Page 40 of The Narrow

“Grace?” Delphine asks.

“It seemed like it,” I say.

“She’s trying to get in. I’m trying to get out,” she muses. She frowns. She sits on her bed with a pillow clutched in her lap. She’s only finger-combed her hair, and a few strands stick out wildly. I have to resist the urge to brush them back into place. “It’s like I became connected to her that night. Somehow, I’m bound to her. We’re drawn to each other.”

“Her name was Grace Carpenter. Oster told me about her—she was his student,” I tell her.

She looks at me sharply. “She’s real.”

I nod. “And if we know her full name, maybe we can find out more about her. Mr.Campos mentioned there were newspapers at the library. We could look there.”

“Let me grab my things,” she says wryly, and I wince.

“I can go look,” I correct myself.

There’s a knock on the bedroom door. I instinctively step back, putting more distance between me and Delphine before the door opens and Madelyn enters.

“Hi, Eden. I need to chat with Delphine a moment,” she says, an unsubtle signal for me to take off.

“Right,” I say. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Let me know how it goes,” Delphine says.

Madelyn gives us a curious look but doesn’t ask as I slink out the door. I’ve barely reached the stairs when I hear their voices pick up again. They don’t sound happy.

Ten minutes later, I’m heading out the door. I cut across campus toward the library, and I’m so lost in my own thoughts that atfirst I don’t realize that someone is calling my name.

“Eden. Eden!” I whip around. Veronica is jogging toward me, a scowl on her face. “I texted you like eight times,” she says.

“I didn’t see,” I say. I hadn’t even turned my phone on yet today.

“We’re heading out. Are you coming or not?” she asks.

I blink at her for a moment before I remember what she’s talking about. Vespers shopping. The shopping trip is its own tradition. It all seems so pointless right now.

“I’m busy,” I say. “Research.”

“Research for what?” she asks, incredulous.

“It’s a personal project,” I say defensively.

Her frown deepens. “You are being so sketchy, Eden. Did I do something to piss you off? I know I wasn’t in touch as much as usual this summer, but with all the travel and Remi being around—”

I make a frustrated noise. “It’s not you,” I insist.

“Then what is it? It’s senior year. We’re supposed to be having fun. But even when you’re around, you’re like a little black hole,” she complains, throwing her hands up.

“Sorry to be such a drag,” I say bitterly.

Veronica puts a hand on her hip. “I’m notcomplaining; I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you!”

“Wrong with me?”

“You know what I mean. I don’t know what’s going on with you, that’s all,” she says in a huff.

“Maybe you would if you ever asked,” I snap. But she never does. None of them have. They’ve never pressed, never expressed interest. My summers have always been three sentences and ashrug, and I’m suddenly furious that they’ve never noticed, never cared. They’re always so eager to let me turn the conversation back to them and their problems and their fun little anecdotes about their perfect families.

She glowers. “Iamasking,” she says. Our voices are loud enough that a few people glance over curiously, but I don’t care.

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