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

“Come on, Leo! We’re not getting back together this time. Seriously.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Okay, Grace, whatever you say.”

“I thought that at least you would be happy,” she says, turning to her locker to offload a few books from her backpack. It’s no secret that Leo despises Andy with a passion. The rumors tell me that sometime in middle school, Andy got a bunch of the other kids in our grade to start calling Leo names, and at some point, they poured chocolate milk down the front of his shirt. Leo’s been sort of a social outcast ever since. Grace befriended him in freshman year when she moved here, and I was the most recent addition to the group.

We’re kind of misfits, but I love our little trio regardless. Because of the echoes and the slew of mental health experts I had to see throughout my life, I’d been homeschooled for most of middle and high school, and I hadn’t been able to make many friends since I was a little kid. When Grace and Leo sat down next to me at lunch on my first day of school, it had felt strange to be talking to people my own age, who didn’t think I was mentally ill or knew anything about my history. I’d been shy at first, but soon enough, I found myself joining in on their banter and hanging out with them after school.

And it was nice. Nice to have friends to talk to and spend time with, who accepted me even though I usually turned down their invites to movies and festivals and other loud places. It helped me to feel like an actual teenager rather than a girl with a scientifically unexplainable ability. Normal. Or at least, almost normal.

The bell rings, interrupting whatever rebuttal Leo had most likely been forming, and we wave to him as Grace and I head to our first class.

✽✽✽✽✽

After school, trouble awaits Grace and me in the parking lot. As we walk, I spot Andy parked three spaces down from my car, leaning against his Jeep as he searches the crowd of students pouring out of the school. He notices us moving in his direction and waves his casted wrist in the air, calling out to Grace.

I try to veer Grace away before she notices him, but at that exact moment, she lifts her head from her phone and spots him. Her steps slow to a stop.

“Here we go again,” she sighs, putting on her best neutral look as Andy begins to walk toward us.

“We should just lea—” I begin, but pause when I notice someone walking up to Andy. It’s Dana Stevens. She tosses her arms around his neck, throwing her weight into him as she plants a kiss on his left cheek. To his credit, Andy looks surprised, but before he can push her away and go back to waving Grace over, I grab her by the arm and tug her to my car.

“He makes me so sick!” Grace exclaims as I slide into the driver’s seat. “And who does she think she is?” She cranes her neck to look outside at him, but I just focus on turning the key and shifting the car into drive. Better to make a quick getaway than get stuck in the drama.

“Not someone worth getting worked up about,” I reply as we roll out of the parking space.

“You don’t understand how done I am,” she says.

“Oh, I think I do.”

“I just can’t—” she begins to say, but her phone starts buzzing in her pocket. “It’s him.”

“Are you going to answer?” I ask, making a left turn.

She hesitates, then, “No.”

“Good.”

Except, a minute after the phone stops ringing, Grace exclaims, “He left a voicemail!” I glance at her, noticing the eager look on her face as she opens it up.

“Put it on speaker.”

Grace places the phone on the center console for both of us to hear. “Grace, please stop shutting me out,” Andy’s voice crackles through the phone. “Look, I’ve been trying to get rid of Dana for years. I don’t want anything to do with her. I promise. It’s you that I want. Grace, I-I love you. I can’t let us go like this. I’m sorry for what I did. I really am. It was a stupid mistake. Please call me.” The line goes dead. I shoot a look over at Grace to gauge her reaction, but she’s distracted by something she sees in the side mirror. I hear the blasting of a horn a second later.

“Oh my gosh, did you see that?” she flips around in her seat to look behind the car.

“What is it?” I ask, startled. I look in the rearview mirror as the sound of tires screeching fills the air, but all I can see is the shiny front grill of a black Suburban following too closely behind me.

“That Suburban just cut off the blue car that was behind you, big time. I thought they were going to collide!”

“Wow,” I glance at the Suburban again. The front windows are tinted, so I can’t see who’s driving the car.

“What a jerk. Now he’s tailgating you.”

“Should I slam on my breaks so he’ll hit me and collect some insurance money?” I joke, but Grace shakes her head, serious.

“I wouldn’t want to meet whoever’s driving that car.”

At the next light, when I make a right turn, the Suburban does as well.

“Oh please, don’t tell me he’s one of my neighbors,” Grace says. But when we turn off onto her street, the Suburban’s engine revs up and it speeds past us. “Freak,” she mutters after him.

When we pull into her driveway a few minutes later, Grace doesn’t have to invite me in. It’s become pretty standard that whenever one of us has to drive the