Page 60 of The Fall of Iris Henley
He’s beautiful, truly beautiful, on that court.
“This guy?” Max asks, curling his fingers into the chain link next to me.
“This guy,” I say.
“Man, what’s with you and sweaty jocks?” he asks.
“Unfortunately it looks like I have a type,” I say. “But I’m a little more worried about the psychopathic traits than the athletic prowess.”
The ball whips back and forth now, and people in the crowd lean forward, attention shifting from the other courts to thisone. Jonah and his opponent fly across the court, the intervals between hits shorter and shorter. Finally, with an almost balletic leap, Jonah slams the ball past the other boy’s defenses. It’s over. Jonah has won. He shakes hands with his opponent.
I dodge into the shadows beneath the bleachers.
Max slides up next to me a moment later. “Are you okay?”
“No. Yes. No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
He puts his hand in mine and squeezes.
We watch in silence as Jonah chats with his buddies and cheers on other matches. It reminds me of that first summer I met him, when I’d pass by the courts at camp and try to catch a glimpse of him. Before Lynette dragged me to his breakfast table. Back when he was still just an idea to me.
I’d give anything to get back to that place.
Jonah bursts into applause as someone scores a point. I watch as he laughs at something one of his teammates says. What the hell is going on inside of him, that he can look so easygoing, so sweet, and then turn around and spew poison online?
Finally Jonah picks up his racket and his duffel bag and starts to walk toward the school. Maybe heading for a shower? In any case, he’s alone. Which means now is the time.
Max moves to follow me, but I touch his arm. “Give me a minute with him first, will you?”
He frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This guy’s a fucking creep. What if he freaks out on you?”
“What’s he going to do to me? We’re in front of a ton of people, and it’s broad daylight,” I say. “All he’s got on him is a tennis racket. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy.
Jonah’s only about forty feet ahead of me. I catch up quickly, and there’s a brief moment where I’m right behind him but he still doesn’t know I’m there. I relish it for as long as I can—thissense that I’ve got the drop on him, that finally, after everything he’s put me through, I have some kind of control.
And then I say his name.
When he turns around, my heart gives a lurch. For a split second I’m sitting next to him in the dorm last summer in the hour before lights-out, listening to music, playing board games in a comfortable, gentle silence, and the memory hurts like an open wound.
But then I think about the way he’s played me since. Flirty texts, thoughtful questions, sneaky little ploys, all so he could blow up my entire life. All so he could torture me.
But why? What’s in it for him? What did I ever do to make him hate me so much?
That thought makes my spine straighten like a steel rod. I smirk at him as the friendly smile fades right off his face.
“Surprised to see me?” I ask.
“Iris?” He looks around like he’s trying to figure out if anyone else can see me too or if I’m just a hallucination. “What… what are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” My fists ball up at my sides. “I deserve answers, Jonah.”
A sudden cheer comes from the courts down the hill; another match must’ve ended. I take a step closer to him. He’s taller than me by almost a foot, but weirdly, now that I’m in front of him, I’m not scared anymore.
“Why, Jonah?” I ask. “Whyme? Why did you targetme? Was it just because I was vulnerable? Easy to mess with? Or was it because you wanted to punish me for something?”
He blinks a few times but doesn’t answer. I grind my teeth together and step closer.
