“I’m fine.” I pulled on the sweatshirt hood so it covered more of my face. “Bad-hair day.”
“Amore ac studio.” She said this expectantly. When I didn’t respond, she nodded to my chest. “With ardor and devotion. The Bates motto.”
“Oh.” I looked down at the logo, which was similar to Dartmouth’s. The protective shield of higher education featured a book, a tree, and the fancy Latin slogan. “I didn’t realize.”
“Bates is an excellent school. It’s consistently ranked one of the top twenty-five liberal arts colleges in the country.”
“It’s my friend’s sweatshirt.”
“You know a current student? Wonderful.” She turned to her computer. “Many parents encourage their children to make clean breaks so that they’re not distracted, but college can be overwhelming. I think having someone there you already know and trust would help ensure a smooth transition.”
I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t interested in Bates—especially not after last weekend, when I’d accidentally introduced myself to the entire school—but I was too tired to protest.
“My local Hawthorne and Bates alumnus is available for an interview next Tuesday at seven o’clock,” she said. “Does that work for you?”
“An interview? Thanks, but I don’t think—”
“How about Beantown Beanery? Their mocha lattes are the best in the city.”
There was no point in arguing. Ms. Mulligan would only try to convince me it was a good idea and wouldn’t want to hear me say otherwise. Instead, I took my backpack from the floor and stood up.
She stopped typing and looked at me. “Is something wrong?”
“I have an English test,” I said, shuffling backward. “Next period. I just remembered.”
“There are still twenty minutes left of this period. This will only take a—”
“I have to review my notes.” I reached the door, grabbed the knob. “But thanks.”
I knew she wanted to stop me, but she didn’t. Just like she—or anyone else—hadn’t said a word about my sweatshirt and wrinkled skirt. Deviating from the strict Hawthorne uniform was an offense punishable by detention, and though I’d gotten many looks from teachers and staff members since school started, no one had said anything.
They didn’t want to upset me. They didn’t want to push me any closer to the edge than I already was.
I used this to my advantage now. I passed several staff members as I hurried down the hall; they all opened their mouths to ask what I was doing in the hall in the middle of the period, but they didn’t say anything. They didn’t try to stop me. Mrs. Hanley, my math teacher, was right there when I reached the front doors and lunged against them, but she let me go without a word.
Outside, I ran down the steps and across the street. It was early October and the air had finally cooled, the leaves changed color. People walked by in wool coats, chins tucked inside their collars and hands in their pockets. But I didn’t feel the chill. In fact, I was so warm, if I hadn’t needed the protection of Simon’s sweatshirt, I would have taken it off.
I headed for the park. I’d never cut class before and wasn’t sure where to go, but that seemed as good a place as any. It’d be crowded, and as long as I stayed hidden, no one would notice me.
I found an empty bench in a leafy alcove and sat down. I pulled my water and a bottle of aspirin from my backpack and took two more pills. That brought today’s total up to six—the recommended daily dose—and it was only noon.
But the headache wouldn’t go away. It hadn’t returned while we were at Bates, but it’d hit like a sledgehammer the second we crossed the Boston city line three days ago. Its strength had fluctuated since then, but even when I felt only mild pressure, it was still a reminder of everything I didn’t know and everything I still had to do.
Which included talking to Simon. He hadn’t seemed particularly surprised by my unexpected square dance solo, claiming it was understandable since I was the most striking girl in the room, but I’d never fully recovered. I’d been too nervous, too paranoid, and we’d spent the rest of the weekend watching movies and eating takeout in the dorm with Paige and Riley. He’d tried to bring up what I’d wanted to talk about only once, over the phone the night we got back to Boston, but I’d assured him it was nothing. And because he never pushed me to do anything I wasn’t 100 percent okay with, it’d been business as usual since.
Except for the headache. And the thirst. And the warmth and fatigue, which were new symptoms of whatever was making me sick.
I slid down onto the bench and closed my eyes. I focused on the soothing sounds of leaves rustling, birds singing… people kissing.
I opened my eyes. I wasn’t imagining it. People were making out, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the park. I couldn’t see them from where I sat, but I could hear every breath and murmur, which meant they were too close for comfort.
As I grabbed my backpack and jumped up, I caught a glimpse of navy blue, a flash of maroon. The Hawthorne Prep colors popped out from behind a nearby tree as the happy couple shifted their embrace.
“Vanessa?” a familiar male voice called out.
I was only a few feet down the path when he spotted me. Without turning around, I tightened the hood around my face and quickened my pace.
“Vanessa, wait up!”
I walked even faster. Behind me, footsteps hurried to catch up.
“Hey, speed racer,” the voice said, suddenly next to me. “You know school’s in the other direction, right?”
He touched my elbow. I pulled away and veered left. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Marisol Solomon, a fellow senior who modeled for J.Crew. She still stood by the tree where she’d just been abandoned, apparently too confused to tuck in her blouse or fix her hair. When our eyes met, she crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
I took every turn I came to, passing through gardens and around monuments. I thought I lost my pursuer once, when I ducked behind a public restroom, but he was following me again seconds after I emerged from the other side. I was so worried about staying away I didn’t pay attention to where I was going, and soon I reached the edge of an open field. I stopped short and scanned my surroundings. The only shelter was the Parkman Bandstand; it stood thirty feet away, in the middle of the field.
The footsteps sounded farther back now. I looked behind me but didn’t see anyone.
I was so tired I could’ve collapsed to the ground and taken a long nap right there, but instead I summoned what little strength I had left. If I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me, so all I had to do was make it to the bandstand. It resembled a gazebo so wouldn’t provide total protection, but its short walls were still tall enough to hide someone who didn’t want to be found.
I took a deep breath and ran.
My legs grew weaker with every step. My heart clenched and wouldn’t release. I gasped for air faster than my lungs could expand and contract. I was about to give up and brace for the awkward encounter that followed, but then I glanced behind me once to see how far away he was… and saw Raina and Zara instead.
They walked slowly, side by side, wearing long dresses that had once been white but were now gray and torn and clinging to their shriveled limbs. Their skin was blue, their dark hair matted. Their silver eyes were narrowed… and aimed at me.
I lunged the remaining distance to the bandstand and tripped inside, landing hard on my knees. The impact left thin rips in my tights and scrapes on my skin. Ignoring the pain, I crawled across the floor and out of sight of the entrance.
“Please,” I whispered, closing my eyes and hugging my knees to my chest. “I’m sorry. Please don’t—”
“Please don’t what?”
My breath caught.
“Suggest that you’ve been wasting your time at Hawthorne when you could’ve been an Olympian gold medalist by now?”
I opened my eyes to see Parker leaning against a stone pillar and breathing heavily. He loosened the neck of his cr
imson tie and then used its length to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He watched me climb to my feet and look out over the low walls of the bandstand.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked. “I didn’t see flames, but the way you hauled across the park I figured there had to be one somewhere.”
There wasn’t a fire. There was also, thankfully, no one else in sight.
I shrugged off my backpack and leaned against the pillar across from his. “Shouldn’t you get back to your girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend?”
“The one you were simultaneously suffocating and resuscitating behind a tree,” I said, sifting through my backpack.
“Marisol’s not my girlfriend. Or a friend. In fact, she’s so tightly wound, sometimes she’s barely a girl.”
Barely a girl. I could relate.
My fingers finally landed on familiar plastic ridges. I yanked out the water bottle—and felt like crying when I saw that it was empty. I was so physically and emotionally drained, the tears would’ve streamed down my face if I’d had any salt water left to cry.
“Hey.”
I looked up. The cockiness was gone from Parker’s face. In its place was something I never would’ve expected to see unless I’d actually witnessed it firsthand.
Concern.
He reached into his messenger bag and removed a Nalgene bottle. He started to step toward me, but then seemed to think better of it and stopped. “Here,” he said, holding out the water.
My throat tightened. I didn’t want anything from Parker King. Not only because his conceit bordered on obnoxiousness, but because I didn’t want to encourage him. After all, he’d just chased me through Boston Common. Who knew what he’d do if I was anything except cold to him?
But I’d have to deal with that later. I was so thirsty I wouldn’t make it out of the park if I refused.
“Thanks.” I took the bottle, turned, and walked to the other side of the bandstand so he wouldn’t see my face crumple in relief. It was regular water, of course, but it still helped slow my aching lungs and racing heart.
“Hold still.”
The mouthful I’d just swallowed shot back up. He knelt by my feet, his fingers on my shin. The water burned as I forced it down. “What are you—”
“You’re bleeding.” He adjusted his hands quickly so that one was firm behind my calf, keeping me from moving backward.
And then I saw it. Dark red liquid, leaking from my knee, trailing down my leg, staining my white tights.
Images flashed across my vision. Justine, in the woods, in Caleb’s arms. Blood trickling from an open wound.
It’s just dirt, or seaweed…
“I need to… I think I’m going to…”
He jumped up as my legs gave out. I sank to the floor, vaguely aware of his arm tight around my shoulders.
“It’s okay.” He took off his blazer, poured some water on a sleeve, and used it like a washcloth on my face. “You’re okay.”
Too weak to argue, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Every now and then warm plastic pressed to my lips, and I opened my mouth. Between drinking and the makeshift cold compress, my skin started to cool, my internal temperature began to drop. Eventually, I felt well enough to open my eyes again.
“Strawberry Shortcake?” The printed Band-Aid was the first thing I saw.
“My little sister doesn’t let me go anywhere unprepared.” Parker held up a plastic baggie filled with more Strawberry Shortcake Band-Aids, Cinderella tissues, and Jolly Ranchers.
I looked at him, almost seeing, for just a second, what every other girl at Hawthorne must see in him. His dark blond hair was brushed away from his face and grazed the top of his shirt collar; his blue eyes occasionally glinted green (like now, in the early-afternoon sun); and he had smooth, golden skin. But even more disarming than his physical characteristics was the easy, fearless attitude behind them. Parker knew he was attractive, but looking at him now, something told me he didn’t care.
His confidence was fueled by more than that, which somehow made his appearance the least interesting thing about him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For chasing you when you obviously wanted to be alone. But I wanted to give you something, and I’ve had trouble finding you.”
He’d been looking for me? Was my draw, my unintended—and unwanted—appeal to the opposite sex already worse than I’d thought?
“We don’t have any classes together, you’re never at your locker, and I haven’t seen you in the library again. It was either this or wait until our paths crossed in Winter Harbor next summer.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he reached into his blazer pocket and took out a photo… of Justine. Eating an ice-cream cone on Winter Harbor’s crowded Main Street. She wasn’t looking at the camera, which meant she hadn’t known it was aimed at her.
“I wasn’t sure who your sister was,” he said apologetically. “When I asked one of my friends, he told me and showed me that. He had a thing for her and snuck the picture when we were up there two summers ago.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing you around,” I said, gently taking the picture.
“That’s because I wasn’t around much. That summer was the first time we visited, and we were only there a week. My parents bought a place last summer, but Dad was busy and we never made it up.” He hesitated before continuing. “Anyway, I asked if you were okay the other day because you looked really hot, like you might have a fever. But I was an idiot for not knowing what happened. And I just thought that giving you the photo was one small thing I could do to make up for it.”
“You didn’t have to do anything,” I said. “To be honest, someone not knowing was actually refreshing.” Or it would’ve been, if I hadn’t been too taken aback by his sudden attention.
“Just like an escorted visit to Nurse Benson will be? I did what I could with what I had, but you were in pretty bad shape a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I always get sick at the sight of blood.”
“Okay,” he said, not convinced, “but I insist on walking you back to school.”
“You don’t have to.” I stood quickly, my head spinning.
He grabbed my arm when I started to sway to one side. I closed my eyes and waited for the spinning to subside. When I opened them again, Parker’s eyes were waiting.
“I’m carrying my backpack,” I said.
“Fair enough.”
We didn’t talk as we started across the field. I was grateful for the silence; it gave me a chance to try to sort out everything that had happened. Parker had seemed sincere and interested only in making up for not knowing about Justine. He’d been genuinely concerned and had taken care of me when I almost passed out. But was all that because he felt badly for not knowing about Justine and wanted to make it up to me? Or was it because I’d already affected him?
We were halfway through the park when my cell phone buzzed. I took it from my skirt pocket and opened the new text message.
Miss you. Thought you should know.—S
I glanced at Parker. He was looking straight ahead and didn’t seem to even notice me check my phone… but this was a good opportunity.
“Just got a text,” I said. “From Simon. My boyfriend.”
I watched his face for a frown, tension in his jaw, lowering eyebrows—some sign of disappointment or jealousy. But there wasn’t any. Not only that, it took him a second to respond, like he was distracted. Like he wasn’t thinking of me at all.
Undercurrent Page 7
