by C. C. Hunter
It takes two tries to get my keys in the door, but I finally get it and jump in my car. Water drips from my hair. My clothes are soaked. I shiver.
It’s cold.
So. Cold. Too. Cold. Dead. Cold.
I see him sitting shotgun. For one second I think it’s Mr. Brooks. It’s not.
He’s young. Dark hair. About my age. But it’s not Hayden.
Hayden’s not this cold.
Hayden’s not . . . dead.
Hayden doesn’t have a bullet hole right between his eyes and part of the back of his head missing.
I swallow the scream that rises in my throat. Will I ever get used to this?
No, a voice insists in my head. Not a chance. Never. Ever.
“It’s not his fault,” the spirit says. “She blames him. Tell her to let it go.”
My teeth start chattering. My whole body begins shaking. I feel the drops of rain on my skin turn to ice. Forcing myself to move, I start the car and stare out the windshield at the deluge of rain hitting and rolling off the glass. I hug myself tighter, my breath releases steam, and I pray for warmth.
Before the warmth starts pumping, the cold starts to wane. Or at least the unnatural cold does. The spirit vanishes.
I sit there, arms crossed, rubbing my palms up and down my forearms and listening to the thunder roll. Another flash of lightning races across the dark sky.
Should I have spoken to the spirit? I close my eyes.
It takes a couple of seconds to remember why I even came out to my car.
I grab my phone out of my pocket. I find the number the text was sent from, then I dial.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
“Come on, answer!”
“Hello, Riley.”
It’s her voice, and I’m immediately thrown back to not knowing what to say. How to . . . ask. What to ask?
“What do you mean by ‘it’s going to be okay?’”
“I don’t mean anything. I’m just saying that it’s going to be okay. That you shouldn’t worry too much.”
“How . . . What did you mean about me not wearing orange?”
She doesn’t answer at first. “I think you know.”
“Yeah, but . . . How do you know? What do you know about me?”
She goes quiet again. “I know you have questions and deserve answers. Unfortunately, I don’t have that many.”
“Then tell me what you do know. You told me about not wearing orange. How . . . how did you know about that? Why were you there the day I almost became roadkill?”
The line goes silent again. None of my questions get answered.
I throw one more out. “Are you . . . Do you see ghosts, too?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know that I can?”
“Like I said, Riley, I don’t have all the answers that you want. I just . . . I saw who was at your father’s funeral home and then . . . I just know things sometimes.”
“How?”
“I’m in the dark about this as much as you are.”
“You’re not answering my question. How did you know I can do this?”
She waits to answer, and I can’t help but think she’s trying to make up a lie. I know because I have to lie so much. “Your aura.”
“I have an aura?” I remember Annie saying I glow.
“Yeah.”
“What are you not telling me?” I ask.
“You asked for me to call and I did, Riley. But I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
Then why am I sure you’re holding back? “Are you coming back to work?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know yet. Look, I need to go. And you need to get back to your classes.” She hangs up.
I sit there staring at my phone with more questions now than before I called her.
• • •
An hour later, I’m in History. Ignoring Jamie and Candace, who keep whispering and looking over at me.
Kelsey passes me a note. I read it. It’s about hanging out this afternoon. I hesitate and try to figure out what to write back. I want to say yes, but I also want to go by the hospital. I’m even thinking about calling the lunch lady back.
I put my pencil to the paper and think about offering to drop her off and then come back around four. But she’ll ask what I’m doing, and my answer will require another lie.
I continue to stare at the note. Then I look up at the back of her head sitting in front of me, and I’m hit by a strong desire to tell Kelsey the truth. To have one person who I don’t have to lie to. But could she handle it?
“Riley?” My name echoes from the front. I look up. The teacher is standing at her desk, and beside her is the campus police officer. “You’re wanted in the office.”
Kelsey twists in her desk and looks at me with oh-shit concern. I totally understand the look because I’m probably wearing it myself. Then the worst possibility hits.
Dad. He got drunk and got into an accident.
My heart rises to the bottom of my throat. I grab my stuff and walk out the door. The officer walks with me. I recognize him. He’s Officer Nolen, the officer who came to see me when a killer hit my car the last time I was helping a spirit.
As soon as we’re out of the room, I look at him.
“Let’s go to my office.” He’s all official and serious. He starts walking down the hall.
I follow. “Is it my dad?” I push out my biggest fear.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I stop. My heart now tries to climb up my tonsils. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow, but I manage to push out the words, “Is he okay?”
He turns to me. “It’s . . . not your dad.”
“Then what is it?” I ask.
“Let’s get to my office and we’ll talk.”
I go back to following him. We’re on the opposite side of the school from the office that houses the campus police. My mind races, trying to figure out what this is about. Then it lands on something. The whole Candace chaos in the lunchroom. But that wasn’t anything that’d require police involvement.
Unless . . . Fear bubbles up inside me. What if Mr. Brooks didn’t stop? What if he did something to hurt her . . . Oh, shit! Shitshitshit!
Then I feel bad for thinking he could do that. But I don’t know what else this could possibly be about.
We finally get to Officer Nolen’s office.
I walk through the door, hugging my backpack to my chest. The door hasn’t closed behind me when I see Dad sitting in a chair beside the wall.
He glances up at me. His mouth is thin with fret, his eyes tight with anger. His shoulders squared as if ready to scold me. Yup, something has him upset.
What did I do this time?
Chapter Thirteen
Officer Nolen moves to his desk and waves for my dad and me to take the chairs facing him. I do as expected, but as soon as I drop down, I blurt out, “What’s this all about?”
“We found drugs in your locker.”
“Wha . . . aat?” The word comes out choky. Then another sound, a scratchy gasp of pure disbelief leaks out next. “I don’t do drugs.” My gaze goes to Dad and yeah, I expect him to come to my defense.
He just sits there, looking confused.
“It’s marijuana,” Officer Nolen says. “I know most kids think it’s harmless, but we don’t tolerate drugs at school, and selling them is an even bigger offense.”
“Selling them?” I laugh and look at Dad again. “You don’t really believe this, do you?”
Guilt crosses his face, then he looks at Officer Nolen. “In her defense, she has never done anything like this before.”
I stare at Dad, shocked he couldn’t do better than that. Where’s the man who knows me, knows I’d never do anything like this? The man who taught me better than to do drugs?
“There’s always a first time.” Officer Nolen picks up a pen.
“Well, this isn’t it!” I say, my tone goes high, my blood pressu
re goes higher. And then suddenly everything starts making sense.
“We found it in your locker.” Officer Nolen drops his forearms on his desk.
“Yeah, and Candace put it in there.”
“Candace?”
“Candace Hodge,” I say. “She’s friends with Jamie Holmes. Candace threatened to do this to Jacob’s locker out of retaliation for him breaking up with Jamie.”
“Jacob Adams?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
He picks up a pen and clicks it. “It seems odd that the tip we got said you sold the drugs to Jacob. We found drugs in his locker, too.”
“I didn’t sell any drugs!” I screech.
My dad reaches for my hand. “Look, if my daughter says she didn’t do this—”
I stare at him. You couldn’t have said that five minutes ago?
Then I lean forward. “I’m the one who told Jacob about the threat. I heard them talking in the bathroom. Oh, and Jacob went to his counselor about it, too. And she told Jacob that if it ever happened she’d remember it.”
The officer’s brow pinches together as if I’m talking too fast. “When was this?”
“Just like two weeks ago. And at lunch today Candace got mad at me because . . . because I stood up to her when she bullied me. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. It happened in third lunch period.”
Right then the office door opens and in walks a woman. A woman, mid-fifties, dressed in a black suit. I’ve seen around school.
She comes right up to the desk. “Officer Nolen.” She shifts her eyes to me and Dad. “You must be Riley and Mr. Smith.”
I nod.
“I’m Linda Jennings, a counselor here.”
I lean back in my chair and let out a deep sigh. This has to Jacob’s counselor, right?
Mrs. Jennings’ gaze shifts back to the officer. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
When Officer Nolen leaves, I turn to Dad. “You thought I did it, didn’t you?”
He shifts as if he’s sitting in the hot seat now. “Not when you said you didn’t.”
“But before . . . you thought—”
“When Officer Nolen called he mentioned Jacob’s name. I jumped to the conclusion that he might have pressured you into trying it.”
I grip my hands into fists. “I’m not the one screwing up around here! Getting drunk and—”
“Riley, please. This is not the place or the time.”
I’m so pissed, I snap back in my chair and stare straight ahead without saying another word. But I’m mostly hurt. Because I feel it. I feel the trust that Dad and I shared for years crumbling. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust me.
Problem is, I haven’t done anything to deserve his mistrust. He can’t say the same.
A few seconds later, I hear the bell ring. One second after that my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m pretty sure I know who’s texting me. I’m right.
Kelsey: You okay?
Me: Yeah. Explain later.
Kelsey: Anything to do with Jamie and Candace being pulled out of class right after you?
Me: Yes.
Kelsey: Call me curious.
Right then another text comes in. I think I know who it’s from, too. I’m right again.
Jacob: You okay?
Me: I think so. Your counselor is here now.
Jacob: I’m sorry. Jamie and Candace are bitches. But they are both going down for this!
Me: I hope so.
Jacob: Can I take you out for pizza after school?
Me: Sorry. I can’t.
• • •
“What’s going to happen to them?” Hayden asks that afternoon, after I unload the whole drugs-in-my-locker story. He was waiting for me when I came back from my car after visiting him—his body—and his mom. His mom who now hugs me every time she sees me. It’s not that I mind, it just feels heavy. Sometimes I feel like I’m all she’s got, and that scares me because I think she needs so much more than just me.
“The counselor said Candace is going to be suspended. Jamie is pretending she didn’t know anything about it. So I don’t know if anything will happen to her.”
“That sucks, because everyone at school knows Candace does whatever Jamie tells her to.”
“I know. And it infuriates me!” I grab hold of the steering wheel and rock back and forth.
He laughs. “Is this PMS, too?”
“Watch it,” I say and cut him a playful glare.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says.
His words take me back to my other frustration. The call from the lunch lady.
We stay in the car and chat for about thirty minutes. I tell him about the lunch lady, about the ghost appearing in my car, and end with the only good news of the day, about Selina Rodgers agreeing to pass my number and message along to a friend of her brother.
“I figured she would. She’s a nice person.” He pauses. “Remember, you are not supposed to go anywhere near any gang members without me and Mr. Brooks.”
I nod. My phone dings with a text. I see Kelsey’s name. “Crap. I told Kelsey I’d be at her house thirty minutes ago.”
“Go.” He leans in and kisses me. It’s both sweet and sexy. When he pulls back, he passes his finger over my lips. “I enjoyed this morning.”
“Me too.”
Then he’s gone.
“I love you,” I whisper to the empty car and with everything I am, I know it’s true. I let myself worry for one second that things won’t turn out the way I want, then start my car and drive to Kelsey’s.
• • •
Friday after school, I drop Kelsey at the restaurant where her mom works. Kelsey works for the place too, writing social media posts. She rocks at it.
She’s supposed to meet up with her boss today to evaluate all she’s done and see if any changes are needed.
When I park, she looks at me. “Shit. Wish me good luck.”
Kelsey normally never admits fear, and the fact that she does so freely is testament to how close our friendship has become. “Stop worrying. I’ve seen everything you’ve posted, and it’s been great. It makes me want to go eat at the restaurant.”
She grins. “We should come eat here tomorrow. I get fifty percent off all meals.”
“I’m in,” I say.
She looks at me. “Thanks.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Driving me here. Listening to me whine about Mom. For everything.”
“Like you don’t listen to me whine.” And I’ve done a lot of whining the last few days. About Dad. About the whole being-pulled-out-of-class-by-a-cop thing. About the Jacob-who’s-acting-as-if-I-butchered-his-heart thing. Yeah, I haven’t told her my whole I-see-dead-people thing, or my I’m-in-love-with-a-guy-in-a-coma thing, or even the I-can’t-get-the-leader-of-a-gang-to-call-me thing. The latter is a heart clencher, since Mr. Brooks showed up today to tell me Annie’s blood tests are looking bad again.
But just whining about the shareable stuff takes off so much pressure. And yeah, it makes me want to tell Kelsey all of it. Everything. And I will. Soon.
“I’ll text you later,” she says.
I watch her walk inside. As soon as she’s in the door, I pull out my phone to try to reach Crazy Lunch Lady again. So far, she hasn’t answered any of my calls since Wednesday’s conversation.
It rings. Rings. And rings. There’s not even a recording to leave a message. I’m about to hang up when my passenger door is yanked open.
I gasp and look at the guy now claiming shotgun in my car. He’s mid-twenties, tall, dark, and checks off everything on the list of dangerous-looking.
“Let’s take a drive.” His tone’s deep and demanding.
Every piece of advice I’ve heard about carjacking or being abducted replays in my mind like a song I want to forget. One line of lyrics stands out. Don’t ever let them take you with them. Even if you have to jump out of a moving car, it’ll be better. Because when they take you, it’ll never end well.
<
br /> Since I don’t plan to die today, I glance at my door handle with thoughts of hauling ass.
“Just take the car.” Yeah, I love my Mustang, but not enough to die for it.
“It’s a nice car, but that’s not what I want.”
Yup, I’m hauling ass. My hand reaches for the door.
“Look, you asked for this meeting. Now you’re going to run?”
His words have me hesitating. I look at the guy again. He’s wearing black and burgundy.
No orange.
I also see the gun sticking out of the waist of his jeans.
“You want to talk to Ramon or not?”
An image of Annie appears in my mind, but I recall promising Hayden I’d never go alone.
“I gave him my number. I was expecting a call.”
He shrugs. “Let’s just say he’s a little hesitant to get on the phone with you.”
Why? Before I voice the question, I remember the confrontation with other gang members and Hayden’s exploding phone trick.
“Okay, tell me where he is and I’ll meet him there later.”
“Not happening. It’s now or never. You want to talk to him or not?”
His words hang in the air, and I recognize them as truth. If I don’t go. If I don’t go now, Annie will die.
• • •
The guy gives me directions while riding shotgun. Hayden is going to be so pissed at me. And if this ends badly, I’m going to be so pissed at myself. I see the red Porsche following behind us.
“Pull in right here.”
I drive into the parking lot of an apartment building. One that’s close to where the whole phone-exploding episode happened before.
I cut off the engine and look at him. The fluttering of my pulse vibrates at the base of my neck.
“You don’t have any weapons on you, do you?”
“No.” But I really wish I did. Oh, God. I wish I did.
“Then let’s go.”
I get out of the car and follow him across the parking lot. There’s sun shining. There are big fluffy clouds in the sky. It’s too pretty of a day to feel so much danger. He heads to a set of stairs, and when I get to the landing I see a girl walk past holding schoolbooks. She looks at me. I look at her. It’s Selina Rodgers. Our eyes meet, but neither of us speaks. My stomach cramps and I wonder if she’ll even call 911 if she hears me scream. I take the stairs up.
