by Paula Stokes
But then I think about how much of myself I manage to keep under wraps, and I realize Unknown could be almost anyone. Across the cafeteria, Lowell Price sits at a table by himself, shoveling French fries into his mouth three at a time. I remember him calling Julia a slut in class yesterday, but as far as I know, he’d have no motive to blackmail me into stealing her purse or confessing my role in the Sea Cliff fire.
Katrina Jensen sits at the next table with a few of her Tillamook friends. Her lunch tray has already been picked clean and she’s reading a thick paperback novel. She seems to despise both Julia and me, but that doesn’t mean she’s a deranged stalker.
It hits me that I should respond to Unknown’s latest text right now. Maybe I can trick him or her into starting a conversation with me and narrow down my pool of suspects.
Grabbing my phone I text Unknown:
I did what you want. Are we done now?
Lowell continues eating his French fries at the exact same pace. Katrina slips her book into her purse and then hops up from her table to dump her tray. She waves good-bye to her friends and heads for the girls’ bathroom in the main hallway, giving me a long look as she passes.
I could get up and follow her, see if she checks her messages in the bathroom, but it’s not like that’s going to prove anything, and she’s not just going to show me her phone.
Julia looks up from her own phone. “Why are you staring at Katrina Jensen?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Something about her is a little off.”
“Yeah,” Julia says. “I overheard someone in the locker room saying that in sixth hour yesterday Katrina was bragging about buying a pistol.”
“Seriously?” I ask, somewhat shocked. Hunting rifles aren’t a rarity in Three Rocks or Tillamook, but handguns are. “She’s not even old enough to buy a gun, is she?”
“Supposedly she bought it off some college kid.”
“That’s messed up.” I shake my head. “I know she likes to be outrageous, but I can’t believe she would want to risk getting caught with a weapon.”
Julia’s face grows serious. “I heard her stepdad used to get drunk and beat on her mom. Supposedly, her mom kicked him out, but still. Girls can’t be too careful anymore. Ness actually takes Krav Maga classes. She wants to get a concealed-carry permit once she’s old enough.”
I shudder. “I’d be afraid I would shoot off my own foot.”
“I don’t know. I think it’d be cool to learn how to handle a gun.” Julia spears a bite of chicken and chews slowly. She takes a swig of her acai berry diet whatever and starts composing a tweet. She stops halfway through, lifts a hand to her lips.
“What is it?” I ask.
She picks through the rice with her fork, her brow furrowing. She starts to bend down toward her backpack and then stops. “Shit, my purse,” she says. She stands up so suddenly that she tips over her chair.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Must have . . . eaten . . . a nut.” Julia’s voice is thick and wheezy now. “Need. Nurse.” She turns toward the exit to the cafeteria but makes it only about five steps before she collapses to the ground.
Seventeen
“JULIA!” I SCREAM. Immediately, a crowd starts to gather around her. I leap out of my chair and drop to my knees beside her. “Get back,” I tell the curious onlookers. I grab Julia’s hand. Her skin is clammy and cold. “You’re going to be okay,” I say. I do a quick calculation. Even if I could go to the front of school and get Julia’s purse from the trash can, the nurse’s office is closer and I know the nurse has backup EpiPens for situations just like this. Lifting my head, I say, “Someone needs to go get the nurse.”
But no one is listening to me. They’re all just crowding in for a look at Julia Worthington flailing around on the ground.
My gaze lands on Frannie and her friends Mona and Patrice, standing at the periphery of the crowd, their eyes wide and their faces pale. Frannie and I make eye contact, and it seems to snap her back to reality. “I’ll get the nurse,” she volunteers. She scurries off down the main hallway, her strawberry-blond braids bouncing against her shoulder blades. Mona kneels beside me, the edges of her head scarf dragging on the ground. “My mom’s a nurse,” she says. “Is she choking? If so we should roll her on her side.”
“It’s her allergies,” I say. “Her food must have touched peanuts or something.” But inside, a darker suspicion is taking root. Was this why I was supposed to steal Julia’s purse? So she wouldn’t have her EpiPen?
Julia wheezes as she curls onto her side. Her face has gone red and is starting to swell up. She tries to say something but it comes out like a wet gurgle. I push a lock of sweaty hair back from her eyes. “Hang on, Julia,” I say. My heart pounds hard against my breastbone. I’ve known she was allergic since the summer we met, but I’ve never seen her have a full-blown reaction. When she had to stick herself at the swimming conference, she did it before there was any noticeable change in her voice or appearance. Some of the noises she’s making don’t even sound human.
Her face starts to turn from red to purple. Her lips look positively blue. My own throat goes tight just from looking at her. I glance down the main hallway. Shit. There’s no sign of Frannie and the nurse. I raise my head to the crowd. “Does anyone else have an EpiPen?” I ask.
“I do,” Patrice says timidly. She pulls a plastic cartridge from her purse with shaking fingers. “But I’m allergic to bees. I’m not sure if it’s the same.”
“It is,” Mona says.
“Do you know how to inject someone else?” I ask.
“In theory.” Patrice chews at her lower lip. She pulls the cap off the EpiPen and holds it against Julia’s leg, her hands still trembling. “Are you sure I should?”
Julia’s eyes are rolling back in her head now. Her extremities are twitching like she’s having a seizure. Behind us, I hear the snapping of cell phones as people take pictures. I look toward the entrance to the cafeteria once more. Still no nurse. What is taking her so long?
“Give it to me.” I grab the pen from Patrice’s hand and jam it in Julia’s thigh, right through her jeans and depress the plunger.
There’s no immediate change to her condition. Come on, come on, come on. I’ve never given anyone an EpiPen before, but I took a first-aid class last summer where they went through the basic procedure. It’s pretty idiot-proof as long as you manage to penetrate the fabric of the victim’s clothes.
Five seconds pass. Then another five.
“Are you sure you did it right?” Patrice asks.
“Clear the way, please. Clear the way.” Mrs. Heller, our school nurse, pushes through the throng of onlookers, her shiny gray bob bouncing with each step of her sensible nurses’ shoes. She’s got an EpiPen clutched in her hand. Frannie hovers behind her. “And put your phones away,” the nurse adds. “This is a personal medical emergency, not something you should be sharing with strangers.”
“I just injected her with someone else’s EpiPen,” I say. “Maybe I should’ve waited, but I was afraid she was going to die.”
Mrs. Heller squats down beside me. She reaches out to feel for Julia’s pulse. The swelling in her throat seems to have diminished slightly. Her color is looking more pink and less purple now. The nurse attaches a small electronic clip to one of Julia’s index fingers and nods to herself as a number pops up on the display. “Let me see what you used.”
I hand her the empty EpiPen cartridge and she squints at the fine print. She compares Patrice’s pen to the pen in her hand. “Should be fine,” she says. “EpiPens only come in two sizes—child and adult. I am going to need you to give the office a statement, though, for legal purposes.”
“Why isn’t she waking up?” a kid yells from behind me.
His voice sounds familiar. I glance back over my shoulder. It’s Holden’s friend Zak, who works at the gas station with him.
Mrs. Heller ignores his question. “Please, all of you, back up or I’ll s
tart assigning detention. Give her some space to breathe.” The crowd has grown to about forty people now.
Julia’s eyes flick open. She makes a gasping noise as she reaches for my shoulder and tries to pull herself up to a seated position.
Mrs. Heller grabs her shoulders gently and restrains her to the floor. “Don’t try to sit up yet, Ms. Worthington. You had an allergic reaction and we administered epinephrine. It’s best if you stay lying down until the paramedics get here.”
“My p-purse,” Julia chokes out.
I squeeze her hand. “I stuck you with someone else’s EpiPen. The nurse said it’s the same as yours.”
“Paramedics?” Frannie asks. “Isn’t she going to be okay?” Frannie looks back and forth from the nurse to me.
“She should be, but we always send anyone who has a serious allergic reaction to the ER for them to make sure the patient is stabilized,” Mrs. Heller explains.
Julia tries to say something else, but when she opens her mouth, no words come out. My phone buzzes in my purse. It might be Holden, telling me who grabbed Julia’s bag from the trash. I’m dying to look at it, but I’m not going to do so while Julia is lying on the floor.
“Don’t try to talk,” I tell her. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine.”
She nods weakly. Her eyelids flutter shut.
A few minutes later, two navy-clad paramedics enter the cafeteria and load Julia onto a stretcher. The entire cafeteria rises to its feet and starts to clap.
Mrs. Heller nods at Mona and me. “Good job, ladies. Way to stay calm under pressure.”
I nod back, but now that the crisis is over, the reality of what just happened is crashing down on me. My eyes water and a lump starts to form in my throat. I can’t believe Julia could have died.
My phone buzzes with a text. There are two messages from Holden:
Holden: Still haven’t seen anyone take anything out of the trash can.
Holden: You ok? An ambulance just pulled up. What’s going on?
With shaking fingers I respond to the second one and let him know what happened to Julia. Then I reread the first one. It seems to confirm my worst suspicions. Unknown didn’t want me to steal Julia’s purse so they could have it or anything inside it. They wanted me to steal her purse so they could try to kill her.
Eighteen
I SPEND THE NEXT three hours sick to my stomach. Julia almost died because of me. I’m not even sure if she’ll connect the fact that someone snatched her purse with the allergy attack, but I do. Unknown had me steal her purse with her EpiPen and then somehow laced her food with peanuts or peanut oil. I think back to right before she collapsed. I paid for her lunch, she gave me back the change, and then we sat down. I try to remember all the things she touched on her tray, but I can’t. I know she had the chicken and rice, and the green Jell-O. I don’t remember what else.
I get another text from Holden right as school is ending. He watched the trash can all day and no one showed up. I meet him in the parking lot of the community college across the street. Most of Tillamook Bay Community College is down on Third Street, but the Industrial Technology Department is right across from the high school.
His motorcycle is parked along the edge of the lot. I pull my car in next to him and he hops into the passenger seat.
“I can’t believe no one has come to retrieve the purse yet,” Holden says. “You think they’re waiting until tonight when it’s dark?”
“I think they only wanted me to steal it so Julia wouldn’t have her EpiPen,” I say grimly.
“That’s seriously fucked up. Should we go get the purse?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. At least not until I talk to Julia. Unknown might be hoping one of us does that. Then they can try to set us up for attempted murder.”
“I still can’t believe she had an allergy attack.” Holden shudders. “What a messed-up thing to do to someone.”
“Yeah.” A lump rises in my throat as I think of the wheezing and choking sounds Julia made. Tears leak out of my eyes. “I can’t believe I almost got her killed. I’m going to tell her everything the next time I see her. I don’t expect her to forgive me, for the purse or for you, but I don’t want to keep stuff from her anymore.” I turn toward the side window as I hurriedly wipe at my eyes. I don’t want Holden to console me right now—I don’t deserve it. I need to make things right with Julia on my own.
“I’m glad. I think that’s a good idea.” He pats me on the leg. “She’s not necessarily going to hate you, you know?”
I shrug. “If she does, I’ll understand. I should have told her the truth so much earlier. What’s wrong with me, Holden? How come I know the right thing to do but can’t ever manage to do it?”
“Because doing the right thing is hard,” he replies. “But you’re doing it now, and I respect that. Eventually Julia will too.”
I sigh. “I feel like the worst person in the whole world.”
“Stop,” Holden says. “You did a bad thing. Maybe several bad things,” he adds before I can correct him. “But we all do bad shit sometimes. It’s what you do now that matters. If you don’t like the person you are, take responsibility for your past mistakes and do better.”
It reminds me of my mom’s advice about controlling what I can and not obsessing about other stuff. The only thing to do now is confess, apologize, and let Julia decide if she’s going to forgive me.
I sigh again and smile wanly. “Maybe I can’t talk to Julia the same way I can talk to you, but I still care about her so much. I can’t even imagine my life without her in it.”
There’s a long beat of silence. Then Holden says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you ever think that the reason you can confide in me but not people like Julia and Luke is because you’re more afraid they’re going to leave you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Embry. Your dad left before you were even born. You can pretend that didn’t affect you, but you’re only kidding yourself. That sort of thing screws a person up. Of course you have issues with people leaving. Luke left for the army. Julia started talking about going away to college. I know you think there’s some deep and special reason you can talk to me, but maybe it’s just because you know I’m going to be sticking around town for a while.”
I start to object, but then I purse my lips tightly and force myself to think about Holden’s words. It’s not even just my dad and Luke and Julia. Before my grandmother died, I confided deeply in her too. It’s entirely possible I’ve gotten so sick of being left that I’ve started pushing away all the people I think might leave me.
My phone buzzes again—a text from Julia:
Julia: Hey. I just got home from the hospital. Thanks for saving my life ;)
Me: You doing okay?
Julia: So well my parents would probably make me go to school tomorrow if it wasn’t the last day before winter break.
“It’s Julia,” I tell Holden. “She’s okay.”
“Thanks to your quick thinking,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply. But we both know my actions are what put Julia in danger in the first place. Unknown targeted her because she’s my friend, and I made it even easier. I turn my attention back to my phone.
Me: Can I come by and see you?
Julia: Yes. And can you bring some chocolate? Almost dying has recalibrated my priorities.
I smile.
Me: I’m on it.
I use some of the money from my father to splurge on a box of fancy chocolates to bring to Julia. Fred Meyer, the biggest store in town, has a selection for Christmas and they’re even gift-wrapped. I look them up online to find one that’s peanut-allergy safe and then triple-check with the cashier before buying it. I know I can’t bribe Julia into forgiving me, but if our friendship is going to end today, I don’t want her last thoughts of me to be that I tried to kill her with poisoned candy.
Thunder rumbles above my head as I pull out of the parking lot and take Highway 10
1 across Tillamook to get back to the smaller highway that leads to Three Rocks. I drive the speed limit, past the library and the hospital and the farms at the edge of town.
The road narrows as I head into the hills. I decelerate to navigate the sharp S and C curves. Pockets of fog hang in the higher-altitude air, forcing me to slow down even more. A hard rain begins to fall, individual droplets smacking into the windshield like tiny pebbles. I flip on the windshield wipers, frowning as a couple of pickup trucks blow past me in a no-passing zone. I breathe a sigh of relief a few minutes later when I descend the final stretch of road into Three Rocks. Mom’s fifteen-year-old Mazda isn’t much, but it’s all we’ve got and I’d hate to get in an accident.
I drive past the turnoff to my neighborhood and take a sharp left onto Puffin Drive. Halfway up Puffin Hill, I veer left onto Terresea Way, the street Julia lives on. I’ve been over to her house tons of times, because when we used to have sleepovers and stuff, I always suggested her place. “You’ve got more movies and better snacks,” I always told her. Truthfully, I’m a little embarrassed of where Mom and I live. I love our house, but it’s small and cramped and we’ve been known to let dishes pile up in the sink and trash pile up in the trash can. Hanging out at my place probably feels like slumming it at a cheap motel for Julia.
She opens the front door in pink sweatpants and a Victoria’s Secret T-shirt, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. Other than her face looking a little red, there’s no evidence of her earlier attack. Still, I tear up a little just looking at her. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I choke out.
“Me too,” she says. “Come on in out of the rain, silly.”
I step into her warm foyer. “Wow. It feels so good in here.”
“Yeah? I think it’s kind of hot. But you know old people and their bad circulation.” She rolls her eyes and grins. Julia’s parents are in their fifties, almost old enough to be my grandparents.
“Better hot than my house. Our furnace is messed up, so it’s freezing right now.”