Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,4

After all, they are best friends, and have known each other since way before I came into the picture. Justin once told me that Angela is like the sister he never had, and physically she’s not at all like the long line of fair, willowy blondes he’s been associated with, of which I’m the latest. She’s not fat, but she’s solid, with wild, curly black hair and dark skin that turns almost chocolate in the sun. Angela was afraid that she would feel like a third wheel on this trip, which is why she invited Hugo, but she and Justin have so much in common, sometimes I feel like the odd person out.

I’ve heard the story a thousand times. They met on a skiing trip at Sugarloaf when they were both trying to learn the bunny slope. Their parents became friends and then they found out that they both lived in Wayview, so they kept in touch, going on vacations together sometimes in the winter and summer. Angela went to a private school in Massachusetts, but when I came up, my father insisted I go to the public school, mostly because we didn’t have the money. Justin was in my class, but I didn’t know him well. When we reached high school, Angela successfully convinced her parents to transfer her to public school by failing out of every class she took. Her parents thought that with my father teaching at Wayview High, maybe she’d be inclined to goof off less. Freshman year, she introduced me to Justin, but I didn’t think anything of it other than that he was really cute. He was dating some other blonde in our class, but we always seemed to get thrown together when Angela had parties. It wasn’t until junior year, when I had to do an article on the swim team for yearbook, that we fell for each other. He was the captain, and he came by the yearbook office one day after school to identify all the people in the group photo. He was leaning over me, really close, and then he just moved in and kissed me. We made out for an hour, right in the yearbook office. I remember constantly saying, “But Angela …,” and him whispering, “Angela has nothing to do with this.”

I snatch the pillow up and dust it off. It’s not that bad. I feel stupid for overreacting. Hugo confirms the fact by snapping a picture of me and captioning it “Girl About to Explode.” He grins. “Not like there probably aren’t four thousand pillows in this place.”

I push the camera out of my face. I’m about to explain that my pillow is hypoallergenic and my allergies are always worst in the spring and it’s the only pillow I’ve found that’s comfortable enough, but he’s right. I do need to loosen up. Funny, I’ve spent so much energy trying to convince my dad that he’d be okay if he took the shackles off my wrists that I never even thought about whether I would be okay once I finally got loose. This is my first trip away from my dad, away from home. And that is thrilling … but terrifying.

I stifle a sneeze, then cross my arms over my chest, pinching my skin and mentally reciting my motto: You will be chill. Ice cubes will be jealous of you.

I’m about to pick up my backpack from Justin’s feet but stop when I see something in the woods. The curve of an elbow, pale white against the lush green, still and stark among the new leaves as they sway in the wind. But the next second, it’s gone. I suck in a breath, exhale slowly. The last thing I need to be doing is seeing things. Again.

The thing is, nobody here knows about my mother. Not even Angela. Hell, I don’t really even know. The mystery Nia Levesque became a part of is five hundred miles away, and I’d like it to stay there. Nobody here knows my history. And I’m going to keep it that way.

Chapter Two

It’s been almost ten years since I moved into the tall pines of Wayview, Maine, the last place on earth I’d have picked to live, if it was up to me.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

So I guess that means it will be the tenth anniversary of my mom’s death. Not that I’m keeping track. We left New Jersey only a couple weeks afterward, and we’ve never been back.

These are the facts I have: