I watched the clock from my seat at the edge of the bed, tapping my heels twice as fast as the beat.
I checked my email on my phone to pass the time. Only one, from Annika a few days earlier:
Are you okay, doll? I’ve tried calling. And calling. I heard you almost died, and I would like confirmation that you aren’t, in fact, dead. Call me soon as you get this. xoxo—An
I loved that about Annika—how she could make everything big and small at the same time. It was so different from my own life—everything over-examined and weighty.
At seven-thirty, I took the key from my desk drawer and unlocked the metal grate outside my bedroom window, swinging it open. I held my breath, listening for signs of my mother. My room faced the front, which worked in my favor, because Mom’s room was down the other hall and faced the back. The dining room was the only other room with windows toward the front. Everything else—the kitchen, her office, the living room—had a clear view back to the mountains.
I sat on the windowsill, willing myself to jump the four feet to the ground, and my heart beat wildly. Everything about this moment felt magnified. The night, crisp and unexpectedly alluring. My stomach churning. The feeling of spiders crawling out from the corners of the room, coming for me.
At the last moment, I took my new cell phone from my purse and tossed it onto my bed. I wasn’t sure whether my mom had some sort of alert set up, but better to play it safe. Either she had ESP for when I diverted from my route (like the time she called when I took the wrong exit and went an extra ten miles before I noticed, or the time I craved a burger and drove until I found one, with the newfound freedom of my driver’s license), or she actively tracked me whenever she knew I was out, or—and this was what I was worried about—she had a perimeter set up that sent an alert to her computer when I wandered out of it.
I counted down, and tried not to think—not to let myself hear all the maybes circle and dig and circle some more. It was my mother’s voice, my mother’s warnings, my mother’s fears, I reminded myself.
Not my own.
And then I jumped.
I braced for impact, crouching low, expecting some unknown alarm to sound—but there was nothing. I eased the metal window grate shut, but couldn’t lock it from the outside. The front lights were off, which meant she was probably back in her room, or in the living room, watching TV. Maybe the office. Hopefully, she wouldn’t hear the gate. Hopefully, she wouldn’t see the green light next to the front door for the thirty-second span that it remained unlocked.
I hit the code in the keypad beside the fence, and the gates eased open, the mechanical gears humming in the still night. I slipped through the opening as soon as I could, then crouched in the bushes, counting to thirty. Counting, and watching the front door.
But nothing happened.
No alarm, no yelling, no Mom.
I was free.
—
Annika was waiting for me in her driveway, leaning against the blue sedan that she and her brother shared when they were home from school, texting on her phone. I’d had to take the long way—down my street, right on the main neighborhood road, right again on her street, which backed to mine—instead of hopping the wall connecting the backs of our properties. She jumped at the sound of rocks kicking up in her driveway as I jogged toward her.
“Well,” she said, slouching against the hood, one hand on her hip, “look who’s the little rebel. Honestly, after you hung up I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.” She wore leggings and boots and a dress with lace trim, and I felt completely unpresentable in dark jeans and a nice shirt.
She handed me the keys.
“You’re not coming?” I asked.
“Change of plans,” she said, smiling. “I have a date. His name is Eli, and he does landscaping work in the neighborhood, and I think I’m in love.”
“I’ve never heard of any Eli.”
“Well, I kind of just met him. But we only have the week, so we’re on an accelerated schedule.” She smiled.
She slid her phone out of a disguised pocket in her dress, scrolled through, and pulled up his contact—Eli. His photo showed a slightly hooked nose and deep-set eyes, a bunch of mismatched parts that somehow worked together. He was looking off to the side, and his mouth was open, like he was caught midsentence, and he was vaguely squinting into the sun. Annika did this—took stealth pictures of people for her phone. Mine, I once saw, was me from a distance, sitting on the stone wall, head tipped back and eyes closed. “Stalker much?” I’d said to her the first time I saw it. But the truth was, it was my favorite picture of me that existed. For one thing, I was outside. For another, I looked completely carefree and at peace. In truth, I think I’d been about to sneeze. But, like a magician, she had somehow captured the essence of the person I wanted to be instead.
“He’s picking me up at eight,” Annika said. “Just do me a favor and bring this baby back in one piece.”
“You’re giving me your car?” I asked.
“No, I’m not giving you my car. I’m letting you drive it. Figure you’ve already driven off a cliff once, what’re the chances of that happening again?”
“Not funny,” I mumbled.
“Too soon?” She nudged my shoulder. “Oh, come on, it is a little bit.”
I grinned. “Thank you, Annika. You’re a good friend.”
“Well, I heard there was a boy involved. Do me a favor, when you get back, leave the keys in the visor, yeah?”
“Okay, I won’t be late,” I said.
“Don’t go making any promises,” she said.
Annika swayed back up the front walk, and then she lingered near her door, like she was waiting for me to get in and drive off. I was frozen. I knew, in theory, I’d have to drive again. Otherwise, I’d become trapped like my mother, each of my fears chipping away little by little at the world, until all I had left was the bubble. The world shrinking, twisting, slipping—I’d always be stuck in that moment. I’d always be falling.
Annika, maybe sensing as much, called over to me, “Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, Kels.”
Which wasn’t really true—turns out, despite popular opinion, lightning did not discriminate. But I got the point—what were the chances?
Take comfort in the logic, Jan would tell me. Chance is on your side.
—
I had to drive down the windy mountain roads into town, to the community center, where the ceremony was being held. I took the turns about ten miles under the speed limit, not caring that there was a car on my tail that eventually blew by me on a rare stretch of straightaway. I gripped the wheel, eyes on the yellow line, hovering so close to the center that a car on the other side honked. Any time I saw headlights, I flashed back to that foggy moment—a flash of light, a car on my side, jerking the wheel, the panic closing my throat.
I wondered if it was possible that the panic itself had knocked me unconscious. I wouldn’t doubt it.
Eventually I had to pass the site of my accident. I crawled by it, overcompensating each turn of the wheel—worse than my first driver’s ed lesson. The metal barrier on the side of the road had already been replaced. There were no signs anything had ever happened, except the stretch of metal was fresher, with no imperfections yet. If I’d died, there would’ve been flowers or teddy bears or a cross on the roadside.
We did not fall. We did not die. Everything was fine.
It wasn’t until I hit the lights in town that I relaxed my grip on the wheel. Wasn’t until I exited the car and stared at my hands, slightly trembling, that I began to laugh. I’d have to tell Jan about this one day, when it was far enough away. When I wouldn’t get in trouble. A fear I overcame, the picture of progress. Standing there, in the middle of the packed parking lot, I’d never felt so powerful.
—
I recognized a bunch of student parking stickers on the cars around mine, and some fire department bumper stickers on others as I walked up the steps to the community center
. The reception area—the gymnasium, actually—was pretty crowded, with rows of folding chairs set up and reporters with cameras and notepads standing along the wall.
Out of force of habit, I found myself taking stock of the exits: the double doors behind me, an emergency exit to the side of the makeshift stage, another presumably behind the platform. I looked up: a few windows, but no way to open them. I stayed near the door, another habit I couldn’t quite break. “Always take note of the exits,” Mom had said, worrying her thumb over each of her fingers, until her knuckles popped, one by one. “Besides the obvious. There’s always another way out. The windows. The ceiling. The floor. You have to think beyond, and you have to think fast.”
I couldn’t help picturing that now: all these people trying to funnel through the double doors in the event of an explosion or a fire. And me, caught in a stampede. I shook my head, clearing her out of there. The words of a paranoid mind. The words of fear. It wasn’t too late for me.
Up front, it looked like they were about to get started. The men and women were in suits, and so was Ryan. He was fidgeting with his tie, and an older man stepped forward to straighten it for him, before placing a hand on his shoulder.
It’s in my blood, Ryan had said. A family legacy. He was surrounded by a group of people who had watched him grow up, who were waiting for him to join them. He had a place he always knew he would belong.
Meanwhile, I was alone and completely out of place. I looked at my jeans, my purple shirt, my black sneakers. It hadn’t occurred to me that this would be a formal affair. I mean, it was the community center. The basketball nets had been retracted upward, toward the ceiling, but this was a place where people worked out. At least I was wearing my nice jeans. And at least I’d put some product in my hair. My curls were shiny and tamed, and I guess that counted for something.
A hush fell over the crowd as the people up front started assembling themselves into order, in a straight row. A man who must’ve been the mayor made his way to the podium.
I saw Ryan scan the crowd, the seats, but he never got to me. His gaze drifted back to the floor, and he took a deep breath. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess he was nervous. He’d already done the hard part—me, the car, the fall. All he had to do now was stand there while other people in suits said nice things about him.
I noticed several people from our class in the chairs near the aisle—the guys I’d see Ryan with at school, in the halls, or the ones who stopped by the Lodge during the summer, looking for him. Mark and AJ and Leo, in khakis and button-downs. AJ had his girlfriend with him. There were also a few vaguely familiar faces, who I thought must’ve been from his fire department. One of them, standing behind Ryan, was watching me back, and I didn’t know whether it was because I was severely underdressed or because he remembered me. Had he been there that night? The only person I remembered was Ryan—the promise in his words, making me believe. Even the medic’s face had faded away. I understood how my mother could’ve forgotten everything after her imprisonment. Everything else was buried under a layer of fear, and I didn’t want to poke at it too hard.
The other firefighter leaned forward, whispered something into Ryan’s ear, and Ryan’s eyes scanned the crowd, settling on me. His face didn’t change, but he started raising his hand. But then the microphone snapped on, and the mayor’s quick intake of breath echoed through the room before he let out a booming “Good evening!”
The crowd settled, and even Ryan turned his focus to the mayor.
And then there was an all-too-familiar voice in my ear, a minty whisper, and a jangle of bracelets. “Hey there, you.”
Emma stood beside me with two of her girlfriends. At least Cole didn’t seem to be here.
“Hi, Emma,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?” And are we friends again? I didn’t get the memo.
She nodded her head toward the girl beside her, leaning against the wall. “Holly wanted to come. For Ryan.” She smiled again, all teeth. I made myself smile back.
Holly-in-the-flesh was slightly less scary than the Holly-of-my-mind, who I’d turned into a vacant texting machine who chewed gum and had long, manicured nails. The Holly who had actually texted Ryan (all caps, super-excited) was rather sweet-looking, with dimples and wavy strawberry-blond hair, phone nowhere in sight.
“Shh,” someone said. The room echoed, like a gymnasium. It was a gymnasium after all.
The mayor was now talking about acts of bravery, and the average person, and looking out for our neighbors, and how community was built on the shoulders of people like this.
There were two people receiving the medal. One woman, for performing the Heimlich on a stranger at the Italian restaurant in town (heroic, yes, but brave?), and Ryan. “According to Chief Nicholas,” the mayor said, “Mr. Baker insisted he be the one to climb into Ms. Thomas’s car. There was no moment of hesitation.” Ryan hadn’t told me that part. I’m the lightest is what he’d said. Least chance of making the car fall.
Even from here, I could see the heat rising on Ryan’s face. God, heroic much? Emma and Holly were whispering beside me, and I swear one of them audibly sighed.
The mayor pinned something to his jacket, shook his hand, and everyone applauded.
Everyone stood, and Ryan disappeared. I shifted to the side, stood on my toes—the room was all noise and activity again.
Emma turned to her friends. “You should invite Ryan,” I heard her saying, probably to Holly.
“To my house?” Holly responded.
“Yes. Tell him we’ll be there, no adults, heroes welcome.”
I turned away, needing air and space and home again.
“Excuse me.” I bumped into a woman with a badge clipped to her blazer and a notepad in her hand. She was smiling, big and bright, like I was exactly what she was looking for. “Kelsey, right? I thought I saw you come in.”
I strained to see the front of the room again, and I caught a glimpse of Ryan trying to push through the crowd, heading this way—maybe to see Holly, who was still talking to Emma.
Holly shook my resolve, and my confidence. I didn’t know, after all, what had happened at the party after the hospital. I didn’t know if Holly was his girlfriend, and I was just someone he could talk to about that night. If everything about that moment in the car shone brighter than it should, took on more meaning. Near-death experiences bonding people together—that was a thing, right? But it didn’t mean anything, unless I stayed there, stuck in that terrifying moment.
The woman beside me kept pressing—her hand on my arm now, like walls closing in. “It’s so great that you came,” she added. “Wonderful for you to show your support. Can I get a quick picture?” She jutted her head toward Ryan, who had just broken through the group in the middle, and was shaking free of the latest person who stopped him to shake his hand. “Of the two of you together? The readers would love that.”
“You’ve got the wrong person,” I said, backpedaling out the double doors. This was all a mistake. I should’ve sent him a message first. Let him know I was coming. Let him tell me about Holly first. I should’ve worn something different, arrived a little earlier. Convinced Annika to come with me so I wouldn’t feel this blind rush of terror—because I’d learned in high school, after years of being homeschooled, that loneliness was something felt more powerfully in a crowd.
I fumbled for Annika’s keys in my purse—heard footsteps behind me and started running. My hands shook as I turned the key in the ignition, and I peeled out of the parking lot. But I couldn’t slow my heart. I couldn’t shake the nerves. And I couldn’t shake the headlights, always just a curve behind.
The headlights were gone by the time I pulled into Annika’s driveway. Nobody came out at the sound of the car on the gravel. Amazing, that people could come and go so freely, without someone keeping tabs on them. I left the keys in the visor like she’d asked and started walking back up the road, arms folded across my stomach in the dark. I didn’t want to go through the back, ho
pping the wall, where my mom was much more likely to notice.
The mountains were darker against the moonlit sky—the world, shadows on shadows.
I stayed on the roads, striding quickly in the gap between the streetlights, but I stopped when I turned onto my drive. A car with its engine running. A car was here.
There were no other houses on this part of the street. It was too late for a delivery. If it was Jan, my mom would probably knock on my door, and I’d be found out. I moved faster, keeping to the bushes, trying to work out how to slip through the gate and climb through the window with neither of them noticing.
The engine turned off, and I froze. I eased my body slowly around the corner, until I could see the car. A green Jeep, just like Ryan’s—
Before I could stop myself, I had jogged alongside the car, which was practically in view of the front gate. If someone leaned to the side in the front window, they might be able to see him.
He was going to get me busted. As I approached the car, I saw him still sitting in the driver’s seat, texting on his phone. His tie was undone, and so was the top collar button, and his jacket was tossed in a heap on the passenger seat.
I tapped the car window, and he jumped, dropping the phone into his lap.
He let out a relieved sigh as he opened the car door. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“What are you doing here?” I whispered, while making hand motions for him to keep it down.
“I tried to catch you when you left. I saw you pull into the development, but…then I couldn’t find you.” He grabbed his phone. “I’ve been writing to you.” He showed me a string of open text messages, then turned the phone back to himself. “Um, you can delete them now.” He looked down at his shoes, which had probably been shiny a few hours earlier, but were now coated in a layer of fine dust.
“I was borrowing a friend’s car,” I said. “I left it at her house. And my phone’s in my room.”
“Oh,” he said.
“I wasn’t supposed to go out,” I said. “So I left the phone, which also has GPS tracking, you know?”
The Safest Lies Page 7