Page 100 of Reach Around

“I don’t care which Sawyer you are. Still not getting in. Go home.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Finally.

But it’s not Joely.

Mom:Not coming back tonight. Sorry.

I feel my blood turn to ice. I shoot a look to Lynsie, who’s suddenly frozen mid-step, her phone clutched to her hand.

She turns to me slowly. “It’s Beth.”

Everything in me goes still. Cold. Hyperaware.

I grab my phone and call her instantly.

“Mom,” I say, voice hoarse. “Where are you? Where’s Joely?”

Her sigh crackles through the line. “I’m at the hospital, Brogan. Joely’s in surgery.”

For a second, I can’t breathe. The whole bar gets blurry around the edges. I think of every time Joely’s been reckless—for a friend, for a stray dog, for me. Her on the lake in a storm because she wanted a better photo. Climbing that stupid rock for a joke. I always thought I’d be there to catch her. But this time I wasn’t. And suddenly, the idea of a world without Joely Parnell in it is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever tried to picture.

*****

Hospital parking lots suck.

They’re gray and grim and somehow always filled with the most complicated maze of minivans and pickup trucks. I don’t remember turning off the ignition. Just remember slamming the door and jogging through the sliding entrance, breath cloudingin the cold, heart hammering in my chest like I just finished a shift on the ice.

The waiting room smells like disinfectant and cheap coffee. Mom’s pacing near the vending machines, arms folded tight across her chest.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice low but sharp.

Beth stops moving, eyes tired. “She’s in recovery.”

“Recovery from what?” My gut’s doing pirouettes now. “What the hell happened? I saw her earlier. She was fine.”

“She fell,” Mom says.

Fell.

The word drops like a puck in sudden death. She motions for me to sit, but I can’t. I’m vibrating.

“She was working on a new message,” Beth continues, her tone softening, “on the sign.”

I blink. “Wait—the sign?”

Beth nods once. “The sign.”

“No. That was… that was Joely? For sure. You’re not lying?”

Mom gives me a look. One I’ve seen before. Usually when I’ve done something monumentally stupid.

“Brogan. Not Madeline. Not Pru. Not Lucinda. Not your contract team. Just Joely. The girl who’s been in love with you since forever and somehow still doesn’t think you’ve figured it out even though you’ve been desecrating my supply closet for months.”

I sink into the nearest plastic chair, mind spinning. “Twice. And I’m on my knees begging your forgiveness. So you’re saying that she climbed up the ladder… by herself?”

“She fell,” Mom says again, quieter this time. “Broke her ankle. She needed some pins, so they had to do surgery.”

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