Page 48 of The Narrow

There is something wrong with the light outside. A thin crust of gray clouds covers the sky, and the light has an odd silver haze to it that makes everyone seem like they’re moving too suddenly, unevenly.

All I want to do is curl up by myself, but I promised Veronica I would meet everyone at Westmore. She apologized. She’s trying. I should try, too.

Normally, I’m the quietest member of the group during hangouts. Even Zoya opens up when she’s around the three of us, but I prefer to listen. Veronica has always teases that I’m like a puppet-master villain in one of Zoya’s books, gathering up secrets until I usurp the throne unexpectedly in the finale.

The silence helps me keep my secrets, but more than that, I’ve alwayslikedlistening to my friends talk about their lives. Different problems than my own. Different joys.

Tonight, despite my best efforts, I can barely focus on their words, and that hideous, corrosive resentment eats away at me. They can just be here in this room; I’m here, but I’m also in the pool house, Dylan’s arm over my shoulder, and no matter how hard I focus onnow, I look over my shoulder and there it is in perfect detail.

And tonight, they aren’t content to let me stay quiet. It’s infuriatingly obvious that Veronica talked to them, and all three are intent on drawing me out with questions they’ve clearly prepared and divvied up ahead of time. By the time I finally escape, I’ve been bombarded with tiny inquiries about my day and my opinions and my plans for the week.

They’re trying to be good friends, I tell myself. So am I. We’re all sucking at it.

“Want an escort?” Ruth asks when I get up to go. Technically, it’s already a few minutes past senior curfew, but as long as I’m heading in the direction I’m supposed to be, I know no one will give me trouble over it.

“To protect me from all those Atwood muggers?” I ask.

“Or damp ghosts,” Ruth suggests laughingly.

I stare at her. Then at Veronica, who blanches. Ruth’s face falls. “You told them?” I ask. I hadn’t told her to keep it to herself, but I’d assumed she understood how personal it was.

“Eden—” she says.

“What? I mean, I realize you’re spooked, but it’s not like ghosts are real,” Ruth says. “It’s just a fun story, right?” She looks between us.

Zoya shrinks against the couch cushions, eyes on her lap.

“Let us walk you back,” Veronica says.

I shake my head angrily. “I’ll take my chances.”

No one follows me as I stomp out of Westmore. The campus is blessedly quiet this time of night. Dark and empty. Sunset gets earlier quickly this far north, and twilight has given way thoroughly to true night. The old-fashioned streetlamps dotted around campus are enough to see where you’re going, but it’s a far cry from the constant illumination of the city.

I pass another senior hustling to his dorm as I leave Westmore, but as I get closer to Abigail House, it’s like the rest of the campus ceases to exist. As if I’m the only living soul outside. I pick up the pace, regretting my decision to stay out after dark.

The rain is no more than a single drop. A cold point of impact against the back of my hand. And then another, catching me right at the curve between my shoulder and my neck.

I’ve walked through rain and darkness countless times before, and nothing has happened to me. As long as I towel off thoroughly inside, everything will be fine.

A footstep scrapes behind me, trampled leaves crackling underfoot.

Just my imagination.

I don’t look back. If I look back, it might be real. I walk briskly, refusing to run. The rain keeps up, so light I wouldn’t notice it under normal circumstances.

The footsteps continue. One steady step. One that scrapes along the ground.

Then another sound. Liquid. Gurgling.Guh, guh, guh.

I walk faster. It doesn’t matter. The steps are always right behind me.

I need to get in. Get dry.Don’t let it in.

If I keep the water out, I’ll be safe. She can’t follow.

I’m at the door. My hands are shaking. I can’t remember the code. The footsteps are coming up behind me and so is the drip of water, too steady to be the sporadic rain.

Behind me. Right behind me. I punch in the code, the light blinks green, I turn the handle. And I stop.

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