I want nothing more than to run away, to escape Rachel’s torment, but Mr. Detmer patrols the halls and I know I can’t leave under his watchful eye.

Which means enduring classes with Rachel.

Starting right after lunch. With gym.

Personally, I think gym after lunch is an absolutely horrible idea, since we all usually feel so gross after eating that running or doing sports is the last thing we want to do. Which is probably why the adults make us do it. I mean, gym class in general has to be their way to get back at us for being, well, kids.

I didn’t eat anything for lunch.

I still feel gross.

I rush through changing into my gym clothes and try to ignore Rachel at the other end of the locker room, laughing and joking with the rest of our classmates—especially the sporty girls who have never actually spoken to Rachel before.

“You really think you can beat me?” Christina says.

She and Rachel seem to have gotten really close in the last twenty-four hours, which is ironic since she’s the reason Rachel and I stopped being friends in the first place.

Rachel grins. “I know it.”

Christina holds out her hand. “All right, then, you’re on. If you lose, you do my homework for a week.”

“And if you lose, I get to go on the boat with you and Bradley this weekend.”

“Deal.”

Rachel smiles and takes Christina’s hand. I can’t help but notice the glint of Rachel’s skin, the water that seems to constantly drip from her. Christina doesn’t seem to sense it. Either that, or she doesn’t care. I have to think it’s the former, which makes me wonder what sort of strange power Rachel has over everyone.

I don’t know what sort of contest they were talking about. Whatever it is, I really don’t want Rachel to win. Her on a boat with Bradley and Christina and the rest? Who knows what sort of terrible things she’d tell them about me?

When we line up on the basketball court I notice all the stations of equipment grouped about the gym.

Oh no.

We’re doing our PE trials.

A couple times a year we have to do the PE trials, which is basically the height of teacher cruelty. We’re actually graded on how much we improve over the year, over things like how fast we climb a rope that’s so frayed it gives you splinters, or how many sit-ups you can do without vomiting (again, especially horrible after lunch), or how high you can jump from standing.

They say it’s to motivate us to stay active.

I think it’s because they like seeing us suffer.

Our gym teacher, Mrs. Jenson, tells us the rules and points out the different stations, saying we’ll have one minute at each to do our very best. I only halfheartedly listen to her explanations. I’ve heard them before. We’ve all done these before. When we were still friends, Rachel and I had teamed up and spent the entire time making jokes, causing each other to flop down halfway through sit-ups or jumping jacks in tears of laughter. Clearly, that’s not the case any longer.

I am really aware of her, a few kids down from me, and the hungry smile on her face as she looks out at the gym. There’s a glint in her eye that is positively devilish. Is she going to try to sabotage me here? Cut the rope while I’m climbing it or put thumbtacks behind my back while I’m doing crunches? I can’t even begin to imagine what she’ll dream up. It has to be horrible, for her to be so excited.

Or maybe it’s because she wants to win her bet with Christina. My gut clenches. I never thought I’d want this, but I really hope Christina beats her.

Mrs. Jenson counts us off into groups. I cross my fingers and hope she doesn’t group me with Rachel.

My luck is really bad today.

Rachel and I are grouped with two other kids, Hector and Raul. She leans forward to smile at me from down the row and even has the nerve to give me a thumbs-up.

Our group is sent over to the sit-up station first. Hector and Raul partner up. Raul lies back and Hector kneels over Raul’s knees, holding him steady.

“I’ll let you go first,” Rachel says sweetly to me. I grimace. I don’t want to be partnered with her. I don’t want her touching me. But it looks like I don’t have a choice. Mrs. Jenson calls out to get ready, we’re about to start. Too late to fake sick now.

I lie on the cold mat and cross my arms over my chest. Rachel settles at my feet, resting her knees on the top of my toes and placing her hands on my knees.

I jolt when she touches me.

Her hands are cold and slimy, and I can already feel water dripping down my knees.

Mrs. Jenson’s whistle blows, and all thoughts of being uncomfortable fly from my head as I start to do as many sit-ups as I can. My stomach burns and my chest hurts and all I can think of is doing more, more, and I have to close my eyes because if I look at Rachel’s smiling face I’ll freak myself out and run. When Mrs. Jenson finally blows her whistle again, I flop back on the mat with a huge gasp.

Rachel squeezes my knees. Her fingers grip like iron, even though it seems like she’s pretending to be friendly. I bite back a yelp of pain.

“Good job, Samantha,” she says. “I hope I can do as well as you.”

We switch places.

When Rachel lies back and I get up, I realize my knees are wet from her lifeless hands.

I settle in the same as she did, trying not to wince at how clammy even her knees feel—like grabbing on to damp bones—and Mrs. Jenson blows her whistle for the next group to start.

Rachel starts off normally enough. I count out loud with every sit-up.

“One, two, three—”

But as I watch, she starts going faster. And faster. So fast I can’t even keep up with her anymore—she’s a blur in front of me, moving so quickly that even Hector stops his own sit-ups to watch in awe.

When Mrs. Jenson blows her whistle again, Rachel sits up, not even winded, not even breaking a sweat, and smiles at me.

“How many was that?” she asks, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

“I don’t know,” I say when words finally work again. “I lost count.”

“Good,” she says, looking over to Christina, who is at the jumping jacks station and clearly reconsidering her bet. “I’m just dying to get out to the lake with my new friends.”

Then she hops to her feet to go to the next test.