by Diana Urban
“What about you?” I asked Sasha. “You’re the star of everything . . . best at everything . . . you must have made someone mad along the way.”
Sasha shook her head. “No.” Her eyes darted toward Priya. “I mean, nobody we haven’t already talked about.”
Scott pointed a finger at Sasha, his head lolling. “Ha! Bullshit. You use people left and right.” His words slurred like he was drunk with pain. “You get people to open up to you, and then you use what they tell you against them.”
Robbie scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
But this wasn’t the first time Scott suggested Sasha had taken advantage of people. What Sasha wants, Sasha gets. “What do you mean?” I prodded. What knowledge had Sasha used against Scott?
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” Scott glared more around me than at me, his eyes losing focus. He grasped his leg and clenched his jaw, and his shirt collar was dark with sweat. “You hate me. Just like she does.”
I jerked my head back. “What? I don’t hate you—”
“Yes, you do. You hate me for selling drugs to Sasha. You said . . .” His eyes fluttered. “You said it yourself. You think I’m a creep.” He motioned vaguely toward Priya, who tilted her head, confused.
I bit my lip, and guilt spread through my chest like ink oozing across oil. But before I could reply, Scott’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped back against the wall.
3 Months Ago
NOVEMBER OF SENIOR YEAR
I finally did it. After weeks of trying to convince Robbie to pull the trigger, we were finally going on a double date with Priya and Zane. Part of me wondered if Sasha would care . . . what if she really did have feelings for Zane? But I figured I didn’t need her permission—she’d said herself that she didn’t have time for a relationship, so he was fair game.
At least, I hoped he was.
And besides, Priya’d had feelings for him since the dawn of time.
Robbie and I huddled on a bench outside Mike’s Diner, bouncing our knees to ward off the cold as other kids we knew from school filed in and out. Zane was supposed to pick up Priya, but according to the texts she sent me every ten seconds, he was running late.
“I have something to show you.” I pulled up a video file on my phone, leaned into Robbie’s arm, and positioned the phone so we both could see.
He instantly recognized the first frame. “Holy shit, you already finished it?”
“Yep.” I pressed Play, and we watched Robbie’s updated baseball recruit reel, complete with rock-influenced background music. He already had a reel he’d been sending to colleges since sophomore year, but since Georgia Tech was now considering him, he added new footage from his summer baseball camp—things like him hitting home runs, or stealing third, or diving into second on a base hit. When he showed me the reel last week, I cringed at the cheesy background music and offered to create a new track and clean up the editing.
When it ended, he beamed at me. “Shit, Amber. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned in for a kiss, and he obliged. But then he pulled away and heaved a sigh. “What’s wrong?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.”
I bit my lip. Was the track not good enough? Was the timing too rough? “No, really. What is it? I can fix whatever it is.”
“No, no. The reel is perfect. I just hope it’s not too late.”
I frowned and swiped my phone back. “But you have this new interest.”
Robbie rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head. “Yeah, but it’s my last shot. If Georgia Tech doesn’t bite, that’s the end.” He stared at the parking lot across the street, unable to meet my eyes. “I just wish . . .”
“What?” I took his hand. “What is it?”
“Well . . . my dad hired these recruitment companies to help Paul and Liam their sophomore years. They got in touch with tons of scouts, had super-professional reels made, things like that. But he’s been so busy going to their games, he didn’t do any of that for me.” He kicked at some loose gravel. “I guess he figured two out of three wins was enough.”
I squeezed his hand. “But you’re winning, too. You got a scout’s attention without any of that extra help.”
“Still, I just feel like, I dunno . . . no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for Dad. He flies to Boston to see Paul play more often than he goes to my games down the street. I told him the scout from Georgia was coming to watch me play, and he didn’t even care.” He rubbed his face again. “Ah, I don’t know. It’s like, Paul and Liam already made it, you know? I’m like the runt of the litter. The one who doesn’t matter.”
Seeing his pain brought tears to my eyes. I hated seeing him hurting like this. I stared at our clasped fingers. “I know how that feels. To feel like you don’t measure up to your siblings . . .”
Robbie glanced at me. “I thought you were an only child.”
I took a deep breath, shivering against the cold. I hadn’t told Robbie about Maggie yet, and he hadn’t connected the dots. It had been such a relief, not being pitied. But I could tell Robbie. I could trust Robbie. “I wasn’t always.” The words came out as a whisper. “I had an older sister. She died when we were in eighth grade.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, wait a minute. Shit. That girl who died when we were in eighth grade . . . that senior . . . she was your sister?”
I stared at the ground, nodding slightly.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He put his arm around me and pulled me close. Her lifeless face flashed before me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in Robbie’s jacket as my shivering turned to shakes of anguish. He hugged me as I struggled to hold back tears, hoping the crowds of people hovering near the front door wouldn’t notice.
“She wanted to be a doctor, and she got scholarships to all these great schools,” I finally said, wiping a lone tear that managed to escape. “My dad doesn’t think I can get scholarships like she did. So he wants me to apply to state schools that cost less. He doesn’t think I can make it as a producer, that I could pay off my student loans. Not the way she would have made it.” My voice caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard. “So I kind of get what you’re going through. It’s horrible. And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Robbie kissed my cheek and kept holding me close. “But hey . . . we’re not going to let them stop us. We’re not going to let them hold us back.” He shook my shoulder so I looked up at him. “If I want to play baseball, one way or another, I’m going to play baseball. And if you don’t want to go to a state school, you don’t have to go to a state school. If you want to take out student loans, that’s your choice. It’s our lives. Screw what they think.”
I smiled. “That’s right. Screw what they think—”
“Why so serious?” a voice boomed nearby. Robbie and I looked up to see Zane and Priya approaching. I wiped my cheeks one more time as we stood to greet them.
She scanned my face as we parted from a hug. “You okay?”
“Yeah, totally. We were just having a deep conversation.”
“Barf.” Zane smirked. “No wonder you’re upset. Listening to this fool talk is agony.”
“Shut up, man,” said Robbie, but he laughed.
Zane opened the door to Mike’s Diner and ushered us all through. The hostess led us to a booth in the middle of the diner and set out menus for each of us, throwing Zane a flirtatious smile. Priya gave her side-eye as we sat.
But Zane was oblivious. “Sorry I was so late, you guys.” He rubbed his eyes. “I almost didn’t make it.”
“What happened, man?” asked Robbie.
Zane gave Robbie a dark look. “It’s my brother again.” Zane’s brother was a sophomore. I’d seen him around their house a few times, usually hobbling around on crutches. He broke his leg in three places in a skiing accident last year. I’d had a hard time finding space to write on his cast since so many people had signed.
“Ah,” Robbie said, like he knew what
Zane meant.
Priya looked as confused as I felt. “What happened?” She must not have questioned him on the car ride over.
He waved her off. “I don’t wanna get into it.”
“His brother has a drug problem,” Robbie volunteered. “Opioids. His mom keeps finding his stash and flipping out.”
“Oh, shit,” I said.
Zane glared at him. “I said I don’t wanna get into it.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Priya. “It’s, like, a huge problem in this country right now. Tons of people are hooked. I saw on the news that—”
Zane slapped the table, making the people in the booth behind him jump and glare over their shoulders. “I said . . . I don’t wanna fucking get into it.”
“Well, well, look at this motley crew.” Scott came to our table with a notepad, as though ready to scribble down our order. My stomach clenched. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he and Sasha were doing under those bleachers, but I’d bet my electric keyboard he was selling her drugs. “Hey, Red. What’s shakin’—”
“What, you work school nights now, too?” My words dripped with sarcasm.
He grinned. “Anything I can do to make a bit of cash, I do.” As if I should be impressed. Instead, a sour taste filled my mouth. Zane glared at him with sheer loathing. Oh my God. Did he think Scott sold his brother those pills? “So what can I get you fine folks this lovely evening?”
Zane kept his mouth shut except to order a burger and fries, and other than the occasional grunt and “Yep,” he was quiet throughout dinner. He spent most of the time texting someone, and once when an alert brightened his screen, I spotted Sasha’s name. I was pretty sure Priya spotted it, too, because she left in a huff to use the ladies’ room. She insisted I didn’t have to come when I nudged Robbie to let me out of the booth.
Ten minutes later, she still wasn’t back.
“Where’d she go, anyway?” Zane asked, slurping his milk shake. “I agreed to come out, didn’t I? And she freakin’ disappears?”
“You haven’t exactly been Prince Charming,” I shot back. “More like Oscar the Grouch.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He wiped a hand down his face. “It’s been a rough night.”
“Well, I’ll go check on her.” I flicked Robbie’s arm, and he stood to let me out. I headed toward the restrooms, but instead found Priya leaning against the old-fashioned jukebox near the kitchen talking to none other than Scott Coleman. She laughed at something he was saying, like she didn’t have anywhere else to be.
“What’s going on, guys?” I said, throwing Priya a confused look.
“Oh hey, Red,” said Scott. “Just chillin’—”
“Shouldn’t you be working?” I said pointedly. “We’re in the middle of a double date. So I’m going to have to steal Priya back.”
A pained look crossed Scott’s face. “Oh—”
“It’s okay,” said Priya. “I’m not in any rush to get back.”
“Zane asked where you are.”
I expected her to brighten at this, but instead she raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” Dammit. Priya had wanted to go on a date with Zane for years, and he was totally ruining it.
“Yeah. Go on back. I need to use the bathroom first.”
She shrugged with a sigh. “Alright. Bye, Scott.” She gave him a little wave and headed back to our booth.
When she was safely out of hearing range, I glared at Scott. “Stay away from my friends.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
My chest tightened. “You were selling Sasha drugs under those bleachers, weren’t you? That’s her dirty little secret, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I dunno—”
“Enough with the coy act.” I shoved his shoulder. “Do you know what those drugs are doing to her? She’s becoming a mess—she’s shaky, and agitated, and freaking losing her mind.” And now that I knew about Zane’s brother, it was no wonder she was hiding it from her friends. They’d already seen the consequences of drug abuse, so they might try to stop her. And Sasha wouldn’t stand for anyone stopping her.
He scoffed. “Yeah, well, that’s her choice.”
“But it’s yours, too. Just stop selling her whatever it is.”
“I . . . I can’t.” So that confirmed it. He was selling her something.
“What do you mean, you can’t? You’re hurting her.”
“The only person hurting Sasha is Sasha. I had no choice. No fucking choice.” He held his fist to his lips, like he’d said too much. “Listen, you don’t know what you saw—”
I balled my hands into fists. “I saw enough. So stay away from my friends. Stay away from Sasha. And stay away from Priya. She’s always going to turn you down.” Even as the words escaped my lips, I regretted them. But I was so angry. “You’re just some gross, creepy, drug-dealing stalker who won’t leave her alone. So get lost.”
29 Minutes Left
We all stared in horror as Scott slumped over. “Scott!” Priya stooped next to him and gripped his shoulder with trembling fingers.
His eyelids quivered, and his head lolled in her direction as he reached for her hand. “I can’t . . . it hurts . . .”
Robbie grabbed a glass of water from the table, and handed it to Priya. “We’ve got to keep him hydrated. Make him drink this whole thing. When he finishes, give him another one.”
She nodded and took the water. “Does anyone have any aspirin or anything?” We all shook our heads. If any of us had medicine, we would have offered it to him already. I wanted to prod Scott to finish his thought from before he nearly passed out. How had Sasha used some secret against him? But his hands shook so fiercely as he tried sipping from the cup, water spattered over the edge. He clearly needed a minute.
“You guys, we’re running out of time,” Sasha said, staring at the bomb. She covered her ears, white as a sheet, like the bomb could blow at any moment. The timer attached to the mess of wires and tubing silently counted down. Twenty-eight minutes, thirty-nine seconds left. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven.
“Okay, okay.” I held my forehead as Priya helped Scott sit straight against the wall again, though she appeared on the verge of passing out herself. A wave of anxiety flooded my gut. “Let’s think. Let’s think of another way out of this. Can we defuse the bomb somehow?” A pregnant pause filled the room as everyone stared at the jumble of wires. “God, it’s like whoever assembled it threw in a few extra wires just to confuse us.”
“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t mess with it,” said Robbie. “I don’t think this is like the movies. And I don’t know shit about defusing bombs.” He eyed the bomb and ran a hand over his hair. “Maybe we should move it.”
“Move it . . . where?” I asked.
“Can we shove it out the window?” asked Priya. Scott was sipping from the glass of water on his own.
“It wouldn’t fit through the bars,” I said.
“Oh, I have an idea!” Robbie snapped his fingers and held them to his lips, thinking. “We can put the bomb in a corner”—he pointed at the corner between the closed window and the large brass mirror—“and drag over the cabinets, the table, the chairs. We’ll stack everything we can in front of it.” Sasha nodded along. “Then we can huddle on the other side of the room—”
“In the fireplace!” Priya exclaimed, leaving Scott’s side and dashing across the room. “We can try to squeeze in here . . .” She stooped and shuffled into the fireplace. “Hmm, maybe not . . .”
“We couldn’t all fit in there,” said Sasha. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t everything we piled on the bomb explode into a zillion pieces and become shrapnel?”
“Exactly.” Diego nodded. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked in here. Even if the blast doesn’t kill us, we’ll burn to a crisp.”
I crossed my arms. “Or die of smoke inhalation.”
Diego inclined his head. “No . . . I don’t think you get it. Those are huge sticks of dynamite. And God knows what that
liquid is. It could take down the building. Smoke won’t be the issue.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” said Priya.
“No, I don’t.” Diego shook his head. “Tonight, I don’t know anything for sure. But I really don’t think sticking it in the corner and covering it with some chairs and tablecloths is going to help much, either.”
“Too bad for the bars on the windows . . .” I tugged on my bottom lip. “What if we put the bomb in the fireplace?”
Diego shook his head. “This is a moot point.”
“No, wait, listen! What if we put the bomb in the fireplace, and blocked off the fireplace with everything in here? Wouldn’t that force the blast up—?”
“There is no ‘up.’” Diego leaned into the fireplace, knocking on solid wood where the empty space for a chimney should be. “It’s a fake fireplace. There’s nowhere for the blast to go. Let’s say you’re right, and that did contain it . . . then we’d die of smoke inhalation.”
I joined him at the fireplace and touched his shoulder. “Maybe there’s a chance it’d blow a hole through the wall, and we could climb out.”
“Most of this room’s underground.” He faced me. “Even if the blast took out the top of the wall, we’d have to hoist people up over a fire.”
“Shit,” said Sasha, eyeing the syringe on its tray.
My chest tightened. “Why are you being like this?” I asked Diego, lowering my voice to a whisper. “If we don’t try everything we can—she might try going after Scott again. But we can find another way. You know it’s the right thing to do. We have to at least try. We have to at least take a stand.”
“I know . . .”
“So why are you just shooting everything down?”
He gripped my arms. “Because, Amber, this isn’t going to work! Not everything can go exactly the way you plan, no matter how much you want it to.”
2 Months, 3 Weeks Ago
NOVEMBER OF SENIOR YEAR
