This Is Where It Ends - Marieke Nijkamp Page 0,3

judge you, least of all me.”

I nod, but the words still won’t form. The voices ebb and flow around us as students climb the raked aisles between the four blocks of seating. Sylv’s eyes flick to the other side of the auditorium, where some of the football players are getting loud.

I shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She’d never understand. No one does.

I’m counting down the minutes to seventh period, when the music room behind the stage is dark and deserted. In the shadows, I’ll be alone.

I’ll be safe.

Sylv opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, a girl from her class appears at her elbow—Asha, I think. She used to get into arguments with my brother before he dropped out. I can’t—I don’t want to keep up with all of them. They will only bind me to this place, and it hurts so much to care.

Asha clings to her AP U.S. History textbook. Under strands of rainbow-colored hair, her mouth quirks up in a half smile. She whispers something. Sylv tenses before she laughs, her voice rising above the crowd. “Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not looking forward to midterms.”

Asha rolls her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Sylv blushes, but Asha’s right: Sylv’s a straight-A student. The teachers adore her. She couldn’t flunk an exam if she tried.

Asha turns to me, and that’s my cue. I plaster on a fake smile. “Midterms aren’t until next week. And I had better things to do than study over break.”

“Philistine.” Sylv sighs. “How do I put up with you?”

Because I’m yours.

The buttons on Asha’s bag clink against each other. She flicks a purple lock of hair out of her face. “No stress? Lucky you.”

Lucky me. Before I can say anything, Sylv beats me to it.

“So what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Around us, the drone of voices becomes louder, more agitated. The first few moments after Trenton’s speeches are always a mess, with everyone tumbling over each other trying to get out, but this is far more chaotic than usual.

A teacher pushes through. Probably to see what the holdup is.

Asha grins. “All of break? Absolutely nothing? C’mon, spill.”

Sylv’s eyes are soft and questioning, and I nibble on my lip. I don’t want to let her down. “I found an old video recording of my mother’s first Swan Lake in the attic this weekend. It was her audition for the Royal Ballet. She wasn’t much older than me.”

It’s not salacious news, so I expect Asha to be disappointed, but she leans in closer. “Was it good?”

This surprises a smile out of me.

Opportunity High is a county high school, with students from all the small surrounding towns. Asha isn’t one of us. She isn’t Opportunity, where everyone knows everything about Mom and me. She isn’t part of our home turf of familiar street names, churches, and shared secrets.

In Opportunity, everyone knows Mom danced around the world at every great company: London, Moscow, New York. She saw more countries than all of us combined. She told me about her travels and made me restless. For how much that memory of her hurts, watching her dance never does. “She was amazing.”

Sylv’s shoulder touches mine. Her warm smile anchors me. It’s as if all of Opportunity falls away. We’re lost between making a home and escaping one. It won’t be long before our secrets choke us, before she finally realizes I don’t deserve her and she leaves me too.

• • •

CLAIRE

After another lap, the crisp air becomes refreshing, though I’d never admit that to Coach. Winter ought to stick to December, to Christmas, and leave us be. We need as many hours as we can find to prepare for our next meet if we want to keep up our winning streak.

My JROTC drill team will start practice again soon too. It’s only the youngest cadets’ second year of training, and they’re still finding their stride. I have enough on my mind without the frost.

I glance sideways to find Chris grinning at me. “What?”

“You’re brooding.”

“Am not.”

He snorts.

“How was your break?” We ask the same question at the same time, and I laugh.

“It was weird not having Trace home for Matt’s birthday, even though he’s, quote, a high school student and all grown up, so why do we worry so much?” My baby brother tries not to show how much this cold weather is hurting his joints or how much he misses our sister, who is far away in a foreign desert. All three of us, we’ve lost our flow. “We had