Page 18 of The Narrow

“You just want me all to yourself,” I say lightly. Maybe I should regret agreeing to live in Abigail House. There’s something strange about it. Andsomethinghappened to Aubrey. But Delphine is there, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to talk to her more.

“Obviously,” Veronica says. “You’re going to be BFFs with Delphine Fournier, and I’m going to be all alone and tragic and die of consumption like a Victorian heroine, which is really more your thing anyway.”

“You’ve got Remi,” I remind her.

“Mm. I do have Remi,” she says with half-lidded eyes, and I make anew, grossexpression so she’ll laugh.

“Thanks for the shirt,” I say, hoping she’ll leave me to maneuver my way into it on my own.

Then Veronica’s eyes widen. “What happened to your back?” she asks.

I put my hand to the base of my spine instinctively, and the skin twinges, tender. I twist around, looking at my reflection.

A circular bruise, dark and mottled, marks the skin at the base of my spine. It looks only a few days old, but it can’t be. That was almost two weeks ago.

Yet here it is. The imprint of a knee in vivid purple. I swallow, feeling sick. “I fell,” I say. “I’m fine.”

I fell and I lay there, cheek pressed against the sticky carpet.

“You’re sure?” Veronica asks, eyes troubled.

“I’m sure. Go back to the dining room. I’ll be right there,” I tell her.

Reluctantly, Veronica obeys. I brace my hands on the counter. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” I whisper to myself.

My phone chimes. I’ve left it on the counter next to my bloodied shirt, and I can read the notification from here. It’s a text from a number I don’t know. Five words that send an inexplicable shiver of dread down my spine.

Have you seen her yet?

9

I SIT THROUGHRussian lit, barely listening. The text from the unknown number still glares from my phone screen. The bruise at my back makes it hard to find a comfortable way to sit, and my arm throbs, as if the pain has been awakened again. Staring atThe Brothers Karamazovwithout comprehending a word, I wonder wildly if it will ever heal or if it will always hurt. A thing like that shouldn’t heal cleanly beneath the skin, unseen. It should make its presence known.

You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?

They all said those words. Dylan, voice sickly sweet as I breathed in ragged, whining gasps. Luke, expression teetering between pale panic and indignant rage and finally shuttered indifference.

My mother, leaving for the airport, fretful.

You know what I’ll do to you.

You know what would happen.

You know this is his last chance.

No one can know that Luke broke his probation by hanging out with Dylan, and so no one can know what happened to me.

Class is over. I don’t think I’ve said one word the entire time. Not good. Loud gets you noticed but so does quiet. The key is to be middling at everything. Good enough; never great. I have to pay more attention.

Have you seen her yet?the text asks as I check the time.

Seen who?I ask.Who is this?

There’s no answer.

I find Mrs.Clarke in her office. She’s wearing reading glasses andhmming over a stack of forms, which she shuffles out of the way when I come in.

“Eden. What can I do for you?” she asks, all brisk and professional.

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