by Jolene Perry
Everyone’s at the hospital?
“But who was hurt?” I ask again.
The officer looks back and forth between us. “Have you two been drinking?”
“No!” I yell. “Where’s my friend?”
“Like I said, they took everyone to the hospital.” The cop clears his throat. “You might want to call your parents to tell them you’re okay.”
I drop Hartman’s hand and sprint for the car. My phone’s in the car. I should never have left. Why did I let Hartman talk me into following him? Why couldn’t we have just talked in the back of the alcohol-scented car? Or on a rock? Or the dirt? I was worried about Bree. I was supposed to stay close to Bree.
Instead of grabbing my phone to call my parents, I call Bree. It rings and rings until it goes to voice mail.
I’m about to slide over to the driver’s side of the car when Hartman folds into the driver’s seat, immediately starting the engine.
Two cop cars marked with K-9 still sit between the hearse and the warehouse. Right. They thought there might be another body, maybe two. How much trouble did I cause by taking off for…“How long were we gone?”
“I don’t know,” Hartman says quickly. The moment he puts the car in gear, I hear a loud honk, and he slams on the brakes.
Hartman opens the door while I frantically send the whole prom group a response to the group texts that bounced around earlier.
Will someone please tell me who is hurt? How you are? Where you are?
My door pulls open, and Mom wraps her arms around me so tightly that I can’t breathe. “Oh my God, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“What?”
She squeezes my shoulders and sits back. “You weren’t answering your phone, Gabe. We got a call to say they were looking for you…for your…”
I glance at the warehouse and the remaining two cars. “You thought I was in there?”
“Gabe!” Dad’s whole body goes slack as he rests against the side of the hearse, and his hands slide down his face in relief.
“We just walked down to the beach,” I say. “Do you know who’s hurt?”
“No.” Mom shakes her head.
Every part of me feels twisted and consumed by energy I don’t know what to do with. “I should have been here.”
“No!” Mom snaps.
“But you should have had your phone on you,” Dad says. “You have no…” He starts blinking and purses his lips like he does when he tries not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I say, wondering how many times I’m going to be repeating that. “I have to get to the hospital. I have to know how Bree is.”
Hartman’s on the phone, and by the few words I hear, I figure he’s talking to his mom.
“Why don’t you two get in the Subaru,” Dad says. “We’re leaving.”
“What about the hearse?”
“I’ll get it tomorrow!” Dad shouts. “Get in the car.”
I jump into the Subaru, mind spinning and rib cage tightening. I see Bree’s sparkly gloss from middle school. The millions of times we sat next to each other making a corpse looking like they’re sleeping instead of dead, all the trips to Audrey’s, the late-night texts, the music…
Dad gets the keys from Hartman and locks up the hearse before following us back to our family car.
Hartman slides in the other side of the backseat. His knees pull up so he can fit behind Dad.
Mom’s breaths shake. She blots a few tears. Dad’s jaw flexes. All the worry I have over Bree turns heavy and spreads in my gut.
“It was my idea to go for a walk,” Hartman says quietly. “I didn’t think about the phones. I’m sorry.”
“You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Dad says.
“My mom’s on her way to the hospital.”
“We need to get Bree,” I say. “I need to check on Bree.”
The words from the cop about hospital and ambulances are like hitting my head against the wall, rattling my brain. My thoughts. He used the word collapsed.
Bree has to be okay. I can’t watch Matthew embalm my best friend. Cannot.
My knuckles are white from clutching my phone, but not one person from the group has gotten back to me. Hartman rests his hand on the seat between us. I take that as an invitation and slip my fingers through his.
But he can’t help me rewind our night. I should have been there. I was worried about Bree and Bryce, but still I left. For Hartman.
I should have been there.
Chapter 25
The hospital grows larger with every step.
I’m not sure when I went from sitting to walking or how we moved from one side of the parking lot to the other, but now we’re here. Going through hospital doors. This isn’t a big hospital. I can already see flits of color and sparkle that belong to prom dresses in the waiting room of the ER.
I need Bree’s pink dress, but it’s not here.
A waft of cold, manufactured air hits me in a rush. The sterile room is quiet and loud at the same time. Grief weighs the air.
Bryce’s mom and stepdad stand against a wall. She’s shaking in his arms. Two prom dresses have turned into one single, warped form with too many arms, heads, and feelings. No Bree. I need to see Bree. If she’s not here, she could be in a room. She could be…My brain shuts off the thought before it forms.
Hartman’s hand envelops mine, and I feel a tug on my arm as he moves forward.
“Hartman!” Bryce’s mom wails as she throws her arms around him, and Hartman is forced to drop my hand.
Right. His mom was maybe also told he was there with us.
I’m just standing here like a moron whose throat is too swollen to talk. Whose brain is too scattered to think. Whose legs won’t move forward.
This night still doesn’t feel real. I’m both stuck in the nightmare and watching from outside. Everything happened so fast. But not fast. I don’t even know. I left. Kissed a boy on the beach. And now my world is different.
Suddenly I’m moving. Walking around a row of depressing office-like chairs to Meghan and Jessica.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Where’s Bree?”
“Outside. She wants to be alone.”
My lips tremble. “She’s okay?”
She shakes her head. “He died, Gabe. Bryce died. Bree’s not okay.”
Died.
Bryce.
As much as logic and experience tell me that this happens all the time, it doesn’t happen to me. To my people. I can’t…
Nothing.
Nothing comes.
Meghan’s mom shows up behind Meghan, and Meghan lets out a keening sob as she leans against her.
“I’m going to go change into the clothes my parents brought,” Jessica says quietly. “Jeremy’s in X-ray and Theo’s in surgery…We were standing on the stairs when the boys fell through.”
I wasn’t there.
I’ve been around death my whole life. I stood next to my grandparents’ open caskets and smiled at their bodies, knowing they were long gone, but being okay with saying good-bye.
This.
Bryce.
I don’t even know how I feel.
“Where’s Bree?” I ask again. She’ll need me. She’ll need me like she did when her parents divorced—only so much more.
Jessica points to a pair of doors, and I start in that direction, trying to figure out how to make this better.
Bree jumps when the door clicks shut behind me.
“Bree?”
I have to know what to say. Have to. Bree’s my best friend.
She slowly turns to face me. “I don’t even have more than a small scratch,” she says. “And he’s gone. So fast.”
Even though it’s our fallback when things go bad, asking her if she wants to share a doughnut right now feels absurd. Childish. This is so much bigger than sand and sugar.
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” My thoughts can’t get past this piece of information, but I have to. I finally get why she
was with Bryce. How she got so distracted. How it feels to stand next to a guy who looks at you the way Hartman looks at me.
How would I feel if I’d just lost Hartman?
My chest crumples. I can’t feel this. I need air. Dragging in a breath doesn’t calm me. I have to be calm enough for my three even breathe-ins. Instead of focusing on what I feel, I focus on Bree.
Her defeated stance and the grief on her face kick me back to my familiar place. The place where I know how to deal with grief. Know what to say. How to act. But I know it’s not right.
Bree’s eyes are broken. Broken deeper than I’ve seen of her before. The toppling wreck inside me burns and aches.
Self-preservation or stupidity begins to take over. My body shifts into the Gabe that I am when I’m at work, starting with my three breaths. There’s too much feeling to deal with otherwise.
Loss. Dark. Black. Hollow.
Three breaths. Again. Work calm. Slow. Succinct. Smooth. I can’t keep feeling so much if I’m going to help.
I reach out and grasp her bicep because I can’t just stand here. I have to do something. Help. Fix. Sentences start to form. These words aren’t the right words. Not for my best friend. Not even close. They’re coming out, and I don’t know if I should stop them or let them out or hug her or just drag her out of this horrid hospital.
“I’m so sorry for your…loss,” I finish lamely.
The words hang between us. My work voice hangs between us. The fact that we both know Bryce wasn’t my favorite person hangs between us.
Her head tilts slightly to the side, and her brows begin to pinch together—like she’s studying me for the first time and doesn’t like what she sees.
Bree knows these words aren’t for her. They’re for me. They’re what I use to keep myself safe. Bree doesn’t want me to be safe. She needs my help.
My mouth opens and closes.
She shakes off my arm and jerks open the hospital door.
I cover my face with my hands as my body weakens enough that I lean against the railing.
“How do I even fix this?” I whisper. My gut tells me to run after my friend, but I still don’t know what to do. What to say. How to help.
I’m supposed to know how to help my friend. Friends know these things. I knew what to do when she got her first kiss and when her parents were divorced. When she and Peter broke up.
Why don’t I know what to do now?
Before letting myself think too hard, I push back through the doors.
Dad is talking in his low voice to Bryce’s stepdad. “…anything you need…please…All on us…We are so incredibly sorry…Anything…”
I scan the room. No Bree.
“Gabe?” Jessica asks.
I pause.
“Bree said she was meeting you out front to go to your house?”
Okay. I may not know what to do for my friend right now, but I do know there’s no way she’d voluntarily go to my house after what just passed between us.
“Um…” I say. “I don’t know.”
I don’t know.
Sprinting out the main doors, I run into the brightly lit parking lot but see only rows of parked cars.
No footsteps. No movement. Just my breathing in the open space. “Bree?” I yell. “Bree!” I yell again.
Nothing.
How could she disappear so fast?
Hartman stops behind me, and touches my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
I turn to face him, and I want to hug him for comfort, but start running to find my friend at the same time. “I think Bree just took off.” Because I screwed up again.
If Jessica’s right and Bree did go to my house, then I need to see her. Help. Somehow. I can’t imagine she’d go there, but it’s all I have.
Mom and Dad stop next to us. “Gabe. It’s time to go.”
I reach over and take Hartman’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Are you?” I whisper back.
“My perception is warped. I’m in shock, but so glad I didn’t lose you or my mom.”
My parents are silent—probably somewhere between worried and angry.
“I’m sorry,” Hartman tells my parents. “And thank you again.”
Dad gives him a curt nod, and Mom waves as Hartman heads back toward the hospital.
I’m not ready for our night to be over. I don’t want it to end this way. I want him to help me find Bree, and I want a kiss good night or a hug or something. I run up behind him and grasp his hand with my two.
Hartman pauses and turns to face me. A million apologies for the crappiness of our night and the thank-you’s for the awesomeness of our night and promises that we’ll see each other again soon pass without a word.
So many things about guys and love and togetherness make sense now. One look can convey a whole night’s worth of experiences, future wants, and feelings I don’t totally understand.
His lips press together, and he gives me a slow nod like he understands what I’m thinking.
“Text me whenever,” he says quietly. “I don’t care if you wake me up.”
“Okay.”
And then he’s back inside, and we’re in the car and driving for home.
“I’m sorry about—”
“Not right now,” Dad growls.
“We need to find Bree,” I say. “I’m…worried.”
I’m more than worried. I’m stupid. I screwed up. First by leaving Bree with Bryce in that awful warehouse. And second by saying the absolute worst thing in the absolute worst way.
Mom and Dad are silent.
“She probably went home,” I say.
“We’ll check after we drop you off,” Dad says.
Dad breaks pretty much every traffic law on our way home. No one speaks. At this point, I’d probably rather they yell.
I text Bree ten times with no response.
I’m sorry
Let’s talk.
Come over.
Text back…
The second we’re in the driveway, I jump from the car. There’s a small chance Bree is here. Not a great one, but enough to make me move. I sprint to the front doors of the lobby. No Bree. I run around to our family door. No Bree. I jog down the gentle hill to the back doors. No Bree. Did she get inside?
Mom has the door open.
“I don’t see her.” Not that I expected I’d find her here.
Mom nods. “We’ll go check her house.”
I kick off my shoes and go for my room. Empty. Mickey’s room just has Mickey’s sleeping form. I move up the hallway opening each door, even though I know Bree’s not here. Did I really think she walked out of the hospital and all the way here on her own? Where else would she be?
“I bet she’s at her grammy’s,” I say as I jog back to the living room, out of breath. “Or at the beach. Or maybe just sitting in front of Audrey’s, or getting a doughnut. We need to check the beach, or—”
Dad points to the kitchen table. “Sit.”
I lean for the front door. “But Bree.”
“Sit. Down. Now.”
I freeze, my body’s like drying play-doh, thick and heavy. I sit.
Dad folds his arms on the table. “First off, you didn’t have your phone on you.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, but I’m clutching it now, praying Bree will send me a note.
“And you said you were driving, you and Hartman,” Mom says, her jaw clenched in anger. “You had a group.”
“And you were drinking,” Dad adds through clenched teeth.
“I wasn’t. I swear.” I shake my head.
Mom holds her hand up to silence me. “We were terrified, Gabriella. Terrified. We get a call that some kids were in the warehouse. The car was there, and you weren’t answering your phone. Everyone assumed the worst.”
“I’m sorry.” I stare at the smooth table, wishing I could redo my night.
“And how could you let open alcohol be in the car? How were you with kids who were drin
king at all?” Mom asks.
I stare at my fingertips as I slide them across the table.
“I was worried about Bree,” I finally say. “She hasn’t been acting like herself. I’m scared now. She said she was coming here. She’s not here. Her boyfriend just…He just…” Bryce died. I didn’t like him, but this…Nobody deserves to die at seventeen.
I’m in shock. People like Bryce don’t die. They grow up, live charmed lives, and end up on the covers of magazines.
“How did you not hear the sirens?” Mom asks.
I glance back and forth between them, wishing that I could somehow force them to feel how torn up I am. “I don’t know. We walked down to the beach. Between the noise of the ocean and being so much lower than the road…I don’t know.”
“We do not”—Dad shifts in his chair, bringing him even closer to me—“appreciate being lied to.”
“You were having a party in the back of that car,” Mom says. “This isn’t like you.”
I blink and tears roll down my cheeks. “I just wanted to try to be friends with Bree.”
Mom and Dad exchange one of those parent looks that says neither understands.
“But you’re already friends with Bree,” Mom says.
I shake my head. “Bryce…I just…And we just…We drifted so far apart so fast, and it doesn’t make sense. I was trying…to fix that.”
Mom and Dad glance at each other. Dad sits back. “We’re not sure what we’re going to do with you yet, Gabe.”
“I just want to find my friend.”
Dad points, his whole body quivering with tension. “I thought I lost you tonight! I thought you’d been buried in pieces of that old building because you didn’t do the very few simple things we asked you to do! You are not to leave this house!”
I cringe back in my seat, unable to control my tears. I’m sorry comes out in a whine.
Everything trembles, and the world is spinning too fast around me and where is Bree?
“We’ll go look for your friend,” Mom says. “You go to your room.”
My parents go look for Bree? “But I—”
“Not another word.” Everything about Dad is tight—his face, his shoulders. Everything.
Mom stands. “Ready?”
“We need to take one of the hearses or the van. We’ll be picking up Bryce when his parents and the hospital give the okay,” Dad says.
