For that reason, when we heard people saying that Rachel Vale might be behind the troll account ANONYM1698—which for months had spammed the Sharks’ social media accounts, theCounty Newswebsite, and the broader internet with conspiracy theories about steroid use and a culture of sexual violence—we assumed that the Steeler-Coxes were yet again to blame for the rumors. Rachel Vale had recently declared her intentions to protest the construction of a Jay Steeler Legacy Pavilion at the Aquatics Center, a controversy that besieged our parents and inboxes with all-caps emails and petitions to support one side or another.
But ultimately rumors were like every other virus: what made them deadly wasn’t where they began but how contagious they were. The evidence that Rachel Vale and ANONYM1698 were the same person was circumstantial but convincing, at least among those inclined to distrust the Vales anyway. ANONYM1698 had first popped up online in July of the previous year—about a month before the Vales first moved to Granger. They didn’t write like a normal online troll. Even more concerningly, they seemed to have a suspicious amount of inside information about the swim team, both past and present.
Only a journalist, the theory went, could write so dispassionately about hearsay, elegantly givingrumorthe gloss of reportedfact. Only a journalist could produce such detailed point-by-point references to accusations more than a decade old. Only a journalist could argue so persuasively that the system of booster funds, and the continued flow of big money tied to our high school swim team’s ascendance, heldAdministration hostage to their wins and incentivized the county to overlook their misdeeds.
Only a journalist—or someone waging a detailed and protracted campaign against our reputation, dedicated to spinning every story into damning proof and to displaying every failure in the most unflattering light.
Or both. The two possibilities weren’t mutually exclusive.
It was always possible that Lucy Vale and her mother had taken the Faraday House with a hidden agenda and the intention to bring our swim team down.
Still, we championed Lucy Vale and Noah Landry’s coupledom. We rooted for them.
To us, Rachel Vale’s perceived disapproval of the Sharks made the Noah-and-Lucy endgame even more romantic. We loved a low-key Romeo and Juliet vibe.
We swooned over the way Noah decorated Lucy’s locker on Valentine’s Day. We made their Instagram posts our #relationshipgoals. We voted them onto junior homecoming court. We stood in a fan around them as they took to the floor after winning, shuffling awkwardly in circles under lights that glittered through their plastic crowns, and heckled them until they agreed to reprise the chicken dance.
We thought they would get married someday.
Somehow Noah Landry and Lucy Vale were not like other couples. For the most part, we tracked school romances by digital deduction. We knew whether Bailey Lawrence and JJ Hammill were on or off again by whether they were following each other on any given week. We could identify Savannah Savage’s admirers by the accounts that left her heart-eyed and flame emojis. We knew who was hanging out and who was breaking up by the photos and videos they were tagged in. We were fluent in the Morse code of posted memes and chosen camera angles, hashtags and viral sound clips. We swiped and scrolled to a revolving picture of heartbreaks and hookups, feuds and friendships.
But Noah Landry and Lucy Vale’s relationship was somehow obscure, even as they became the most watched couple at Woodward. They existed in their own space, in a dimension bounded entirely by his regimen and her devotion to him. They were the most private public couple we knew.
They were always together—in the SLD Tutoring Center between classes, in church on Sundays, in the lunch line. Lucy went to all of Noah’s practices, doubling over her laptop in the bleachers while Noah swam endless laps, working milliseconds off his already deadly times. When we saw them in town or at the lake, they were always locked in private conversation or physically entwined, arms entangled, fingers interlaced, foreheads touching until they looked like a single being. When they showed up in JJ Hammill’s or Bailey Lawrence’s social media posts, they were always standing a little ways off from their friends, usually in the background. Touching. Always touching.
Noah walked Lucy to her classes. He walked her to the bus. Lucy stopped taking the bus. Noah Landry’s parents began picking her up in the morning and dropping her home at night after Noah finished practice.
Every time we saw them together, they were holding hands. In the cafeteria, they sat practically on top of each other. We heard that when they were apart, even for half an hour, Noah Landry texted Lucy to check on her.
We didn’t think it was weird.
We thought they were in love.
Two
Rachel
Every Sunday, Noah brought Rachel flowers when he picked up Lucy for church. Rachel couldn’t believe that her daughter was regularly attending services.
“What about becoming a Wiccan?” she teased. “I thought you said that organized religion was a tool to brainwash the masses.”
Lucy looked a little embarrassed. “It’s important to Noah,” she said. It was a phrase that Rachel heard a lot that spring.Mom, can you drive me to Wabash on Thursday for Noah’s all-around? It’s important to Noah. Mom, can I go to Noah’s house for dinner after practice? It’s practically the only time we’ll have together this week. Please. It’s important to Noah.“Besides, I like the music.”
“I just don’t want you feeling like you have to become someone else,” Rachel said, reaching out to ruffle her daughter’s hair.
Lucy jerked away. “I’m not becoming someone else,” she said. They were driving. She flipped down the passenger-side mirror to check her reflection. “I’m becoming someone better.”
Rachel almost said, “According to who?” But she stopped herself. For the most part, Lucy seemed happy. Noah was nice to her, she said. Respectful. Not like her last “boyfriend,” thank God. He’d tormented Lucy with those photos. He’d spread them around to his high schoolfriends. Gossip had reached the middle school quickly. That’s when Lucy’s real torment began.
Noah Landry was different. Everyone liked him, according to Lucy—with the possible exception of Akash. Everyone knew him as a nice guy.
Still, Rachel worried. Noah had grown into Lucy’s life fast and completely, in the way of young, early romances. His presence, his preferences, his swim schedule, his opinions seemed to invade their house, growing stalactite-like at the center of every conversation, every weekend plan, every thought for the future. Rachel found herself tracking Noah’s schedule along with her daughter’s, able to recite the dates and locations of his upcoming meets with the club team, aware of his swim times and the records he was trying to beat. She even knew what he ate, how many calories he needed to consume.
Lucy seemed to absorb Noah through a process of diffusion. Or maybe Noah had absorbed Lucy. And Rachel lay awake at night, fretting, trying to keep them distinct in her head.
And there were problems. Minor blowups. Nights when Lucy went to bed with her eyes puffy from crying because of something Noah had said, because he hadn’t called after practice, or because he had called but sounded “weird.” There was the time that Lucy came home fuming because she’d had her phone confiscated by Administration after texting in class.
“Why were you texting in class?” Rachel wanted to know.
