Five

A few days later, when I’m running with Stacey, I ask her about Roman. I wait until we are heading up toward the Lost Mine Trail, hoping she’ll be too focused on the ascent to wonder why I’m so interested.

But she laughs, as if she’s been expecting me to ask. “He’s only the most eligible bachelor in Lithia,” she says. “And this isn’t a town crawling with bachelors, so you can imagine. He’s also one of the youngest stars in the history of the Lithia Theater Company.”

“How old is he?” It occurs to me just then that I hadn’t been able to tell—there’s something ageless about Roman’s face.

“Not sure,” she says. “Twenty-five, twenty-six? It’s hard to tell.”

“I can see why he’s a star here. He’s an amazing actor.”

“Don’t tell David,” she says, “but I had a huge crush on Roman. Before David came to Lithia, of course.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, who doesn’t? But it’s a little embarrassing—I practically threw myself at him. He’s the type of guy who won’t even look at anyone at least five years younger, and here I am, five years older.”

“He must have a lot of girlfriends.”

“That’s the weird thing,” she says. “He’s never had a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. He’s not gay, as far as I can tell, because he’s got plenty of guys who’d love to go out with him, too. He’s just a loner, or a workaholic, or both.” She gives me a sidelong look. “Are you hoping to be the one who gets him to change his mind?”

I feel my face turn redder than it already is from our uphill climb. “No, I’m just curious. I talked to him at the party last night.”

“Just curious?” She laughs. “Yeah, so was I. So what’d you talk about?”

“He suggested we go for a run sometime.”

Stacey goes silent. We’ve just entered the trail and are hitting steep dirt, and I can feel her beginning to pull away again. I don’t have time to wonder why she keeps doing this; it takes too much energy to stay with her. I feel her glance over at me as we head deeper into the woods, and that’s when I notice that it’s beginning to get dark. The trail suddenly feels dangerous.

“You ready to turn around?” I ask, a prickle of some unknown fear running up my spine.

“Tired already?”

“I can hardly see the trail anymore.”

“Wimp,” she says. “You know, Roman is a night runner. If you want to be his new running buddy, you’d better get used to it.”

A night runner—how does she know that?

Then she turns, so quickly that I trip as I try to follow her. I land on my left knee and feel a deep scratch, a twig or tree branch probably. She doesn’t stop or even slow down. By the time I stand up, she’s already around the bend. I guess I’ve struck a nerve.

I lean down to take a look at my bleeding knee—and then I hear it. A whisper. A man’s voice.

That’s enough to get me moving again, despite the painful scratch. I start down the hill, fast. But it’s not fast enough. I hear that voice, whispering in words I don’t understand. It’s like another language, only it’s not one I’ve ever heard before.

I stumble again and land face-first in the dirt. I hear a rustling noise—this time it’s right in front of me—and I bite my lips to keep from screaming. I don’t want to look up but I do.

It’s a deer, standing on the trail right in front of me. Frozen. Frightened, like me.

I exhale, and with that the deer takes two quick steps and disappears back into the woods. I push myself to my feet and look behind me. The trail is empty.

I must have heard the wind. It was only the wind.

A hand grabs my shoulder. This time I do scream, whirling around and pulling myself away at the same time.

“Kat!” It’s Stacey. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I say.

“I looked back and you were gone.” Then she looks at my knee. “Did you fall?”

I look down. Blood is dripping onto my new socks and shoes. I reach down and dab at the cut with my hands, but the sweat only mixes with the blood and stings. I’m worried about my new shoes. But then I hear another rustle in the woods, and I straighten up again. I look at Stacey and can tell that she heard it, too.

“Perhaps we should call it a day,” she says, and I agree.

We head back to town at a slower pace, an easy jog, and she never acknowledges that she’d turned and left me behind. I’m starting to wonder if that was all in my imagination, and so I don’t mention it either.