“Um, guys, we’re not actually going in here?” Samir asks, even as Hana follows us. “Guys? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
After a few seconds, though, we hear the patter of Samir’s feet. “For the record, this is a terrible idea,” he says.
“Just be quiet, and quit stepping on my heels!” Hana hisses at him.
Along the way, Heathcliff lights other torches and hands them back to us, so we’re each carrying one. The torchlight flickers against the walls, throwing shadows along the narrow hallway. I move close to Heathcliff, taking hold of the back of his shirt so that he doesn’t lose me in the dark. Instinctively he turns and grabs my hand with his, holding it tight as he moves forward into the darkness. His hand is big and strong and comforting. I instantly feel calmer.
Something small and black flies by our heads then. It looks like it might be a bat. It’s followed by one or two more. Suddenly Samir shouts “Dracula!”
Heathcliff rolls me over against the wall, as if protecting me from whatever it is. By the time we realize it’s not Dracula at all, but just a couple of loose bats, the wall gives way behind me, spinning us both around into a tiny storage room. Our torches have gone out in the struggle. Heathcliff fumbles in his pocket and picks out his lighter. He flicks it on and the small room is illuminated. I see a couple of boxes, and on top of them — a hooded sweatshirt. And not just any sweatshirt. The sweatshirt. From Headless Sweatshirt Stalker Guy. I pick it up and show Heathcliff, who nods slowly.
“We have to find a way out,” he tells me. With barely enough room for us both to stand, Heathcliff feels around us for the trigger that opened the door. He reaches his arm across me and suddenly, I feel the extreme closeness of him, the strangeness of our situation completely leaving my head, as I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear.
Heathcliff glances down at me and notices me looking at him. The flickering flame from his lighter casts shadows along his face, but I can see his eyes. They’re dark and unreadable.
He stops searching for an exit and stares at me a long while, and I realize that I’m alone with Heathcliff in close quarters. My heart starts to speed up just a little. And just as I start to wonder if he’s going to kiss me, he leans in, draws me closer to him, and covers my lips with his.
I’m momentarily stunned, and not just because a strange boy is kissing me, in a hidden passageway, while we’re stuck in a closet. But from the sheer electricity of his lips on mine. There are enough volts in this kiss to power my hair dryer and more. It’s like — POW! — I’m seeing stars.
Every other thought I’ve ever had leaves my head and there’s just me and Heathcliff, with his lips on mine. And a small voice in my head tells me Ryan never kissed me like this.
And the world seems to be spinning and I realize belatedly because it is. The door to the secret closet is spinning again, and suddenly Heathcliff and I are back out into the hallway, with Hana and Samir staring at us.
Hana gives us a stern and disapproving look.
“Um, I hate to interrupt you love birds, but we’ve got an insane teacher to catch, or don’t you remember?”
My face feels red and I don’t know if it’s because I’m embarrassed, or because Heathcliff had such an effect on me, but I blubber, “We found the sweatshirt — from the stalker — in there.”
“Let’s see,” Hana says, pulling on one of the wall torches. She lets it go, just as the wall-door is halfway open, so we can easily go in and out. The torchlight from the passageway illuminates the storage room.
“Look, the vault books,” Hana says grabbing For Whom the Bell Tolls and To the Lighthouse from an open box. They’re Coach H and Ms. W’s books — the ones that hold their souls. She whips open the covers. But unlike last semester, when I freed them by opening their books, this time no Coach H or Ms. W appear.
“Am I doing something wrong?” Hana asks me.
“I don’t know. Let me see,” I say. I do the same thing, and again, nothing happens. I flip through the books and that’s when I notice there are pages missing from each of them. They’ve been ripped out.
“That’s why they don’t work,” I say, holding up the ripped-out edge for Hana to see.
“Okay, um, I think we have a bigger problem,” Samir says, holding up the drawing that he found underneath the books. He shows it to us. It depicts the school gym, decorated for a dance, and filled with students. Only there’s a giant tiger in the middle of the dance floor, clawing at a student. Above the tiger’s head, there’s a single word: Judgment.
Twenty-five
The four of us sprint out of the closet and into the secret passageway.
“Which way?” Samir asks.
“Back to the boys’ dorm,” Hana says, starting to head back in the direction we’d come.
“Wait,” Heathcliff says, holding up a hand. “I think it’s faster this way.”
He leads us on and trips one of the torchlights, opening yet another door. This one leads into Ms. W’s room.
“How did you know this was here?” Hana asks, suddenly wary.
“Lucky guess,” Heathcliff says, walking through the door.
Hana gives me a sharp look, as if to tell me she doesn’t believe him.
“We don’t have time to argue,” I say. “We’ve got a dance to save.”
The four of us sprint to the gym, just as the chapel clock chimes 8:00 P.M.
“The dance is over soon,” Hana gasps, out of breath. “If he hasn’t acted now, he will soon.”
We slow down our pace near the doors of the gym, where four Guardians are standing watch. Hana, however, marches ahead with Samir in tow, and Heathcliff and I follow, making sure not to make eye contact. The four of us walk by the Guardians like we belong there, and they let us pass. Hana was right about dressing the part — we look like any other dancegoers, and they don’t stop us.
The gym is decorated with pastel yellow and blue paper streamers, and there’s a giant papier-mâché daisy hanging down from the center of the rafters. I wonder how long Parker and her clones worked on that. Then I realize they probably just bribed someone to do it for them.
The dance floor is crowded with kids, and the tones of Coldplay drift out over their heads. There are colored lights shining down and the place looks more like a dance club than a school. I search the crowd frantically for any signs of Blake, but find none.
The song on the floor changes from Coldplay to Death Cab for Cutie. It’s the same song that Ryan played on our first date. I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick.
I tell myself this is no time to throw myself a pity party. I’ve got to think about finding Blake.
Around us, couples are forming on the dance floor and swaying back and forth in time with the music. I don’t see either Blade or Number Thirty-one. But I do see Ryan Kent, and he’s dancing, body-to-body, with none other than Parker Rodham.
“Uh-oh,” Hana says, nudging me.
She nods her head toward Derek Mann about thirty feet from us. He’s talking to a couple of Guardians and pointing at me. The rat! The Guardians look up and nod, and it seems like they’re making their way for us. We’re sitting ducks.
“Come on,” I say, taking Heathcliff’s hand and heading straight into the sea of people on the dance floor.
Hana and Samir place themselves in the path of the Guardians, so they can’t quite get to us, and before I can even think about whether or not Heathcliff can dance, he’s got his arm around me, and is expertly leading me in small circles.
For a second, I completely forget about Blake and the Guardians trying to get to us in the crowd, as Heathcliff’s arm tightens around the back of my waist, and he pulls me to him. He actually knows how to dance.
“I don’t know the steps,” I stutter, suddenly feeling awkward in his arms.
“You don’t have to know them,” Heathcliff says, and he steers me around in a circle. It’s true. He’s leading. I just have to follow. He’s strong and firm and yet surprisingly graceful
. Heathcliff is full of surprises. I look up at his face and he’s staring at me intently. His black eyes are so big and deep, I feel like I’m a little lost in them. They’re hypnotizing. Under his gaze, I feel my face grow hot.
“Aren’t we supposed to look for Blake?” I ask him.
Reluctantly, Heathcliff pulls his gaze from me and sweeps the gym. I do the same as he steers me expertly through the crowd.
And then, suddenly, another couple collides into us, sending me straight into Heathcliff’s chest. I pull away in time to see that couple is Ryan and Parker.
“I’m sorry…” Ryan starts, and then he sees me. He looks up and sees Heathcliff, too, and the apology dries up on his tongue. He gets a hard look on his face.
“I guess they let just anybody in — that is, if you actually were allowed in,” Parker snarls at me. “Come on, Ry. I smell something bad over here.”
Ry? She has a nickname for him and it’s “Ry”? Like rye bread? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Ryan is not a name that could benefit from shortening.
Parker gives me an evil look over Ryan’s shoulder.
Under normal circumstances I would consider clawing Parker’s eyes out, but over her shoulder, I get a glimpse of Blake.
“There!” I cry to Heathcliff. “He’s over there.”
Heathcliff zeroes in on where I’m looking, and in seconds takes off through the crowd without another thought. I try to follow him, but the crowd is too thick and I quickly fall behind.
Even worse, I bump straight into Derek Mann, who puts both his hands on my shoulders and stops my forward progress.
“Hey there, hot stuff, where are you going in such a hurry? Looks like you need a dance partner,” he says.
“Let me go,” I shout at him, trying to wriggle past him as I watch Heathcliff close the distance between us and Blake, who is running fast to the far doors of the gym.
“What’s your hurry?”
“You ‘tell’ on me to the Guardians, and you don’t understand why I don’t want to spend any time with you? Are you dumb and stupid or just dumb?”
Derek actually pauses to consider this as if it’s a real question. But before he can come to an answer, the lights above us go out and the music stops.
There’s some nervous laughter. “What the hell?” I hear someone near me say.
“Is this your idea of getting me alone in the dark?” Derek jokes next to me.
“Shut up, Derek,” I say, giving him a hard shove with my elbow. Next to me, I hear him go “ooof.”
“Stay calm,” shouts a teacher. There’s more laughter and someone does a spooky ghost sound: “Ooooooooooh.” This is followed by more laughs.
The backup generator lights go on then. They’re much dimmer than the overhead lights, and they’re mostly above the exit doors. They shine pools of light into the center of the gym, spotlighting different couples and groups of students, but leaving many of us in shadow.
Heathcliff is moving toward me through the crowd, a look of urgency on his face.
“We’ve got to leave,” he shouts to me and adds something I can’t quite hear.
“Heathcliff…” I get out, just as he reaches us and grabs my arm. He squeezes it a little too hard. “Hey, what —”
“We need to leave, now,” Heathcliff thunders, leaving no room for argument.
And then there’s a loud clang, as the gym doors on the south end, the ones without working spotlights, bang open. The noise temporarily silences Heathcliff. It silences the whole gym. Everyone’s eyes go to the south doors. Something is moving through them. Something big and shadowy.
“It’s a cougar!” someone shouts. But I know it’s not a cougar. It’s something much bigger. It’s Blake’s tiger.
A few people shriek and start running from the door. The animal itself moves slowly, almost languidly, inside, avoiding all direct light.
“That’s too big to be a cougar,” someone near me whispers.
The animal moves into one spotlight, showing its orange-and-black stripes. Now everyone can see it’s a tiger. People in front of it scatter. There are a few muffled shouts. Behind us, I see Derek Mann hide behind a girl half his size, and then nearly throw her into the path of the animal while he runs the other way. Nice. I can see he’s as brave in times of trouble as I would’ve thought.
“Everyone exit the gym in an orderly fashion,” I hear Headmaster B shout, as Guardians cautiously approach the tiger with their hands up, trying to contain it.
There’s a rush, not yet a panic, of people moving to the doors. We’re swept up in the flow of people.
I glance backward, over my shoulder, and see bits and pieces. A tail. A paw. Odds and ends exposed by the light as it walks, almost casually, into the gym. It moves like it’s half panther, half wolf, with the size of two of each put together.
Partly in shadow, partly in light, its eyes glow red in the flicker of the emergency lights. It bears its fangs to the dancers and gives a low growl. A few students gasp and the rest move away from it, some quickly, some slowly. The Guardians close in on it, encircling it, in an ever-tightening ring. But while the Guardians may intimidate the students, they don’t seem to be scaring the tiger very much. He glances around at the four of them, and bares its fangs a little. The Guardians lose their nerve, glancing at one another uneasily. Sensing their hesitation, the tiger pounces. It knocks one of them flat on his back, clawing at his head. And then, as if losing interest in him, it takes off at a bounding run, right toward us. Before I know it, it’s jumped into the thickest part of the crowd moving toward the exit.
There’s a blood-curdling scream. And after that, everyone scatters.
Twenty-six
In the confusion and the dark, Heathcliff pulls me behind him as I scramble blindly toward the exit, along with the other two hundred or so kids moving in the same direction. Heathcliff is holding my hand, when I hear someone calling Ryan’s name.
It’s Parker, and she’s fallen near the refreshment table and is having trouble getting up. Everyone else is too busy trying to get away to help her. The tiger leaps upon a freshman boy’s back, twenty feet from Parker. They both scream, and Parker tries to slide away from the tiger on her butt and hands.
And then I see Ryan run over to try to help Parker up.
“Wait,” I tell Heathcliff, whipping my hand loose as I skid to a stop and change direction.
“Miranda!” he shouts, as the crowd comes between us. He frantically tries to back through it, even as I’m moving toward Ryan.
Around us, the faculty members are frozen to the spot. They’re unsure of what to do, especially in front of all the students. None of them wants to show their powers in front of the whole school.
And then I see the tiger. It’s eyeing Ryan and Parker. It loses interest in the freshman it has pinned underneath one paw and starts to inch forward toward the refreshment table, and Ryan.
But neither Ryan, nor Parker, see the big cat, or how very close it’s getting to them. They have their backs to it, as Ryan helps Parker to her feet. She’s holding her ankle and limping. The tiger is coming up behind them, closer now, with its legs tense and its hindquarters coiled, as if it’s ready to pounce.
“Ryan! Look out!” I shout, even as I realize there’s no way they’ll be able to get away in time. Suddenly desperate to get the big cat’s attention, I grab one of the silver streamers from above my head and jump up on the bleachers nearby. I stomp my foot loudly against the metal bleachers and wave the strand of silver under the emergency light, hoping that tigers are like big tabby cats — easily distracted by shiny things.
My ploy works. In fact, it works too well.
The tiger transfers its attention from Ryan and Parker straight to me. I drop the streamer and start running crossways down the bleachers, hoping to elude the tiger, but it’s too fast. It makes a leap, and at the last minute I scrunch myself down in between the bleachers, falling about three feet to the ground below. I hear the tiger land hea
vily on the bleachers above me, and a paw comes down, through the cracks in the benches above, and just whips through my hair.
Talk about a serious bad hair day.
As I’m trying to figure out what to do next, two strong arms grab me and pull me backward. They belong to Heathcliff.
“Come on,” he says.
This time I don’t argue.
“We have to try to run for the door,” Heathcliff tells me. This means running out from the bleachers for about ten feet to a swinging door.
“We’re not going to make it,” I say.
“We have to try,” Heathcliff says. “Ready? Let’s go.”
Heathcliff sprints forward, tugging on my arm and making me run a lot faster than I think I can go. Out of the corner of my eye I see the tiger, or at least a big shadowy blob following us, running down the bleachers and getting ready to make a leap toward us. My legs are pumping hard. Heathcliff and I make it to the door just as the tiger leaps over us, slamming itself into the door frame, blocking our exit. Heathcliff falls on purpose, sliding beneath the animal, and he takes me with him. We skid on the ground, gliding to a halt just a few feet on the other side of the tiger.
I can almost feel the heat of its breath. Smells worse than Derek Mann’s.
“Nice kitty?” I squeak. “Sit? Stay?”
The tiger just snarls, curling its lip even more.
Heathcliff pushes me behind him as he scrambles to his feet.
“Here! Over here, Garfield!” cries Ryan. He’s banging a folding chair against the bleachers to get its attention. Distracted by the noise, it looks up. Seeing Ryan, it runs away from us.
I watch in nearly slow motion as the tiger leaps into Ryan, knocking him flat. Ryan falls to the ground, hitting his head on the bleachers as he goes, and lies very still. “Ryan!” I shout, but he doesn’t move. The tiger lifts its paw as if to strike him with its claws, but before it can land a blow, Headmaster B has whacked it across the snout with a folding chair. The tiger reels backward, whimpering. Still smarting from the blow, it shakes its head and then runs back into the corner of the gym, where it’s hidden in shadow.
The Scarlet Letterman Page 13
