The Space Between Heartbeats by Melissa Pearl

way. “Nicole, you’ve treated me like that before, too. Worse, actually, because at least they’re consistent. You—you’d talk to me when no one was around, then pretend I didn’t even exist when you were with your friends.”
    “Well, maybe if you’d tried a little harder to fit in,” I said, my defenses rising even as his words rang true. “This is high school. Appearances matter.”
    He throws his hands in the air. “Look, I know who I am, and if a couple of bitchy girls don’t like it, I don’t give a shit.”
    “You’re lying.” I shake my head. “How can you not care what people think of you? How can you not care about having friends?”
    “I have friends. I have Adam and Lisa and Jake . . . and . . . and Raelyn.”
    “Who’s Raelyn?” I cross my arms.
    “My sister. She now lives with her husband and kids.” Dale runs his fingers down the mangled skin on his cheek. After a pause, he adds, “No offense, but I think you’re the one who may need to reevaluate your friendships. If you think those girls care about you, you’re either naive or shallower than I thought.” He turns away and heads down the hall.
    His words are a slap in the face. Because he’s right. About everything.
    With a frown I hurry after him.
    “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask.
    He stops outside one of the computer labs and turns the handle.
    “I have more important things to do than eat.” He pushes the door with his shoulder and holds it open long enough for me to get through.
    The suite is empty, the cream-colored plastic chairs tucked neatly beneath a long wooden table. The only noise is the faint static buzz of technology. Dale lets the door go and walks down the first row of computers to a station at the end.
    “Are you allowed in here?”
    Pulling out a chair, Dale plops into it, kicking out the one beside him with the edge of his shoe.
    “We’re fine, Nicky. Mr. Attley doesn’t mind seniors in here at lunchtime.”
    “It’s Nicole.”
    “What?” He glances up from the keyboard.
    “My name’s Nicole,” I repeat.
    “I know.” The screen comes to life with a flick of the mouse. “I just like Nicky better.”
    “Well, I like Nicole and it’s my name, so . . .”
    He lets out a soft chuckle as he opens up a Web browser. “Whatever you say, Nicole.”
    I perch on the seat beside him. “What are you looking for?”
    “I’m trying to figure out where you might be.”
    After typing Big Bear Lake, CA into Google Maps, Dale zooms out until we are looking at a map of the entire area, including San Bernadino National Forest.
    “So Matt lives here, right?” Dale points to an expansive lakefront area. He glances in my direction, his face inches from mine. I’ve never seen his scar this close before. The skin is smooth but raised—a red, raw reminder of whatever pain he must have suffered.
    “Nicole, does Matt live there?” Dale taps the screen.
    I nod, and then grimace. “Yes. Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t see me.”
    “Okay, so we don’t know what happened to you at that party, but what can we assume?”
    I shrug. “That I left with someone?”
    “Are you sure?” Dale asks. “Maybe you got in a fight and stormed out. Were you drunk?”
    “Why would you assume that?” Shame makes me snap out the words.
    He holds up his hands, as if in surrender. “I’m not assuming it. I’m just asking if you were.”
    I grind my teeth. “I was probably drunk. I’m lying next to my own puke in the forest.”
    Dale’s sharp nose wrinkles.
    “Don’t judge me, okay?”
    “I’m not,” Dale says, a little too quickly to be believable, and leans toward the screen. “I didn’t say anything.”
    I roll my eyes. “Your face is saying something and I don’t appreciate it.”
    “Sorry.” His voice is earnest.
    “Okay, so what are you thinking?” I ask. “Stupid drunk girl gets pissed off and decides to stumble her way home? It’s over ten miles from Matt’s place to