Page 26 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

“What?”

“Today,” she clarifies. “What do you want to do today? You’ve been a bum all weekend. I thought maybe we could go to the running trail. I won’t run, obviously, but I’ll walk around the park while you run. I could use the exercise.”

Mom is already thinner than normal. If anything, she needs to sit down and eat, not more exercise.

I shake my head and pull the covers higher. “I don’t feel well. I just want to lie here.”

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart. You need some sunshine. Up and at ‘em.”

I groan, but she doesn’t even bat an eye.

Maybe she’s right though. Maybe a little exercise will help clear these horrible thoughts out of my brain.

After what happened over the summer, Mom considered moving us out of Ravenlake altogether. We moved here with my dad when I was still young.

Then, when he died, everything fell apart. We only stayed because it felt impossible to leave. To move off the couch. To move out of the house we’d all shared. To move on.

But when the bank foreclosed on the house, we were forced to start fresh. We moved into a shitty apartment and my mom worked hourly jobs to get by, all while dealing with her own grief.

We weren’t equipped to move on, but we were in stasis. An endless loop of getting by, until the routine became easy.

Then The Incident this summer happened, and our routine was shattered.

Just when Mom was applying for fast food jobs several towns over, trying to figure out which pieces from her dwindling jewelry collection would be enough for a down payment, Ravenlake Prep called.

Mom had applied for an open position there years before and been roundly rejected after her first interview. Suddenly, the school where Nico Barber had gone was offering her a follow-up interview.

As much as I wanted my mom to refuse it, it was solid hourly pay plus free tuition and schoolbooks for me, and she seemed so happy about our good fortune that I couldn’t say no when she asked me if I was okay with it.

The truth is that I am not okay with it. Especially not after what happened with Finn.

In fact, I’m very fucking far from okay. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

But lying in bed won’t change that. And Dr. Sharon has been very insistent that I “reclaim running for myself,” as she puts it. That’s therapist-babble for facing down what happened over the summer.

So, I lace up my running shoes and get in the car.

It’s a short drive over to the park. Mom puts the car in park and waves goodbye as I take off down the nearby trail.

It is a large circuit around a park with various trails that split off into the trees before reconnecting with the bigger trail later on.

Even when we lived on the other side of town, I would take the bus to get here and run on the trail. It was better than running through our neighborhood, and being surrounded by the press of foliage and the shade of the trees helped me think.

Once upon a time, I liked that isolation.

Now, I keep to the main path.

Running has always been my escape. I only took up art because I couldn’t physically run for hours every single day. I had to find a less strenuous outlet, but running is still my favorite. It is my first love, the enduring constant in my life.

There is a large hill in the middle that keeps half of the park hidden, but otherwise, I can see everything from the main trail. It isn’t quite as calming as running through the trees, but I can’t be in any enclosed space now without my heart racing and my breath quickening.

I know the exact path I took into the trees that night months ago.

As I pass it now, even in the light of a full Texas autumn day, I can almost hear the owls hooting in the trees the way they were. I can almost smell the dew that was gathering.

Looking up, I can see the sky. It is bright and blue right now.

But back then, it was jet-black, washed clean of stars by the city lights.

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