Page 21 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

“Talk to me,” I say. “Please.”

She swallows hard. “That’s Melody.”

My stomach twists. “Melody, like...?”

“My best friend,” she whispers. “The one.”

Oh.Shit.

“She’s the one who?—”

“Yeah.”

I rub a hand over my jaw. I want to rip something apart. A chair. A tree. Maybe a guest lecture schedule.

“Did you know she was coming?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I saw the schedule last week. It just said ‘survival expert.’ I didn’t even?—”

Her voice cracks and she cuts it off.

I step closer. “You don’t have to talk to her.”

“I can’t not. She’s here. She’shere.”

I’ve seen a lot of expressions on Alice’s face over the last week—annoyance, amusement, surprise, reluctant admiration—but I’ve never seenthis.

This tight, frozen version of her that looks like she’s trying to hold every part of herself together with sheer willpower and a few strands of hair.

“You wanna leave for the day?” I ask. “Skip out. I’ll handle the campers.”

She finally looks at me, and there’s something heartbreaking in her eyes. “I don’t want to run.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But it’d be easier, right? To run?”

I want to argue, but I get it. Running’s my specialty. I’ve made a damn art of it. But seeing Alice like this—this brave, hurting version of her—it knocks the wind out of me.

“You’re not her,” I say quietly.

Alice frowns. “What?”

“You’re not like her. I don’t even know her, and I can already tell. She walked in like she’s owed attention. You walk in trying to take up less space.”

She lets out a breath. “Not exactly a compliment.”

“It is,” I say. “Because youcare.”

She leans against the wall, sliding down until she’s sitting in the dirt. I sink down next to her.

We’re quiet for a minute.

Then she says, “It’s been over a year. I shouldn’t still feel this way.”

“Grief doesn’t follow calendars.”

“I don’t even know what I’m grieving anymore. The friendship? The betrayal? The fact that I didn’t see it coming?”

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