Is that what will happen to me if I start to give in to the lava trying to burn me up from the inside?
Do I want to risk that? Becoming like Twitch? Like my dad?
No.
I ignore the feelings surging in my body. I ignore the pull to do something—anything—and I sit still, like Sylvie and Oscar asked me to do. But it gets harder every minute.
And then the phone rings and they let Winny talk, and for the first time in ten minutes, I can breathe. But then Twitch hangs up, and the clock starts all over again. And I wonder how I’m going to get through the next ten minutes.
And the ten minutes after that.
And the ten minutes after that.
Please, God, bring her back soon. Bring her back safe.
Please.
“Okay,” Oscar says. “The clock starts now. We have ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes for what?” Pavan asks.
“I have a plan.”
“I’m in.”
“Scott,” Sylvie says. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“I don’t care.”
26
WINNY
SIX HOURS AND ONE MINUTE BEFORE CLOSING
When Winny saw Scott, she had to pause and look again, just to be sure it was him.
Scott had come. He’d remembered.
Her mind blanked, refusing to compose words to send to her frozen tongue. And if she didn’t say something soon, he’d be gone.
“Scott?”
He spun at the sound of her voice, settling his eyes on her and sending her heart up into her throat, where it fluttered like hummingbird wings. Her head threatened to float away at the first tentative curve of his smile.
“Hey! There you are. I thought I missed it.”
“Well, the showing is kind of over.”
“Yeah.” Frowning, he shifted his gaze to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.”
The silence around them was broken only by the soft notes of “Für Elise” playing in the background.
Stupid! Why did she say that? He’d taken the time to show up—the only person who’d come to see her work except Janey—and she had to be rude about it.
Too much had happened today. The weight of it all settled over her shoulders and for the tenth time that day, she wondered how she’d manage to get the huge-ass canvas home. She had no idea the gallery would be taking the student artwork down right away.
“Sorry,” Scott said again, and she blinked several times. She’d gotten so swept away by her pity party, she’d almost forgotten he was there.
“I guess I’ll go, then. Let you get on with . . . whatever you’ve got to do.” He turned away but paused and gestured at the painting. “I almost forgot. Congratulations. It came out incredible.” Then he walked away.
The sound of her ears clicking as she swallowed was deafening even through the chatter of the people who still lingered in the room. He’d nearly passed the threshold to the gallery’s small lobby before she managed to get her mouth moving: “Wait, Scott. Stay. Please.”
Smooth. Now she was ordering him around.
“If you want to,” she quickly added.
He turned back to her, and the smile spreading across his face erased all the awkwardness from a moment before. “I don’t think I saw your painting when it was all done. Close, but not one hundred percent.”
“Yeah, they had to collect it almost as soon as I finished. The paint was still wet. I guess they needed all the student projects here to figure out the layout.”
“Anyone else from our school have a piece in the show?”
She shook her head. “Just me.” She shifted her attention to her abstract interpretation of the Tree of Life—not super original, but it had inspired her. Still, she couldn’t focus, not with Scott so close.
“Nice music,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Seriously. It’s . . . classic.”
She choked back a laugh. “It is Beethoven . . .”
He laughed and bumped her with his shoulder, and he was so warm she shivered. She wanted to move closer to that warmth.
For the millionth time, she heard the apology she’d rehearsed play in her head. It would be so easy to tell him she was so sorry if she’d given him the wrong idea. That stupid EMT class that would never do her any good anyway had taken up all her free time. That, and all the other things her parents talked her into signing up for.
Her brain dragged her back to that day in early February. It had been the coldest one of the year. After Scott had asked her out a third time, she’d waited and waited for him to try again, but the days added up one by one, until nearly two weeks had passed. She’d seen him at school plenty of times. They’d even hung out at a couple of basketball games, but he hadn’t raised the topic.
“Do it yourself, then,” Janey had suggested. Despite the nearly twenty-four-hour pep talk, Winny still hadn’t been sure she could go through with it. She’d rehearsed all the way to school that Friday morning, but when she’d arrived at Scott’s bank of lockers, just around the corner from hers, he hadn’t been alone.
Scott had been there all right, leaning against his locker with a pair of arms wrapped around his neck—arms that belonged to a different girl. She’d leaned into him, and he’d pulled her closer.
Winny had waited too long and Becky had seized the moment.
Scrambling back and out of sight, Winny had scanned the students moving past her, milling around their own lockers. It felt like all eyes were on her, like everyone had known what she’d been about to do, knew what it meant that Scott was over there with another girl.
“Hey, Win.”
Winny had jumped, unaware that Becky and Scott had rounded the corner. She’d looked from Becky to Scott, wondering if they’d known Winny had seen them. Becky was smiling, but not in a smug way. Winny hadn’t even realized that Becky liked Scott. When Becky leaned in to give Winny a hug, she’d been too stunned to even lift her arms to return it.
Becky had whispered, “I asked him out and he said yes!”
Winny hadn’t thought there could be anything worse than seeing one of her friends wrapped around the boy she’d been pining for for months.
And then this morning happened.
And now Scott was here. Without Becky. And Winny wanted to tell him how sorry she was, but the apology didn’t matter anymore. What good would it do to tell the guy she’d turned down not once, not twice, but three times—the guy who’d found someone else—that she really had liked him back then?
And she still did now.
She’d look pitiful. And desperate. And he’d still be with Becky.
Winny and Scott would never be anything more than friends. It was better than nothing, mostly.
But right now, alone in the gallery, it was everything.
“I guess we should get out of here, huh?” he asked.
She scoped out the room, which was now empty except for them. “Yeah, definitely.” She sighed, preparing to thank him for coming, to usher him out so she could suffer her latest humiliation alone.
And then what?
“Scott, can you do me a favor?”
“Any time.”
“Think you can give me a ride home?”
He looked around the room. “You mean . . . ?”
She let her whole body sag and nodded. “Janey was supposed to come back, but I haven’t heard from her, and the gallery really needs us to clear out and—” She grimaced. “Pathetic, huh?”
“What? No! Not at all.”
The tears had been waiting all day. After her mother’s tirade, getting through the show alone, and then the guilt of how she’d funded her piece . . .
“Hey, don’t, Win. Come here.” The shock of Scott’s arms encircling her startled the tears right out of her body. She couldn’t do this. Becky was her friend, and she wouldn’t betray her. But Scott was her friend, too. And friends hugged.
Besides, Winny really needed a friend right n
ow.
She wrapped her arms around his back, and they stood there, his heart thudding against hers, faster and faster. Or was that her heart? She couldn’t tell anymore. His scent—musky styling paste and clean laundry—mixed with the fragrance of linseed oil from her canvas and the aroma of slightly burnt coffee from the reception table. For a moment, everything was okay. She was safe.
Scott looked into her face, parted his lips, and snuck a tiny breath as if he were about to tell her something.
Or maybe do something . . .
“You almost set there, Winsome?”
They jumped apart as Jackie, the gallery owner, approached. “I’m sorry to kick you kids out so soon, but that Impressionist show starts tomorrow and there’s just so much to set up.”
“Of c-course,” Winny stammered. “Scott and I were just leaving.”
“I saw Dean Hollis speaking to you earlier.” Jackie lightly dug an elbow into Winny’s arm. “Told me he’s thrilled you’re taking a spot in his program. He thinks you’ll be brilliant in his media arts seminar.”
“That was nice of him.”
Scott furrowed his brow. “But I thought you were doing premed.”
Winny shook her head at him, wondering where the heck he’d heard that. “I’m still figuring out college stuff,” she said, finally.
“Any school will be lucky to have you, Winny,” Jackie said.
“Thanks, again.”
After a little more small talk, Jackie finally left them alone.
“Art school, huh?”
“Apparently everyone has an opinion about my plans for next year.”
“And that means?”
“Nothing. It means nothing.”
“Okay . . . Well, you need a ride, and I have a car.”
Jackie’s assistants were already toting paper-wrapped canvases into the space and leaning them against the wall.
“That would be great. There’s one thing, though. You got room for a huge-ass canvas?”
27
WINNY
ONE HOUR AND TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER CLOSING
Ryan pokes his head between the driver and passenger seats of Toto’s SUV. “Ten minutes.”
It’s not even midnight yet, but so much has happened, my muscles think it’s hours later than it actually is. The new-car smell is overwhelming and between that and the fear, nausea takes hold and grows worse with every bump and turn.
I expected them to blindfold me. That’s how they always do it in the movies, but I guess real life isn’t like the movies. At least, not entirely. I try to block everything out, pretend I’m somewhere else, but Toto’s driving won’t let me.
“Call them.” Toto says as he guides the vehicle along the streets.
Next to me, Ryan rests his gun in his lap, so he can dial. “Stay put,” he tells me.
Like I’m going to throw myself from a moving vehicle.
“Make sure you hear everyone’s voice,” Toto says over his shoulder.
Ryan nods, phone to his ear. “Everything okay over there, Twitch? Let me talk to each of them.”
We’re in a residential neighborhood, not the kind where I’d expect to find a gun shop. I scan the street ahead for the out-of-place glow of a neon sign. Would it even be open at this hour? My stomach and throat turn sour, and I have to swallow so I won’t puke. What if they’re planning on robbing the store, and they make me help?
“All right,” Ryan says. “Put Twitch back on.” A pause. “Hey, we’ll call again in ten minutes. Don’t screw anything up.”
“Here we are.” Toto pulls the truck into an empty driveway and cuts the ignition.
A three-story Victorian rises before us. So, not a store at all. At least I won’t be an accessory to a felony, or whatever kind of crime stealing weapons is.
“I’ll stay here,” Ryan says when Toto cracks open the driver’s door. “I’m not Rochelle’s favorite person these days.”
“We all go,” Toto says. “I’ll need your help to carry the merchandise.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when she won’t let me get two steps past the front door.”
The wooden porch creaks as we plod up the steps, and Toto leads us to a pale lavender door with a dried flower wreath on it. How can an arms dealer live in a house with dried flowers hanging on a purple door?
The bell buzzes under Toto’s finger, summoning footsteps from deeper within.
“Darrel?” a woman calls from the other side of the peephole.
“Yeah, baby. It’s me. I brought some friends.”
Darrel? Of course, his real name couldn’t be Toto.
She says something in Spanish and the door bursts open. Even though I get all A’s in that class, I can’t make out her words. That part of my brain won’t turn on. The woman’s expression is stunned as she takes us in, which is exactly how I feel. She’s my age. Maybe a year older, no more, and something is super familiar about her.
“Are you for real with this?”
“Come on, let us in, baby. We have some business with your dad.”
The line of the woman’s back straightens. “He’s not here.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to deal with you instead.”
“Whatever it is you’re doing, I’m not getting involved.” She darts her gaze back and forth between my face and Toto’s.
Does she recognize me? Scott’s note is still in my pocket; maybe I can give it to her. Maybe she can help.
“And will your father approve of that?” Ryan asks.
“You shut up. I don’t want you around here,” she snaps before turning back to Toto.
“Told you,” Ryan mumbles, earning a glare.
The woman catches sight of the gun Ryan is digging into my side and she takes a step back. “What did you bring to my house?”
“Just let us in, Shell. It’s not safe to be talking out here like this.”
She closes her eyes for a second, then mutters a swear. “Fine. But only for a minute. Then you have to go,” she says to Ryan. “And you can take her with you.”
She holds the door open as we file in. Once it’s closed, and she turns back to the room, Toto’s waiting. He pulls her into a hug and kisses her, but she stands like stone.
“What?” he says.
“I thought you had one fast job to do tonight, and then we would . . .” She darts her eyes to Ryan, like she doesn’t want him to hear, then tugs Toto farther inside. “One fast job, you promised. And then you show up on my doorstep with . . .” She waves her hands in my direction. “What’s she supposed to be?”
“Look, Rochelle,” Ryan says. “Things didn’t go exactly according to plan.”
“Not from you. I don’t want to hear anything from you. What’s going on, Darrel?”
The doorway to the kitchen is to my left, and from the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar red and blue image—a box of Cap’n Crunch tucked away in a little countertop niche next to The A to Z of Cupcakes.
These are real people, just like me. Toto has a birth certificate somewhere and a driver’s license in his wallet that says Darrel. This girl eats Cap’n Crunch, just like I do. She bakes cupcakes, maybe puts sprinkles on them, the rainbow kind.
And she helps killers get guns.
It’s too much. The argument in front of me begins to fade, but I can’t let myself shut down. I need to stay sharp in case I get a chance to run.
“We just need some firepower, okay?” Toto says to Rochelle. “I know your daddy has some inventory around here. Are you gonna help us, or what?”
“And if I don’t?”
“First off, your daddy’s gonna be real pissed that you cost him five grand plus more later. Second”—he shrugs—“without these guns, we maybe need to cancel our trip.”
She rubs her forehead, and when she speaks next, her voice has lost some of its bite. “You’re really going to lay that on me? I thought you were done with all this.”
“I am done.” He moves closer
to her, tries to tilt her head so she’ll look at him, but she twists her head and retreats a step.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Hear me out, Shell. I am done. Tonight. Once this one exchange is wrapped up, I’m finished. I just need to get us some money and get these guys off my back.”
Ryan is shaking his head, his mouth pulled into a smirk. Rochelle doesn’t see this, though. She doesn’t see a lot of things.
A door opens somewhere deeper in the house, and a voice calls out. “Shelly? You home?”
Toto steps away from Rochelle, and she swears under her breath.
“Yeah. In the living room.” She glares at Toto. “And we’ve got company. Customers.”
The man’s footsteps head down a hall toward us.
“Shell,” Toto says, voice suddenly urgent. “Take the girl out of here. I don’t want him to see her right now. It might complicate things.”
I look from Ryan to Rochelle to Toto. My head spins at the ease with which these people control my every move.
Firm fingers tipped with bubblegum-pink nails wrap around my arm. “Come on. We’ll wait in my room.” Rochelle tugs, and stumbling, I follow her down a hallway to the door at the very end.
Everything around me starts to go fuzzy, like it’s not real anymore. Like I’m not real. My mom may have limited my choices, but she never took them away one hundred percent. All I wanted was a chance to figure out my life for myself. But now, my chance at a future is getting farther and farther away with every breath I take.
28
SCOTT
SIX HOURS AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING
The cops were out of the question and so was home. That left . . . nothing, so Scott decided to just drive. He turned the car stereo on and then off twice. And then did it again. Everything that came out of the speakers jangled his nerves, but his brain didn’t have enough reserves to focus on finding something better.
He made a left turn, a right, and another left, moving easily through the quiet residential neighborhood. Without meaning to end up there, he parked in front of Becky’s house. Shadows watched him from behind the windows of the large Cape. Both her parents should be at work, and Becky was off . . . where? Her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot.
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