Ellie Sandberg would love to reinvent herself. When she earns a spot at an elite boarding school for young inventors, it seems like the perfect opportunity: A summer away from home, away from her overprotective parents, and away from the hopeless cr...
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E L L I E
We stand in a tight cluster, high above the lake. I have no idea how long we've been here. Minutes? Hours? There's no way of telling time, aside from sun's descent toward the horizon, and the growing ache in the arches of my feet.
The breeze feathers my hair, but otherwise I remain completely still—as unmoving as the shelf of solid granite beneath my tennis shoes. No one makes a sound. Hushed words and nervous laughs have long since given way to silence. I can only hear the whisper of the wind and the crackle of the yellow caution tape, fluttering against the rocks.
That tape wasn't there the last time I came to this place. Its presence feels unnatural—too bright, too glaring—slashing through my view of the white cottonball clouds that fill the sky and cast their shifting shadows across the landscape.
\\CAUTION \\CAUTION \\CAUTION\\
The bold black warning seeps its way into my consciousness. It reminds me of that feeling during a dream, right before you wake. That flickering ember of doubt that catches hold and slowly spreads before the dream goes up in flame—that little voice inside your head that whispers: "Hey, Ellie... Ellie? Ellie! Has it occurred to you that none of this is real?"
If only my brain would say that to me now. I keep waiting for it to happen, but the sick feeling in my stomach tells me that I won't get out of this nightmare so easily.
I shouldn't be here...
Maybe I should go back down...
The program director ordered us not to come to the cliff, but we gathered anyway. One-by-one, we made our way up the narrow trail from the edge of campus. Now, we stand shoulder to shoulder behind the tape. Nineteen summer students.
All but one.
I'm toward the back of the group, behind the juniors and seniors. I can't tell what's going on in the water below from my vantage point, but I have a view of Maddox's profile. For once, his eyes aren't covered up by glasses. He stares straight ahead, rigidly expressionless, casting his eyes downward over the cliff's edge. A tic vibrates at the corner of his jaw. His face gives away no other hint of the of the emotions churning beneath the surface.
What is he feeling? Hope? Fear? Guilt?
I can't begin to guess. I hardly know him, after all. The thought curdles inside my throat like sour milk. Last night, I thought I might be in love with him... What a joke. It's only been two weeks since the day we met—the day I first arrived at Winthrop Academy.
The girl beside him clasps Maddox on the arm, her fingers digging into the flesh above his wrist. I press forward and go up on my tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the water down below, as a whisper runs through the group:
"They found something."
***
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