The Evolution of Mara Dyer

He watched as I slipped on shoes, went outside, and threw the doll on top of the swollen garbage bags in the bin my father had already brought out to the curb. It would be taken away soon, and then I wouldn’t think about it or dream about it or be tortured with it by Jude again.

We went back to Noah’s bed; the doll and the nightmare made me uneasy, and I didn’t want to sleep alone. I rested my head against his shoulder and my eyes closed, lulled by the feel of his silent, even breathing beneath my hands. When I woke again, it was still dark. But Noah was still next to me, and we were still in bed.

I was tired but relieved. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Noah said, but his voice wasn’t thick with sleep.

I drew back to look at him. “Were you awake?”

He pretended to stretch. “What? No.”

I rolled over onto my side and smiled. “You totally were. You were watching me sleep.”

“No. That would be creepy. And boring. Watching you shower, perhaps . . .”

I punched him in the arm, then snuggled deeper under the covers.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Noah said, as he rolled over me, leaning on his arms, “and believe me, I am,” he added, looking down into my eyes as a mischievous smile formed on his lips, “I’m afraid you have to go.”

I shook my head. He nodded.

“It’s still dark.” I pouted.

“Fishing. With Joseph. You have to get back to your room before he wakes up.”

I sighed dramatically.

“I know,” he said, his smile growing wider. “I wouldn’t want to sleep without me either.”

I rolled my eyes and scooted out from beneath him. “Now you’ve ruined it.”

“Just as I intended,” he said, leaning back against the pillows. His eyes followed me to the door.

Torture. I pulled it open.

“Mara?”

“Noah?”

“Do wear those pajamas again.”

“Ass,” I said, gri

Of who I couldn’t see.

It was nearly dawn, though. Jude wouldn’t risk breaking in so close to daylight. The thought reassured me and I slipped into my bed, my parents none the wiser. I closed my eyes. I had no trouble falling asleep.

The trouble began when I woke up.

At around eight, my father knocked on the door to make sure I was awake. I poured myself out of bed and over to my dresser to pick out clothes for Horizons.

But when I opened my underwear drawer, my grandmother’s doll was inside.

It was all I could do not to scream. I backed away from the dresser and locked myself in the bathroom, sliding down the tiled wall to the cold tiled floor. I pressed a fist against my mouth.

Was Jude watching me last night? Did he see me throw it away? And then put it back in my room while I was asleep in Noah’s?

Goose bumps pebbled my flesh and my skin was slick with sweat. But I couldn’t let my father know anything was wrong. I had to dress and look and act like everything was normal. Like I was healthy and Jude was dead and none of this was happening.

“Get up,” I whispered to myself. I stayed on the floor for one more second, then stood. I turned the faucet on, cupped my hand under the stream of water and brought it to my lips, glancing at my reflection in the mirror as I straightened.

I froze. The contours of my face seemed strange. Subtly unfamiliar. My cheekbones were sharper, my lips were swollen as if I’d been kissing, my cheeks were flushed, and my hair stuck to the back of my neck like paste.

I was transfixed. The water slipped through my fingers.

The sound of it hitting the porcelain sink brought me back. My throat ached—I turned the faucet back on and cupped another handful of water and greedily drank it from my palm. It cooled me from the inside out. I looked in the mirror again.

I still looked different, but I felt a little better. I was tired and scared and angry and frustrated and obviously stressed out. Maybe I was getting sick, too. Maybe that’s why I looked strange. I rolled my neck, stretched my arms above my head, and then drank again. My skin prickled, as if I was being watched.

I glanced at my dresser. The doll was still inside.

“Almost ready?” Dad called out from the hallway.

“Yeah,” I yelled back. I turned away from the mirror and put on clothes. I threw one last look at my dresser before I left my room.

The doll had to go.

26

GOOD MORNING,” MY FATHER SAID WHEN I FINALLY appeared in the kitchen.

“Morning.” I grabbed two granola bars and a bottle of water from the pantry, gulping half of it down while Dad finished his coffee. We headed for the car together.

He rolled down the windows once we were inside. It was unusually gorgeous out—blue and cloudless and not hot yet at all, but the inside of my skin burned, anyway.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

I shot him a glance. “Why?”

“You look a little tired.”

“Thanks . . .”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Hey, you know what movie I rented?”

“Um . . . no?”

He paused meaningfully. “Free Willy,” he said with a giant smile.

“Okay . . .”

“You loved that movie—we used to watch it all the time, remember?”

Like when I was six.

“And Joseph is up in arms about the plight of orcas now, so I thought we could watch it together, as a family,” he said. Then added, “I bet Noah would like it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He was clearly making an effort. “Okay, Dad.”

“It’s uplifting.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Transformational—”

“Okay, Dad.”

He gri

I was looking for Jude.

I spent the whole drive to Horizons worrying I would see him behind us, but I didn’t. Dad dropped me off and I was warmly welcomed by Brooke, who introduced me to the art therapist I’d be working with a few days a week. She had me draw a house, a tree, and my family—some kind of test, definitely—and once I did so to her satisfaction, it was time for Group. Half of the students had to share their fears.

I was very glad to be in the other half.

Phoebe kept her distance from me that day, and Jamie made me laugh the way he always did. The hours passed unremarkably but I found myself sneaking glances outside at every opportunity, waiting for the white truck to appear in the parking lot.

It never did.

When my father and I pulled up to the house that afternoon, Mom’s car was already in the driveway. More importantly, so was Noah’s.

I felt a burst of relief. I needed to tell him about the doll in my room this morning, about Jude in my room last night while we slept. I nearly dove out of the car while it was still moving.

“Tell your mom I’m off to work on her list,” Dad said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

I nodded and shut the door. He didn’t drive away until I was inside the house.

Machine gun fire erupted from our family room, and I entered it to find Noah and Joseph slouched on the floor with controllers in their hands, their eyes glued to the TV.

Our conversation would have to wait.

“How was fishing?” I asked, in a casual voice that did not suit my mood. I walked through the archway into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I was hungry, but nothing looked good.

“We did not, in fact, go fishing,” Noah answered, still squinting at the screen.