“You fucking piece of shit,” I say. My fury mixes with a hollow shade of forgiveness. Shaila felt bad. She wanted it to stop. I wish I could hug her now and tell her it’s okay.
I open my mouth again but before I can speak, Adam’s eyes dart up behind me and his mouth drops open. She’s here. It’s time.
“You’re so done,” Rachel says. I inhale deeply, letting the air fill my lungs. My muscles tense, waiting for Adam to move, to finally let me go.
But I don’t expect what happens next. He releases me and in one swift motion leaps to his feet, colliding with Rachel in a crunch so hard I wince.
“No!” I yell. But it’s no use. She’s already crumpled on the sand, curled into a ball next to a pile of dried seaweed. She’s nearly motionless.
Rachel moans and I hear Adam’s foot make contact with her stomach. Oof.
“You’re not going to ruin me,” he yells, bringing his foot back again and again and kicking her over and over. Sand flies in a cloud around them.
“Stop!” I yell. I push myself to stand and stumble over to them, my vision blurry with fear. I have to do something, anything to make this all stop.
My hands are shaking and I grab at Adam, a final plea. He knows me. He’ll forgive me. He’ll stop this.
But instead, he turns to me, with fury in his eyes and a vein throbbing in his neck.
“Adam, please,” I whisper. “Let us go.”
He bends at the waist and I think finally, finally this will be over. He’s giving up. Then Adam lunges at me with something cold and heavy and so, so big.
In one sharp crack, my world explodes, then collapses into dust. The stars fall out of the sky and I taste iron on my tongue. I’m back on the sand. I can’t move. My vision narrows to a single point and I try to find Adam in front of the murky sea. But I only hear his voice one last time.
“Oh no.”
Then everything goes black.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE LAST TIME I saw Shaila—the real last time, the one that I choose to remember—was at Quentin’s house just before initiation. His mom was away, giving a lecture at some university in Norway or Wales, or maybe Finland, and he had gathered us all together for one final night before we actually became Players. “A goodbye to our youth,” he joked. We were still so young.
No one had any beer stashed away, so we were all sober. A relief, I thought.
Nikki ordered a stack of pizzas on her parents’ AmEx and Quentin queued up a bunch of old eighties movies. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The Breakfast Club. Say Anything.
Henry hadn’t seen any of them and was cackling the entire time.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Q!” he yelled when Cameron crashed his dad’s car. “Stop letting me watch Spotlight over and over, dude.” He grabbed Quentin in a headlock and gave him a little noogie.
Graham and Shaila sat curled together at the end of the couch. She had tucked her bare feet under his butt and his arm slinked around her shoulder, tickling the skin underneath her cotton T-shirt.
Robert sprawled across the floor, and tried to convince someone, anyone, to wrestle. Henry obliged every now and then, before tapping Marla in for a final go. She pinned him to the floor with ease and Robert finally relented.
“She has brothers!” he whined. “No fair!”
“If you break that coffee table, I will destroy you!” Quentin yelled from the kitchen. He and Nikki had taken on the roles of hosts. They refreshed popcorn bowls, retrieved plates, and sopped up pizza grease from the carpet. They even turned one of those store-bought cake mixes into a chocolate work of art while we all fought about which member of the Brat Pack spoke to us most.
When they presented their creation, a mess of frosting and sprinkles and candles lit for no reason, Marla squealed. “Ina Garten could never.”
Quentin blushed but Nikki looked delighted. “The things we do for you guys,” she said.
“Hell yeah!” Graham stood to grab a fork and dug right into the middle of the sheet cake, leaving Shaila alone in the corner of the couch.
“C’mere,” she whispered.
I scooted over to her so that our toes touched. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her, so we were both lying back just watching our friends, our people.
Her hands were clammy and warm on my shoulders. She reminded me of a sticky little kid. When my eyes met hers, she looked like she was crying.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded and turned her head back to the group, all huddled around the coffee table, eating spoonfuls of cake straight from the pan.
“I love this so much,” she said softly. “I want to stay like this forever.”
* * *
—
I hear some machinery beep first. Then the rustling of paper, the hushed whispers of worry. Feeling returns to my toes and then my fingertips. The throbbing starts next, on the left side of my head just above my ear. It continues down my face and through my eye socket, inside my mouth, dry like a desert. Everything aches.
When I find the strength to open my eyes, I land in a sea of white. White walls. White cotton. White wires. Gold Coast Medical Center. It must be.
“She’s up.” Jared’s next to the bed. I hear him before I see him. His voice is anxious and high, choked just a bit.
“What . . .” I start to garble.
“Shh,” he says.
He’s right. Speaking hurts my throat and burns the roof of my mouth. I want to sleep for hours, for days.
“She’ll be a little out of it for quite some time,” someone says with authority. A doctor maybe. “She just needs rest right now.”
But I shake my head. So hard, I think it’s going to split in two. They need to know. “Adam,” I whisper.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” It’s Mom now. She grabs my hand and holds each of my fingers in hers. Dad rests an open hand on my shoulder. “We know.”
I relent. I give way to the pain and the wretched feeling inside, and succumb to sleep.
* * *
—
It was all Rachel’s plan. After I told her about the earrings, she put everything into place. Even if Adam didn’t do it, we had to know for sure. He was the last question mark.
She told me to avoid Adam as much as I could, planting seeds of doubt in his head so that when I finally called he would come no questions asked.
“Boys like that hate the word no,” she said. “But they despise being ignored.”
She was right.
Then I had to recruit Nikki. I caught her after physics and asked her to meet me at her house after school, where I explained everything about Adam and Shaila, and what we needed to find out the truth for certain.
Her face went pale and she held my sweaty hand in her cold one for a long, long time as we sat on her deck, watching the water lap against the shore.
“My parents are gone until graduation,” she said. “Do it here.”
I flung my arms around her neck and breathed a thank you into her hair.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Let’s just get this fucker.” Rachel came out from the city later that week with two digital recorders. Her assuredness calmed me, but all I wanted to do was run.
After school on Friday when I showed up at Nikki’s, Rachel had her game face on. She was so ready it scared me.
None of us could eat or drink, or even really talk. But before I texted Adam, Rachel snaked one recorder down the front of my fleece, and one down hers. Nikki would listen to the receiver from inside the house, making sure we got every last word, every single piece of his confession.
When she had it all, that’s when she would call the cops. Maybe we should have let them handle it without us. Given over the evidence and watched it all play out. But we wanted to do it ourselves. To hear it from him. To take control. For once. For Shaila.
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* * *
—
“Hey.” I hear a small, soft voice next to my ear. “Are you awake?”
The room is dark and frigid, but a soft hand takes hold of mine. I try to open my eyes, but only one relents. I turn the good side of my head and try to see who’s there.
“Nikki?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s me.”
“What time is it?”
“Nighttime,” she says. “Sunday.”
“Oh shit,” I murmur.
She laughs a little. “It’s okay.”
When my one eye adjusts I can finally take her in. Her long dark hair hangs unwashed and stringy, and she’s also in a white hospital gown. A little plastic intake bracelet circles her narrow wrist.
“Are you hurt?”
Nikki shakes her head. “Just here for observation.” She holds her arms out as proof. She’s all right.
“Rachel,” I say. “How is she?”
“A few broken ribs. A black eye like you. But she’s going to be okay. We all are.” Nikki sniffles and squeezes my hand tighter. “You were right,” she says. “He did it. Adam did it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Where is he?”
Nikki’s shoulders heave up and down as tears stream down her face. “Upstairs.”
The rest of the story tumbles out through choked sobs.
When she heard what was happening through the recorders, Nikki called the police and told them to hurry. They were taking too long, she thought. It sounded like we didn’t have much time. She panicked and grabbed a field hockey stick from her mud room before running to the beach. She sprinted toward Adam, hoping to knock him off his feet. But when she collided with him, she swung the stick overhead and knocked him out cold.
Nikki shrieked, and was sure she’d killed him, that she’d brought more death and pain and trauma to this town. To us.
When the ambulances came, they found her huddled with Rachel, awake and woozy. They were sitting next to me, telling me to hang on, while Adam lay passed out on the sand. Nikki told the cops the truth, that she hit him to stop him. Rachel backed her up.
They handed over Adam’s confession right there on the beach. That’s when they found Adam’s pulse. He was alive. Alive and guilty.
Nikki watched as they loaded him into the ambulance and handcuffed his wrist to the stretcher. His head bobbed about and he groaned, coming to.
“I hope he rots in jail,” I say, almost a whisper.
Nikki looks up at me through glassy eyes. Spit and snot pool around her nose and she wipes her face on her paper-thin hospital gown.
“I know you lov—” She cuts herself off. “I’m so sorry, Jill. I’m so sorry.” She rocks back and forth in the chair next to my bed.
I squeeze her hand so hard my knuckles ache. I repeat the words she once told me.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
TWENTY-SIX
I DECIDE TO return to the Players’ Table one last time. Word has spread by now. The details were splashed on the front page of the Gold Coast Gazette. Local news trucks swarmed the school. In a way, it’s good. We don’t have to explain ourselves.
No one asks about the plum-colored bruise under my eye, or the bandage taped to my forehead. No one questions my and Nikki’s plastic hospital bracelets we refuse to take off. They’re our reminders that this was all real.
Rachel went up to Danbury as soon as she could. She texted me that Graham will be out soon. He’s going to live with her in the East Village, reacclimate to real life before taking a few college classes over the summer. I’m not ready to see him. I don’t know if I ever will be. Adam was transferred to the county jail where he awaits trial. The Millers were ready to cough up a million in bail, but the judge denied it. It hurts too much to think about him now.
Today, Nikki and I walk together through the cafeteria for our final lunch at Gold Coast Prep. The sea of students parts, but this time the air around us is still. The frenetic energy is gone, replaced by a simmering sense of wariness and disbelief.
I grab a turkey club, a banana, and a piece of raw cookie dough for Shaila. We pay for our food in silence and walk straight toward the center of the room where all eyes turn to watch us sit down. I slide into my seat, nestled in between Quentin and Nikki. I look around, at Henry, whose tender eyes meet mine, at Marla, who cocks her head in sympathy, and even at Robert, who’s zoned out completely.
“Well, this is awkward,” I start.
Quentin lets out a snort. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me to him.
Nikki’s eyes are dark and sad, but the corners of her mouth perk up. “One last Players’ tribunal?” She doesn’t wait for anyone to speak. “I call this meeting of the Players to order.” She taps a fork against her tray and a few of the undies turn their heads to listen.
“Tonight,” she says, raising her voice. “Bonfire at my house.” She turns in her seat to Topher, who leans in so close, he’s basically sitting on Quentin’s lap. “Spread it around, okay?” He nods.
Nikki faces us. “Let’s burn it all down.”
* * *
—
When Jared and I push through the front door, Mom is already in the kitchen, puttering around the island, prepping an enormous pot of linguini with clams.
“Jill?” she calls. Her maternal senses have moved into overdrive. For good reason I guess.
Mom appears in the hallway, her hands covered in oil and flecks of parsley. “Something came for you.” She gestures to the side table where the mail piles up.
A large, thick envelope with my name on it sits on top of the stack. The return address says Brown. My stomach flips.
“Do you want to open it?” she asks.
Jared inhales sharply behind me.
I reach for it and feel the weight heavy in my hand. The paper is made from fine cardstock, thick and embossed with ink. I stop myself from ripping it apart and instead close my eyes and remember everything that’s happened this year, everything that I lived through. I lived.
It all becomes so clear.
“Well?” Mom asks.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m not going to Brown.”
Mom purses her lips. Dad appears behind her, a worried look on his face.
“I don’t want to. I want to go to State.”
“Jill, if this is about the money, we’ll find a way,” Mom says, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist.
“We will,” Dad says.
But I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I don’t want it.” I set the unopened envelope back down on the table. My voice is firm and my mind is clear. I’ve already forgotten the hunger, the need I felt to be there. Now that I know the truth, everything has changed. The idea of being around Adam’s past makes me want to barf. I have another option. My future exists at State and for the first time in a long time . . . I am free.
* * *
—
That night, I arrive at Nikki’s with Jared in tow. The boys have already started the fire on the beach and now they stand together at the edge of the circle with their arms by their sides, not saying much. Quentin nudges Henry when he sees me walk up. A cautious smile spreads on his face. One lock of hair flops over his forehead.
“Hi,” Henry says.
“Hi.” Before I can think better, I reach for him and wrap my arms around his waist. His body is tense at first but then he pulls me to him in a warm hug.
“We’re good, Jill. We’re all good,” he whispers into my hair. Something inside me releases and I finally feel forgiven.
Nikki appears with the massive green binder that holds everything about the Players. “Hey,” she says. Her eyes are wet. “Ready?”
I nod.
“Yes,” Henry whispers. “Let’s do it.” The others follow s
uit. Even Robert, who crosses his arms over his chest. His leather jacket tightens at the elbows.
I look around the circle now and see Players from all grades. The juniors and sophomores mingle together, shifting from foot to foot. Jared stands with his class in a little huddle. The mood is somber. Tomorrow would have been their initiation.
Nikki clears her throat and holds the binder above her head. The group quiets, expecting her to give a final speech, to pass the rules to the next Toastmaster in line.
But in one swift motion, she throws the binder in front of her, straight into the middle of the fire.
Topher Gardner gasps and a handful of sophomores bring their hands to their mouths.
Jared looks at me from across the circle, a slow smile appearing on his face.
“It’s over,” Nikki says softly, her eyes trained on the pieces of paper that go up, up, up in flames. The fire rages and grows taller until I can no longer see through its heat. “It’s all over.” She shouts this time.
“What about the Files?” Quentin asks.
“Gone,” Nikki says. “Rachel’s girlfriend’s a coder. I had her trash the app. It’s gone for good.”
Marla nods. “Well done, Nik.”
The undies stand with their mouths hanging open. I wonder if they wanted the Players to continue or if they’re thrilled at the idea of being regular. Of earning what they think they’re owed. We forced it on them and it’s not fair to take it all away. But something had to change. This year will be different.
We stand together in silence for another minute before Robert lifts his head. “Look.” He points toward the house. Dozens of people are now walking toward us, emerging from behind the reeds. It takes me a few moments to recognize them. Our classmates. People who never come to parties. The chess team and the jazz club. Marla’s field hockey crew. Pretty soon, it seems as if the entire school has assembled to watch the Players burn.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. This is the way it should be. We’re no better than anyone else. We’re just the only ones who didn’t realize. Now we know.
They Wish They Were Us Page 28
