They'll Never Catch Us

by Jessica Goodman

Genres: Young Adult

Synopsis

An utter page-turner. Goodman's voice is razor-sharp and keenly precise. Perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn! —Tiffany D. Jackson NYT Bestselling Author of White Smoke and Grown
 
From rising star Jessica Goodman, author of They Wish They Were Us, comes a new fast-paced thriller about two sisters vying for the top spot on their cross-country team—until a teammate's disappearance throws their lives off course.  
 

Stella and Ellie Steckler are only a year apart, but their different personalities make their relationship complicated. Stella is single-minded, driven, and she keeps to herself. Cross-country running is her life and she won't let anything get in the way of being the best. Her sister Ellie is a talented runner too, but she also lets herself have fun. She has friends. She goes to parties. She has a life off the course.

The sisters do have one thing in common, though: the new girl, Mila Keene. Both Stecklers' lives are upended when Mila comes to town. At first, Ellie and Stella view the new star athlete as a threat. But soon Ellie can't help but be drawn to her warm, charming personality. After her best friend moved away and her first boyfriend betrayed her, Ellie's been looking for a friend to share her secrets. Stella finds herself noticing the ways she and Mila are similar. Mila is smart and strong--she's someone Stella can finally connect with. As the two get closer, Stella becomes something she vowed she'd never be: distracted.

With regionals approaching and college scouts taking notice, the pressure is on. Each girl has their future on the line and they won't let friendships get in their way. But then, suddenly, Mila goes out on a training run and never returns. No one knows what happened, but all eyes are on the Steckler sisters.

Release date: July 27, 2021

Publisher: Razorbill

Print pages: 336

Sample

1 STELLA

I hate the way my sister Ellie breathes. She doesn’t huff or puff or pant or wheeze. No, Ellie’s breath is steady and sure and it never changes. Not when she accelerates around a particularly angled turn. Not even when she sprints the final hundred yards. Her breath is as consistent as the time.

I also hate the way Ellie’s ponytail never falls out of place. And that she can run in silence without wanting to crush her own brain with her hands. How can my little sister have so many thoughts she actually wants to think?

Me, on the other hand. I just want to shut everything out. That’s why I run. To get away. To be free. I just want to pump my legs faster than anyone else’s. To feel the burn deep within my lungs and all throughout my thighs. To win. It doesn’t matter where I’m going or which course I’m on or anything. What matters is that my brain stops. Completely. And I can only get there if everything’s aligned, if I ascend planes, beat records, and speed, speed, speed.

Only when I’m running can I forget about the little things—how my dark hair is so unruly it can only be tamed by a thick medical-grade elastic, or that time in the ninth grade Julia Heller found out I didn’t have my period yet and awarded me the nickname Sterile. I can forget that my parents are constantly worried about money and the too-big house. I can forget that Mom is a recovering alcoholic, who is always a few sips away from overthrowing the delicate balance we’ve found—and that Dad is constantly forcing us to avoid things that might set her off. I can forget why I’m here, how guilt and horror fizzled in my brain when I first heard the sound of bone unlatching. I can even forget the worst thing of all: that Ellie is just as fast as I am—sometimes even faster.

Shit. I’m doing it again. This happens every time I get hooked on this train of thought. I start listing all the things I hate about my sister, and then somewhere along the way the gears in my brain take a sharp turn and I’m reminding myself of everything that’s wrong with me.

The spiral continues until I remember something Mom once said: Everyone hates themselves a little. If you get over that, you survive. Sure, she said it when she was drunk and I was five. But I think it holds up.

I repeat that mantra over and over as I push toward the final eight hundred yards around the track. The sun beats down on my head and I wonder if my scalp can get sunburnt through my mess of curls. Ellie’s fine, silky hair wouldn’t protect her against this.

“Last one, Steckler! You got this!” Coach Reynolds calls from the sidelines. Her voice is faint, but I can still hear it. I love being called Steckler. It never happens back in Edgewater because there are always two of us.

I lean my body into the inner circle of the track as I glide around the last turn. The finish line beckons. My muscles ache. Makes sense, though. I have been running nearly a hundred miles a week. That was what was promised at Breakbridge Elite Track and Field Center. Well, that and anger management courses. But still, I’ve never slept better. Here, my muscles ache and thrum as I pour myself into bed every night. I don’t stay awake reciting my stats or obsessing over the scholarship I lost or listening for gasps in the stands as bodies collide. I just . . . sleep. Is this how I’m supposed to feel? Well rested and happy?

With only a hundred yards to go, I can feel every single lap and every single sprint that have turned my muscles into steel. I’ve gotten better since June. In the past eight weeks I’ve seen my times go down like crazy. Sure, I also learned some breathing exercises to help clear my mind and ways to keep me from spiraling with frustration. There’s no way Ellie will be able to keep up on the cross country course. A slow smirk crawls across my face as I imagine the fury in my sister’s icy blue eyes when I beat her.

This last race isn’t really a race at all. I’m just killing time before my parents come to get me. This is my final reminder of everything I’ve accomplished this summer. My first without Ellie. My first away from Edgewater. I have never felt freer than I do here. Not while running in the woods, or around the lake back home, up by the Ellacoya Mountain Resort. I’m finally, desperately, alone. And I love it.

Here we go. My eyes narrow as the last few yards sneak up on me. I cross them with ease and without ever breaking my pace. I want to keep running. I would, too. If I didn’t know Mom and Dad were waiting out front, eager to get home to Ellie, the landscapers, and the home office where they sell real estate to gullible yuppies looking for a second home north of Manhattan, at the foot of the idyllic Catskill mountain range. Or at least where they try to.

They used to have such a hard time closing deals, back when the cold cases were still fresh and the media called our little town Deadwater. In the span of a year, three female cross country stars went missing. Each one was found on the thorny trail up by Oak Tower. All killed in the same way: blunt force trauma, with no signs of sexual assault. They all fought like hell, and our totally incompetent police department never figured out who did it.

But that’s in the past now. It’s been a decade since anyone went missing. Well, that’s if you don’t count Shira Tannenbaum, and no one does. Now Edgewater’s a place where tristate tourists come to pick our apples, buy our ceramics, and kayak on our lake. Deadwater’s just a myth. Something we all lived through but try to forget.

“Steckler, that was your fastest yet.” Coach Reynolds skips up to me and wraps her arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to crush ’em all back home this year.” She flashes a wide, toothy smile, one that I’ve grown fond of, even though I’m usually not fond of much. Her gray-blonde bun flops on top of her head, just above her neon-yellow visor, and her cheeks are flushed and round. She reminds me of Grandma Jane.

“Thanks,” I say, barely out of breath.

“Your folks are here.”

“I figured.”

“Need help gathering your things?”

“Nah,” I say. “I’m all packed.”

We walk together in silence until the wood cabins come into focus. Behind them are mountains. Dozens of gorgeous, pointy peaks that ascend into the clouds. They’re prettier up here, better than the ones back home. Grander. Closer to the heavens. But I’m itching to get going and move on. I want to forget about what happened last year and focus on the cross country season ahead, on winning back my college scholarship. That’s my only way out of Edgewater. It’s not a bad place to live. It’s just not the only place.

“There’s our Stella!” Mom’s cooing voice rings out over the field, echoing into the trees, and my shoulders immediately tense.

“Look at you!” Dad calls. “I swear, you’re all muscle these days.”

Mom’s pretty face turns into a pout and she pushes her dark hair behind her ears. It’s long and silky, just like Ellie’s. “Sad to leave, sweetie? I know, it’s been such a fun summer, such a learning experience.” She’s right, even though I don’t want her to be.

“With the amount we’re paying, I should hope so.” Dad smiles, but the relaxed feeling in my chest disappears and my face turns a bright shade of crimson as I remember that Coach Reynolds is standing right there.

“I just have to get my bags, then we can head out,” I say.

“You don’t want to shower before we get in the car? It’s a long way home.” Mom pinches her perfectly symmetrical nose as if to get the message across loud and clear. You fucking reek.

“Nope,” I say through clenched teeth. “All good.”

“Well, okay,” Dad says, nervous. “Shall we, then?”

Everyone nods and we begin walking to the car. “You know, Stella’s improved quite a bit this summer,” Coach Reynolds says. Mom and Dad look hopeful, like they’d been waiting to hear that I’m still good. Good enough to win State again and get back into Georgetown’s good graces so I can go to college for free. Coach Gary, back in Edgewater, said if I broke my personal record—we call it PR for short—by a full minute, they’d have to pay attention. They couldn’t ignore me. He said it during one of his million-decibel screaming tantrums, spit forming at the corners of his mouth. But still. I just have to crush that time by State in November. Until then, everything is up in the air.