“Nice,” Katie Reed says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do you really think today is a good day for that?”
Like this is my fault.
Katie and I are sort of surface level-only friends. We’ve never really gotten along. She’s the kind of person who’s always competing, no matter what’s going on. Cheerleading, boys, grades, drama team, everything. I hate that kind of stuff. It makes you feel awful whether or you win or lose.
“Well, maybe you should have told him,” she says. “Guys are clueless about this stuff.”
She would have told him, I’m sure she’s thinking, if Mike was her boyfriend. I wish I could tell her to take him if she wants him so bad. That might solve all kinds of problems. But unfortunately for both of us, Mike has never been interested.
Girls titter nearby. Most of them would be ecstatic to get asked to prom like this. But I just wish it would go away. I tuck the puzzle piece under my seat and look to the front, hoping the girls will stop with the giggling. They don’t.
“Aww. She’s embarrassed. That’s so cute!” It’s Erica.
“Somebody la-oves Em-ma!” says Angela.
I laugh and roll my eyes at them. “Shut up.”
“Couldn’t you have waited a couple days?” I ask Mike when he picks me up from class.
“What are you talking about? Waited for what?”
I lift the puzzle piece. “To ask me to prom.”
He grabs my elbow and steers me into a corner.
“Somebody’s asking you to prom? What the heck, Emma? Didn’t you believe what I said?”
“I thought it was from you.”
He snorts, “I’m not going through that nonsense again. Not this year. I know you’re coming with me. You have no choice.”
I’d really, really like to punch him in the face right now. Maybe it was a mistake to stop Jackson.
“This is that boy, isn’t it?” he says.
“I…,” I say, unsure. I allow myself the momentary fantasy that it is Jackson, that he’s doing exactly what I’ve asked him not to do and is about to put Mike in his place. But this whole cutsie, public-display thing isn’t really his style. Besides, he promised.
“No,“ I say. “It’s not him. I was very clear that it was over.”
But as to who it actually could be? I honestly don’t know.
“Then who have you been flirting with? Who thinks they have a chance? Guys only go after girls like you if they know you want them to.”
“Seriously, Mike? You know that’s a messed-up thing to say, right?”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the expert on what’s messed up.” He snatches the puzzle piece out of my hand. “Give me that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THERE ARE PUZZLE PIECES waiting in every class, on a wall or a door or computer, all with my name on them. Mike’s there to meet me at all four classes before lunch. I never knew he had my schedule memorized like that. Another sort of girl might find that charming. I might even find it charming for a little while. But under the circumstances, it’s not. Every time he sees me with a new piece, he gets angrier and angrier.
In the cafeteria at lunch, I have to listen to him pontificate with Ben about whether or not we should be strictly following Old Testament laws. Bible class is the one class where Mike aces everything, which makes this conversation even more annoying.
He’s practically panting in excitement as he rattles off verses. “John 7:19. Luke 16:17. Timothy 3:16. The New Testament specifically states that we should be adhering to all of God’s laws, not just the ones in the New Testament.”
“So you really think we should go back to the days of having to wear giant beards or not eating fat or cheeseburgers or shellfish?” Ben says.
“It’s not up to me, man. I’m only telling you what the Bible says.”
“What about slavery? The Old Testament is pretty clear about that being okay too,” Ben says.
“This is all theoretical. I’m not saying I agree with it. I’m just saying that, “‘All scripture is inspired by God,’” Mike says, quoting the verse in Timothy, chapter 3. “So there has to be something that we’re supposed to learn from everything, not just the parts we pick and choose.”
They go on and on and on and on, but all I can think about is who those puzzle pieces are from. There are forty or so guys in my class, but most of them are either already paired off or not in my social circle.
Chuck is a strong possibility. He’s always had a thing for me, even though I’ve been putting water on that fire since day one. But is he really bold enough to go up against Mike? I doubt it.
Maybe Ben? It’s unlikely as he’s barely spoken to me beyond small talk since middle school, when I noticed he had a boner in his pants and laughed at him. I know it was mean, but give me a break, okay? I didn’t mean to. It was the first boner I’d ever seen. But yeah, he hasn’t talked to me much since then. He did break up with Chrissy Hillis a couple weeks ago, though. So it’s not totally impossible.
It could be Anthony Severn, the hot ginger guy in the Media Club, but this doesn’t seem like his style. He’d do something more unique, not some lame puzzle that’s been done a thousand times.
I can’t think of anyone else.
Mike’s voice pipes back into my head. “But if you start ranking them by their occurrence in the Bible, then what happens to, say, homosexuality?” Mike guffaws. “You just gonna go out and get a boyfriend?”
“Oh. My. Lord. You guys. Shut up already,” Paige says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
The boys just stare at her, a little surprised that anyone exists besides them. She stands up.
“Maybe, instead of trying to find the secret code to the little stuff, you should look at the big parts you know are true and take action to follow them. Like, I don’t know,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing, “loving people. And figuring out how to help them.”
Where did that come from? Maybe it’s that her parents always fawning over Mike’s spirituality, but Paige isn’t exactly the most vocal when it comes to theology. All of us are looking at her like she just landed from Mars.
“Come on, Emma,” she says. “These lunch trays aren’t going to clear themselves.” She tugs me toward the trash with our two trays stacked in her hands.
“What was that about?” I say.
“Doesn’t it ever get under your skin? How they think they know everything all the time?” She shoves our trays under the trash flap so hard she almost loses them in there.
“Yeah. But they’re always like that. Why is it suddenly bothering you today?”
“I guess I’m just in a mood,” she says, hooking her elbow into mine as we walk out of the cafeteria. “So who do you think is behind this promposal business?”
“I wish I knew. Mike’s getting so upset.”
“I know. Everybody’s talking about it. They aren’t saying so, but they totally want to see him unload on the guy.”
“I hope not.”
“Why? He is your boyfriend, Emma. Everybody knows that. It is sort of insulting.”
“I know, I just…it seems like a stupid reason to fight. I’m obviously going to say no.”
“Obviously.”
“Can we talk about something else, please?” I ask.
“Okay…have you thought about what you’re going to wear to prom yet?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say. Nothing because I’m not going at all if I can help it? “Have you thought about who you want to go with?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Nobody’s asked me.”
“Who do you want to ask you?”
She hesitates for a moment, then says, “I don’t know. No one special. I don’t even know if I want to go yet.” Which means, of course, that there is someone special, someone very special, and she’s afraid to jinx it by saying his name out loud. I grin.
“I’m sure he’ll ask you soon.”
“There’s really nobody.”
“Uh huh,”
I say. “Sure.”
“Drop it, okay? I’m serious. There’s no one. If I go at all I’m going solo.”
“Okay. Whatever.” It’s not worth it to press her about it. She won’t tell. Paige is a vault. She can keep a secret like no one I’ve ever met.
There are more puzzle pieces after lunch too. I try to decipher the message as I get them, but I can’t make out the P-R-O-M-? that I know is coming. There’s an F-O on one. An M on another, but no question mark after it. An E-L-D. And the number six.
The only thing I’ve figured out is that it’s in the shape of a heart. The last piece will be the middle piece. It’s on my locker after eighth period. There’s a crowd when I get there. Of course there is. Everyone has heard about this by now. Everyone is trying to guess, just like me, who in the world would be stupid enough to piss off Mike.
Paige, Naomi, and Beth make up the center. Katie, Angela, and Erica smirk on the sidelines. Anthony and Chuck are there, but they both look like it’s by accident, like they just happened on the scene. Maybe it’s an act, but I don’t think so. Chuck looks downright disappointed, and Anthony is texting. A ton of freshman and sophomore girls round out the crowd, fueling their dreams for their upperclassman years and thirsty for a fight. I give them all a halfhearted smile.
Mike comes up and yanks the piece off my locker, fire in his eyes. But with everyone watching, he seems to sense that now is not a good time to lose his temper.
“Somebody here’s a real comedian,” he says. “Anybody want to fess up?”
There are giggles and whispers, but no one answers.
“Come on, who is it? Anybody?”
Still, there’s no one.
“What does the puzzle say?” someone yells.
“Put it together!” someone else says. The crowd claps.
So he does. Right there on the floor, in the middle of everybody. When it’s finished, he steps back. The message isn’t what I thought it would be. All it says is:
Football Field
6:30 p.m.
My heart sinks. This isn’t over.
Mike puts an arm around my waist and squeezes me close to him. “This is all very sweet,” he says. “I mean, I know she’s beautiful, guys, but she’s sort of spoken for.” He pecks me on the cheek, and the crowd seems to erupt in sighs and “awws,” like the air getting let out of a balloon.
He takes my hand, and we walk away, leaving the heart on the floor behind us.
“We’re coming back at six thirty,” he says to me. “And I’m going to watch while you tell whoever this is that you’re not interested.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MIKE HAS LACROSSE PRACTICE until four thirty, so at least I get a little break from him. Which gives me plenty of time to dread what’s coming up tonight. I mentally brace myself for discovering my would-be suitor. I have no idea what I’m going to say, or rather, how I’m going to say it. Guys never understand this, but I think it’s harder to say no to someone than it is to ask. I’ve never wanted to be in the heart-smashing business. Today I’m certain I will be.
I decide that instead of thinking about it anymore, I’ll go look for something I’ve been thinking about ever since I talked to Nicolas. I walk across the overpass into the church building. A lot of kids are hanging out at the Connections Café, doing homework and chatting. But what I’m looking for is a little farther down.
I open the door to the auditorium, which is dark, totally empty right now, and make my way toward the stage. There’s a fabric curtain on the front of the apron, which is about four feet tall. The curtain hides the structure that holds up the stage. Before I would have thought that the only thing under here was storage for extra chairs, but now I know better.
I duck behind the curtain, and all the light disappears. There’s a flashlight app on my phone, so I turn it on and crawl through the space. I go past a row of chairs that’s on a rolling cart, past a Nativity cradle and some stage flats, but I don’t see anything until I’m almost to the back wall.
It’s right there, just like Nicolas said it would be: a couple of nursery mats and a sleeping bag. This is where June lived. If she had anything else here though, it’s gone, probably taken away by the police as evidence.
I crawl onto the mats and lie down, thinking about what it would be like to have this as my home. It’s hard to imagine anyone being comfortable here. But it makes me a little proud of June for thinking of it. Hiding inside the church is very resourceful. There’s always stuff going on. It would be almost impossible to notice her. She had access to food and water and showers off the gym. The church is heated in the winter and cool in the summer. And setting up under here where no one would ever look, even by accident? It was really smart.
I shine my phone around the walls and see, overhead, a heart scratched under the stage. Inside the heart is written:
N & J
4ever
Oh, June. This part of you I think I can understand. The part that knows what it’s like to be in love. I miss Jackson so much right now. I wish I could hide him away down here, just so I could sneak off to see him whenever I want.
When 4:30 rolls around, Mike is done with practice. I promised to meet him in the Connections Café, and I make sure I’m there before he is. We sit with Paige and some other kids, all of us buried in books and the pile of catch-up homework the teachers have assigned. The downside of going to a good school is all the homework, sometimes five or six hours a night, and this week it’s double the usual.
I spend the next couple hours working through the homework and checking e-mail. There’s one from May; she says she’s going back up to CU in Boulder this week. Her spring break is long over, and she doesn’t want to fall any further behind. Things with her and Trisha have gone sour. She gives me her address in case I need to visit. I wish her well and thank her again for loaning me her ID.
It’s 6:15 before I know it.
“Ready?” Mike asks.
“I guess so,” I say.
We pack up and head across. It’s starting to get dark. The windowed overpass is neon orange with the setting sun, like being inside molten glass before it takes its final shape. I am the dark spot against its glow, within its fiery center.
There’s a crowd down there, but I can’t make out faces. At least twenty-five people, and more driving up, their headlights cutting through the warm haze of the evening, gossipy girls popping inside like corn kernels.
I make an effort to smile when I walk out on the quad. For a second I get caught up in their attention, and the smile comes easier. I can’t lie. There’s a little bit of magic being me in this moment. Me the prize in a fight between two boys, one of them a mystery, and all these people gathered to see it. Our curiosity is amped-up the way the sky feels electric before a thunderstorm.
Mike takes my hand in his, reminding me he’s there at all, reminding me that doing this is really more for him than for me. The whole point is to hurt someone’s feelings so Mike can look like the top dog. I guess I’d be hurting someone’s feelings either way. If it wasn’t for Mike, I wouldn’t go to prom this year. My parents would never agree to let Jackson take me, and why would I go with anyone else?
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as we walk through them. And beyond, I see it. Not him, but it. Instead of a person waiting, there’s something set up in the middle of the field.
We walk toward it, Mike and I. The other kids follow in a hush of excited whispers and sneakers swishing through grass. As we get closer, the object on the green grows clearer. It looks like a big rectangular picture frame, maybe five feet wide and half that tall, set up on an easel. But instead of holding a painting, it’s covered in black paper, with my name scrawled in big silver letters across it. Am I supposed to unwrap it?
No. When we get closer I see a small envelope taped to a white string dangling below the left corner. I pick up the envelope, and inside is a cigarette lighter wrapped in a note:
Light me.
Well that’s a l
ittle more original. That’s when I notice the smell. It’s sharp and strong, like gasoline or lighter fluid or propane. There better be someone with a fire extinguisher nearby.
I look over at Mike, and he shrugs, rolling his eyes. From the hot air balloon guy, this probably seems pretty lame.
What else can I do with everyone watching? I flick the lighter to life. With a shrug to the crowd, I place the flame on the edge of the string, and it feels like I’m lighting one of those cartoon bombs, black and round and ready to leave everyone with crazy hair and smoky faces.
It takes. The flame dances up the string, onto the paper.
The paper catches with a whoosh, and I stumble back from the blaze. In an instant, it’s ashes on the air. And there’s something else burning, orange-hot flames licking rope, nailed to a metal backing in a pattern.
There are gasps from the onlookers.
It takes me a moment to register it, for the mess I’m seeing to switch from a jumble of letters to something that has a meaning, for my mind to adjust from what I was expecting to what this really is.
On the board, spelled out in flaming rope, is a single word:
KILLER
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THERE’S CHAOS ALL AROUND me, but my hearing goes fuzzy, blending everything together into mush. It’s like I’m wearing earmuffs, like when I was a little kid going out to play in the snow.
Mike yanks me away from the blaze. I stumble, but he holds me up.
The fire spreads to the easel. Some boys race back to the school building to get a fire extinguisher, Mike among them.
I feel woozy and sit down on the ground.
Then Paige is in front of me, holding my shoulders, saying something, but I can’t make out what.
Focus, Emma. Focus.
“Emma!” Paige says. She looks worried, terrified.
All my senses return at once. The sharp smell of the smoke, the feel of the air—hot and scratchy in my throat, the sound of the other kids—some spooked and tugging their friends away, others standing shocked, waiting for me to explain.
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