Student Body (Nightmare Hall)
Page 13
Closer to the floor, I saw what she didn’t see. As she had unwound the yards of white gauze wrapped around her body, she had carelessly dropped it. It had collected into a high mound of white directly behind her feet. Like a rock. A soft, high, white rock.
She wasn’t looking behind her. Every ounce of her attention was focused on me, her eyes, white-hot with rage, narrowed and staring into mine. “Let go of those cables!” she hissed. “Give it up! Let go!”
I let go.
She had been pulling, tugging on me with all her might. The sudden release of my grip, like someone suddenly letting go of their end of the rope in a tug-of-war, threw her backward, off balance. She didn’t fall, but she stumbled drunkenly, and her hands left my throat.
She would have quickly regained her balance if there hadn’t been anything in her way.
But there was.
The heels of her feet collided with the thick mound of gauze, tilting her backward. Her mouth opened in surprise, her eyes widened, and her arms clawed the air for something to clutch.
There was nothing there for her to grab. Nothing but air.
She seemed to go over the edge so slowly, almost as if all those years of ballet lessons had given her grace even when she was falling to her death.
She never made a sound.
It must have been hours, days, years before I could summon up enough courage to crawl close enough to the edge of the platform and look down.
She had missed the blazing Dumpster.
She was lying on the ground right beside it, her arms and legs splayed out around her, her body lifeless.
She hadn’t burned to death like Hoop, after all.
But she had landed on that hard-packed ground on her face.
When they turned her over, she wouldn’t look anything like the Mindy we had known.
I lay my head down on the cold, steel platform, and cried for all of us.
Epilogue
SINCE ELI AND I were the only ones not hospitalized, we went together to the medical center to visit Nat and Bay. The arson investigators were meeting us there, where we would answer all of their questions truthfully. I had already been assured by the district attorney that I would not be charged with Mindy’s death. That thought had terrified me, since there hadn’t seemed to be any way to prove that I hadn’t pushed her off that elevator to shut her up.
But Mindy had kept a journal. It was supposed to be used to keep a record of her beauty pageant triumphs, but she had used it for daily events. The day they found that journal was the first day in a long time that I’d felt totally free again.
We would have to face the music for starting that fire. We wouldn’t be blamed for Hoop’s death, the more serious charge, since Mindy had detailed what had happened in her journal. But there would be consequences, serious ones, and we knew it.
Bay and Nat probably wouldn’t have gone along with our decision to confess if they hadn’t come so close to death in that explosion. Eli had seen the flaming rags, but not in time to yank the rope from the gas tank. The most he’d been able to do was shout at both of them to get the hell out of the car, which they had done. But they’d taken much of the impact of the explosion.
Both of Bay’s arms were broken and he had a serious concussion. Nat had been burned on her right leg, broken her collarbone and a wrist, and the entire right side of her face had been severely scraped when she was thrown to the hard ground.
Coming so precariously close to death had changed their minds about confessing, as it had mine. And it drew them closer together, which made me happy, because I want to be with Eli, not Bay. That’s okay with Bay now. He has Nat.
We’ve already talked to the dean. We’ll be on probation, possibly for the duration of our education, but at least we’re not being thrown off campus. As for the fire itself, the dean seemed to think we might be put to work alongside the rangers, restoring the park. And we’ll have to pay our parents back for the hefty fine they’ve had to cough up on our behalf.
My parents were not pleased. “Oh, Tory,” my mother said in that voice that means, “Oh, Tory, we thought you’d shaped up.”
I hope they’ll get over their disappointment.
Mindy’s mother never will. I felt really sorry for her. But maybe if she hadn’t raised Mindy to think the way she did, Mindy would still be alive. And Hoop, too.
I still wish, sometimes, that things were the way they were before.
But I’m learning to deal with the after.
We all are.
A Biography of Diane Hoh
Diane Hoh (b. 1937) is a bestselling author of young-adult fiction. Born in Warren, Pennsylvania, Hoh grew up with eight siblings and parents who encouraged her love of reading from an early age. After high school, she spent a year at St. Bonaventure University before marrying and raising three children. She and her family moved often, finally settling in Austin, Texas.
Hoh sold two stories to Young Miss magazine, but did not attempt anything longer until her children were fully grown. She began her first novel, Loving That O’Connor Boy (1985), after seeing an ad in a publishing trade magazine requesting submissions for a line of young-adult fiction. Although the manuscript was initially rejected, Hoh kept writing, and she soon completed her second full-length novel, Brian’s Girl (1985). One year later, her publisher reversed course, buying both novels and launching Hoh’s career as a young-adult author.
After contributing novels to two popular series, Cheerleaders and the Girls of Canby Hall, Hoh found great success writing thrillers, beginning with Funhouse (1990), a Point Horror novel that became a national bestseller. Following its success, Hoh created the Nightmare Hall series, whose twenty-nine novels chronicle a university plagued by dark secrets. After concluding Nightmare Hall with 1995’s The Voice in the Mirror, Hoh wrote Virus (1996), which introduced the seven-volume Med Center series, which charts the challenges and mysteries of a hospital in Massachusetts.
In 1998, Hoh had a runaway hit with Titanic: The Long Night, a story of two couples—one rich, one poor—and their escape from the doomed ocean liner. That same year, Hoh released Remembering the Titanic, which picked up the story one year later. Together, the two were among Hoh’s most popular titles. She continues to live and write in Austin.
An eleven-year-old Hoh with her best friend, Margy Smith. Hoh’s favorite book that year was Lad: A Dog by Albert Payson Terhune.
A card from Hoh’s mother written upon the publication of her daughter’s first book. Says Hoh, “This meant everything to me. My mother was a passionate reader, as was my dad.”
Hoh and her mother in Ireland in 1985. Hoh recalls, “I kissed the Blarney Stone, which she said was redundant because I already had the ‘gift of gab.’ Later, I would use some of what we saw there in Titanic: The Long Night as Paddy, Brian, and Katie deported from Ireland.”
An unused publicity photo of Hoh.
Hoh with her daughter Jenny in Portland, Oregon, in 2008. Says Hoh, “While there, I received a call from a young filmmaker in Los Angeles who wanted to make The Train into a film. They ran out of money before the project got off the ground. Such is life.”
Hoh in 1991, addressing a class at the junior high she had attended in Warren, Pennsylvania.
A 1995 photo taken in Austin, Texas, with Hoh’s grandchildren. Says Hoh, “Although my deadlines for Nightmare Hall were tight, I made time for my grandchildren: Mike, Alex, and Rachel. I'm so glad they live here.”
A current photo of Hoh at home in Austin, Texas.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or loca
les is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1995 by Diane Hoh
Cover design by Connie Gabbert
978-1-4804-2198-1
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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