* * *
Emma slapped her alarm clock as it buzzed, and then curled into a stretch, wishing she could crash for another eight hours. She’d lost a lot of sleep over the years because of Max Ringgold, and last night was no exception. His words kept replaying in her head, a record stuck on repeat with an incessant message.
Max still wanted her.
The fact brought more nightmares than dreams, and she fell asleep too close to dawn.
Suddenly, she sat up in bed, fully awake. Today was Tonya’s testing period. Would she pass?
Tonya’s bed was empty, the covers pulled up and her pillow fluffed. Emma frowned. A quick glance confirmed Katie and Stacy were still asleep, sprawled haphazardly across their sheets as only teens could do. Where was Tonya?
Grabbing her slippers in one hand and her toiletry case in the other, she padded toward the entryway for the bathrooms, heart thumping with unease. If Tonya was still sick, she wouldn’t be up and about so early.
But what if they were on to her, and she’d panicked? Done something really crazy, like run away?
Sort of ridiculous to think a teenager would make her bed before attempting jailbreak, but it was just as ridiculous for someone as beautiful as Tonya to think she needed to starve herself to look attractive. Teenagers sometimes did crazy things to feel loved and accepted.
Emma was a poster child for that particular motto.
She ducked back as the dormitory door swung open, nearly clipping her slipper-clad toes. “Oh, sorry.” Tonya grimaced at the near miss, but the vibrancy in her complexion and the simple fact that she was there, dressed in a purple robe with her hair freshly braided, lifted Emma’s spirits.
She fought the urge to hug her. “You’re looking better.” Understatement of the year. Compared to her pallor yesterday after the barn incident, Tonya looked runwayworthy once again.
“Feeling better.” Tonya smiled, and it seemed sincere enough. Either she’d taken some acting classes overnight, or whatever had plagued her had passed. Maybe it’d been nothing more than low blood sugar, after all.
She just really hoped it hadn’t been lies. Max didn’t do well with those.
Ironically.
“Ready for breakfast?” Emma lowered her voice so not to wake the other girls, though they’d be getting up in about ten or fifteen minutes anyway. “I think Mama Jeanie said something yesterday about pancakes.”
A brief shadow flickered across Tonya’s expression before the grin returned. “Sounds great.”
Did it? She made a mental note to watch Tonya’s eating habits closely.
“I’m glad you’re on the mend, but if you feel off today at all, let me know.” She tried to mimic the firm tone Max used that worked so easily on the teens. “We want you to be okay.” She tried to hold Tonya’s gaze, show her compassion, but the younger girl dodged it, shaking off further inquiry.
“I’m fine. I promise.” She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug and fiddled with the satiny ties of her robe.
Max’s famous line ran through her mind in protest—no lying at Camp Hope—but she swallowed the words. The girls heard that often enough. They needed to trust Emma, not take her as a nag. They already had moms—well, most of them. They needed a teammate, someone they could trust while they grew and healed.