Page 93 of Beyond The Break

With my brows pulled together, I pick up the paper, goosebumps scattering across my whole body. It’s a one-way plane ticket out of Saltwater Springs for this upcoming Sunday.

She’s leaving? Why hasn’t she said anything to me about this yet?

I look up at her glowing computer screen and see that her browser is open on a direct message from one of the team’s social platforms. A picture of an article catches my eye because it’s Eliana’s face that’s printed on the front page. I lower myself into her chair and enlarge the picture, reading every heartbreaking word.

Why didn’t she tell me about this? About what they used to call her back home?

With shaking hands, I exit out of the picture and read the threatening message just below it. Whoever wrote this has scared her enough to follow through with leaving. I feel the panic that has been missing for the last few days return with avengeance at the thought of her leaving me behind. I pull my phone out and call Gabriel.

“Fin? What’s wrong?” he answers.

“I need to talk to you, in person, it’s an emergency.” I barely get the words out as my breathing becomes labored.

“I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up the phone and I sit for a few moments, eyes squeezed shut as I focus on regulating my breathing until the panic passes.

I look back at the message and click the profile, seeing that it has no pictures or information about who runs the account. I snap a picture of the message thread before I search the username on my phone and head to the meeting room to wait for Gabriel.

He shows up ten minutes later, as promised, bursting through the meeting room doors. He spots me sitting alone and closes the door behind him before slowly approaching me.

“What’s going on?” he asks, stopping across from me and leaning back on his desk.

“I just found out that somebody is threatening Eliana with some bullshit article claiming that she’s some sort of bad luck charm,” I say, pulling up the photo of the message thread on my phone and showing him. “They scared her enough that she ended up buying a one-way ticket out of town for this Sunday.”

He skims the article, his face morphing into frustration. “I thought I got rid of all of these.”

“You knew about the articles?” I ask, unable to hide the shock from my face.

He returns my phone to me and nods. “When I met her, there were pages and pages of these articles online. I had my people remove them, but I never thought about anyone still having physical copies left.”

“Do you think your people can find out who’s behind this account?” I show him the anonymous account on Instagram.

He nods. “I’m sure they can, send that to me and I’ll have them find out right now.”

Sure enough, his top-secret team of hackers identifies the person behind the account, and I feel sick to my stomach as I stare down at the report that they sent Gabriel.

Meghan Martinezis the owner of the account.

TWENTY-SEVEN

ELIANA

It’sSaturday night and the Kooky Coconut is packed with tourists visiting from out of town. Kairi, Maliah and I are in a booth near the back of the bar, a shot of tequila in front of each of us. Kairi insists we need to take a shot before girls’ night officially begins.

“The last time I drank tequila I woke up feeling like I got hit in the head by a boulder,” I mutter, eyeing my glass.

Kairi waves me off. “That’s just because it was your first shot ever, trust me it won’t be as bad this time around.”

“That’s what everyone says the night before they wake up with the worst hangover of their life,” Maliah chips in.

Kairi rolls her eyes and holds her glass up, waiting for us to join her. “I just want to say that I always knew we’d be good friends, but I never expected our friendship to feel like a sisterhood. I love you, girls.”

Her words cut right through me. I haven’t told them I’m leaving tomorrow. I haven’t told anyone, scared they would convince me to stay or worse, tell me to leave after they read the article.

“Eliana?” A voice pulls me out of my head, and I find bothgirls staring at me, brows furrowed in concern as they hold their empty shot glasses.

“Sorry,” I say before I take my shot.

My throat and chest grow warm as it travels down to my stomach. I make a face as the bitterness of the aftertaste hits me, stuffing a lime in my mouth.

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