Page 51 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
There’s a note of panic in Amaya’s voice. “Really?So they’re true? What if they actually post about us next, then? Ican’tlose my scholarship.”
I realize Josh could know real personal stuff about both Amaya and, by extension, Nicole. If he actually follows through on these threats, and anyone official sees these posts and decides to look into them, we couldallbe screwed.
What the hell is he thinking?
Nicole chews on her bottom lip. “Me either. But at least it’s obvious who it is.”
I nod to myself approvingly. She’s never liked Josh either and probably knows him even better than I do since she had to hang out with him so much with Amaya.
But when Amaya raises a questioning eyebrow, Nicole continues, her voice dropping significantly. “Who has the biggest grudge against Legacies? Who follows everyone around all the time recording everything we do?”
“Oh my god,” Amaya gasps. “That’swhy she’s always filming!”
Wait—
Nicole nods, her expression turning sympathetic. “I mean, can you blame her for wanting some justice, though? I’d be bitter, too, after what happened at the assembly.”
There’s no possible way. Clara might be bitter—which she has every right to be—but she would never do something so cruel.
“You’re being way too nice. She did that toherself,” Amaya bites out. “She’s so fake.”
“Hey,” I say, incapable of staying silent a second longer. They both startle as they turn to me. “Don’t stir shit up about Clara. She wouldn’t do this.”
Amaya frowns. “Didn’t she dump you?”
I suck in a sharp breath.
“Amaya,” Nicole hisses.
“I’m just saying, why defend her?”
Nicole glares at her. “Sorry—Amaya’s just a little cranky about seeing her own ex,isn’t she?”
Amaya shoots Josh a sneering look. “Fair.”
Nicole turns back to me, grabbing my arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just stressed about this account. It feels like we all have targets on our backs all of a sudden, doesn’t it?”
I try to let my agitation from this conversation slip away because I get what she means.
I’m about to say as much when a hand slaps against my shoulder. It’s Mitchell.
Low in my ear he says, “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can tell them right this second about your knee.”
I glare at him and side-eye Nicole, checking if she overheard, but she’s already absorbed back into her conversation with Amaya. Thankfully,no one else seems to have heard, either, as Josh sets his watch, smirking, and my dad, who’s in the group of runners behind us, shoots me a thumbs-up.
I shake my head. “No way.”
Anyone following that account will know just how fine I am by the end of this race. All these people—the kids and my parents and thenewsand Clara—they’re here for the show. I intend to give them one.
As soon as Mayor Harper releases the starting gun, Josh explodes ahead.
The guy never learns. I follow in a steady rhythm down the trail that leads to the lake. These paths I’ve pounded over and over. My knee doesn’t even feel too bad. With every strike against the ground there’s a sharp, shortzingbehind my kneecap, but it’s tolerable.
I lead the rest of the pack slowly—for me—until the trail opens into the forest. With each step, each breath, I feel more like myself than I have in weeks. I follow the path through the trees, pulling in lungful after lungful of earthy air that smells like home.
When my watch beeps at the first mile split, I realize I still haven’t caught Josh. Grimacing, I pick up my pace. Thezingsbecome sharper, the pain stretching further. After another half mile, I see him—his stride narrower, his shoulders hunched like he can’t get enough breath. He burns most of his energy by the halfway mark everysingletime.
“You’re flagging,” I goad.
