South Station, Boston

Monday, 4:00 PM

Callie

Callie peered down the dark subway tunnel, fighting back tears.

Everything felt wrong.

She’d finally stood up to Elin and kicked that toxic witch out of her life. Then she’d followed her instincts and gone back to the last place where she’d been happy. She’d turned to Maya for help, and her best friend hadn’t let her down.

She could stay in the Pink House until she was back on her feet. Against all odds, Maya had thrown her a lifeline.

So then why had she run away? Why was the tsunami building again?

Her thoughts jumped to Ethan. He was one of the reasons, but she couldn’t bring herself to blame him. Instead, her mind kept straying to random details, like the comma-shaped scar on his chin. The way his honey-colored hair was always tousled at the front and sides, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Or how his broad shoulders sometimes slumped as if pushed down by an invisible weight. Maybe that was the detail she loved the most.

He was damaged, just like she was.

She balled her fists, trying to hate him, but it felt so pointless. Even now, his rejection hurt so much more than his betrayal. Why didn’t he want her? Why didn’t he realize they were meant to be together?

Dad had spiraled into depression after he lost Izzy, but they’d been soul mates. This was different. She’d only known Ethan for a week, and he might have been lying to her the whole time.

But what if those stupid clichés about lightning striking and love at first sight were true? Hadn’t it felt that way from the moment they met? Like they’d known each other forever. Like they were two lost souls who had finally reunited.

Maybe they’d find each other again in the next life.

She checked her cell, which was still opened to Instagram. Sometime over the past week, she’d passed thirty-five million followers. Twitter and Facebook had exploded too, making her one of the most followed celebrities in the world.

Bridget would be ecstatic. Then again, her agent rarely bothered to read the comments.

Callie scrolled to the most recent Instagram post. Bridget had dug up an old Prodigy promo shot of her in a string bikini with pink paint splotches on her skin. She cringed at the seductive pout, remembering how the sleazy photographer had coaxed that pose out of her.

“Give me sexy!” he kept shouting. “Millions of boys are going to wank off to this. For God’s sake, love. Give them something to work with.”

She’d finally given in just to get the shoot over with.

The photo was captioned “Thanks to my amazing fans for all your love and support. Feeling better every day. Hope y’all are getting pumped for Prodigy season 2!!!”

Bridget had signed that moronic post with a string of heart emojis.

What a fucking idiot.

Of course, the “pumped” part had inspired a string of sick and sadistic posts.

U mean gettin’ your STOMACH pumped, LOL!

I’ll pump you baby

Ha! Ha! Why don’t u just die already??

Nice pic, u crazy skank. Where’s the straight jacket?

ROTFL. Better luck next time

UR still alive? Y tho?

Pills R 4 pussies

Eat a gun next time. I wanna see your brains

Some of the messages had been flagged, but the taunts kept popping up like poisonous mushrooms, and Twitter wasn’t any better. She counted five cruel tweets for every positive one.

She turned off the screen, tears streaming down her cheeks. Normally, she’d laugh at the trolls, but today…

Today they just confirmed what she already knew. Dad knew it too. So did Ethan’s sister, Abbie. Why cling to a failed life full of cold, miserable, and heartless people? Fear could only hold you back for so long.

She craned her neck and peered into the tunnel, watching the darkness brighten as a train approached. Her gaze dropped to the tracks. To the rats scattering for safety as the low rumble built to a thunderous roar. Early commuters crowded around her, jockeying for position.

“Please stand back,” a Siri-like female voice announced. “The outbound train to Alewife is approaching.”

Callie stepped on the yellow caution line and shivered, like a kid dipping her toe into frigid water.

The platform shook, the subway car approaching with the howl of a tornado.

She closed her eyes, tension building in her leg muscles like two pressure-loaded springs. Images flashed before her. Dad. Izzy. Maya. Ethan.

Ethan.

How would he react to the news?

Something cold wriggled inside her stomach like eels.

Guilt.

He’ll never forgive himself.

The roaring train urged her forward. Like waves crashing into the surf, the hypnotic sound promised to wash away her pain. To take her to a place where none of the bullshit mattered. Where nothing could hurt her.

But she wasn’t listening anymore. She was thinking of Ethan. Remembering what she’d come here to do.

Even if he can’t save me, maybe I can still save him.

A whoosh of air. The squeal of brakes.

It will take a leap of faith.

But which direction? Backward or forward?

It all came down to that one decision.

With her eyes wide open, she jumped.

***

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