adored. Of course, the other students looked at her scornfully, annoyed that she was making them look bad. Minnie made a mental note to speak worse, if only to show them that she understood where she fit.
She wasn’t here to step on anyone’s toes.
Minnie’s next classes—English Literature, United States History, and Speech—went by without fanfare. Unfortunately, at the beginning of each class, Minnie was forced to introduce herself and say something about herself. Each time, Minnie said,“I’m Minnie Moore. I like music.” When the teacher asked what kind of music she liked, Minnie shrugged and said, “All kinds.” She didn’t want to talk more than she had to.
“Come on,” the history teacher pressed it. “Tell us your favorite band.”
But Minnie just shrugged and sat down.
During lunch, Minnie grabbed a table by herself near the window. From there, she could see everyone and try to deduce the societal hierarchy. Already, based on their blond hair, skinny legs, and fashion sense, she could tell who the popular girls were. Already, based on their cool black outfits and ironic way of speaking, she could tell who the “artsy” kids were. There were jocks, normies, and plenty of other nerd-adjacent kids, as well. Minnie saw nobody who looked like her friend, like someone who knew what a sunshiny Florida beach was. She couldn’t figure out where she’d fit.
She wondered if she’d live the rest of her sophomore year, plus her junior and senior years, alone.
That was when she spotted him. Sitting all by himself at the table on the opposite side of the lunchroom, he wore all black and had longish, shaggy black hair. His grilled cheese sandwich mostly abandoned, he was bent over a large sketchpad. Minnie wished she could see what he was drawing. But she was scared to stare at him too long. What if he glanced up and saw? What if he—the only cute and interesting-seeming boy at school—decided she was weird?
After a few nibbles on her sandwich, Minnie opened her book and started to read. It was a book about the future, a bleak and terrifying future that made her current reality feel more manageable. When she’d read books like this—fiction books that had nothing to do with the real world—her father had always said, “Why are you wasting time on crap like that?” Kendall liked self-help books. He liked to learn as much as he could about theworld and what he could make of it. For her sixteenth birthday, Kendall had given her a book about earning your first million before the end of college. She still had it, although she’d hardly cracked the spine.
