I sit at my desk, tapping my fingers impatiently as my old computer hums to life. Dean stands behind me, leaning forward slightly. I try not to notice how good he smells, or how close he standing to me. Chills dance across my back, making me shiver a little—and I get that itchy exposed feeling between my shoulder blades. It’s not like he’s breathing down the back of my neck. It suddenly hits me that him being in my bedroom is really kind of weird.
I’m taken off guard by a sudden surge of guilt. Is it inappropriate for Dean to be here, considering the aberrant lustful thoughts I’ve entertained about him one—maybe five—times?
Just as quickly, I shrug the thought away. So Dean’s really good-looking—of course I’ve noticed. Not like I’m dead, right? Man, and I need to focus.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I concentrate on finding the file for our English project. I click it open, then I move out of the way so Dean can look it over.
He does so swiftly, using the mouse to scroll down the page. “What’s with all the one-liners?” he asks after a brief silence.
“I don’t know—sometimes when I’m really tired, I think I’m funny. I can change it, though. I can totally be serious.”
I cross my arms over my chest, and suddenly a gleeful little voice sings, “Look at the monkey, funny monkey!”
Well, that is unfortunate timing. You know, drawing attention to your shirt is fine when you’re seven—but it’s a whole different matter when you’ve got boobs—and a guy like Dean is looking in that vicinity. Damn it, shut up, monkey!
“So, hey,” I begin once the song is over. “How about you write the dialogue? You can use my notes as an outline.”
He tears his gaze from my chest, and back to the computer screen. “Are we pretending that didn’t happen?” he mutters.
“Yes, let’s.” I hunch my shoulders sheepishly. “In fact, can we forget about how I’m dressed right now? I forgot you were coming over today, but I didn’t want you to know—which is why I didn’t change my clothes. Anyway, the damage had been done, let’s move on.”
“Sure,” Dean agrees easily enough, but I can see him trying to suppress a smile.
We talk a little more about the project, arguing a little over some of the details—but mostly he lets me have my way. Then we sort of get sidetracked talking about my carousel horses. He looks at all of them and asks lots of questions about the carving process. Seriously, it’s like asking the cat lady what all her cats’ names are.
It’s a little after one when I follow Dean out to his car. I can’t believe I didn’t even bother to keep track of the time. I’m usually very serious about my sleep time—I’m one of those people that need their eight hours.
“I have to get up in five and a half hours,” I say, appalled.
He’s behind the wheel of the Pontiac, its engine idling in a throaty purr. “That’s plenty of time,” he replies, sounding almost teasing. “Thanks for the cooking lesson.”
“No problem. You didn’t totally suck.”
Dean tilts his head back and laughs. “I guess that’s the most I can aspire to, huh?”
I grin back at him. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you. But you do have potential. You should practice—make yourself breakfast once in a while.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow, Juliet.”
“Later, bro,” I return, with a wink and a double gun.
I can’t believe I just did that. I don’t know why I did. I’ve never double-gunned in my entire life, and I may have winked as a child, but…did I just call Dean “bro?” Where did that even come from?
Fortunately he doesn’t comment, and it’s too dark to see his expression as he puts the car into gear. That’s probably for the best. Oh, well, he’s seen my room—it doesn’t get much creepier than that, I guess. I hope he doesn’t tell Johnny.
Strange, but I don’t feel tired at all. So Dean can laugh without his head exploding, good to know. He should do it more often—laugh, I mean. It’s a great sound—sort of a sexy honey and whiskey rumble—and it almost makes him seem approachable. I had fun hanging out with him tonight, I realize. But we’ll wait and see before busting out the bff bracelets. I don’t give those to just anybody, you know.
I push the banana on my shirt, and mumble along to the monkey song as I wander back inside.
******
Chapter 21
“Just so you know, I didn’t vote for her,” Tanya says, her dark eyes serious.
We’re watching yet another video in Bio—this one about Mendel and his Laws of Inheritance. It’s kind of interesting, but like half the students in class, I’m finishing up my homework for another class. Mrs. Sepulveda is standing behind her desk, motionless. There’s a wispy smile on her face, though, so I guess she’s okay.
Tanya is turned all the way around in her desk to face me. She’s let her sentient hair loose today, and her wild curls spring joyously around her head. I think her curls are scary as shit, but when I asked Nick if he knew Tanya, he frowned and said, “The chatty chick with the sexy hair?” Sexy? Boys and girls really must have completely different thought processes.
Back to Tanya.
“Vote for who?” I ask her, barely looking up from my notebook. I have to stifle another yawn. I’m so tired!
“You know…Dani! I hear she’s a shoo-in to win homecoming queen, though.” She tilts her head sympathetically. “And everyone knows Johnny will be king.”
Yeah, I know. It’s spirit week here at Leclare, and it’s really obnoxious. On Tuesday, a banner came down on my head on my way to my locker, and a herd of chanting cheerleaders almost took me out when I was coming out of Government this morning.
I’ve been trying to ignore the whole king and queen thing, despite Kara doing her best to throw it in my face every chance she gets. Johnny avoids talking about it, and I certainly don’t want to discuss it. What am I gonna do, demand he drop out of the running? I have to admit, though: the thought of them being crowned as a couple—it burns a little.
I try to compose my expression when I look at Tanya. “Are they going to announce the winners at the pep rally, or tonight at the game?”
“Oh, they do it during half time.” Tanya tries to run a hand through her curls, and grimaces when one of them bites her. “Are you going to go?”
“Nope, I work.”
“Surely you could miss one day! It’s such an important game—and you really should be there for Johnny.”
I shake my head and stare down at my papers. “I can’t, and it doesn’t matter because we broke up. We’re just friends now.”
“Well, are you at least going to the dance tomorrow? It’s gonna be epic! My friend, Jamie is on the committee, and she said they’re going all out! The theme is ‘Zombie Apocalypse,’ in honor of Halloween. We’re gonna go as hot undead nurses, and Bobo’s gonna do our makeup ‘cause he’s had lots of practice doing it for his band, The Bleeding Dead…”
“Bobo’s in a band?” I say, slightly surprised. I’ve never met the guy, but with a name like that, I can only picture him living in a tree.
“The Bobo’s in a band,” Tanya confirms, sounding suspiciously proud. I believe I detect a slight flush beneath her olive-toned complexion. Hm.
Why, then, does she constantly try to set me up with him? Weird.
“So, are you going?”
“Uh…can’t. I go to my dad’s on the weekend.”
She shoots me an incredulous look. “Well, tell him you’re going to your homecoming dance instead.”
“I would, but my aunt’s having a thing that night—she just found out she’s pregnant, so she’s throwing, like, a ‘yay, I’m pregnant’ party. She’d never forgive me if I missed it.”
I shrug and smile, but Tanya doesn’t return it. She’s staring at me now, the serious expression in her dark eyes pinning me to the spot.
“Juliet, no offense—you’re really cute and all—but Johnny’s legend. If you want to keep him, you really should make
some kind of effort to get involved, you know? Like Dani, she’s head cheerleader, right, and she’s always cheering him on at games—and she’s super popular. Not to mention, she’s gorgeous!”
“What’s your point?” I growl.
“My point is you need to go to this dance!”
She says this so loud, heads turn in our direction—and even Mrs. Sepulveda sways a little, as if caught in a breeze. Tanya claps a hand over her mouth and giggles sheepishly, but remains facing me, damn it.
She’s right. I should have been more supportive when Johnny and I were together. I should have made the time to go to more of his games and hang out with his friends. He was always blowing off parties to visit me at work, or at my dad’s. Yeah, I changed schools for him, but…was it really for him? I know I bitch a lot about Leclare, but there is a great deal of prestige associated with attending this school. And I’ll admit, whenever I’m wearing this uniform, I feel like I’m part of an exclusive club. I like bumping into my former classmate (or losers, as I now like to call them) when I’m wearing it, and seeing the jealous looks cross their faces at my elevated social standing. Thank goodness I’m not rich—I would be such an asshole. I’d tell so many people to suck it.
No, I’m joking. No one is jealous of me in this uniform. I don’t even know why I said that.
I’m on my way to the pep rally with Sara and her friends when I get a text from Johnny. He says he needs to talk to me right away, and can I meet him downstairs in room 105A. I frown and immediately text back, “What? Why?” I wait for a reply, but I don’t get one. I mutter an excuse to Sara, and reverse direction, heading for the stairs on the west side of the building. 105A?
What could be so important that I have to meet him right now? Isn’t he’s suppose to be in the gym right now? I hope everything’s okay. This better not be about Laundry Room Girl—Dani.
Heart beating in a nervous rhythm, I locate room 105—but there’s no 105A. Unless it’s the unmarked room right next to it. Only one way to find out, I guess. I twist the doorknob, and finding no resistance, I pull the door open.
It’s dark inside, but I can make out shelves full of boxes. Is this some kind of storage room? “Johnny?” I call, feeling along the wall for a light switch.
I’m just now wondering why Johnny would be standing in the dark in a storage closet when the door closes behind me. I hear the soft snicking sound of the lock sliding into place at the same time I hear the strange hissing noises, and notice the smell.
It smells like…smoke…fireworks?
My flailing hand finally locates the light switch. I quickly flick it on, and—shit! I’m greeted by the terrifying sight of white gray smoke billowing out at me, quickly enveloping the room in a thick fog. My first thought is: the arsonist! The second is: I’m gonna die! I immediately whirl around and yank on the doorknob. Locked! I start pounding and shouting for help, then start choking and coughing when the smoke fills my lungs.
Getting low on the ground doesn’t really help, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die in here. Somewhere in the whirling chaos of my brain, I realize that the smoke is weird, not like a fire. Smoke bombs, maybe? The burning in my throat and lungs remind me that I can just as easily suffocate as burn.
I’ve got to get out of here! Tears streaming from my stinging eyes, I fumble for my phone. I can’t see anything! Desperately, I start pushing buttons. Panic has me in a chokehold, threatening to overwhelm me. God damn it, someone pick up!
I mentally scream at myself to focus, but—god—I can’t breathe! Distantly, I hear a male voice shouting my name from the phone. I’m so disoriented and freaked out, I don’t recognize who it is. Nick—I think. I scream out my location, hoping he can understand me. My voice is so ragged and clogged with smoke. I struggle out of my blazer and lie with my face smashed into it.
My life doesn’t flash before my eyes, or anything like that. How long has it been? A couple of minutes—or longer? How long do smoke bombs burn for? If that’s what this is. What if it’s something else? Something electrical. I should’ve called 911. Who did I call? What if it was my favorite takeout place, Wonton China? God, I’m no good in an emergency situation. Maybe they’ll engrave that on my headstone. Juliet Somers—No Good in an Emergency.
I should have tried harder to get that door open. I think about moving when I’m suddenly lifted into the air. Strong arms carry me out of the room. Someone’s shouting my name, but I’m too busy hacking up a lung to see who it is.
Concerned faces hover above, excited voices jumbling together in a confusing cacophony of sound. I can’t stop coughing—and my eyes feel like they’re going to explode from the pressure. I try to suck in some air,. but my constricted and swollen throat won’t let me—sweet pickles, it hurts!
Shortly after, the paramedics arrive. They strap me to some oxygen and load me up in the ambulance. My first ambulance ride. The siren doesn’t sound so loud from the inside, not nearly loud enough to drown out the conversation between the male and female EMTs about someone named Lillian’s amazing sopapilla recipe. Normally, I’d be eavesdropping, but now I want them to shut up and take care of me.
By the time we arrive at the hospital, I’m able to catch my breath, despite the small spasms in my chest. A cheerful pudgy nurse takes my vitals and hooks me up to a couple of monitors. She had such a calm nurturing way about her that I immediately started tearing up when she fusses over me.
“You’ll be just fine, honey,” she says, patting me on the arm while keeping her eyes on the monitors. “Your sat is good, and everything else looks good, too. The doctor will be by to see you very soon. He might want to run some tests—maybe do an x-ray, and keep you here a few hours for observation.”
“My mom’s a nurse here,” I say hoarsely. “Erica Somers—she usually works the night shift, but she picked up a mid today. Can you tell her I’m here?”
“Yes, I know Erica. I believe she’s assisting in surgery right now, but she’ll be out shortly. Don’t worry—someone will inform her right away.”
I want my mom. I want to go home, and take a shower. I start to reach for my phone, but then I realize I have absolutely no idea where it is. I can’t be without my phone—it’s like having my left hand cut off.
An indeterminate amount of time goes by, and still no doctor. Two cops, however, show up. They ask me a ton of questions, and inform me that they recovered five non-toxic smoke bombs from the scene. When they ask me what I was doing in that room, I tell them that I was walking by on my way to Government class to retrieve the textbook I had left there. I heard a funny sound and smelled something burning, so I got curious and went in the room to investigate. I tell them the door somehow locked behind me, and they exchange glances. What, do they think I’m lying? Suddenly, I’m paranoid, and I get all shifty when they question me further. Great, they’re gonna think I did it myself, for attention or something.
But I can’t tell them about the text from Johnny. Not until I talk to him first.
The doctor shows up before Mom does. He’s a short dark man who mutters so incomprehensibly that I give up trying to understand him, and just nod along. He seems competent enough, even though he never looks up from his iPad thingy. After two minutes, he either sneezes, or tells me he’ll see me in a bit. He shambles out without a second glance.
It’s almost three when Mom finally appears, wearing light pink scrubs and a harried, tired expression. She’s got Aunt Jo with her, which makes me want to growl like a rabid dog. How am I suppose to scream to my mommy and have a mental breakdown with my principal as a witness?
Mom looks me over with a relieved sigh. “You’re okay,” she says.
“Are you asking me, or telling me?” I say, real snotty-like. In my opinion, she doesn’t look nearly as worried as she should be—considering the fact that I almost died today!
Mom rolls her eyes, then glances at Aunt Jo, mentally saying, “Teenagers!” Aunt Jo gives her a look back which I interpret as, “I hate ‘em all!”<
br />
“I’m telling you, Miss Thing. I spoke to Bob—your doctor—before I came to see you.” Mom only gives me half her attention as she fiddles with some buttons on one of my monitors. “I doubt he’ll order an x-ray. You don’t seem to be having difficulty breathing.”
“I feel a lot better,” I admit, sinking back in the stupid hospital bed. “My chest hurts.”
“I’m sure it does,” she say sympathetically. “You should be able to go home in a couple of hours.”
“Great. Will I be moved to a room?”
“No, we have a full house today, so I’m afraid you’re stuck here.” Mom leans against the side railing of the bed, and squints down at me. “So, was it the arsonist? Were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
I start to say that I have no idea when Aunt Jo speaks up. “Right now, we’re treating this as a silly prank gone horribly wrong,” she says quickly. She rubs her temples in a telltale gesture of stress. “Let’s not speculate until we investigate further, alright? I would hate for the rumors to fly, and have students and parents panicking for no reason.”
No reason? Dude, I could’ve died. How does no one get that? I’d whine, but I erupt into a fit of painful coughing. Eyes tearing, I can’t help but give my mother an accusing look. Why, I don’t know.
She quickly moves to hand me a plastic tumbler full of ice cold water. Meanwhile, Aunt Jo takes a couple of steps back, looking politely horrified. Mom rubs my shoulder as I take a drink, letting the cool liquid run down my swollen throat. Ow. I take a tiny sip and hold the water in my mouth for a minute. It’s soothing, until it gets warm and I have nowhere to spit it out. I suddenly wish Ben was here to tell me a couple of dirty jokes and get my mind off the pain.
“I’m okay,” I say in my raspy voice, even though no one asks.
I watch as a weary sigh seems to run through Aunt Jo’s entire body. “I’m so glad you weren’t seriously hurt, Juliet.” She looks at Mom, and shakes her head. “When I first took this job, I thought the worst thing I’d have to worry about was an irate parent threatening to run me out of town if their baby doesn’t graduate. But this! All that negative publicity…I can just imagine what Harry will have to say about this latest fiasco.”
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