Echoes by Marissa Lete (best books for students to read txt) 📕

have heard a fire alarm blaring for half of the exam. “I actually feel pretty good about it,” Grace replies. I hang my head in defeat. I’ll never live this one down.

“Heard you got a sweet new ride,” Leo appears at Grace’s side, grinning.

“I did, and—”

“Shotgun. Called it.” Leo cuts her off, pointing at me.

It takes me a beat to catch up. “What? No way. You can’t do that!” I look between him and Grace. “He can’t do that!”

“Actually, he can,” Grace shrugs.

“Not fair. You told me we were going for a ride first!”

“But I didn’t even have to tell Leo,” she fires back. She has a point, but I still shoot a scowl at Leo.

✽✽✽✽✽

When I get home later that evening, Dad has the TV on and is sitting in his chair, snoring. Mom is tucked into her office, and there’s a casserole dish on the counter, a sheet of foil on top. To my surprise, the food is still warm. I make a plate, then go and sit down on the couch.

I try to look for the remote, but I can’t find it anywhere close to me, so I settle for watching what’s on. The news is playing, and after ten minutes of half-listening to the stories, a photograph comes on the screen that piques my interest. It’s just the front of a house and isn’t notable in any way except for one thing: an old, red truck in the driveway. Something about it seems familiar.

“We got a report about a break-in two nights ago on Highland Street,” the reporter says. “The resident has security cameras set up throughout the house, and when he was checking the footage recently he discovered a masked person entering his home at around two in the morning.” The screen plays a clip from the footage, of someone wearing all black opening the front door and walking into the house. “The footage shows the perpetrator walking through the house, entering multiple different rooms, and then leaving. Strangely enough, no items were taken from the house.” The photo of the house appears again, and I know why the red truck looks familiar. It was from the night I’d been followed by that black Suburban. I’d pulled into that driveway, and waited there until the car left.

“The video failed to capture any information about a possible vehicle, but this incident should serve as a warning to us all to keep our doors locked and to report any suspicious activity to authorities immediately.”

I stare blankly at the TV, realization hitting me. Someone broke into the house that I was followed back to. No items were taken, meaning they weren’t looking for money or anything to steal. They were looking for someone. And that someone could quite possibly be me.

✽✽✽✽✽

All night, I toss and turn, unable to fall asleep because I can’t stop thinking about the black Suburban and the person in the mask. What would have happened if I had gone straight home that night? Would they have figured out where I actually lived and tried to kidnap me? But why me? I can’t stop thinking about it, and the one time I’m finally able to drift off to sleep, I wake up from a nightmare of the dark figure chasing after me.

An hour before my alarm is supposed to go off, I roll out of bed and go stand in the shower, double-checking that the door is locked before I hop in. None of it makes sense, and there’s nothing I can do about it except hope they weren’t really after me, and that this will all blow over soon as some type of misunderstanding.

When I step out into the hallway wrapped in a robe, a hand touches my shoulder and I shriek, jumping away from it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Mom says, hands up in defense.

I put a hand to my chest, breathing hard. “It’s okay, sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.”

“I heard you up extra early. Did you sleep okay?” she asks, eyebrows drawn.

“Not really,” I admit, but I have no further explanation to give her.

She pulls me into a hug. “Sorry, sweetie. I hate those nights. Let me make you some breakfast.”

I hug her back, just a little too long. “Thanks, Mom.”

When I come downstairs several minutes later, there’s a plate of pancakes sitting on the kitchen table and a glass of orange juice next to it. I start to eat, hoping the food will give me some extra energy to make up for the lack of sleep.

When I walk out to my car half an hour later, I’m so tired that I almost don’t hear the echo of myself calling out from next to my car. Almost.

“Hey, Maverick!” my voice rings out in the quiet morning air.

“Hey, Laura!” Maverick’s voice calls back from the abandoned house. Then gets closer. “I see you didn’t die from food poisoning, so that’s good.”

“I’ve actually been deathly sick, I had to go to the hospital,” I retort, followed by a fake cough, and then we both laugh.

“I’m just going to blame it on Tony, then,” Maverick replies, chuckling. I remember Penny calling the guy in the back Tony when I’d gone to Louise’s the other day. Would he remember Maverick? Would that finally let me have some solid evidence that this isn’t all in my head?

“The food was pretty impressive. Although I’m not sure if that’s only because I didn’t have to pay for it…”

“Don’t think too hard about it.” More laughter. Then a pause. “So…” Maverick continues, “Are you… doing anything tomorrow night?”

“I don’t believe I am, why?” my echo replies.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to, like, go out? To dinner, or something. Or whatever you want to do.” His voice raises a little in pitch.