Little Pretty Things Read Online Free Page B

she would turn out to be something more than a motel housekeeper. At the very least, you might expect a girl named Juliet to turn out to be a little more passionate about life than I had become.
    So, the same. It was hard to imagine the past, or the future, being any different. Except tonight had been different.
    For some reason, another memory of Maddy came to me—not from tonight, but from that drive back from our failed state track tournament ten years ago. We had a fifteen-person van, and only the four of us—me, Maddy, and our two coaches—inside. It was full daylight, since we’d come back so early. Maddy had wrapped herself in her own embrace against the window, her face puffy from crying.
    I blinked the image away. “Actually,” I said. “You’ll never guess who came in tonight.”
    “Who?”
    “Maddy Bell.”
    Her eyes brightened. “You’re kidding.”
    I grabbed another glass of water for myself and pulled out a chair at the table.
    “That poor girl,” she said.
    In the dim light, I couldn’t see her face. Was she joking? “Why do you say that?”
    After a long moment, she finally said, “She always seemed so lost.”
    I’d seen what lost looked like pretty close-up this evening. Teeny was as lost as they came. But having a real conversation with my mother for the first time in a while gave me a rush of confidence. She wasn’t so far gone, at least. “You mean when she was beating me in every race I ever ran?” I said, smiling. “She seemed lost to you then?”
    “Well, when your dad used to—” She stood up and went to the sink to dump her glass.
    As quickly as the light had come to her eyes, it was gone. The house grew still and silent around us once again.
    My dad had come to every race. Sometimes he’d even stop by practice. He’d lean on the fence around the track with our coach, Coach Trenton, who had once been on an actual Olympic team, and the assistant, Coach Fitzgerald. Fitz, he let us call him. My dad had never been an athlete, had never run in his adult life, probably, but he took an interest. He knew all the girls on the team, every year, and congratulated them all for, if not winning, for trying hard. He included Maddy, of course, who never seemed to know what to say to grown-ups. Her dad and stepmom didn’t attend races, not even the big ones, not even when she was at her peak, when no one could beat her.
    I might have felt bad for her, but after running the second-fastest two miles in the state of Indiana, I’d been too busy checking the finish line for my own family’s proud, second-place cheers to see how first place sat on Maddy’s shoulders. Afterward, sure, from the lower podium—I’d had plenty of time to study the sharp edge of Maddy’s jaw from below. In the first moments post-race, though, with my lungs burning and my dad pulling me off my feet into a sweaty hug, I hadn’t spared her a thought.
    Coach and Fitz would have been right there, making sure Maddy had all the hugs and high fives she could handle. Still, regrets flooded in, for what I’d said about us not really being friends.
    Two things I’d lied about.
    I felt the sharp point of the pen in my pocket and remembered the loose knot in the belt of Maddy’s raincoat, the easy sway of her clothes. That diamond ring. My palms tingled. “Are you going to bed soon?”
    “Thought I’d get some dishes done.”
    She stood at the empty sink, watching the dark night out the window. Or maybe she could only see the vague reflection of her own face.
    “I’m on the cart tomorrow, so . . .” I stood up, stretched. “It’s late.”
    “That’ll be fun,” she said.
    “Um . . . sure. I’ll be home by dinner. Maybe we’ll take a drive or something afterward.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    “OK,” I said. “Good night, Mom.”
    In my room, I tore the pen out of my pocket and threw it. I sat on my bed and rubbed my palms together until they were hot, then tender. They itched . I held them flat against