Echoes Marissa Lete (best ereader for students .TXT) 📖

business during previous years based on the low level of noise I hear. I walk up to the front counter, angling my body so that I can keep an eye on the front of the shop in case the guy decides to make another appearance. The woman looks up as I walk over, then smiles warmly.

“Rough day?” she asks.

I sigh, feeling my body slowly returning to a non-panicked state. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Trust me. I understand,” she says. But I don’t think anyone can understand what’s been happening to me lately. I peer up at the menu. The “Coffee” side has a bunch of different drinks listed, and the “Cream” side has ice cream flavors. “Let me guess, you’ll have a single scoop of cookie dough in a waffle cone?”

I blink, surprised that she remembers my order from last time. “Yeah, actually,” I tell the woman.

“It seems to be your usual.” She winks, then turns to the back counter where the ice cream tubs are.

“Usual?” I repeat, confused because I’ve only been here once, but she doesn’t hear me. Wasn’t it someone else at the counter when Grace and I stopped in here that day, too? An older man?

“How’s your… friend doing?” she asks, back turned, oblivious to my confusion.

I think of the day Grace and I stopped here. Grace had just broken up with Andy, but she hadn’t seemed off at the time, so it seems like an odd question to ask.

“Um…” I start to reply, and the woman turns around, holding a delicious-looking ice cream cone in her hands.

She takes two steps, then looks up and pauses for a second, searching my face. “Oh no, you didn’t… did you?” Her eyes widen in horror.

“I—” I start, eyebrows cinching up in confusion, but she cuts me off.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Forget I even said anything,” she says in a rush. She shoves the ice cream into my hands. “I should have known since y’all haven’t been here in months. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I’m so sorry. This one’s on the house. Please, stay as long as you want. I’ll leave you alone.” The words tumble out of her mouth, panicked. Before I have time to process anything that she said, she turns around and rushes into a back room, the door banging shut behind her.

My heart rate escalates. Y’all haven’t been here in months. Y’all, as in me and Maverick?

Just then, I hear an echo of the door opening last year. I turn my head as if I will see someone standing there and listen, hoping to get some type of answer for the questions swirling in my head. But my hope dies a second later when I hear the voice of a young girl say, “Mom, can I please get the big one this time? Pleeeease?”

I stand there for a minute, tuning out the rest of the echo, both wanting to barge into the back room to fire a million questions at the ice cream girl and get out of this shop as quickly as possible. Instead, I walk to the back corner of the shop and sit down at a table facing the window. I stare out of it, the cookie dough ice cream slowly melting in my hand as I wonder who the hooded figure chasing me was, and what he wanted from me. Wonder if the ice cream girl simply mistook me for someone else, or if she somehow recognized me because I’ve been here before… with Maverick. The guy I have no memory of and I’m still not sure exists. It’s all enough to make my head spin.

Eventually, after I feel confident that the hooded guy has lost me and is probably long gone, I peel myself out of the chair and make my way to the front of the shop. The ice cream girl is still nowhere to be seen, and I’m too freaked out to want to question her more, so I open the door and step out of the store, a blast of cold air hitting me.

Earlier, before I was chased, the sun was still hanging slightly above the horizon. Now, however, the only evidence of the sun’s existence is the pale pink hue of the sky. I pull out my phone, checking the time. Seven-thirty. I wonder where my past self was right now. Was I still on a date with Maverick? I’m not sure if I even know where to look anymore, so I decide I should just go home.

I walk towards where I parked, my head whipping around every few seconds to make sure there’s no sign of the hooded guy. The area is pretty empty right now, and the past is quiet, too. So I should know if someone is following me.

When I get to the parking garage, I take my time, peeking around corners and cars before I walk farther. As I’m checking the perimeter, I spot the black Suburban parked discreetly behind a pillar, a few hundred yards away from my car. I stop in my tracks, realizing they might be waiting for me to leave so they can follow me home—to my actual home this time. I wonder if seeing a car nearby a few times is enough grounds for the cops to do anything. I wonder if they would believe me if I told them someone from the Suburban tried to chase me. I don’t remember seeing any other people around, so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.

I don’t have any more time to think, because just then, I hear the Suburban crank up, and the headlights come on. I back away, realizing I’m standing near the parking garage’s exit, and if they leave, I’ll be in plain sight. I dart around the building, spotting a couple of bushes that I quickly crouch behind. Ten