by Diana Urban
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t you want to hear those tracks we talked about?” Without hearing them, she and the drama club couldn’t finalize their decision to do Romeo and Juliet in May.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Not now, okay? She’s right . . . I should be studying.” She rubbed the stress from her eyes. “Just email them to me, and I’ll listen later.” Her voice shook like she was holding back tears. Maybe she didn’t want us to see her cry.
“Okay.” I felt so bad for her. No wonder she was always trying to be perfect at everything. We weren’t exactly close, but I felt weird just leaving her like this. “I could stay and help you study, if you want,” I said as Robbie slid his laptop into his backpack.
“Really?” she said. For a moment, I thought she was going to say yes. But then her eyes watered even more, and she pulled a tissue from a box on her desk. “No, it’s okay. Just go, okay? Please?”
Robbie nudged my arm. “C’mon.”
I packed up my stuff and followed Robbie out the door. He closed it behind us, and we trooped down the stairs. “Bye, Mrs. Harris,” he called in the kitchen over the sound of clattering pots and pans.
“Bye, now,” she replied, not even bothering to encourage us to stay.
“Yeesh,” I said as we walked down Sasha’s front stoop.
“Yeah.”
“If her mom’s so strict, how is Sasha always going out and partying and stuff?”
Robbie chuckled. “You think she tells her mom the truth? She probably says she’s going to someone’s house to study, or to the library, or some shit.”
“Ah.” I never lied to my parents like that. At least, not until I started swiping booze from them. Robbie walked me to my bike, which I’d left leaning next to their garage door. I wiped a hand down my face.
“You okay?” Robbie asked.
“Yeah. I’m just stressed about the play. If she doesn’t listen to those tracks soon . . . well, we’re running out of time. I need to know if we’re officially doing this. It’ll take a ton of work to get everything ready in time for May, but it’s possible . . . as long as we don’t waste any more time.”
Robbie leaned against the wall, considering me. His eyes lingered on mine a beat too long, and my heart stilled. “This play really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. It means everything. It’s my best shot at proving I can write a full-length score for an actual orchestra. When else am I going to get this chance again?”
“I know how much it means to have a shot at something. Something big.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to Sasha. I’ll make sure she listens.”
I perked up. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Sure. I mean, I can’t guarantee the drama club will agree to anything. But I’m sure she’ll be willing to help you out.”
But after seeing how stressed she was, I wasn’t so sure of anything.
51 Minutes Left
This was the second time Sasha insinuated we’d have to choose someone to die.
“No.” I balled my hands into fists, willing myself to stop trembling. My muscles ached from shaking so much despite the heat. “There’s no way it’ll come to that. It can’t come to that.”
Sasha threw out her arms. “Well, what are we supposed to do?”
“Let’s just . . . stay calm and try to find a way out of here. This isn’t exactly the Tower of London. There has to be a way out.” But nobody agreed. Nobody said anything. Everyone stared at me and Sasha.
I met Diego’s gaze, pleading with my eyes. “Come on! We have to at least try to find a way out.”
He nodded. “I’ll try the door. Someone open the windows!” He rounded on the door and twisted the knob until his knuckles turned white, straining to force the lock open. Everyone followed his lead and sprang into action. Robbie joined Diego at the door, while Scott and Priya each dragged a chair to either end of the sideboard under the two windows nestled near the ceiling. Sasha dashed to the fireplace, and I paced the perimeter of the Oriental rug, looking for God knows what. Maybe a hidden door or panel? I opened every drawer I could find, searching for a key.
“The fireplace is fake.” Sasha stooped and leaned into the fireplace, pounding on a panel above her head where the opening for a chimney should be. “Completely fake.”
Priya grunted as she tried to pry open the lock on the window from atop her chair. “The lock is stuck.”
“Same,” said Scott. Sweat glistened on his forehead and upper lip. “Someone painted it shut at some point. And the windows are barred, anyway.”
“We might be able to unlock those, too. Keep trying!”
Robbie watched Diego rattle the knob, but after a minute, he shoved him aside and threw himself against the door. The great oak door didn’t budge. He reared back and rammed his shoulder into the door again, putting his full body weight into it, but stumbled back, gripping his shoulder. “Dammit!”
“Maybe try to kick it down?” Diego suggested.
Robbie’s foot connected with the middle of the door over and over again. Pound. Pound. Pound. Each kick reverberated in my chest, but I kept digging through the drawers in the side table. Pound. Pound. Pound. All I could find were tablecloths, napkins, doilies, forks, spoons, plates, and decorative candles. Pound. Pound. Pound.
Sasha climbed on the table and frantically looked around. “I need a broom or a stick or something.”
“For what?” I asked. Pound, pound, pound.
“To bang on the ceiling. Maybe there’s someone upstairs.”
I pointed at Robbie. “You think they wouldn’t hear that?” Pound, pound, pound.
“I don’t know—Robbie, that isn’t working!” cried Sasha, covering her ears. “You’re not helping.”
Diego glanced around the room. “Maybe there’s something we can use to break down the door.”
“Like what?” asked Robbie, trying to catch his breath.
“I don’t know . . . anything.”
Robbie picked up the nearest chair and reared back, bucking like he was surprised by the weight of it. After regaining his footing, he hurled it at the door. Diego jumped back with a shout. The chair clattered feebly against the door, falling on its side. “Dammit!”
I tugged at the collar of my sequined dress, which scratched at my sticky skin. “God, it’s boiling in here.” Crossing the room, I examined the grille lining the wall under the large brass mirror. Was there a way to shut the vents? I touched the edge of the grille and flinched. “Ow!” It was scalding. “Is this supposed to get this hot?” But everyone ignored me, focused on searching for a way out.
“Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” Sasha asked. A few people shook their heads.
“Er . . . I could try,” Diego said. “Does anyone have a paper clip? Or a . . . a hair clip thingy?”
“A bobby pin?” I asked.
“Yeah, one of those.”
Sasha plucked a bedazzled barrette from the front compartment of her purse and offered it to Diego. “Would this work?”
He examined it. “No, I don’t think so. I’d need something thin and pointy.”
“Let me check my purse.” I raced back to my chair and fished through my purse, pawing at the bottom, but there was nothing sharp and pointy he could use. “Priya,” I shouted over the table. “Do you have a bobby pin?”
“No,” Priya grunted, straining to twist the lock on the window. She finally let go, breathing hard. “You know I don’t use bobby pins.” That’s right. She always used banana clips in her thick hair.
“Well, or anything else pointy? A paper clip or something?”
“I brought my phone and lip gloss. That’s it.”
“Helpful.” Scott leapt down from his chair. “You never know when you’ll need shiny lips in a pinch.” He fished random objects from his jacket pockets and set them on the table—cigarettes, a lighter, gum, his wallet, a wad of tissues.
“You’re not exactly doing much better,” I said. He shr
ugged and climbed back onto the chair to struggle with the window again.
Sasha cried, “I found a bobby pin!” She dropped her purse and ran it over to Diego. “Robbie, move.”
Robbie backed away, panting. Diego knelt next to the lock. “I don’t know if this will work.”
“Try it anyway,” said Sasha.
“Dammit!” Priya released the window lock and shook out her hand. “It’s really stuck.” She set her palms against the window. Raindrops streaked down the glass, obscuring her view.
“Lemme try,” said Robbie. Priya hopped down from her chair, and he climbed up.
“Why would anyone paint over the locks?” Scott strained to pry open the other window’s lock. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s a . . . goddamn . . . fire hazard . . . is what it is.” Robbie’s biceps bulged with strain under his button-down shirtsleeves.
“Can you break the glass?” Sasha suggested.
“No, don’t,” I said. “This is pointless. The windows are barred anyway.”
“But we might be able to unlock the bars,” said Priya.
Robbie eyed me, the most petite of the group. “We could boost you through. You could run and get help.”
I brushed back my bangs, frustrated. “I don’t think I could fit through there, even if we could unlock the bars.”
Diego focused on the lock, his tongue peeking out as he tried different angles with the bobby pin. He heaved a sigh and leaned back on his heels. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
Scott wiped his brow. “Gimme a chair.”
Sasha frowned. “You’re . . . already on one?”
He pointed frantically. “Another chair! Obviously.”
I sighed. This was pointless. But I stood closest to him, so I passed him the nearest chair, straining to lift it. It was heavier than I expected.
He took it from me, grunting as he raised it above his head, and rammed its back legs against the window. The glass was thick, but after a few well-placed hits, a large crack spidered from the middle.
“Yes! That’s it!” Priya shouted.
Scott bashed the window one last time, and the glass shattered. I scrambled back against the table as glass rained down on Scott. A large shard caught his cheek, and a surprised howl of pain escaped his lips. He lost his balance and waved his arms like propellers, his fingers searching for anything to grip on to. But there was nothing but air, and I couldn’t move fast enough to reach him.
He stumbled off the chair and landed on the floor with a sickening crack.
10 Months, 2 Weeks Ago
MARCH OF JUNIOR YEAR
“Do you see them?” I asked Priya, scanning the crowd at the Chesterfield for Sasha. I’d only been here once before. Maria’s parents owned the place, and last weekend Sasha asked me to be lookout while she and Maria snuck in to swipe booze. I thought I was going to puke the whole time—until the two of them strolled out with full tote bags, eyes hidden behind matching huge sunglasses, like they’d just performed a heist. We’d crammed into the backseat of Amy’s car and burst into a fit of giggles. It almost seemed worth it for that moment alone.
Now most of the junior class was packed into the restaurant like sardines, and I could barely hear myself think over the music and chatter. Priya scrolled through her phone, the hair I’d curled for her cascading around her face.
“Ugh, there’s no signal in here. But look,” she said. “Sasha posted on Instagram twenty minutes ago—looks like she’d just finished getting ready.” She angled the screen toward me, and my whole body went rigid. My head instinctively snapped back, nearly giving me whiplash. Maggie’s lifeless face flashed in my mind, and my breath hitched painfully in my lungs.
“Oh my God.” Priya powered off her screen. “I’m so sorry.”
I clasped my chest, struggling to slow my breathing. “It’s okay—”
“No, I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I forgot.”
After Maggie died . . . after what I saw on social media . . . my parents urged me to see a therapist, but I refused, and they didn’t force the issue. But sometimes I wondered if that was a mistake. I couldn’t lose it like this every time I saw a social media site.
“Do you want to leave?” Priya’s forehead crinkled in concern.
I shook my head. “No. It’s fine, it passed—”
A hand suddenly clasped Priya’s shoulder. “Ladies!” Zane shouted as someone cranked up the music, and Priya’s face brightened. Zane held three flutes of bubbly liquid with one hand and motioned for each of us to take one.
“Thanks.” I grabbed one, my stomach still twisting in knots. “Um . . . it’s not champagne, is it?”
“You wish,” he said. “Sparkling cider.” I took a small sip as he edged a metallic flask from his pocket. “But I made things a little more interesting.”
“Hey.” Robbie joined my side as someone cranked up the music.
I coughed as spiked apple cider went down the wrong tube. “Hi,” I sputtered.
“You okay?”
I hacked one last time before clearing my throat. Smooth, Amber. Smooth. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Your . . . ear . . . pretty.” The middle of his sentence was lost in the din.
“What?”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then gently ran his finger over one of the earrings I’d chosen for tonight. They were gold dream catchers dotted with tiny bits of amber. He must have been complimenting them.
My pulse quickened. “Thanks.”
He said something else, but I shook my head, unable to hear him. He leaned close to my ear. “C’mon, let’s find somewhere quieter.” His warm breath on my neck set my nerve endings aflame.
Priya was too busy making googly eyes at Zane to care if I left, so I let Robbie take my hand and lead me across the room. We squeezed through the crowd past the bar, and Robbie pushed open a large oak door standing a crack open. After flipping on the light, he shut the door behind us, cutting the noise to a low muffle. It was just him and me.
Alone.
In some fancy private dining room in the back.
By ourselves.
My heart swelled like a balloon ready to pop. I still couldn’t figure out what a jock like Robbie would want to do with a music nerd like me, but each time we hung out, the current running between us intensified.
“So . . . what’s up?” I asked.
“I just wanted to get away from everyone for a little bit. It’s hot in there.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty packed.” I took a sip of cider to have something to do.
“And loud,” he said. “Maybe you could play the piano. That’d shut them all up.” I giggled as blood rushed into my cheeks. “So I talked to Sasha about your tracks.”
“Oh, really?” Ah, so he’d only brought me in here to talk about the play. Since the last time we spoke, I’d sent Sasha recordings for all of acts one and five of Romeo and Juliet, impatient to make more progress. But I didn’t know if she’d listened yet.
“Yep. Then I nagged her again earlier today, and she said the drama club’s on board. You’re doing Romeo and Juliet!”
“What?” I shrieked. I couldn’t believe it. It was happening. It was really happening. “Oh my God, thank you.” I launched myself at him, somehow hugging him while simultaneously jumping up and down. He laughed, and I pulled back, embarrassed from my outburst of emotion.
“I’m happy to help,” he said. “I know what it’s like to dream big.”
I flapped my hand like a fan in a useless attempt to cool my face. “Baseball’s your dream, right?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
“Don’t your brothers play, too?” It made the local news when one of his brothers got called up to the majors last month.
“That’s right. Liam plays ball for Georgia Tech, and Paul’s on the Red Sox now. I can only hope things go so well for me.”
“Do family connections help with that sort of thing?”
“I d
unno.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “My brothers . . . they were big shots. I always kinda felt like they were on another level. I wanted to be just like them, though—whenever they practiced in the backyard, I tagged along. But they’re only a year apart, and I’m four years younger than Liam. So they treated me like the world’s biggest annoyance. I was always the baby brother, you know?”
“But that clearly didn’t stop you.”
“No way. Whenever they gave me shit, I handed it right back.” He grinned, his dimples reappearing, and my heart wobbled precariously. “You got any brothers or sisters?”
Maggie. Bile crept up my throat. I didn’t want his pity. One thing I loved about hanging out with his and Sasha’s crowd was that since they went to Hampton, we hadn’t met in middle school, and they hadn’t connected the dots between me and the Brewster High senior who died when we were in eighth grade. They didn’t know I was Maggie’s sister. And people look at you differently when they find out you’re the sister of that girl who died.
“No.” I smiled as naturally as I could. “It’s just me.”
“That must be nice. But, you know, if you ever get lonely . . . you could come over.” He hooked a finger around one of my belt loops and pulled me closer, and a shiver coasted through me. “My parents go to Paul’s games in Boston a lot now. So I get kinda lonely, too, sometimes.” With his other hand, he tucked that stray hair behind my ear again, holding my gaze. “You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while.”
My heart was beating so fast I was sure he could hear it thrashing against my rib cage. “What’s that?”
His eyes lowered, settling on my mouth. “I think you know.”
Oh my God. This was going to happen. Right now.
But I’d never kissed anyone before. What if I did it all wrong? Were my lips too chapped? Were my palms sweaty? What was I supposed to do with my tongue? Anything? Nothing? What if my heart exploded before I could find out? What if—
Before I could freak out any more, he put his other hand behind my head and pulled me toward him. Our lips touched lightly. He closed his eyes as he moved his mouth against mine. Heat rushed through me, making my fingers and toes tingle.