Lisa Chen''s fingers are numb despite her thick mittens, but she barely notices the cold. Her attention is fixed on the field below, where Nate Brooks''s number 67 jersey flashes between other players like lightning captured in royal blue and gold. Even through the biting November wind, she can hear Coach Martinez''s whistle, sharp and demanding as the players run another drill.
"Stop staring," Hannah murmurs beside her, her breath visible in the frigid air. "You''re being obvious."
Lisa tears her gaze away, cheeks burning despite the cold. "I wasn''t—"
"You were." Hannah''s voice is gentle but firm. "And Amber''s already looked up here twice."
As if summoned by her name, Amber Rosenberg''s laugh carries across the stands, clear as crystal breaking. She holds court in the front row, a vision in a cream-colored Burberry coat that probably costs more than Lisa''s parents make in a month. Susan Lawrence and Charlotte Whitman flank her like perfectly coordinated bookends, their designer scarves fluttering in the wind like flags.
"I was so stupid," Lisa whispers, more to herself than Hannah. The words crystallize in the cold air, as sharp as the memory of taking that photo. She''d spent hours getting the angle right, convincing herself that Nate''s recent kindness meant something more than pity or politeness. "So incredibly stupid."
"Hey." Hannah''s hand finds hers, warm even through their gloves. "You weren''t stupid. You were brave. There''s a difference."
Lisa wants to believe her. Wants to find comfort in this rekindled friendship that feels both familiar and strange—like putting on an old sweater and finding it fits differently than you remember. Two weeks ago, she would have sworn Hannah Marshall was lost to her forever, claimed by the careful distance that Riverside High enforces between its social classes. Now here they sit, united by shared trauma and growing determination.
"We''re not here for Nate," Hannah reminds her, voice dropping even lower. "Remember the mission."
Right. The mission. Lisa''s eyes shift to Coach Martinez, pacing the sidelines like a caged predator. His whistle hangs around his neck like a talisman, and Lisa thinks about his daughter Rachel—about California sunshine and hasty departures and carefully maintained lies.
"Did you get the—" Lisa starts.
"Not here." Hannah''s eyes scan the stands, noting how sound carries in the cold air. "Tonight. My place."
On the field, Nate catches a perfect spiral from Jake Woodland, their teamwork as precise as their matching letterman jackets. Lisa''s stomach turns as she watches Jake celebrate the catch, his movements carrying that casual grace that makes freshman girls giggle in hallways. She thinks about Hannah''s story from Halloween night, about her own memories of Hampton Beach, about all the other stories waiting to be told.
"Sometimes I think about telling everyone," Lisa admits, her voice barely a whisper. "Just standing up in the cafeteria and shouting the truth. About Jake. About all of it."
"That''s what they''re counting on," Hannah replies, her eyes still on the field. "That we''ll act alone. That we''ll be easy to discredit, to dismiss, to destroy." She turns to Lisa, and there''s something fierce in her expression that makes Lisa''s breath catch. "But we''re not alone anymore. And we''re done playing by their rules."
Below them, Coach Martinez''s whistle splits the air again, and Lisa watches Jake jog back to the huddle. His charm is firmly in place, his smile practiced and perfect. But Lisa knows what lies beneath that carefully maintained facade. They all do.
And soon, everyone else will too.
"That''s it for today!" Coach Martinez''s voice booms across the field, followed by scattered cheers from both players and spectators. The team''s exhaustion is visible even from the stands, their breath creating small clouds in the frigid air as they wave to their audience.
Lisa''s heart performs an unwanted somersault as Nate pulls off his helmet, his dark hair damp with sweat despite the cold. She watches - because she can''t help watching, even though it hurts - as he jogs to the sideline where Amber waits. Their kiss is brief but claiming, a casual display of ownership that makes bile rise in Lisa''s throat.
"Come on," Hannah whispers as the stands begin to empty, people hurrying toward warmth and dinner plans. "This is our chance."
They descend the metal bleachers carefully, their boots clanking against the frost-covered steps. Coach Martinez and his assistants are gathering the last of the equipment, their movements efficient with end-of-practice routine.
Lisa''s about to step onto the track when she sees them - Amber, Susan, and Charlotte approaching like a designer-clad storm front. Her feet freeze mid-step, fight-or-flight instinct screaming in her ears.
"Fuck," she breathes, the word visible in the cold air. A week ago, she would have been part of that group, laughing at whatever cutting remark Amber had just made about someone''s knockoff boots or last-season coat. Now...Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Amber''s ice-blue eyes find Lisa''s, and Lisa braces for the smirk, the raised eyebrow, the casual cruelty she''s come to expect. But there''s... nothing. No emotion crosses Amber''s perfect features as she glides past, Susan and Charlotte in perfect formation beside her. It''s like Lisa''s become invisible, less than air, not even worth acknowledging.
The absence of attack somehow hurts worse than any verbal assault could have. Lisa feels herself dissolving, becoming less substantial with each click of Amber''s designer boots against the track.
"Coach is heading in," Hannah''s urgent whisper pulls Lisa back to reality. Her hand closes around Lisa''s arm, warm and solid and real. "It''s now or never."
They catch up to Coach Martinez just as he reaches the field house door, his clipboard tucked under one arm.
"Coach!" Hannah calls out, her voice stronger than Lisa expected. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"
He turns, his expression neutral but watchful. "Practice is over, ladies. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."
"It''s about Rachel," Lisa says, and watches his face close like a steel trap.
"My daughter''s doing great in California," he replies automatically, the words worn smooth with repetition. "The weather''s better for her asthma."
"Funny," Hannah''s voice carries a sharp edge. "I didn''t know asthma got worse after New Year''s parties."
Coach Martinez goes very still, his clipboard creaking under his suddenly tight grip. "I don''t know what you''re implying—"
"We''re not implying anything," Lisa cuts in, heart hammering against her ribs. "We''re asking why your daughter really left. What happened at Jake Woodland''s party that made her run three thousand miles away?"
"You need to stop right there." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "You have no idea what you''re talking about. No idea what kind of fire you''re playing with."
"Actually," Hannah takes a step closer, either brave or foolish or both, "I think we know exactly what kind of fire it is. The same kind that burned other girls at Jake Woodland. The same kind that—"
Coach Martinez moves so fast Lisa barely registers it, his hand shooting out to grip Hannah''s arm. "Listen to me very carefully," he growls, all pretense of the friendly coach gone. "You''re smart girls. Too smart to stick your noses where they don''t belong." He releases Hannah''s arm like it burns him.
Without waiting for an answer, he yanks open the field house door. "And ladies?" He pauses, silhouetted in the doorway. "If I hear you''ve been asking questions about my daughter again, we''re going to have a very different conversation. One that might involve your college recommendations. Or who knows what else." His smile is nothing like the one he wears during pep rallies. "Riverside''s a small town. Be a shame if it got too small for your families to live in."
The bitter wind whips around them as Lisa and Hannah trudge across the darkening parking lot, their boots crunching on frozen gravel. Lisa''s hands shake as she digs for her car keys, though whether from cold or adrenaline, she''s not sure.
"That went well," she mutters, anger and fear warring in her chest.
Hannah kicks at a chunk of ice, sending it skittering across the asphalt. "He threatened us. Actually threatened us." Her laugh holds no humor. "I guess that means we''re onto something."
"Or it means we''re way over our heads." Lisa finally locates her keys, metal biting into her palm through her mittens. "Maybe Susan—"
"Don''t." Hannah''s voice is sharp as the November air. "Susan won''t help us. She''s one of them, can''t you see that? She chose her side a long time ago."
"But she was there. At Hampton Beach. She saw—"
"And what did she do? Pull Jake off you and then help bury the whole thing under parties and rumors and careful lies." Hannah''s breath clouds in front of her face like frustrated ghosts. "She''s protecting them. They all are."
Lisa slumps against her car, the cold metal seeping through her coat. "Then who? Everyone who was there that weekend is part of their world now. Amber, Susan, Charlotte, Nate, Jake, Justin, Jeff, Morris..." The names taste bitter on her tongue. "They''re all bound together."
"Maybe we need to look somewhere else." Something shifts in Hannah''s voice – a note of calculation that makes Lisa look up sharply.
Lisa frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Seattle''s a dead end - that''s where Emily vanished to. It''s like she''s become a ghost. But Megan and Victoria? They''ve been right under our noses this whole time, hiding out at Brookswood High."
"And you just happened to stumble across this information?" Lisa''s tone is skeptical.
Hannah rolls her eyes. "Welcome to the digital age. A quick search pulled up their names on Brookswood''s student roster. Interesting thing though - their online presence? Complete radio silence. "
Lisa''s boots crunch to a halt on the icy gravel. "Hold up - you''re absolutely certain about Brookswood?"
"One hundred percent." Hannah''s eyes take on a dangerous gleam in the fading light. "Here''s the real kicker - check who''s on our game schedule this Friday."
The implications hit Lisa like a physical blow. She knows Brookswood - Riverside''s longtime rival, just thirty minutes away. A working-class town where Megan and Victoria could disappear without the suffocating pressure of Riverside''s social hierarchy. Where Jake Woodland''s family name wouldn''t carry the same weight.
"You think they''d talk to us? After everything?"
"Only one way to find out." Hannah starts pacing again, her energy almost visible in the cold air. "Think about it - they''ve had time away from Jake''s influence, away from the money and the pressure. Maybe they''re ready to tell their stories."
"Friday''s game," Lisa says slowly, thinking about Megan and Victoria at Brookswood High. "If we could just talk to them..."
"That''s why we need more people," Hannah''s voice is quiet but determined. "People who aren''t afraid of Jake or Amber or any of them. People who might actually help."
"It''s dangerous," Lisa''s hands tighten on the steering wheel. "If we do this - if we really do this - there''s no going back. We''d be taking on everything. Everyone."
Hannah reaches across the center console, squeezing Lisa''s hand. "Maybe it''s time someone did."
"Okay," Lisa whispers, squeezing Hannah''s hand back. "Let''s do it. Let''s find Megan and Victoria."