Tired, I crawled into Jeremy’s bed. This was where my mother found us two years ago—this was why she sent me away. Tears started pouring down my cheeks—surprising me. I didn’t even know I was going to cry.
***
There’s so much blood. It’s squishing out of her, gushing onto me.
Dad’s yelling, “Push down harder, Jodi!”
I push with all my might, push and push, but it’s not helping, it’s no use. I can’t stop it. There’s too much blood. It’s pouring and pouring and pouring …
I woke sopping in sweat, startled to realize someone was in the room.
“Jodi? Are you okay?”
He was leaning over me, looking concerned.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jeremy?”
He stepped back. “I’m sorry. You were … screaming.”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know, around two. I just needed to get something. Look, go back to sleep,” he said gently.
It was weird he didn’t say anything about me in his bed, wearing his shirt. Why didn’t he ask—or laugh? Then again, maybe he understood. Maybe in some ways, he did the same thing, like back when he tried to date girls that looked like me.
His eyes were on me, intent and lingering. It was as though he was going to say something—something important. I waited, holding my breath, but then he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he backed further away. “Go back to sleep,” he said again softly. Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
I stared at the closed door for a long time, unmoving, unless my shivering counted. It wasn’t just from seeing Jeremy, of course. My nightmare of the car accident had me freaked as well. But seeing Jeremy here, alone, in the middle of the night, it had me spazzy—’cause though he hadn’t said anything aloud, his eyes had said volumes. I love you. I want you. Come to me.
Okay, it was probably totally all in my head. All of it. Totally. But still, there was no way I could go back to sleep.
***
Without Trista in our chemistry class to help us with our labs, Micah and I weren’t doing too well. But it was kind of fun, sort of. We both went about our lab work in a confused frenzy: measuring, stirring … and praying.
“This reeks,” Micah said, holding our test tube over the Bunsen burner. We were supposed to be making citrus oil, but somewhere something went wrong—as usual. Our mixture somehow turned thick and dark and globby—totally the opposite of what the lab manual described, and what the rest of the class seemed to have.
I held back a laugh, reading over the assignment again. “It’s supposed to have a pleasant, tangy scent—like citrus.”
Micah gave it another whiff. “That is definitely not pleasant.” He rubbed his chin. “We did something wrong.”
“No way,” I laughed.
Other than Chemistry, though, things were going pretty well. People around school were nice. Not that I exactly made friends with any of them. I didn’t. But everyone smiled and said “Hi” as I walked down the halls—people that I didn’t know, people I’d never even seen before. Everyone was really friendly. But I was afraid to get too close. I mean, it was nice they were so friendly, but what if Kenzie showed? How friendly would they be then—when they found out I was bonkers, when I started chopping up people?
Besides, I had Sawyer and the band. Like Trista said, “They’re the best friends a girl could ask for.” And Sawyer liked keeping things tight—me away from other people, only letting the band near. Okay, yeah, he was a little controlling. But I didn’t mind. Much. Like I said, I was worried about Kenzie popping up at school, making a scene. Killing. So I liked living under the band’s shelter. I felt safe. Protected. And me being crazy—it didn’t seem to matter to The Clutch. They embraced me as part of them.
The five of us were sitting around at Sawyer’s house after The Clutch practice, studying for a pre-calculus test when Micah mentioned something about the concert my band class was putting on Thursday night.
I raised my eyebrows, surprised Sawyer mentioned it to them, and even more surprised learning they were all planning to come hear me play. “You don’t have to,” I said, flushing at the thought of them sitting out in the audience with everyone’s parents. They’d be bored out of their minds.
“No it’s cool,” Zack said. “We want to come.”
“Yeah,” Micah added. “Sawyer says your folks will be out of town. We’ll be there for you.”
“I’m not playing a solo or anything.” I was pleased they wanted to come, but nervous as well. I mean, they were talented musicians. And our school band wasn’t that good. I couldn’t even begin to imagine them sitting through the whole hour. Just thinking about it made me want to laugh.
“Jodi, we’re going,” Sawyer said, resting his head on my shoulder.
I looked at Jeremy, the only person who hadn’t actually said anything. His eyes stared into mine, sending a wave of warmth through my body. He said nothing, only nodded. But that was enough to get my heart pumping all spastic and wild. I’m not sure why. Maybe because of the other night—waking to find him watching me.
“Oh, hey,” Jeremy said suddenly, having no idea what he did to my heart. “Let me see the paper you asked about.”
A little nervous, I handed it over. Jeremy was “Mr. Editor.” We all came to him for proofreading and “A” making. The guy could seriously write. He wrote all the songs for The Clutch. I watched him as he read my paper, pleased to see him smile in the places I wanted the reader to smile, and look up at me intently in the parts that were sad.
It was a paper about my dad, basically; about what a good guy he was, how he was a hero and tried making me one too. I wrote a lot about the car accident, the one where we tried saving those people. But I wrote about the blood and stuff, and my nightmares too. Because the paper was on “side-effects.”
I’d cried while I wrote it, big, wet tears, but it was mostly an uplifting story, mostly. Jeremy kept looking up at me questioningly though as he read on—’cause towards the end it was kind of disturbing, a little bit.
“This is really good, Jodi,” Jeremy said when he finished, gazing at me curiously. “I didn’t know you could write like this.”
“Well, it’s not as good as anything you write,” I said, fighting back a blush.
“No, it’s better.” He looked over the paper again, then up at me. “You were dreaming about this accident, huh? The night I woke you up?”
I bit my lip, then nodded.
“You kept saying, ‘Blood, blood.’” He raised his eyebrows. “It was spooky.”
Yeah … spooky.
***
The night of the concert I was nervous, and looking out into the audience, seeing The Clutch sitting together in the back of the dark auditorium, just made me more nervous. But still, at the same time, seeing them did a funny thing to my heart—made it flutter—actually flutter—with happiness and all that kind of stuff. Because they cared enough to come. Everyone’s family was out there to watch us perform, but it kind of seemed like mine was too. Felt like it.
It was comforting having them there. Filled me with warmth.
Before tonight I felt like an orphan. Like I had no family. Dad was dead, Mom barely spoke to me, and my step-dad acted like I didn’t exist. I felt all alone, with no family at all.
But tonight was different. I felt like my family was out in the audience the same as everyone else’s.
Just like Sawyer, The Clutch was my family.
CHAPTER 17
Sawyer really did not want me to go to the Psychic Center. Really, really, really didn’t want me to go. He was always talking me into things. And out of things. Always. It bugged me. Today I’d had enough.
“Okay,” I finally sighed after another irritating disagreement about me seeing a psychic. “Let’s go out to eat then instead.” It was my sneaky way of letting fate decide. But I didn’t tell Sawyer that.
He brightened at my quick change of heart, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Okay
, let’s go.”
He drove to The Pancake House. We didn’t discuss it. That’s just where he went.
When we parked, I gave a sidelong look across the street. “Go in and get us a table,” I said. “I’ll be there in a second.”
“What?” Sawyer looked quizzical, following my gaze. Then he tilted his head, seeing the tiny building across the street, the one between the dry cleaners and Chinese restaurant. The one I was looking at. “Oh. I never noticed that place before.”
He trudged out of the car when I did and groaned. “Hold on. Don’t go alone.” He followed me across the street to The Read Palm. “You’re really sneaky.”
“I’m not. It’s fate.”
Inside, the place was dark … and small. “Come in,” the lady said. I hadn’t noticed her sitting at the table. “Sit.”
“Well, no.” I felt awkward. “I just had a question.”
“You may ask, but you must understand, this is my living. My answers—they cost. You see?”
Sawyer gave me a look and I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I see.” I was going to turn around, leave. I didn’t know how to ask about the dreams anyway. But as I was turning, Sawyer reached out to get the door for me and accidentally tugged on Dad’s ring, yanking it a little on the chain.
“Oh, sorry,” Sawyer said.
But the lady was beside us now. She saw the ring, eyed it. “I will tell you about this ring,” she said. She didn’t touch it, only gazed at it, steadily. But she seemed to know something. She really did. Or maybe she simply saw how I handled it. I wasn’t sure.
“I only have a twenty.”
“Then I shall only tell you a little,” she said. “Come, sit down.”
Sawyer shook his head at me, mouthing the word, “No.” But I followed the lady anyway. And, reluctantly, Sawyer followed me. We sat at the table and I took off the necklace, handing Dad’s ring to the lady. She held it between her hands, clasping it tight. She closed her eyes. “It belonged to your father, yes?”
Whoa! Tingles ran through my body. I swallowed and nodded, though her eyes were closed.
“I see great tragedy and … violence. Your father was murdered, no?” She widened her eyes. “Wait! No, that is not it. Your father,” she tilted her head, looking perplexed. “He killed himself … to save you…. How could this be?”
All the hairs on my arm stood on end as Kenzie’s words slammed through my brain, through my soul, He did it to protect you, Idiot.
My heart ricocheted off my chest. He did it to protect me! He did. Kenzie knew that. She was right! Only … how? How did my subconscious know?
I rubbed my moist hands on my jeans as thousands of questions raced through my head. What did it mean? Why did he have to kill himself to protect me? Protect me from what?
“Do you understand this?” the lady asked. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Shaking uncontrollably, I shook my head as she handed back the ring.
“I don’t understand, though,” I choked out. “I need to know more.”
She shook her head. “That is all for now.”
No. That couldn’t be all now. I needed to know more. Now. I gazed at Sawyer pleadingly. “I’ll pay you back.”
He rubbed his chin, looking conflicted. I could tell he was torn. He didn’t believe in this stuff, didn’t want to be scammed. But I’d told him what Kenzie wrote, about Dad doing it to protect me. Even Sawyer—skeptical, unbelieving Sawyer—had to admit, this lady seemed for real.
Finally, with a sigh, Sawyer fished a twenty out of his pocket. But as he tried handing the lady his money, she grabbed his palm, clasping it tight between hers.
Sawyer stared at her wide eyed, like What the … ?
“Someone you loved died violently as well,” she said. “Your … mother?”
Sawyer snatched his hand away, his money too, rising to his feet. “Okay, that’s enough. We’re done.”
***
“Jodi, the lady’s a scam,” Sawyer said on the way home from The Read Palm, our plans for The Pancake House totally forgotten. “My mom didn’t die. She wasn’t murdered. She was having an affair and she ran off. That lady—Miss Read Palm—she’s good, I’ll admit it. She had me going for a second. But, Jodi, she’s a hustler.”
I wasn’t so sure. “How did she know all that stuff about my dad?”
Sawyer shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s a class ring—she probably saw the date and put it together, figured it was your dad’s. And you wouldn’t have the ring if he wasn’t dead. He’d still be wearing it.”
I sat back, still not convinced. “How would she know he supposedly killed himself? And that he did it to protect me?”
“Jodi, he didn’t do it to protect you—he was crazy.”
I flinched and Sawyer immediately used a softer tone. “Jodi—scammers like that, they feed off your reactions. I don’t know how it works, I don’t know how she came up with what she did. But she tried using the exact same line on me.”
“Yeah.” I sighed.
We rode for a while in silence. “Sawyer, how do you know your mom was having an affair?”
He set his jaw. “I heard her on the phone—a couple times, talking to the guy.” Seeming to relive the moment, he exhaled. “And I heard Dad arguing with her about it right before she left. Dad said she had to choose; it was either him or the other guy. But Mom said it wasn’t fair that he was making her choose because he was never home, never around for her.” Sawyer sounded bitter. “If Dad hadn’t made her choose, she wouldn’t have left. She’d still be here.”
“Who was the guy?”
Sawyer shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t think Dad knew either. It’s been all these years, but we never talk about it, ever. I know he feels guilty. She was begging him to be around more, begging him to stay, but he left that night, went on patrol for three months.” Sawyer bit his lip. “If he just hadn’t made her choose …”
I sat back, The Read Palm lady’s words still haunting my brain. “He killed himself to save you. How could this be?” She had genuinely seemed confounded, like she didn’t understand the information she received—but she had actually received it.
“You’re positive your mom left willingly?”
Sawyer glanced over at me like he didn’t get what I was saying. “Yeah. She left me a note and everything. Jodi, she chose the other guy.”
There was pain in his voice. I knew I should drop it, knew the subject hurt him. But I needed to know—know for sure. Because the Read Palm Lady didn’t seem to be a scam artist. Not to me.
“What did the note say?”
Sawyer set his jaw, then shrugged, like he was trying not to care. “That she was sorry she had to leave me—that was about it. It was her writing, though. It was from her. I saw it in the morning when I got up. It was tapped to my mirror in the bathroom.”
We sat silent a long time. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sawyer could tell. “Jodi, she left. She wasn’t murdered. She packed a suitcase—took her passport. She left.”
When I got home, there was a message waiting for me from Grey. Sawyer and I had re-written the email message to him yesterday. Sawyer had pushed the send button, and it actually went. We know because we checked the “sent mail” and everything. We weren’t taking any chances. Not this time.
Grey’s reply was simple:
Jodi, hold on. I’ll find out what I can.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was trying to do that—hold on.
CHAPTER 18
I had to go to the office. Again. They couldn’t get my transfer records straight. Sawyer guided me over to the assistant receptionist, Ms. Baker. He avoided Mrs. Daniels as much as possible. But when “The Hag” saw Sawyer, she glared at him anyway. It was bizarre.
“You really don’t know why she hates you?”
“No clue,” he said.
Oh well, Ms. Baker loved him. “How you doing, Sawyer?” The lady beamed at him before turning her attent
ion to me. While Ms. Baker went to look up my records, Hanna came into the office. She was distracted, so she didn’t notice me. Instead, she rushed over to Mrs. Daniels.
Mrs. Daniels was all friendly and helpful to Hanna—like she was an actual human being. I didn’t get it. Why’d she hate Sawyer?
“No,” I heard Hanna say. “I can’t transfer to Mr. Daniels’ class. I can’t.”
Mrs. Daniels blanched. “Why? Did he … do something to you?”
Whoa. I looked over at Sawyer. He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Daniels is her husband,” he whispered in my ear.
Oh. I hadn’t actually put that together—Mr. Daniels, my chemistry teacher, was married to Mrs. Daniels. Innnnteresting.
Hanna, shook her head, looking even more upset—like she didn’t want to explain. At all. Like she’d rather bite off her tongue. “I don’t even know him. I just can’t be in his class. I can’t.”
Mrs. Daniels looked quizzical, but then seemed to accept that. She patiently worked on Hanna’s schedule, giving her Mrs. Anchor for chemistry, third period.
“Thanks.”
Hanna walked away, seeming relieved. Until she saw me. Then she paled. And her eyes grew big, super wide with fright. She practically plowed into another student as she bolted for the door.
I watched her run, feeling chilled. Hanna looked at me exactly how I looked at the shadows—terrified.
***
Gross! I was heaving over a toilet. Purple foaming sludge splattered up into my face and around the rim of the bowl as I hurled again and again. My body wrenched, trying to purge more toxins, but nothing more emerged. Someone was beside me, gently holding back my hair, keeping it out of my face. I would have appreciated the gesture—I would have—only I was too nauseous to even care. I heaved again violently, but there was nothing left in my stomach.
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