Free The Princesses of Iowa by M. Molly Backes Page A

tan,”
and then she went home and wrote her boyfriend a long email about how much she loved him, and then the doorbell rang and her best friends showed up saying, “
It wasn’t the same without you, so we left the party!”
And they ordered a pizza and painted their toenails and watched stupid teen movies where everyone sings their way through high school and it’s easy and happy. And they fell asleep sprawled across the couch, legs tangled with legs and toes in the air to protect their pedicures. And no one got behind the wheel and no one got hurt and the school year ended not with doctors and nurses but with yearbooks and exams, and then the summer stretched out forever, waiting to be filled with trips to the mall and random drives through the countryside and bonfires and stargazing and crazy adventures on the golf course.
    If she just believes hard enough, she can wake up in the life she’s supposed to be living, in her own bed in her own room in Willow Grove, the sheets soft against her legs, a cool breeze and a clean conscience and no canes and no Paris and no yelling and everything the way it was before. If she just believes —
    I was jolted out of my trance by the distinctive
flap flap
of sneakers on wet leaves. I listened, waiting for the jogger to pass on the trail above. It wasn’t the easiest trail in the county to run, but every now and then I encountered someone attempting it. I could see feet on the trail above, and a flash of gray through the trees. Instead of turning toward the running trail, though, the feet slowed and turned toward me. My trail. My secret. I’d never seen anyone else down here, ever; the trail was far too steep to run. I froze, waiting for the jogger to realize his mistake and turn around.
    But he didn’t. Instead, he half climbed, half stumbled down the trail, grabbing at slender tree trunks and sliding on damp leaves. There was a very specific way to get down elegantly, which involved stepping precisely on certain roots and embedded rocks, but he missed it entirely and slid the last fifteen or so yards, landing somewhat miraculously on his feet.
    The jogger looked up and I gasped. “Hello, Paige Sheridan. You come here often?”
    Dumbstruck, I shook my head.
    It was the Freshman from creative writing class, Ethan. “No? You should,” he said, looking around. “This place is amazing.”
    “No, I mean, I do.” I hugged my notebook to my ribcage. “I just — what are you doing here?”
    “Exploring. I had a rare free moment, so . . .” He shrugged. “I used to do a lot of hiking on the Missouri, around Council Bluffs.”
    He stepped into the clearing, looking past me to the tiny cave and the spring pool. “It really is nice down here.” He seemed different than he had in class. Less weird, maybe. Less staged. But then, I wouldn’t know anything about that, right?
    “What?” he asked, noticing my wry smile.
    “Nothing.”
    He looked at his legs. “Am I covered in mud? Am I trailing toilet paper or something? Am I breaking out in mint chocolate chips?”
    I laughed. “What?”
    Ethan shrugged. “Hey, there are countless ways I could be humiliating myself in front of you right now. I need to be ready for any possibility.”
    “You’re not breaking out in mint chocolate chips,” I said seriously. “But I think I see a hint of praline pecan on your forehead.”
    He slapped his hand across his face. “Ugh, it never fails. Run into a girl, break out in pralines.”
    I smiled and looked away. For a moment it was silent between us, and I could hear the echoes of geese honking on the distant lake.
    “So,” he said. “I guess this answers one of my questions.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Where.”
    I shifted my weight, looking at him. “Where?”
    “You know, from class? ‘Where does Paige Sheridan go when she needs to get away.’”
    “Oh. Right.”
    He looked at me. “So you come here to get away, and the new kid shows up and starts peppering you with