Colin nods. “No, she wouldn’t know any of that.”

The stories are as old as the buildings here: Walkers out in daylight, wandering lost and confused. A man in military uniform sitting on the bench near the lake. A girl vanishing between two trees. Sometimes a student will claim a Walker tried to talk to them or, worse, grab them. But it’s all ghost stories, a legend built on the morbid history of the school. The Catholic institution was built on grounds where children of settlers were buried before the survivors made their long trek through the mountains, but in the first week the school was open, two more kids died in a fire that burned down the chapel. For years, students claimed to see the two lost children standing by the newly erected statue of Saint Osanna, or sitting in a pew in the rebuilt chapel. The legend lived on, and over time, the population of Walkers grew in the students’ collective imagination.

It’s a morbid history, Colin knows, and the students keep the stories alive because it makes the school interesting and makes them sound brave. But even though everyone swears they don’t believe the Walkers exist, only stoners and drunk kids given a dare on Halloween hang at the lake or deep in the woods. Or dumbasses like him and Jay, who are doing shit they don’t want to get busted for. Of course Amanda would be the one to have seen Lucy there.

Jay pulls his feet from the wall. “You like her.”

Colin bends and ties shoelaces that don’t need tying.

“It’s cool if you like her. She’s not ugly or anything, but she’s . . . I don’t know. Quiet.” Jay takes a long pull from his water bottle. “Which isn’t always a bad thing. Amanda would never shut up. God. Was she always talking when you guys were—”

“Dude.” Colin doesn’t want to think about another girl while he’s watching Lucy. It feels wrong, like comparing a river stone to a ruby.

“She totally was,” Jay guesses, and makes a yapping gesture with his hand. “Oh, Colin, Colin, Colin,” he gasps in a high, breathy voice.

Colin doesn’t reply, choosing instead to shove a handful of chips in his mouth. Jay actually does a fairly good Amanda impersonation.

“Have you talked to her?” Jay asks.

“Amanda?”

“New girl.”

Colin shrugs and wipes his palms on his jeans. “Once or twice. Last time I tried, she ran away.”

“That’s because you’re a dick,” Jay says with a punch to his arm. “A nice dick. But still a dick.”

Colin pauses before balling up his garbage and tossing it into the trash. “You called me a nice dick.”

Jay winks at him, but two seconds later punches his good arm again. “So are you going to talk to her again, or what?”

Colin shrugs, but of course he knows he will.

“All right, lover boy,” Jay says, stretching his arms over his head. “This chat’s been great, but I told Shelby I’d meet her behind the school.”

“You’re a walking cliché.”

Jay cycles through girls the way Colin goes through bike tires. Only used for a few, wild rides. Ignoring the comment, Jay juts his chin toward where Lucy has turned and is walking back toward the quad, only twenty or so feet away. “She’s coming back.”

For a brief moment, Lucy’s eyes catch Colin’s and hold on. And even though he thinks she’s been watching him, too, suddenly she’s walking faster and veering away from where he sits.

“Make me proud,” Jay says, clapping a hand on Colin’s back before walking away.

Colin stands and crosses the soccer field, accelerating his long strides to catch her. He has no idea what to say. It doesn’t feel the same as approaching one of the girls from school, the girls who knew him when he was five and couldn’t write the letter “S.” The girls who knew him when he was ten and wore the same Han Solo shirt for an entire week. The girls who, lately, never seem to say no. This feels like approaching an exotic snake on a trail.

As if she knows he’s there, Lucy turns and looks at him over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he says nervously, shoving his good hand into his pocket. The fingers of his other hand twitch at his side.

She frowns and keeps moving along the grass.

“I didn’t see you eat anything,” he continues, moving into step beside her. “Weren’t you hungry? Dot makes the best grilled cheese.” Lucy gives only a small shake of her head, but the response is enough to make something like hope spread in his chest. “Are you cold? I have a fleece in my room. . . .” He cringes inwardly. That sounded like the worst pickup line ever.

They walk for another minute in silence, leaves crunching beneath the soles of their shoes. Although it’s weird how quiet she is, for some reason he doesn’t feel ignored, either. “Did you move here?” Ducking his head, he smiles at her. “It’s like you just showed up one day.”

There’s a slight falter in her steps but nothing else. Colin studies her profile: creamy, pale skin and bee-stung lips that stick out in kind of a hot pout.

“Where did you go to school before?” he asks.

Lucy picks up her pace but doesn’t answer. He’s decided to give up and turn away when she slows, motioning to his cast. “How did you hurt your arm?”

He flexes the fingers of his left hand on instinct. “On my bike. I didn’t quite land a jump.”

“Does it hurt?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy, like she was at a show last night screaming her head off. He imagines her dancing alone, rocking out, not giving a crap what anyone thinks.

“Nah. I’ve had worse. Broken bones, fractures, concussions, stitches. You name it. This is nothing.” He stops talking abruptly, realizing he sounds like a frat boy bragging about slamming a beer can against his forehead.