Poor Little Dead Girls

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Authors: Lizzie Friend
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quiet, the campus dark and deserted. Still, she tiptoed silently until she made it down the hill to the beach road. When she was far enough away, she switched on her music and let it fill her head.
    She broke into a light jog and slowly accelerated as she made her way toward the stadium. By the time she passed the wooden sign in the woods, she was hot and sweaty and gasping for breath. The humidity made the air feel thick, like she was drawing hot steam into her lungs. Running here might be more difficult than she had thought.
    Just outside the stadium, she stopped to catch her breath and stripped off her sweatshirt. She leaned against a wall, and the brick spread a cool calm up and down her spine. Her head was aching, and she winced as she remembered the swigs of whiskey she had taken earlier. Finally, she stood up and took another few steps toward the turf.
    The game had ended almost two hours ago, and a cleaning crew must have long since finished and left. The field was pristine, the moonlight casting it in a watery blue haze. But it wasn’t empty.
    A guy stood on the 50-yard line, hands on his hips with his back toward her. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she could see the light reflecting off his broad, angular shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized his shaggy blonde hair. Jeremy.
    His chest was heaving as if he had just stopped to catch his breath. As she watched, he looked down at his wrist, pressed a few buttons on his watch, and then took off in a full sprint. He ran a few dozen yards, then cut back and sprinted toward the center of the field, brushing the turf with his hand as he turned. She watched, mesmerized as his legs and arms pumped hard through the humid summer air. He was fast — really fast.
    He did six lengths before stopping, then checked his watch and put his hands behind his head. He stood there for a while, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. For a few moments, she felt like they were the only two people in the world. Then he turned around.
    She jumped and tried to duck back behind the wall, but it was too late. She felt excruciatingly exposed, like she had just been caught spying by someone in the middle of her own dream. He waved.
    At a loss for a more appropriate response, she waved back. They stared at each other for a few moments, until awkwardness won out and she turned away. She abandoned her plan to do sprints completely, instead heading back toward the woods.
    She ran along the path back toward the beach, and soon the crashing waves were loud enough that she could hear them over her headphones. She turned the music off and just listened to the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the rolling waves, and her footsteps pounding on the gravel. When she ran, she let her mind go completely blank, listening only to her body. She loved that feeling. She craved it. Even if it sounded like something only a hippie from Oregon would do.
    She drew level with the Graff tower and slowed to a walk. She had never been this close to the tower before, and for the first time she realized how huge it was. The spit of land it sat on looked like it had once been paved with smooth stones, but now they were cracked and worn, and weeds had wound their way up through the fissures. She stood there for a moment in the dark, staring up at the black, hulking structure. She could have sworn she could see a hint of light glowing in one of the slits that served as windows, but she knew it was just her eyes playing tricks. A cloud had passed over the moon, and it was so dark, she could barely even see where the beach ended and the sea began. She turned her headphones back on and took off back toward Keating.
    She was dripping with sweat by the time Ashby loomed into view. She thought about a long, hot shower and hesitated, tempted to head inside. Then she remembered Thayer’s smug smile and thought about how much satisfaction she would get if Sadie failed. Instead she turned up the volume and

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