In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

  Flames crept to my shoe; I yanked my foot back, clutching again at the pain in my side. Coop’s head jerked in my direction.

  “We have to get out of here,” I yelled. “This place is going to burn down.”

  Coop looked down at Mint, then back at me, nodding. He turned to Frankie. “Pull him up, then let’s run. But don’t let go, okay?”

  Frankie nodded, and together, they yanked Mint to his feet and pushed him forward.

  I stood, eyes stinging, blood warm and sticky against my fingers, and followed, trying to track them through the smoke. Over their shoulders, I could finally see Caro, still grunting and tugging Courtney’s body toward the door. She was so close.

  In front of me, Mint jerked. And I knew instantly what he was thinking: no matter what happened to us, Caro and Courtney, at least, would escape. Caro would tell everyone what happened here, what Mint had confessed. He was a goner.

  I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but Mint was too fast. He snapped and twisted out of Frankie’s and Coop’s grasp, shooting backwards, past me to the corner of the room, where the open window met the wall.

  “Wait,” he screamed as Coop and Frankie doubled back for him. “I’m sorry, okay?” Mint bent over, panting, his eyes two blue dots in a sea of red. He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. All of it, truly.”

  Frankie and Coop froze in surprise. In that moment, I could hear shouting from far below. The Homecoming parade—of course. They’d come to the end of the route, and now they were gathered underneath Blackwell Tower. And it was lit with flames, billowing smoke.

  Mint looked at me. And to my shock, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Jess. There’s something wrong with me. I’ve known it ever since that night. I’ll get help.”

  “Mint—” My voice caught.

  “Forgive me, please,” he begged. “I’ll do anything, I promise. I’ll turn myself in. We can salvage this. I’ll—”

  Out of the wall of fire, a body flew toward Mint. Eric. They slammed together, shoulders cracking against shoulders, tumbling until Eric seized control, drawing Mint up onto his hands and his knees. Then—too fast for me to stop it, too fast even for the scream ripping from my throat—Eric pushed Mint out the open window.

  I might have only imagined it, like a waking dream, but for a single second, Mint’s body floated among the trees, his eyes stark and wide against the sky. And I knew, with all my heart and soul, that I’d loved him, and he’d been good and wicked, and in the dark, secret part of me, we were so much the same.

  And then he plunged.

  My scream ended only when we heard the terrible, unmistakable crunch of his body hitting pavement. And then everything was drowned in the thunderous noise of hundreds of people shouting and stampeding below us.

  Mint’s body had fallen from the top of Blackwell Tower in full view of the parade.

  Mint was dead. I reeled with it for a second, somehow cold with shock in a burning room. And then something strange happened. Everything clicked into place. I knew exactly what to do.

  “Get back!” I shouted to Eric. He turned to me, defiant, but I kept yelling. “Get away from the window. Everyone will see you.”

  “Jess.” Coop rushed toward me, Frankie behind him.

  “All of you, back,” I screamed. The heat from the fire was stinging my skin, making my fingers slippery with sweat. Behind the flames, I could see Caro—her shocked face, wide eyes staring at me from where she stood, paralyzed in the doorway.

  “I killed Mint,” I said, my voice rough. “Do you hear me? I pushed him out the window. He killed Heather because he thought she was me, and today he tried to finish the job. You all heard him. He wanted me dead.”

  “What?” Frankie asked.

  “If the cops know Mint surrendered and Eric pushed him anyway, Eric will go to prison.”

  “I don’t care,” Eric said. “I knew what I was doing.”

  I looked at him. In that moment, his hard veneer—ten years of doggedness, pursuing justice when no one else would, clear-eyed and coldhearted—wavered. And I could see the skinny freshman boy he’d once been. It was that boy who’d devoted his life to arriving at this moment. That boy who was willing, in the end, to give up his freedom to see his sister’s killer dead.

  “I promised her justice,” he said softly.

  I shoved him behind me and stepped to the window. “It was self-defense. See?” I lifted my bloody hand from my side. “He stabbed me, so I pushed him.” I looked at Coop and Frankie. “Promise me, right now. Say I did it.”

  “You did it,” Frankie said roughly.

  “Coop,” I warned. “Say it.”

  “You did it,” he whispered, but his eyes begged me: Let me pull you from the window, let me save you.

  But it was time I made a different kind of choice.

  Sweeping aside glass, I climbed to the edge of the window, making myself visible to the crowd below. It was cooler here, the smoke mixing with crisp air. Below, a ring of people circled Mint’s body, ignoring shouts from firefighters who raced up behind them. Some of the Homecoming crowd was running from the parade in fear. But the rest—the majority—gazed up, transfixed by the sight of me. The red-faced, bloody girl, blond hair whipping behind her, standing atop the tower, criminal and defiant.

  Gasps spread among the crowd. Arms lifted, fingers pointing. “She pushed him,” someone yelled, clear and loud enough to carry up to me.

  In front of the whole world: Jessica Miller, villain.

  Sirens cut through the noise, and I saw, with my bird’s-eye view, dazzling red and blue lights. Cop cars speeding toward us, parting the crowd like the Red Sea.

  One last moment of freedom. I took a deep breath of cool air, heavy with the scent of magnolias. Looked back at the crowd, and this time I spotted him. Right there at the edge, his face tilted up, mouth set in a hard line. I nearly lost my footing.

  Jack.

  Chapter 42

  May, sophomore year

  For the first time in a long time, it was just the three of us. Movie night, my favorite, worth suffering through whatever early-aughts film Caro had chosen to see her happy, to see Heather shake her head with secret affection, to lock the door and curl on Caro’s bed and leave the rest of the world on the other side.

  Tonight, it felt like we’d dialed time back to freshman year. Just me, Heather, and Caro, before everything else had washed in and made life complicated.

  The window was open. The night was dark and hushed, not a sound from campus except for the gentle swish of tree branches in the warm breeze. Sprawled at our feet on the twin bed, Caro snored softly, the credits to Cruel Intentions still rolling on mute.

  I scooted closer to Heather and rested my head on her shoulder. My feet brushed Caro, but she didn’t wake. I sighed. “I don’t want this year to end. I wish I could stay right here forever.”

  Heather’s cheek rubbed the top of my head. “If you don’t want to go home for the summer, come with me to Cleveland. We can do sleepovers every night. We’ll swim at the club and get wasted on daiquiris and flirt with the tennis instructors.”

  I rolled my eyes to cover the fact that she’d zeroed in on exactly what I was dreading. “Do our boyfriends exist in this scenario?”

  Heather laughed. “What Jack and Minty don’t know won’t hurt them. Come on. I want a summer-break buddy. We can call you an intern and my dad can pay you.”

  I groaned, feeling the weight of everything I’d been ignoring so I could have fun tonight drop back on my shoulders. “I can’t. I have to start studying for the GRE.”

  Heather lay down flat on the bed, rustling Caro, who snored on. She crossed her arms, and I knew what was coming. “Jessica Marie Miller, you are a sophomore. That word is synonymous with zero responsibilities. I know I say this a lot, but loosen up. You have two who
le years to think about your future. I see you studying like crazy every night, freaking out over every test. It looks miserable.”

  I shook my head. Our arms touched, which made me feel warm and safe, like I could be honest. “I have to go to grad school for econ and work in DC.” Like my dad planned, I thought to myself, but didn’t say out loud.

  “You have the most specific, boring dreams,” Heather complained.

  I shifted onto my side. “Yeah, well, first I have to get perfect grades at Duquette. Then perfect grades in grad school. And then, maybe, I can live a little.” I was certain I’d have a shot if I worked hard enough. I tucked that certainty into a warm place in my heart.

  “Perfect, perfect, perfect,” Heather teased, snuggling closer. “You’re obsessed with that word. You know no one is actually perfect, right?”

  The unkind thought came quickly: Easy for her to say. She somehow managed to get everything she wanted without having to worry about earning it. She was the exception to the rule.

  I swallowed the thought and decided to tell her the truth. “I want to make my parents proud.” No more sorry to inform you. “I want to look back in ten years and know I did everything right.” No more second place, no more punching down.

  Heather shifted, staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing the little glow-in-the-dark stars Caro had stuck there. Caro, forever obsessed with what she wasn’t allowed to have when she was young.

  “In ten years,” Heather said slowly, “you’re not even going to remember the things that seem important now. You’re going to have totally different priorities. I bet you’ll look back and laugh at everything that feels so dramatic now.”

  She yawned and bumped my shoulder. “We’ll still be friends, of course, so in ten years, I’ll remind you we had this conversation. You’re going to laugh. Trust me.”

  She got excited and turned on her side. “I just had the best idea. Let’s do predictions! I’m super good at them. I’ll bet you a million dollars that ten years from now, I’m famous.”

  “How?” I asked, but Heather shrugged. “Don’t know. I like my archaeology class. Maybe I’ll be the female Indiana Jones. Or Hollywood’s hottest plastic surgeon. But most likely reality TV.”

  “I thought you said you’re going to major in English.”

  “I’ll figure it out along the way. Whatever it is, it’ll be great.” She smirked. “I bet Mint runs his dad’s company and Frankie works for him as his secretary.”

  I thought about Mint, who of course was destined for power, the ley lines running straight through him. Inheriting a real estate empire seemed a surefire way to do it. But then I thought of how Mint felt about his father, the secret shame he’d shared with me.

  “There’s no way Mint takes over the business. But you’re right that whatever Mint does, Frankie will find a way to follow. What about Coop?” I pressed down the little thrill at saying his name, the memory of the way he’d looked at me on the beach over spring break.

  Heather snorted. “Coop will either be a lawyer getting people out of jail or locked in jail himself.”

  I frowned. “Just because he smokes pot doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.”

  She patted my head. “Sometimes you’re adorable.” She glanced down at Caro, curled at our feet. “Caro says she wants to be a film critic. But that’s not suited for her. She’ll be, like, the president of the Humane Society. Some job where everyone is obligated to love her.”

  “Heather,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low so Caro wouldn’t wake and hear.

  “Listen, I call it like I see it. Jack, by the way, will end up a minister. At a Southern Baptist church in Georgia. Probably the same crazy one his parents go to.”

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “Now you’re just being silly.”

  “Just wait.” Heather gave me a knowing look. “College is a vacation for Jack. He gets four years to be free, but he’ll have to go back eventually. He’s on borrowed time. Besides, he cares way more about his parents’ approval than he lets on.”

  I let the possibility sink in. Was Jack on a temporary reprieve, destined to go backwards after college, rather than forward? He was always so lighthearted when he joked about his evangelical parents, their strict lifestyle, the judgmental church. Was the joking a way of making it light, making himself okay with going back?

  I looked at Heather. “And you’re fine with that?”

  She snorted. “Jack is lucky he met me. I’m what guarantees his life will always be interesting.” She twisted on the bed. “But you. Jessica Miller, the wildcard. Maybe you’ll go work your boring DC job like some wonky nerd. But I have a feeling you’ll surprise us.”

  “Pssh,” I said, though I was secretly thrilled. “No way.”

  “Just wait.” Heather lay back down and cuddled close to me. We pressed our heads together and looked out the window at the outline of the trees. “Whatever happens, we’re going to be happy, okay? I promise. So you can stop worrying.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Ten years from now, we’re going to be on top of the world together. You and me, looking down on everyone else, laughing and laughing.”

  Chapter 43

  Now

  The cops shoved me through the angry crowd, pushing me forward by my shoulders. My arms were wrenched painfully behind my back, hands locked in cold metal cuffs. Someone yelled, “Murderer!” and someone else echoed it. Instead of backing away, the crowd pressed closer, their faces hardening against me.

  I couldn’t help but think of the daydream I’d had just two days ago: becoming the center of attention, the shining Homecoming queen. The star of the show.

  Look at me now.

  I gritted my teeth and shouldered forward.

  “Get back,” the cop behind me yelled, and people grudgingly made room for us to pass. Campus had descended into chaos, everyone shouting and running, ambulances and fire trucks wailing. I’d caught the barest glimpse of Caro in the back of an ambulance before they’d slammed the doors and rushed off.

  Caro and the others were being taken care of, treated carefully for burns and smoke inhalation. I was a different story. As soon as the firemen cleared the inferno at the top of the tower, they’d shuffled me down the winding staircase, where I’d been met by a wave of cops. They had seized me, barely adjusting their grips when I screamed I’d been stabbed in the side. They’d asked if I was the one who’d pushed the man from the window, and when I said yes, they’d shoved me down the steps, ignoring my protests, my gasps of pain.

  If I’d known what was waiting for me when we emerged out of the doors of Blackwell Tower, I might have refused to ever leave, taken my chances with the burning room.

  There was a wall of people, horror and accusation in their eyes. People I’d gone to college with, shock on their faces, tears streaking their cheeks. I’d killed Mint, the golden boy. They didn’t know he was a murderer. Only that I was.

  I was living a scene from a nightmare. But it was going to be okay, because Caro and Eric and everyone else were being taken care of. Everything was going to be okay.

  I’d repeated it as they twisted my hands into cuffs, pinching the skin and pulling the cut in my side as the crowd barely shifted to let me through, wanting to see me up close, the murderess, the witch of Blackwell Tower.

  Now, as the cops pushed me toward the last remaining ambulance, I caught sight of the Homecoming stage where Frankie should have stood next to the chancellor, giving a speech to rile the crowd. Instead, the stage was empty, balloon arch swaying in the wind. The dumbfounded chancellor stood gaping at the madness around him: Blackwell Tower, the symbol of Duquette, still smoking; Homecoming, the event of the year, descended into mayhem.

  The sight of the chancellor shook something loose inside me. I twisted, trying to face the cop who was pushing me forward. “He killed Heather,” I said urgently. “Mint, the man on the ground. You have to belie
ve me. He killed Heather Shelby, and he was going to kill me. I pushed him to save my life. It was self-defense.”

  The cop shoved me harder. “Save the excuses for your lawyer.”

  It was too late; I faced the ambulance, and the doors swung open, medics rushing out. But before they touched me, a figure darted forward, pushing frantically through the crowd.

  “Jessica,” Jack yelled.

  The medics turned me so the cop could unlock my cuffs. I craned my neck to find Jack’s face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jack looked like he was about to explode. “What am I… What are you doing? What happened?”

  Suddenly, it hit me. He didn’t know about Heather. My knees went weak, and the medics grabbed me, holding me upright. “Jack, Mint killed Heather. He’s the one.”

  Jack froze. “Mint?”

  The medics were cutting off my shirt with scissors to look at the wound in my side, exposing me to everyone. But that was the least of my problems. “He thought she was me. It was me he was after.”

  “I don’t understand.” Jack tried to step closer, but a cop forced him back with a forearm across Jack’s chest.

  Now that they’d found my stab wound, the medics were lifting me into the ambulance. I twisted, finding Jack’s eyes.

  “I’ll explain everything,” I promised, raising my voice. “He confessed. Then he tried to kill me again and I pushed him. It was self-defense.”

  Jack stopped struggling against the cop. He stood stock-still, wonder dawning on his face. “I can’t believe it worked,” he said, so faint that I almost didn’t hear. “The plan actually worked.”

  “What?” The medics strapped me into the gurney, pressing something against my cut to clean it, something that burned like fire, but in that moment I didn’t care.

  Jack ducked under the cop’s arms and ran for the ambulance doors. “I was going to tell you,” he called. “Before you left, at the bar, I was going to warn you. Eric had been writing me letters for months. We’d come up with a plan. He said I couldn’t trust anyone, and I—” Jack looked ashamed. “I decided not to chance it. Some part of me thought it could’ve been you.”