by Dawn Klehr
“Now that you’ve officially scared the crap out of me, yes, I’m ready. Tell me.”
“First, let me say that when you first got together with Becca, I was thrilled,” Cass begins. “After Mom died, you were so distant. I needed you so badly, but you were just gone. It felt like we’d lost you in the accident too. But then Becca started to make you happy. You were like the old you again. I talked about it all the time, but Ava never could join in on my enthusiasm. She even went so far as to warn me about Becca. She’d heard some things, she said. Well, you know how I feel about all that gossip bullshit.”
I nodded, waiting for her to go on.
“So I made Ava tell me exactly what she knew. Turns out, the person she heard things from was her mom. You know, Rita has some pretty good stories from work—you can imagine the kinds of things she sees in her job.”
“Of course,” I say, growing impatient with the long setup.
“Well, she’d tell Ava a story about work once in a while, but she’d never use names. Until Becca.”
“What do you mean, until Becca?”
“Turns out Becca has been to the Nut Hut a few times.”
My stomach starts churning, the same way it did when Bec first told me Mom’s accident wasn’t an accident. I prepare for a quick dash to the bathroom just in case.
“Her first visit was probably the worst,” Cass continues. “Apparently Becca completely melted down when their family cat disappeared a few years back and her parents didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t eat or sleep, so they brought her in.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” I say. “She takes loss pretty hard.”
“Yeah, it was understandable. At first the docs thought it was grief and depression, but in later sessions they grew to find out it was more. She would tell them the cat was bad, and it was a good thing the cat had died because he liked Brit more than he liked her. And in her belongings, they found the cat’s I.D. tag on her bracelet.”
“Okay, that’s all weird, but—”
“The charm had blood on it.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, knowing the answer. Knowing what she’s getting at.
“Rita has taken care of her a few other times. She’s scared shitless of that girl. Once she found out that Becca went to our school, she warned Ava. And once you started dating her, Ava warned me.”
“But I thought you both liked her,” I say, unable to process this information.
“We did,” she says. “We do. Actually, I wasn’t too concerned. I thought maybe it was a misunderstanding. Plus, Becca isn’t an easy person to like. But Rita told us that lately, her parents have been calling about permanent options for Becca—like medication, inpatient therapy, or some kind of center to send her to. Rita is really worried about you but she can’t say anything. I’ve been watching Becca, and it’s like she’s taking a turn for the worse or something. I don’t trust her.”
Cass looks at me, but I say nothing.
“Does any of this make sense to you?” she asks. “Are you seeing it?”
“I think it’s just the grief,” I lie.
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“No,” I blurt. “That’s the worst thing you could do right now. Stay away from her, Cassie.”
“What’s going on with her? You know, don’t you?”
“It’s nothing, Cass. Please, it’s just a rough patch. Can you give us some space right now to sort things out?”
“You’ll be careful?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
She takes a seat on the bed next to me and leans her head on my shoulder. “I can’t lose you too, Johnny. Please don’t follow her down the rabbit hole. Stay here with me.”
My braining is spinning from what Cass just told me, not to mention from this entire fucked-up mess. I can’t settle down. I feel like I’m going to crack any minute.
Love you, Becca texts me once I finally make it to bed. That’s when I really do lose it. I run to the bathroom and throw up.
Ditto, I type after I get back to my room. And by the way, your love makes me sick. I decide to leave that last part out.
At this point, I know better than to make her mad. She’s on the verge of coming undone and I want to be out of the way when it happens.
All night I toss and turn, worried about her plans to visit Ethan in the morning. That hers will be the first face he sees in twelve hours. And if she’s in the same condition she was tonight, he’ll be terrified. I can’t let that happen. This time, I have to make a move.
I get up early and take Dad’s truck. I try to forget that I haven’t driven anything in a year. The driver’s seat feels foreign. The keys are heavy in my hand. I put the key into the ignition and turn, bringing the Tahoe to life. It roars with pride. I hold my breath and wait for a light to switch on in the house. It doesn’t.
The truck putts in reverse, jerking down the driveway. I’m in full concentration mode, looking over my shoulder as I back up. I never would’ve looked over my shoulder in the past unless there were little kids playing in the yard—the rearview mirror was always enough to do the trick. The kids, though, they were regulars in our yard because Mom was always bringing out lemonade and cookies. She’s rolling over in her grave now at what we’ve done to Ethan. What we’ve done … shit. I can’t even think the words “kidnap” or “hostage.”
I’m in a cold sweat as I head to the ruins, waiting for a car to jump out in front of me at any moment. Waiting to be jackknifed by a semi or blindsided by a bread truck. I spent too much time studying all the photos from the accident.
My heart races, pumping hard as hell. Like it’s trying to break free from my chest.
I get four blocks from my house and I can hardly breathe. I have no choice but to turn around and head back home.
I’m such a pussy.
On my morning ride with Cassie and Ava, I text the other Johnny about the ammo. I have no idea how this is going to all play out and I need the insurance. He says he can hook me up during the lunch hour.
My backpack, which now houses the gun, sits next to me in the backseat. I’ll have to plant it outside by the Dumpsters before I go into school, because there’s no way I’m getting past the metal detectors. So I lose the girls and take care of it.
By second period, I’m a complete head case. A few people ask if I’m hungover. If only I was that lucky. When Travis Kent walks into class, he doesn’t look any better. Crescents of purple and blue hang under his eyes. He has the same shirt on as yesterday, all soft and rumpled.
When I get to class, he’s already sitting there with an eerie, blank look on his face.
I take my seat and Mrs. Skye begins talking about division of land and some other bullshit. Travis doesn’t settle in. I can hear him behind me fidgeting. Fingernails, pencils, the palm of his hand, strumming and tapping on the desk. The rustle of his sweatpants as he shifts around in his seat. God, how I wish one damn thing could be normal today. I wish he’d fall asleep and never wake up.
Travis has a backpack with him. Unusual. It’s like he’s planning to go somewhere after class. The black bag is covered in gamer stickers and sits between our desks on my right side. The zipper is broken, split along the top, and the teeth are struggling to keep their grip. Inside the bag, I can see a gray T-shirt, water bottles, and tiny bags of chips.
It’s obvious he received Becca’s message about Ethan. But what I don’t know is what he plans on doing about it. What exactly did Becca tell him? What’s up her sleeve this time? I haven’t talked to her since we left the library last night, but I’m sure she hasn’t stopped working.
Where does she want to take Travis tonight?
How do we know he won’t (or hasn’t) called the police yet?
The questions ping around in my mind, and I have to bite my lip to stay silent.
Welcome to Hush
Responsible:
We were fighting.
We’d been fighting a lot more lately. Something changed, and I felt a wedge growing between us.
I didn’t like it.
That night, it all came to a head.
I could feel the tension building all day.
And then … it ended in one big explosion.
25
Johnny
Becca and I don’t say much throughout the following day at school. Though I watch everyone’s comings and goings, from class to class. If they only knew how lucky they are.
The guilt, the guilt is what’s going to kill me. Though it was like this even before the plan. Before I agreed. At that time, I’d fallen so hard for Becca I couldn’t see my way out.
“Guilt is not a useful emotion, Johnny,” Becca would say. “It’s not productive and it only hurts you. At least change it to anger or something. Anger is a great motivator. Anger is the catalyst for getting things done.”
Now I just have twice the guilt.
When Becca first started tutoring me, I was so far behind in every single class. Especially in Lit. We spent the spring reading Shakespeare and Hemingway and the Brontë sisters.
So different, yet so much the same.
Love, revenge, hate, jealousy … anger. The stories are always about the same thing.
If I were a chick, I’d tell you it was the best spring of my life. My world cracked wide open, and I felt my broken heart finally starting to heal.
And at the center of everything was Broken Girl.
The best part? I was starting to heal her too.
She’d wait for me after baseball practice, and even talked to the coach about my tutoring and got me playing in the games again. She quickly became my everything.
I try not to think about it and instead focus on Ethan, locked away. I have to find a way to help him. I have to.
When we finally make it to the end of the day, there’s a note in my locker:
Do I still fit with you, Johnny?
It tears me up. How am I now the one who’s afraid of my feelings? How did we change places? More importantly, how could I still have feelings for this psycho?
I take the note, put it in my chest pocket, send Cassie a text telling her I have a ride, and jog out to the parking lot to catch Bec.
She’s leaning up against her car, staring out across the street and chewing on the inside of her cheek when I spot her.
I break into a sprint.
When she turns, her lips turn up and I swear there’s a tear in her eyes. I shove my hands in my pockets because she’s like a wild animal and I don’t want to scare her away.
I move slowly, extending my hand to her.
She instantly grabs it and my entire body is a live wire of nerve endings. A buzz runs from head to toe and I squeeze her hand back. I’m disgusted by the effect she has on me. I also know I have no control over it.
“Where to?” I ask.
“My place,” she whispers.
We hold hands the entire way home.
Becca leads me into her room. It feels like it might be the last time. I need the connection to her. I actually need it. I can’t do another thing without it. It’s physical and mental and spiritual, my feelings for this girl. It’s all consuming and I feel like I can’t breathe without her.
She sits on the bed and reaches out to me.
I don’t go to her right away. In my mind, I know I need to protect myself. But the craving I have for her is stronger. I try to fight it, but when I look at her, I’m entranced and I want to let go of everything. I want to forget.
Becca’s hair is wild before she smoothes it over to the side so it hangs over her shoulder. Her lips shine after licking them in anticipation of my kiss. Her long, ivory arms welcome me. But what gets me the most is the way her green eyes grow dark.
I move slowly to the bed and she scoots toward the wall to make room for me.
“I want you,” she says. “Badly.”
Her words shoot right to my groin. And as much as I want to run, my body has other ideas.
26
Becca
As Johnny and I grew closer, we began to change. Johnny’s insecurities morphed into confidence, and the heaviness he always carried around seemed to lighten. I felt lighter too. And I started to embrace the excitement he offered. Though Johnny’s version of excitement wasn’t dark or dangerous like Travis’s brand of fun.
One day, Johnny even talked me into going to a party.
“So, Waters, what kind of craziness do you have planned for the weekend?” he asked during one of our tutoring sessions at the coffee shop a few block from my house.
“Study group on Saturday,” I told him, not looking up from my book. He was supposed to be reviewing his math lesson so I could quiz him at the end of our session, but it was difficult to keep him on task.
“Oh, impressive,” he said, taking a swig of his Coke. “You actually have plans. With people?”
“Mmmhmm, it’s going to be outrageous,” I said, trying to mimic the voice my sister always used when talking to boys. For once I didn’t attempt to hide my smile.
He looked at the title of my book and read it aloud—“Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid ”—with a raised brow. “And the rest of the time you’re going to be reading this, aren’t you?”
“GEB happens to be a beloved book of my people,” I told him, sipping my tea.
“I have a better idea,” he said, closing my book and pulling it out of reach. “Come with me to a party.”
“A party?” He wanted to take me to a party?
“Yes,” he answered, drawing out the word.
Silence.
“A party,” he continued. “People, drinks, food, fun? Ring a bell?”
“Not particularly,” I said, trying to make a grab for the GEB before he slapped my hand.
“There may even be some dancing. I heard a band is setting up in the garage.”
“I don’t see how that’s a selling point for you, Johnny.” I grimaced. “I don’t dance.”
“I bet you can and you just don’t know it.” He stood up from the booth and began to move. “Plus, I’m a great teacher. Look at my hips, for Christ’s sake. You won’t go wrong with me.”
“I didn’t say I can’t dance.” I watched his moves with increased interest. “I said I don’t dance.”
“Why?” He pulled me out of the booth then and spun me around. “I’m sure you dance just fine.”
“No, I’m an incredible dancer. As you say—look at my hips.”
He wasn’t shy when he did.
“I have a better idea,” I told him, stopping him as he was about to dip me.
“Let’s hear it.” He returned to his seat and I followed.
“I’ll go to the … what are they calling it? Rendezvous in the Relics.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. You know about those? I’m impressed.”
“You’re forgetting who my sister is—was,” I said, regretting the words as they left my mouth.
“I never forget that, Becca,” Johnny said. “Never.” Then he squeezed my hand to lighten the mood. “So, go on. If you go to the Rendezvous … ”
“Then you will read GEB,” I said, sure this would deter him.
“Done,” he said as soon as the words left my mouth. “Spending a weekend reading in exchange for a date with you? And your dancing hips? It’s a no-brainer.”
So there we were a few days later at the Rendezvous in the Relics, deep in the Detroit ruins. Brit would’ve lost her mind if she saw me. I’d heard there was a party every weekend, but they regularly changed location so the police—or, to be more precise, the criminals—didn’t catch on. The police had bigger fish to fry. And with more 80,000 ab
andoned buildings to consider, the choices were endless.
That got me thinking about something else entirely.
But when Johnny and I arrived, I was completely out of my comfort zone. I gnawed at my nails, biting them down to the quick. The people, the noise, the activity—it was sensory overload.
Johnny took my hand and introduced me to a few people and actually let me talk. He was completely relaxed, not like when Brit brought me places. She was always on edge and had a habit of answering for me.
We split a beer and talked most of the night.
Everything with Johnny was easy.
He pulled me onto the makeshift dance floor and he wasn’t kidding about his hips. Then we got separated in the crowd.
It was just for a minute or two, but that’s all it took.
A low voice hissed in my ear.
Travis.
“I see you, Bec,” he said. “I always see you.”
27
Johnny
Becca, I want you to tell me something,” I say as we lie in her bed. It’s the only time she seems to be in the moment with me and lets down her guard.
“Okay,” she mumbles, rolling onto her side, and it’s so sexy I almost don’t want to ask. I want to go for round two instead.
“When did you first decide to take Ethan?” I ask, toying with a lock of her hair to distract her. “Did you plan it the entire time?”
“I had everything planned out the entire time,” she says without wavering.
It’s not the answer I was hoping for.
I let her words roll around in my head for a while until it all begins to make sense. The way we met. How perfect it was. The timing. The mood. The circumstances. I question if I was part of the plan from the very beginning.
“Me too?” I ask, wanting to get to the truth. “Was I part of your plan?”
“Of course,” she says, and I let her hair slide from my fingers.
“What do you mean, of course?” I try to keep the hurt from my voice.