buzzes. Forty minutes.
Mel sets the laptop aside and hurries down to the basement.
How long did the girls wait for Mel before giving up hope that she’d come back down?
Did Luci come knocking on her door again? Discover that Mel had been sleeping peacefully while the rest of them were in turmoil?
She tiptoes away from the daylight and down to the basement, where it is cool and silent and pitch black.
Maybe none of the girls are here.
Maybe they abandoned her.
If they did, Mel wouldn’t blame them.
But no. The hallway opens up to a room full of bodies. Nineteen girls snuggled into blankets and sleeping bags. Peaceful. Mel tiptoes over, stepping soundlessly between them. Not a single one stirs. They are that exhausted, that emotionally spent. She feels an aching tenderness for them.
Mel’s bedding is still on the floor, where she first laid it out so many hours ago. She usually brought a sleeping bag to Psych-Ups but since this was her house, Mel had constructed a bed for her and Phoebe to share. A bed Phoebe is currently in, her limbs tucked in tight, careful even in sleep to leave space for Mel. But tonight she’s shared a bed with a phantom.
If she had any tears left, Mel would cry them for Phoebe.
She’d confirmed, via Coach’s correspondence, that the Truman scout had only come to see the Wildcats play once.
It was not at the championship game, as Coach had told Phoebe. A lie Phoebe still believed.
It was the game in November. The one Mel had kept secret from her best friend, per Coach’s request. That glorious game.
Clearing up this misunderstanding led Mel into the worst discovery of this whole disgusting mess. One that finally broke her, tears silently spilling down her face, her chest hitching in silent sobs.
They’d played so spectacularly, their hearts straining the seams of their varsity jerseys with the love they had for each other and the game, that Truman was interested in Mel and Phoebe. And they’d planned to invite them both to their summer tryout weekend.
Obviously there’s no saying Truman would have taken both of them. But Coach robbed Phoebe of her chance. He’d lied to her, exploited Phoebe’s love of Mel to coax her back on the field before she was ready. And for what? The only reason Mel can think of is that Coach had wanted his best accomplishment as a field hockey coach—earning six state championships in six seasons—to remain intact.
Had he felt any remorse?
No. Because he continued to use Phoebe—or rather sacrifice her—to advance himself as a candidate at Trident.
Mel knows she can never tell Phoebe about Coach’s Truman scouting lie. She will take this to her grave. Not to protect Coach, but because Phoebe believes her sacrifice had helped Mel. Mel getting into Truman made it all worth it.
Another buzz. Thirty minutes left.
Even if Mel has no idea what they’ll say when they get there, if the girls want to be at Coach’s office on time, she needs to wake everyone up now. So she doesn’t hit snooze, and instead lets the alarm continue to buzz, buzz, buzz.
The girls begin lifting their heads. All nineteen, undone and unrested, barely coherent.
Mel too. The fumes that carried her down here have now evaporated. She’s got a headache, a pulsing knot of regret in the center of her forehead.
She never should have let Coach take this night away from her.
Not take. Steal.
He had to steal it from Mel because she refused to willingly give it to him.
That must have come as a shock to Coach. Mel never went against his wishes. When he wanted something from her, she delivered. Except this time.
But why?
Because Mel knew in her heart that Coach wanted something that didn’t belong to him.
It belonged to the girls. The team. The Wildcats.
And just like that, it comes to her. Mel knows exactly what to do.
“It’s okay,” Mel whispers, turning off the alarm. “Everyone go back to sleep.”
There is not a peep of resistance.
Mel wriggles underneath her comforter, shivers to warm up. Phoebe rolls over. Her eyes flutter open for a moment, then close. Mel isn’t sure if she actually saw her, but then Phoebe curls against her, as if she knew Mel would sleep best clinging to something she loved.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 27
11:00 A.M.
PHOEBE
Someone whispers, “Mel, Mel,” but it’s Phoebe who first lifts her head off the pillow.
She has no idea how long she’s been asleep. Or what time it might be. Or when Mel came down from her bedroom and joined