Gilt Hollow

by Lorie Langdon

  But there had been times she’d doubted what she knew about him. Brief flashes of uncertainty, like when he’d stared laser beams of hate at her when he’d first returned to town. Or when she read that he’d pled guilty to the charges, or when Isaiah, Brayden, and Colin spread their version of the story around school. But Ashton had been locked up when Cory died, and suddenly it seemed like too much of a coincidence that the same three boys were involved.

  If Ashton was right and Cory’s death hadn’t been an accident, how did the police overlook it? Why? It all circled back to the Kagawas. Was mild-mannered Isaiah really a psychopathic rage monster?

  As they reached the elementary school gates, her own little monster raced to join his friends without so much as a wave good-bye. After making sure he was safely inside the building, Willow crossed the parking lot and spied Ashton speeding away on his bike. She’d been so entrenched in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed him following them. She smiled to herself as she headed downtown to meet Lisa at Gino’s. It was definitely a pumpkin spice latte kind of day.

  But later she wasn’t smiling anymore. Ashton had ignored her, as promised. And even though she knew he was distancing himself because he believed it would keep her and her family safe, what she didn’t understand was why he’d attached himself to Penelope like a tattoo. He even went so far as to eat lunch with her and the Yoko Ono twins. Forced to stay inside the cafeteria because of rain, Willow watched as Yolanda and Ona laughed at Ashton’s jokes and smiled at him as if they hadn’t been bashing him the day before. Then to put the cherry on top, in Music Appreciation Ashton asked to switch seats and moved to the opposite side of the room.

  Past ready for the day to be over, Willow closed her binder after History and had begun to gather her things when the teacher called her name.

  “Willow, please see me after class.”

  Clutching her book bag to her chest, Willow approached Mrs. Innes’s desk. “Yes?”

  Willow wasn’t sure why she felt nervous; Mrs. Innes was one of her favorite teachers. Her enthusiasm for history made her class fun, and with her purple pixie hair and diamond-studded nose ring, she felt relatable.

  Mrs. Innes finished typing before lifting concerned eyes. “Willow, I wanted to give you this test back personally because the grade is so uncharacteristic of you.” She took out a stapled packet of papers and slid them facedown across her desk. Not a good sign. With a whoosh of light-headedness, Willow reached for the packet and flipped it over, revealing a fat, red D. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the grade and her name written at the top of the page. It was her paper all right. Slumping into a nearby chair, she admitted to herself that she hadn’t studied. But only because she thought she knew the material.

  “Is everything all right at home?”

  “Um …” Willow didn’t know what to say. She’d just discovered a fellow student may have been murdered; she was being blackmailed via text message; she was hiding her ex-convict/ex–best friend in her attic while trying to keep him out of jail and not fall head over heels in love with him in the process. Her world had turned upside down. So, no, everything was most certainly not all right at home. But none of that would change the D glaring back at her like a flashing emergency beacon, so she shook her head and muttered, “Sure, everything’s fine. I just forgot to study.”

  “Well, if you need any help before the next test, let me know. I’d be happy to meet with you before or after school.”

  Willow thanked her, rose from her seat, and walked to her locker without remembering how she got there. Exchanging her history stuff for Spanish—thankfully her last class of the day—she slammed the door and almost ran into Isaiah. Her heart jumped into her throat and she glanced around, realizing the hallway was nearly deserted. The second bell buzzed, sending the stragglers scurrying into their classrooms. Leaving them alone.

  Willow stepped around Isaiah. “I’m late.”

  “Wait. I need to talk to you.”

  Really? He wanted to talk instead of sending anonymous texts? She stopped cold. “What do you want, Isaiah?”

  His eyes darted up and down the empty corridor before he whispered, “Meet me in the school library after the pep rally. Alone.”

  Then he rushed off.

  Willow did the same, slipping into class while Señora Jay’s back was turned. But the Spanish words that normally came so easily to her bounced off her brain like gibberish. What did Isaiah need to say to her in private? The thought of meeting with him alone kind of terrified her, but this could be her chance to find out if he’d sent the threatening messages. And put a stop to it.

  Sliding her phone from her pocket and into her lap, she texted Lisa and asked her to be her backup. Her friend agreed, and they planned for her to arrive before Isaiah to hide in the stacks.

  By the time the bell rang for the pep rally, Willow was wound tighter than one of Lisa’s infamous topknots. And as her fellow students rushed out of their eighth-period classes early, she was caught up in the stampede, unable to find Lisa or Brayden or anyone else she knew. So she let herself be pushed along with the flow until she reached the gym. Hundreds of voices echoed off the walls, mixed with the squeak of tennis shoes on the waxed floor and the discordant shrills of the pep band warming up their instruments.

  Willow despised crowds—the stink of too many bodies clustered in one place, people touching her she didn’t know. Just as she thought it, someone pushed her and she rammed into the person in front of her, a large boy who turned and shoved her sideways into the bleachers. She muttered an insult and broke out of the herd, climbing until she found an open spot in the fifth row.

  Who scheduled a pep rally in the middle of the week anyway? As the cheerleaders began their first routine, Willow glanced around trying to find Lisa’s bright curls but instead saw Ashton two rows behind, his dark head melding with Penelope’s platinum blonde as he whispered something in her ear. Willow whipped around, heat bursting into her cheeks, her rib cage squeezing her insides until she thought she might gag. It had to be at least a hundred degrees in there. Whatever Willow thought was between her and Ashton, the magnetic energy she felt when she was with him, must be one-sided. Obviously he preferred the beautiful, flighty type.

  The band joined the cheerleaders in the school fight song, and people raised their fists to chant all around her. A buzz vibrated in Willow’s pocket. Praying it was Lisa texting to rescue her, she whipped out her cell and swiped in the code. But it was another SnapMail notification. Unable to resist, she pressed the icon.

  If you don’t stop helping Keller, what happens to you will be worse than this …

  The next message was a picture of Cory Martin, lying flat, arms at his sides—dead in his casket.

  The room spun in a hard circle, and Willow felt herself sway. Her heart pumped so fast it hurt. She gripped her chest, the room narrowing to a shadowy tunnel as the football players ran out onto the floor. It was too hot. Too close. Her lungs constricted until it felt like she was sucking every breath through a tube. She had to get out of there.

  Turning, she pushed past the kids in her row, stepping on book bags and feet, stumbling into people as she swayed. But their protests were jumbled in her brain. If she didn’t get air soon, she would suffocate.

  Finally out of her row, she made it down two sets of stairs before a wave of dizziness turned the room on its side and she fell forward. Her arms flailed as she tried to catch herself. She smacked hard on her hands and knees, the angle of the stairs and the momentum of her bag knocking her flat on her face. Silence spread through the room like a wave.

  Then someone yelled out, “Is she drunk?” Followed by laughter and “We’ve got a stoner here!”

  “Wait! I think she’s sick.”

  “Somebody call 911!”

  The lucid part of Willow’s brain knew she was hyperventilating and would pass out any moment. She rose up on trembling arms, her vision darkening. She had to get out of there.

  The floor v
ibrated beneath her, and she fell to her elbows, a wave of nausea rolling into her throat. Then a warm hand pressed into her back, another one taking her arm in a strong grip. “Willow, you’ve got to breathe.”

  Ashton.

  Gently, he turned her over and cradled her in his lap. She dug her fingers into his arm, her eyes darting as her chest heaved up and down in an effort to suck air into her shrunken lungs. But it didn’t work. Like a fish flopping on dry land, she arched back.

  “Look at me, Wil.” Ashton cupped her face, leaned forward, and guided her head until all she could see was the midnight of his eyes. “Focus on my voice.”

  A tiny opening cleared in her airway. Greedily, she sucked in a ragged breath.

  “That’s right.” Ashton’s eyes smiled. “Just like that. You know how to do this. Inhale through your nose.”

  His words, soft and deep, blocked out everything else. She did what he said, taking a drag of sweet oxygen as she fell into his endless blue gaze.

  “Exhale through your lips.”

  After three repetitions, the pain in her chest began to ease, but her throat still felt constricted and her vision hazy.

  “What’s the funny thing your shrink told you to say?”

  Willow huffed out, “Panic … script.”

  “Yeah.” His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, his hand supporting the back of her head. “Let’s do that. How does it start?”

  “I have … survived … this …” Inhale. “… before and … I can survive … this time too.” Exhale.

  Her airway opened and the darkness lifted. Limp with exhaustion, Willow let her eyelids flutter shut as she took several slow, reviving breaths.

  “All right now?” Ashton’s sweet sigh feathered across her face, and she opened her eyes with a smile and a nod.

  “Good. Do you think you can stand?”

  She pushed up against him, suddenly remembering they were in the middle of the bleachers at a pep rally. His arm tightened around her waist, and he helped her to her feet. A smattering of applause erupted into a few cheers.

  Several teachers, including Mrs. Innes and Mr. Rush, waited at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Innes gave Willow a reassuring smile and Mr. Rush, his usual scowl in place, huffed up the stairs to Willow’s side. “I’ll take it from here, Mr. Keller.”

  Seeming satisfied that she could stand on her own, Ashton withdrew his arm from her waist.

  “Ms. Lamott, please come with me to the infirmary.” Mr. Rush reached out a hand. “I can carry your things.”

  Willow handed the teacher her bag and said, “One second.” Then she turned to Ashton, and anchoring her hand on his arm, stood on her toes and planted a soft kiss on the scruff of his cheek. “Thank you, Ash.”

  Penetrating eyes locked on hers, ruddy color tinting his skin.

  “Ashton Keller, are you blushing?” Willow said under her breath, teasing a hint of a smile from him.

  “Willow! Are you okay?” Brayden raced past Mr. Rush, drawing Willow’s gaze.

  She glanced back at Ash, then to Brayden. “I’m fine now.”

  Brayden’s gaze drilled into Ashton, his lips pressed tight before he turned back to her. “I’ll take you to the nurse.”

  Between Mr. Rush and Brayden, Willow made her way on shaky legs down the bleachers. Her knees and hands ached from where she’d fallen, and the image of Cory’s face was still burned into her mind, but deep inside a tiny flicker of warmth glowed. Ashton had tried to show the world that he didn’t care about her, but he had failed miserably.

  CHAPTER Nineteen

  Mrs. Innes pulled her tiny yellow eco car into the driveway of Keller House and stopped behind a painter’s van. Before Willow could even open the passenger door, her mom flew down the porch stairs with her zebra-striped dreads streaming behind her.

  “Sweetie, are you all right? The nurse called. I was so worried!”

  “She’s fine, Mrs. Lamott,” Mrs. Innes reassured as Willow climbed out.

  “What happened? The message only said she collapsed at a pep rally.”

  Willow walked around the front of the car, working to disguise the way her bruised knees caused her to limp. “I’m fine now. It was a panic attack.” She leaned into her mom and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, inhaling her familiar scent of lilac and herbs.

  Mrs. Innes propped her bent elbow on the open window and winked. “I think it helped that a cute boy came to the rescue.”

  “Really?” Mom gave Willow’s arm a squeeze and asked, “Who’s that?”

  “Um …” Willow needed to change the subject … or did she? Maybe if her mom heard something good about Ashton, it would improve her opinion of him. “It was Ashton, Mom.”

  Willow felt her mom stiffen, but before she could respond, Mrs. Innes gushed, “You should’ve seen him! He held her in his arms and talked her through it. It was like they were the only two people in the world.”

  She let out a dreamy sigh, and that’s when Willow remembered Mrs. Innes and her husband were new to Gilt Hollow. As part of the staff, she had to have heard the rumors about Ashton, but she hadn’t let them cloud her opinion of him, making her Willow’s favorite teacher of all time.

  Willow faced her mom. “He remembered the breathing techniques and the panic script the doctor gave me right after Dad passed away. I was on the verge of passing out, but he pulled me back from the edge.”

  Her mom’s lips tilted in a mechanical smile. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” She turned to Mrs. Innes. “Thanks so much for bringing her home.”

  Willow and her mom waved as Mrs. Innes drove away, then looped their arms around each other’s waists and walked back to the house in silence. Wood-and-metal scaffolding was set up on two sides of the house. Men in white uniforms worked like busy little ants, painting and repairing siding. One even dangled from a harness from the third-floor turret, welding the iron railing of the widow’s walk. The dizzying height sent tingles down Willow’s spine, and she looked away. She’d always been terrified of heights.

  They mounted the porch stairs, skipping the broken step in tandem. Inside, Willow put down her book bag in the foyer and looked up at the grimy, cobweb-covered chandelier, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. “If we get permission to have the Halloween party here, let’s not dust that.”

  When her mom didn’t respond, Willow lowered her gaze. Arms crossed over her narrow chest, jaw set, brows slightly arched, Dee Lamott gave Willow the mom look. Willow swallowed. Her mom had asked her to stay away from Ashton, and Willow had done the exact opposite. Maybe it was time to come clean.

  Mom held out her hand. “Let’s make some tea and have a chat.”

  Perched on a stool at the kitchen bar, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of chamomile, Willow struggled with how to begin. After Mom agreed to let her talk without interruptions, Willow decided on a selective truth. Some things, like Ashton breaking into the house, would only freak her mom out. So she started with how Ashton had been sleeping in the tree house because he had nowhere else to stay, and how he’d given his parole officer this address as his place of residence. When she got to the part where she’d told him he could sleep in a third-floor bedroom, Mom sucked in a breath and gripped her mug until her knuckles turned white, but she remained silent.

  “He wanted to ask for your permission to stay here, but I kind of talked him out of it.” Willow took a slow sip of tea and watched her mom bite her lip, her cheeks flaming. She rushed ahead to explain. “I knew what you would say, and I couldn’t kick him out of his own house. I couldn’t let you do it either.”

  Mom opened her mouth, shut it, and then opened it again.

  Willow hated arguing with her, but this confrontation had been coming for weeks. Mentally bracing herself, she sighed, “Go ahead.”

  Mom shook her head and set down her cup, but instead of lashing out, her eyes liquefied. “You’re just like your father. Always standing up for the underdog.”

  Underdog wasn’t a label Willow wou
ld ever assign to Ashton Keller. Gothic hero perhaps. Or dark champion. But what did that make her in the story? The maiden? The nurturer? No, thank you. Maybe a crusader … like Dad.

  Mom gasped as if realizing something. “He’s our Pop-Tart-eating ghost.” She glanced at the open doorway to the den where Rainn’s cartoons were blasting, punctuated by his occasional laughter. “Does your brother know?”

  “No! No one knows. Not even Lisa.”

  “What about Ashton’s parents? I know they weren’t the closest family, but why didn’t he go to them?”

  Willow shook her head. “They disowned him. He hasn’t heard from them since his conviction.”

  “At all?” Mom’s eyes flew wide. “He was fourteen years old!”

  Which brought up another uncomfortable subject. “Mom, what happened to the letters I wrote to Ashton?”

  Her mom’s face froze, giving Willow the answer she’d expected. But she wanted to know why. “I don’t understand. Why would you do something so horrible?”

  “Willow, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t your job to support him. That should’ve been his family’s responsibility.” She crossed her arms and stared up at the ceiling. “I thought cutting off your communication was the right thing to do … I was trying to protect you.” She lowered her gaze, her eyes pleading for understanding.

  Willow looked away, her fingernails digging deep into the flesh of her palms as she tried to maintain control. Picturing Ashton locked up and alone … year after year … thinking no one believed in him or cared what happened to him, made her heart ache. He’d always been a protector, but who was protecting him?