Melissa stands, looking at Mrs. Winger questioningly. The plump English teacher nods, as if to tell her to go ahead. Officer Teahen politely waits for Melissa to make her way to the front of the room, and then he follows her into the hallway, closing the door with a soft click.
Samantha and I look at each other.
You’re next, she mouths, and for a second I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then it hits me. Officer Teahen is calling on students alphabetically. Technically, Billy Armstrong should be next in line for questioning, but the cops aren’t looking for guys. The person who made the 911 call was a female. When Officer Teahen returns with Melissa Abraham, he’ll call the next girl on the list.
Sylvia Bell.
Me.
I swallow.
My palms start to sweat. I can’t imagine looking into Officer Teahen’s eyes and explaining my plan to him, the plan to teach Scotch Becker a lesson, the plan that resulted in a catastrophic fall that could have led to his death. That probably would have led to his death if I’d waited any longer to make that 911 call.
Guilt is a funny feeling. You can evade it for a while, but it always creeps back. I tried to convince myself that I’d done nothing wrong, that Scotch’s fall was the fault of Lydia or whoever slid into me that night. But when it comes right down to it, the whole thing was my idea. If not for me, Scotch would be at school right now, making lewd jokes about the lunch ladies.
And now that it’s time for me to spill everything that I know, I’m not ready. I feel like wrenching open one of the windows and running away before my name can be called. I feel like, at the very least, asking to go to the girls’ room and hanging out there for the rest of the period.
And then it dawns on me.
I have the perfect excuse.
Because of my so-called narcolepsy, I have a permanent hall pass. Whenever I start to feel woozy, I can ask my teachers to let me go to the nurse, and they have to say yes. They don’t want me to collapse in their classrooms.
I push myself into a standing position and walk up to Mrs. Winger. “Is it okay if I go to the nurse?” I ask.
Her eyes flick up to me.
She sighs.
“Sure, Sylvia.”
I pick up the hall pass from Mrs. Winger’s desk on my way out. As I go by Melissa Abraham’s desk, I scan her belongings quickly. Did she leave anything behind that’s personal enough to carry an emotional charge? There’s an open notebook with a few sentences about “Young Goodman Brown.” A slightly chewed-up pencil. A half- full bottle of water.
My eyes drop lower, to her purse, which is propped up against her chair. There’s a little silver key chain in the shape of a heart hanging off the strap—the kind of thing a girl’s parents or her boyfriend might give her for Christmas or her birthday.
Bingo.
I pretend to trip and drop the hall pass onto the ground.
“Oops,” I mumble.
A few kids look my way, but their eyes promptly return to the doorway. Everyone is curious about what the policeman is doing at our school. I take advantage of the distraction to shoot my hand out and unclasp the key chain from Melissa’s purse. I stuff it into my pocket and straighten up. No one looks in my direction. On my way out of the room, I pray that Melissa doesn’t return before I do. It might be awkward, trying to explain why I have her key chain.
The hallway is empty. I turn right and make a beeline for the only place I know I won’t be disturbed—the staff restroom. While the girls’ room has multiple stalls, this bathroom only has one toilet and the ability to lock the door. They even have a cushy chair in the corner of the room, next to a dusty plastic plant and an end table. I’m not sure why anyone would want to hang out in there, but whatever.
After one last look to make sure no one is around to see me duck into the staff bathroom, I push my way inside and twist the lock behind me.
In two seconds flat, I fish Melissa’s key chain out of my pocket and throw myself into the chair. Squeezing my eyes closed, I hold the trinket in the palm of my hand and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
My heart is pounding too hard, I realize. I’m amped up with so much adrenaline, there’s no way I’ll be able to slide. I try to make myself relax by taking deep breaths and clearing my mind, but I keep seeing Scotch’s body at the bottom of the cliff.
Behave, I tell my brain angrily, but that’s the thing about brains. They never do what you want them to do, especially if you’re trying not to think about something. The more I struggle to empty my mind, the clearer the picture of Scotch’s twisted figure becomes.
I open my eyes and heave a sigh of frustration.
Let’s face it. It’s not going to work.
When I open the door, I see Officer Teahen and Melissa coming my way. I turn around quickly and walk back toward the classroom.
I can hear them talking behind me.
“So you say Scotch was hanging out with Samantha Phillips last week? Were they dating? Do you think he would have gone to Lookout Point with her?”
Melissa’s voice is squeaky. “Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s in Mrs. Winger’s class right now if you want to talk to her.”
Officer Teahen says, “I just might do that.”
I walk a little faster.
Back in the room, I slip into my seat next to Samantha and lean over. My voice is barely above a whisper. “I heard the cop talking to Melissa in the hall. She told him you went to the party with Scotch last week. He wants to talk to you next.”
“Oh, great,” Samantha murmurs.
The door opens, and Melissa comes in. She avoids eye contact with Samantha and returns to her desk. Officer Teahen walks swiftly to Mrs. Winger’s desk and says something in a low voice. She gestures toward Samantha, and his eyes follow.
“Samantha?” Mrs. Winger says. “Could you come up here for a second?”
Samantha stands up and walks over to Mrs. Winger’s desk, throwing me a dark look over her shoulder. I watch as she listens to Officer Teahen, nods, and then follows him out of the room.
The rest of the class seems to last forever. I stare at Samantha’s notebook, in which she’s made several unintelligible notes about “Young Goodman Brown.” I doodle in the margins, counting the seconds.
After an eternity, the bell rings. Everyone gathers up their things and heads for the door. I hear more than one person speculating about why the cop was taking such a long time with Samantha.
A sudden cry pulls me away from my thoughts.
It’s Melissa Abraham. She is holding her purse in front of her, panic on her face. “Mrs. Winger! Mrs. Winger!”
Mrs. Winger rushes over. “What is it, Melissa?”
“Someone stole my key chain.”
Shit.
“What? Are you sure? It probably just fell off. What does it look like?” Mrs. Winger stoops down and scans the carpet.
“It’s a little heart. Actually, it’s my sister’s, but she let me borrow it. She’ll kill me if she found out I lost it.”
I discreetly pull the key chain out and flick it onto the carpet several feet away from me. Mrs. Winger continues her inspection, inching her way in my direction.
“Is that it?” I ask, pointing to the key chain.
Melissa hurries over. “Ohmigod, thank you so much for finding it.” She bends over and scoops it up.
“No problem,” I say, feeling a twinge of guilt. “It’s very pretty.”
“Thanks,” Melissa replies. “See you around.”
Mrs. Winger gives me a grateful smile and then looks down at Samantha’s desk. “Oh, dear. Samantha isn’t back yet. Will you see her later today? Would you mind gathering her things?”
“No problem,” I repeat, but in my head I’m thinking that’s a lie.
I do have a problem.
A huge freaking problem.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the hall, I spot Samantha stalking my way.
“This is all you
r fault,” she says.
“Shhhh,” I say. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” I grab her arm, but she shakes me off and heads toward the bathroom. I follow her, cringing. Once inside, I hold out the stack of notebooks she left behind in Mrs. Winger’s room. “Here are your things.”
Samantha snatches the pile of books and slams them onto a sink. A freshman girl comes out of one of the stalls, and Samantha gives her a look scornful enough to make the poor girl scurry out of the room without washing her hands.
After the door swings closed, Samantha begins whispering angrily. “So that cop totally thinks I pushed Scotch.”
“Did he say that?” I say, my heart sinking.
“No, but what else is he supposed to think? Scotch drove me home from the party on Thursday night. If he asks around, he’s sure to find out that Scotch spread those nasty rumors about me. It’s the only logical conclusion.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s enough to pin Scotch’s fall on you. He’d need evidence that you were there that night. A witness, or something.”
Samantha stares stonily at me. “And what do you think Regina’s going to say when she’s called in for questioning?”
I lift my hands to my temples and try to rub away the headache that is steadily building. There’s only one way to fix this. I have to confess. “Samantha, I’ll talk to the cops. I’ll explain what happened. We didn’t mean—”
Samantha grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “No! All you were doing was trying to help me. I’ll be damned if you get in trouble for this. We’ll talk to Regina. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything. We have to stick together. Okay?”
I remember how Mattie begged me to stay quiet.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Okay.”
There’s something disturbing about watching Rollins crack up at Anna’s jokes. Even though I know they’re just friends. Even though I trust him completely. It’s like a tornado of jealousy inside me when I watch them together. Especially when Rollins and I are supposed to be alone right now. Instead, he brought Anna to eat lunch with us under the bleachers.
This is our spot. It may be littered with decaying leaves and candy-bar wrappers, but it’s ours. And now he’s desecrating it with Anna and her joke about Mrs. Winger and her addiction to computer solitaire. She’s not even funny.
Miffed, I take a giant bite of my Pop-Tart.
“So I’ve been thinking about my playlist for tonight,” Anna says, giving Rollins a serious look. “I want a nice mix of old and new, like something really cool. A little Emily’s Army mixed with some Nina Simone, maybe.”
Rollins looks thoughtful. “Totally agree. You just want to make sure it segues smoothly. I’ve got some ideas for you.”
She brightens. “Great!”
I cough. Rollins looks at me as though he forgot I was here. “Oh, shit, Vee. This has to be so boring for you. I’m sorry.”
Haughtily, I say, “I’m interested in music. Maybe I’ve got ideas, too.”
They both stare at me, waiting for me to go on.
I panic, trying to think of something cool to say. I see a kid in a tie-dye T-shirt walking into school. “How about some Jimi Hendrix?”
Anna blinks, and Rollins rubs my shoulder. “I don’t think that’s exactly the type of playlist Anna had in mind, Vee. She’s focusing on female artists, anyway.”
“Oh,” I say, popping the last bit of Pop-Tart into my mouth and standing up—well, standing up the best I can underneath the bleachers. Really, I’m more crouching than anything. “I’m done. I’ll leave you two to finish your discussion.”
Rollins looks from me to Anna. “Wait. Don’t go. We can talk about this later.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, already shuffling away, kicking leaves as I go. “I’ll see you in Intro to Psych.”
I expect him to come after me. I mean, I know it’s pretty childish of me, but I really do. The fact that he doesn’t kind of rips me up inside. I stand outside the school, counting to a hundred, but he never comes.
So I go inside alone.
Between classes, Mattie catches my arm and pulls me into an empty doorway. Her face is serious. Immediately, I imagine the worst. Did Officer Teahen already question her? Are we all going to jail for our idiotic prank?
“What is it?”
Mattie looks around cautiously and speaks in a low voice. “Regina texted me. She’s not at school today. She went to visit Scotch at the hospital.”
My stomach drops. “He’s awake?”
“No, but she’s convinced she’ll be able to get him to wake up if she sits and talks to him.”
For a moment, I’m ashamed of myself for feeling relieved that Scotch hasn’t awakened. As long as he’s asleep, he’s quiet, making my life so much easier.
“Okay,” I say, trying to figure out what this means for us. “Okay.”
If Regina is visiting Scotch at the hospital, it’s only a matter of time before it comes out that she’s the one who was with him that night. And when the cops find her, she’ll lead them to us. Samantha is going to freak when she finds out where Regina is.
“Shit,” I finally say. “This isn’t good. Were his parents there?”
“No. She told the nurse she was his sister. I think she feels guilty for what happened. She keeps talking about what a tough life Scotch has. How she wants to be there for him.”
My mind is racing. “We’ve got to get her out of there before Scotch’s parents—or worse, the cops—show up.”
Someone touches my arm. Rollins.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rollins, could you give me a ride to the hospital? Regina’s there, visiting Scotch. I’m afraid she’s going to say something stupid.”
Rollins nods. “Sure. I didn’t really feel like going to Psych today anyway.”
“Can I come?” Mattie looks at me hopefully.
“No. You stay here. If we get caught, I don’t want both of us to get in trouble. Okay?” I put my hand on my sister’s shoulder. She nods reluctantly and then heads toward her next class.
I watch my sister sulk away, her cell phone close to her ear. Regret floods through me. She shouldn’t have to be dealing with things like this. She should be able to giggle and talk to Russ and daydream about what color her prom dress will be.
I shake my head sadly and follow Rollins toward the exit. As we’re ducking out, I see Officer Teahen at the other end of the hallway. My heart pounding, I grab Rollins by the sleeve and pull him out the door.
“What was that all about?” Rollins asks when we’re safely inside his car. “You just about yanked my arm off.”
I frown. “Officer Teahen is here at school questioning people. I was going to tell you at lunch, but Anna was there.”
Rollins gapes at me. “Holy shit. Did he talk to you?”
I shake my head. “He pulled Samantha out of English. She said she got a ride home from the party with Scotch on Thursday night but didn’t tell about our little plot to get back at him. It’s only a matter of time, though. If the cops talk to Regina, it would be bad.”
Turning the key in the ignition, Rollins says, “Sorry about lunch. Anna kind of ambushed me.”
I shrug. “No biggie.”
“Really? I got the impression you were a little pissed.”
“Well, maybe a little.”
We pull out of the school parking lot. I keep my eyes peeled for any policemen, but there’s no one.
Rollins reaches over and squeezes my knee. “I’ll make it up to you. That’s a promise.”
The warmth from his fingers radiates upward. It’s almost enough to make me forget that Regina is at the hospital right now, about to completely blow our cover.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The intensive care unit is on the fourth floor. I tap my foot, willing the elevator to travel faster.
Second floor.
Third floor.
The doors slide open, and a pretty nurse with red
hair pushes a wheelchair into the small space in front of us. She gives us a suspicious look, probably wondering why we’re not in school. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.
My father works on the sixth floor, and I’m banking on the fact that he spends most of his day behind steel doors, carefully working to make sick babies well again.
Finally, we reach the fourth floor. The nurse pulls the wheelchair sideways to let Rollins and me get off the elevator. We walk into a waiting area. There’s a desk off to the right side. Beyond that, the hallway that leads to the patients’ rooms.
“Wait here,” I say.
I’ve been at the hospital enough times to know that you can go almost anywhere, as long as you act like you have a right to be there. The only place security is really tight is in the maternity ward, where the guards are constantly watching out for baby snatchers.
I give the lady behind the desk a bright smile and start to walk past her, toward the hallway.
“Who do you need to see, sweetie?” she asks.
Crap. Of course I run into the one nurse who follows protocol.
I stop in my tracks. “Hi, um, I’m a friend of Scott Becker’s sister. Her phone is off, and I have something urgent to tell her.”
The nurse gives me a strange look. “His sister isn’t here. She left about twenty minutes ago. His parents are here, though. I can call them for you. . . .” The nurse lifts the phone from its cradle and poises her finger, about to dial a number.
“Oh, no. That’s okay. You say she left? I’ll go find her.”
The nurse frowns at me. Before she can say anything else, I turn on my heel and head toward Rollins.
Go! I mouth at him. He turns back toward the elevator and jabs the down button with his thumb.
“Miss?” I hear the nurse call behind me.
I pretend not to hear.
The elevator doors open up. Rollins and I hop in, and I hurriedly press the button for the lobby. As the doors close, I risk a look back at the desk. The nurse, annoyed that I ignored her, is glaring at me. But there’s someone else standing beside her—another nurse, with her hair pulled back into a bun.
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