by Diana Urban
“Maybe not,” said Robbie after a moment’s hesitation. “But don’t we have to choose someone?”
I stormed at Robbie, fists clenched. “All you care about is saving your own skin.”
“That’s not true at all,” said Robbie. “I want us both to get out of here alive.”
“Oh, sure!” I chortled sarcastically.
He gripped my arms and shook me. “Of course I want that! What’s the matter with you?”
I struggled out of his grasp. “Robbie, I have never known you to care about anyone’s future but your own.”
His eyes widened.
“That’s right. You knew all I ever wanted was to get into music school. But as soon as you got your scholarship, you made me feel like I was betraying you by choosing music over you. Suddenly your future was the only thing that mattered. But you don’t get to choose my future. And you don’t get to choose who lives and who dies tonight.” I pointed at Scott. “He is a person. With hopes and dreams of his own. They might not be as ambitious as yours, but he’s got every right to pursue them. Just because you don’t know him or what they are doesn’t make it any less true.”
Robbie gawked at me, seemingly unable to find words. But Diego nodded along. Priya crossed her arms and stared at the bomb, her lower lip trembling. I still had about fifteen minutes left to convince everyone. There was still time.
And then there wasn’t. Before I could move, Sasha rushed the table and grabbed the syringe, then raced toward me, pointing the needle straight at my chest.
1 Month, 2 Weeks Ago
DECEMBER OF SENIOR YEAR
I found Robbie the morning after opening night of the play at his locker, laughing about something with Zane, facing away from me. I tightened my grip on my binder and approached him, ignoring Zane. “Where were you last night?” He spun, and his smile slid off his face. “After the play. Where were you?”
“Ohhhh.” Zane shoved Robbie’s shoulder. “Someone’s in trouble.”
I gave him a disgusted look. “Ugh, shut up. Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure, sure.” Zane patted Robbie on the back and sauntered off toward Amy and Maria, who were hunched over Amy’s locker mirror.
Robbie slammed his locker shut. “Can you not embarrass me like that?”
“Embarrass you?” I hugged the binder to my chest. After Sasha flubbed the most important scene, we got through the rest of the performance without any more snafus. But the damage was done. And when our friends and families gathered backstage afterward, I scanned the crowd for Robbie. I needed him to hug me and reassure me that it’d all work out in the end. But he didn’t show.
“How do you think I felt last night?” I said. “I worked so hard on that play. I was expecting you to come backstage afterward. Instead you just Irish-exited on me.”
Robbie scrubbed a hand down his face. “Didn’t you get my flowers?”
“Yeah, my mom gave them to me. But I should have gotten them from you.”
“Well, I had to go get some sleep. We have a big game tonight. It’s the league championship—”
“Seriously?”
The truth was, missing the afterparty only scratched the surface. Ever since he won his scholarship, all he seemed to care about was his games, his goals, his future. But he pressured me to apply to Georgia Tech with such determination, I figured he had to care about me; otherwise he wouldn’t bother. But not coming to congratulate me, to comfort me, to say anything to me after the play confirmed my suspicions. He didn’t care about me. Not really. Not the way I thought he did.
I brushed my side bangs back. “I’ve been to most of your home games this season. I always run from rehearsals like a maniac to get there in time. And I come out to celebrate after. You couldn’t have sacrificed a little bit of sleep for me this one time? You couldn’t have gone out of your way to be there for me just this once?”
“I went to the play, didn’t I?”
“You were staring at your phone half the time!”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Robbie slapped his palm against his locker. “Couldn’t you have told me the truth?”
I tilted my head, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“About school. Georgia Tech. About you not wanting to come with me.”
My stomach clenched, and I took a step back. “Is that why you left? Because you’re mad at me?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then why?”
“Because I had to get out of there! I had to get away from the thing you’re choosing over me!” He pressed his fist against his lips, and his eyes darted at everything in the hall but me.
My expression softened. “I . . . I didn’t realize you cared that much.”
“Of course I do! I fucking love you!” He yelled it so loud the people around us scattered and stared. Oh, God. That was the first time he said those words to me. It was the first time any boy had ever said those words to me. I never thought my first time would come with an f-bomb, but there it was, reverberating in the air, echoing in my ear canals. “I thought we had this all planned out,” he went on. “I thought you’d come to school with me, and we’d be together.”
My breath hitched in my throat. This double standard was so unfair. I never thought of baseball as something he was choosing over me. It was his dream before he ever met me, and it would be unfair to talk him out of it to follow me to music school. I always wanted to support him. But he was pressuring me to abandon my lifelong dreams. If this argument flipped on its head, he’d choose baseball over me in a heartbeat. I didn’t doubt it for a second.
“We never decided that,” I said. “You just assumed it. I never agreed to go to Georgia Tech. You know I want to study music.”
“Yeah, but I thought you’d study it there.”
I shook my head. “We’ve been through this. Georgia Tech doesn’t have a music program. I need to go to USC, or Berklee, somewhere with a great program where I’ll be able to make connections—”
“You can make connections anywhere! Everything’s online now. You can write and play music anywhere.”
“That’s not how it works! You don’t know anything about how the film industry works. I’d need the right internships, the right production assistant gigs. In person.”
“Not necessarily.” Robbie clasped his hands behind his head. “Why aren’t you trying harder to make this work?” But I couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make the industry work differently. That was like me saying he could prance into USC and demand a spot on their baseball team—and throw in a full scholarship, thank you very much.
“And besides,” he went on, “you have your whole life to have a music career. Most baseball players only play until their late thirties. But you can play music whenever.”
He couldn’t be serious. There was no guarantee I’d live long enough to put my dreams on hold like that. Maggie’s life was cut short before it even started. “No way. I’m not putting off my plans for that long. Who’s to say what’ll happen to me in twenty years? Ten years? Tomorrow?”
“Oh my God. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
I threw out my arms. “How can you know that? What kind of God complex do you have? I don’t understand why I’m the one who has to throw my plans away, because what? Because you got into school first? Because you’re the guy in our relationship?”
“Oh, so you’d rather throw us away?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” I couldn’t believe he was trying to make me feel guilty about this. That he didn’t deny either of those reasons. How could he be so selfish? So manipulative? As soon as he asked me to come to school in Georgia with him, I should have known we were hurtling toward our expiration date.
The warning bell rang, but he ignored it. My face screwed up as I fought back tears. He stepped close and leaned his forehead against mine, gripping the back of my neck. “Amber . . . we can figure something out.”
My heart swelled. Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe he’d be willing to give long-distance a shot. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course. We could get you private teachers. I’ll help you find them. And you can make any connection you need online.”
No. I closed my eyes, and a tear escaped, rolling down my cheek. Robbie grinned—he mistook it as a tear of relief.
“You know what?” he went on. “This is a moot point if you don’t even get in. We don’t have to decide anything now. Why don’t you apply and see what happens? That’ll give us time to figure something out.” He still didn’t get it. He still thought the world revolved around him. It was his way or the highway.
But my road forward was mine to pave.
The final bell rang, and he kissed me gently. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? And you’ll apply?”
I nodded, too hurt and frustrated to say anything. A rock swelled in my throat. I had to leave before the floodgates opened. I tugged his arms down and whirled, dashing down the hall before he could see me bawl in full force. I rounded the corner and slammed right into Diego. I sprang back, and my binder flew from my grip, papers scattering across the hall.
“Whoa!” He caught his balance in time.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” I let out a nervous laugh, but traitorous tears trickled down my cheeks.
“I was just looking for you.” Diego frowned and touched my arm. “Are you okay?” I inhaled sharply—it was like electricity shot up my arm and through every vein in my body.
I wiped at my face, which pulsated with heat. “I’m fine, yeah.” I stooped to gather the papers around my feet, and he scooped up my binder. The last stragglers darted around us to their classes.
“What happened?” Diego asked, his brow furrowed.
I grabbed the binder from him while wiping my cheek with my other hand. “It’s nothing. We’ve got to get to class.”
“Class can wait,” he said. “I want to make sure you’re alright.”
I hugged my binder and backed into the locker behind me, banging my head softly against it. I shook my head, not even knowing where to start. “I’m just tired. I’m tired of trying to make everyone happy, and doing the exact wrong thing. I’m tired of doing the best I can, and it’s never good enough. I’m tired of being manipulated. I’m tired of failing so miserably. I’m. Just. Tired.”
“First of all, you’re not failing miserably.” Diego slipped off one of his backpack straps and dug around the main compartment for something. After a moment, he pulled out a USB drive and offered it to me. My recording. “Not at all. Your music is beautiful. Keep writing music like what you performed last night, and you’ll make people happy every day for the rest of your life.”
My heart clenched. How did he do that? How did he make me want to simultaneously dissolve into the tiles and leap into his arms with a few simple words?
“But she screwed it up. I was going to send the recording of that scene, and she screwed it up.”
He grinned. “Well, you still can.”
“What do you mean?”
“I recorded the dress rehearsals for practice, remember?”
My heart leapt. I remembered spotting Diego setting up in the back of the auditorium, and assumed he was calibrating the equipment for opening night. I didn’t realize he recorded the whole thing each night.
“Right before her cough,” he went on, “when there was a pause before your solo, I swapped in footage from the last dress rehearsal. Really, you can’t tell anything went wrong. So you can use any of it. You could send them the whole thing if you wanted to.”
“Oh my God.” Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks as I took the USB drive, my fingers grazing his. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. You did great. You deserve this.” He took another step, closing the gap between us. My breath caught in my throat as he reached out and wiped my tears away with his thumb. I touched his hand to brush him away, but instead our fingers entwined. I was sure he could hear my heart drumming madly. He leaned closer, his face mere inches from mine, and my lips parted, wanting this, wanting this so badly.
But I flinched back, my head banging against the locker. No. I wasn’t a cheat. I couldn’t do that to Robbie. He might be acting like a selfish prick, but he deserved better than me cheating on him. I couldn’t let us end that way.
Besides, how would a relationship with Diego ever work? Dad would be crushed if I started dating the boy who flicked the domino starting the chain reaction that ended his career.
Diego took a step back, looking hurt. I wished things could be simpler—that I could be with a boy who made sure I knew my own worth.
I wished I could erase the past year. But I couldn’t erase what I’d done.
At the same time, I couldn’t let my world completely fall apart. I had to fix it, starting with my music. That’s what started this whole mess of a year. I couldn’t let it be for nothing. I had my recording now. I wasn’t going to let my dreams slip through my fingers. I was going to send this recording to my dream schools and see whatever the hell happened next.
16 Minutes Left
The thing about being trapped in a room with five other people, a bomb, and a syringe of lethal poison is that at some point, shit’s going down. No matter how frantically you claw at rationality, how desperately you cling to common decency, you eventually give in to your basic instinct to survive.
I’d tried to hold it together this whole time. But when Sasha gathered a fistful of my dress in one hand, gripping the syringe with the other, fear and shock mingled in my brain. Her thumb hovered over the plunger. She was really going to do it. She was really going to stab me with that needle. People around me shouted for Sasha to put the syringe down, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying as adrenaline blasted through my veins. With nowhere to go, flight wasn’t exactly an option.
So I had to fight.
I wound my arm back, readying to punch her in the face, but caught myself in time. No, no, no. If I prompted her to stab me with the needle in self-defense, it’d all be over. I couldn’t resort to violence. My emerald dress clung to me as sweat trickled down my back. It was too hot to think straight. What should I do? How could I get a grip on this situation?
Sasha’s eyes flamed, and she clenched her jaw, her lips puckered like she was holding her breath. She could so easily plunge the needle into my arm and push in the beige liquid, but she was hesitating. I glared back, almost daring her to do it. Would she really try to kill me? Would she be able to live with herself after? I stepped forward so our faces were mere inches apart, fighting against every impulse urging me to wrestle away from her. Sasha’s arm wavered, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she grimaced.
Finally, she let out a frustrated growl and released my dress. “Why are you making this so difficult? Why can’t you let us choose Scott and be done with this? What’s it to you if he dies?”
Air whooshed from my lungs. Maybe she didn’t have the gall to murder a friend after all. “He doesn’t deserve to die,” I said. “Can’t you see that?”
“Well, none of us deserve to die.” She licked her lips, shifting her weight on her feet. “So if you don’t want it to be Scott, and you’d never choose Priya or Robbie, it’d have to be Diego, right?” Sasha approached Diego and raised the syringe. Diego backed between the china cabinet and fireplace, eyes wide. He had nowhere to go.
“NO!” I shrieked. “Don’t touch him!” The words came out more passionately than I meant them to.
Sasha spun to face me, tilting her head, like she was trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle. Suddenly her eyes brightened, and the corner of her lips crept up. “Oh my God.” No. There’s no way she could know the truth. I waited with bated breath for her next words. “I knew it. You like Diego.”
There it was. Out in the open, in front of everyone. My feelings exposed, hovering like smoke that threatened to smother me. Every red blood cell in my body swarmed to my cheeks as Robbie stiffened beside me. I glanced at
Diego, who watched me from under the strands of dark hair falling over his forehead. I said nothing as the timer tick, tick, ticked down.
“Is that true?” asked Robbie. Oh, God. I squeezed my eyes shut as though if I squeezed hard enough, I’d wake up from this nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. We couldn’t have this conversation right now. My pulse crashed in my ears like bass drums. “Amber. Is it true?”
I opened my eyes to see worry etched across Robbie’s face. Every fiber of my being wanted to deny it. But I was a horrible liar. “We’ve got to find a way out of here. That’s all that matters.” But my non-answer said everything.
His jaw tightened, and he balled his hands into fists as he turned to Diego. “What the hell, Spongeman? You trying to steal my girl?” Shit, shit, shit. This was exactly what I was afraid would happen tonight, and now it was happening when we absolutely did not have time for it to happen. Diego’s eyes widened, but he clenched his own fists and held his ground as Robbie stepped toward him.
I leapt in front of him and pressed my hands into his chest. “Robbie, stop it,” I yelled. “If we don’t survive the next fifteen minutes, none of this matters.” I felt his breath hitch as his eyes flicked toward the bomb. He’d always assumed the life stretching ahead of him was limitless. But now I needed him to focus on surviving this one hour. We all did.
“So what do we do?” Priya perched on her chair, hugging her knees to her chest.
Robbie wiped his hand down his face. “Well, I’m not gonna stand around waiting to get blown apart. We’ve got to pick someone.”
“But how can we choose?” asked Priya. “We can’t agree on anything!”
“We could do rock-paper-scissors,” Scott suggested.
Sasha burst out laughing. “Right. We’re going to decide who gets poisoned to death based on rock-paper-scissors.”
“Well, why not?” Diego finally peeled his eyes off me. “It’d be fair. Leave it up to fate.”
