THE GIRL AT THE TOP OF THE SLOPE

CHAPTER 1 —

The worst part was not the mud.

Emily Hayes could see the puddle at the bottom of the school field slope, wide and brown from three days of rain. She could see the tire tracks, the trampled grass, the boys standing behind her with phones lifted like they were waiting for a show.

But the mud was not what made her hands shake.

It was Tyler’s laugh.

Tyler Reed stood behind her wheelchair with both hands on the handles, leaning close enough that she could smell peppermint gum and the cheap body spray boys used when they wanted to seem older than they were.

“Come on, Emily,” he said. “Don’t look so scared.”

The boys behind him laughed.

Not all of them.

That was the part Emily would remember later.

Some laughed loud because cruelty made them feel important. Some only smiled because they were afraid not to. And one boy, Mason, lowered his phone for half a second before Tyler looked back at him.

Then the phone came up again.

Emily swallowed hard.

Her blonde hair was tied back the way the school handbook required, though strands had come loose around her face. Her white school blouse felt too thin in the cold air. Her dark skirt was tucked carefully beneath her knees, because even when people tried to humiliate her, she had learned to keep whatever dignity she could hold.

“Tyler,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

He smiled wider.

That smile had followed her for almost a year.

In the cafeteria when he moved her chair away from the table.

In the hallway when he called her “Princess Parking Permit.”

In gym class when he asked if she needed training wheels.

Teachers heard pieces. Students saw more. Everyone seemed to agree it was easier to call Tyler “immature” than “cruel.”

Emily had reported him twice.

Both times, Principal Walsh said there was no proof.

Now there were at least five phones recording.

Tyler bent down beside her ear.

“Let’s see you race now.”

Before Emily could lock the wheels, he shoved.

The wheelchair jerked forward.

For one terrible second, the world tipped into motion.

Grass blurred under her feet. The slope dropped fast. Emily grabbed the armrests, breath trapped in her chest, as the chair bounced over wet ruts and slid sideways toward the huge muddy puddle below.

Behind her, boys shouted.

Some laughed.

One voice said, “Tyler, stop!”

But nobody ran fast enough.

The front wheels struck the edge of the puddle.

The chair twisted.

Mud exploded upward.

Emily hit the water with a hard splash that soaked her blouse, her face, her hair, everything. Cold mud filled her mouth. Her hands slapped into the brown water as the wheelchair tipped half sideways, one wheel spinning helplessly.

For a moment, she could not breathe.

Then the laughter came.

High, nervous, ugly laughter.

Tyler stood at the top of the slope with his hands spread like he had just won something.

Emily coughed, mud dripping from her chin.

Her eyes burned, but she refused to sob the way they wanted her to.

A phone was still in her skirt pocket.

Her fingers shook so badly she nearly dropped it twice.

Tyler started walking down the slope, still grinning. “Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

Emily wiped mud from the screen with the heel of her palm.

There were three missed calls from Dad.

He was supposed to be in a police conference all afternoon. She knew that because he had kissed the top of her head before school and said, “Big meeting today, kiddo. But if you need me, you call.”

Emily had almost laughed.

She never called him during school.

Not anymore.

She had stopped telling him everything because his face changed when he felt helpless. A police chief could handle criminals, storms, missing persons, drunk men with guns.

But he could not handle watching his daughter come home quiet.

Emily pressed video call.

Tyler’s smile faded a little.

“Who are you calling?”

Emily held the phone close as it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then her father’s face appeared on the screen, framed by the bright lights of a police conference room. Behind him, officers sat around a long table with folders and coffee cups.

Chief Robert Hayes looked confused first.

Then he saw the mud.

He saw her soaked blouse. Her trembling mouth. The wheelchair half-submerged beside her.

His face went still in a way Emily had never seen.

“Dad,” she said, trying not to break. “They did it again.”

The room behind him went silent.

Chief Hayes leaned closer to the screen.

His voice dropped so low it seemed to shake the air.

“Who touched my daughter?”

At the top of the slope, Tyler heard him.

The last bit of color drained from his face.