“Shit,” she heard Portia mutter with a mixture of fear and respect.
The ball came shooting back in their direction with amazing force. Suddenly, it was as though time was moving in slow motion. The blue ball was the size of a nectarine or a plum; it probably weighed a pound or two and it seemed to be hurtling forever in the air. Zoom. There was no way to stop it.
She saw where it was going. The bullet of a ball smashed directly into Casey Cornell’s face.
There was a sickening crack and a moment of stunned silence before Casey collapsed to the ground, wailing, covering her cheek.
Em felt twenty sets of eyes on her—fearful, wondering, accusatory. A sick feeling opened up in her stomach. People were looking at her as though she were a criminal.
Her fault.
I’m worried you’re going to hurt someone, Crow had said.
Ms. Hadley began barking out orders, instructing a terrified-looking Jenna to go retrieve the ice pack from the office and telling Casey to tip back her head; her face had begun to bleed. Spots of blood spilled—one, two, three—sharp red on the pavement.
“Why would you DO that?” Casey blubbered, practically hysterical.
And now everyone was watching Em, inching away from her as though she were contaminated, contagious.
She couldn’t keep Crow’s warning from thundering back into her mind.
You’re becoming one of them.
Without thinking, she turned and ran—away from the crowd, away from what she had done and the violent power that had overtaken her. She cut across the wet grass and felt the cold seep into the tips of her sneakers. If she could have run away from herself, she would have. . . .
Was this the darkness taking over? Was it inside her already, burning her up?
CHAPTER THREE
“Destruction! They call me crazy, like a fortune-teller. A poor, starved beggar-woman . . . and now the prophet undoing his prophetess has brought me to this final darkness. . . . ”
Even in rehearsal, Skylar had nailed her monologue. It was only a reading; she and the other actors sat in a circle in the middle of the stage—but still, it gave JD chills.
This Cassandra play was actually going to be pretty cool, JD reflected as he left the techie meeting on Monday afternoon. Cassandra was a classic tragic figure, with the ability to predict a future that nobody believed. Her prophecies were a curse: ultimate power paired with ultimate hopelessness.
Ned had some good ideas for the production, which would kick off AHS’s Spring Week—a student play, a music assembly, an art show, and a lacrosse game. They were going to use muffled sound cues and displaced voices to contribute to the sense of insanity in the theater. And Ned had decided to cast Skylar McVoy in the leading role just from hearing her read a passage in class. While JD was somewhat skeptical about working with a girl who had more than one screw loose, he trusted Ned’s directorial instinct.
Rehearsal ended late. Driving home, JD passed by the Dungeon, Drea’s favorite coffee shop. It was the first time he’d been by the place in more than a week, and just seeing it opened the floodgates in JD’s mind—everything he’d been trying to tamp down for days. He thought of how Drea had survived on Red Bull and ramen noodles, and how she’d been able to name every Best Actress winner back to 1976. How she’d flicked at her fingernails when she was thinking hard. How her eyes were so dark they looked almost purple—like her hair, or at least the half of it that wasn’t buzzed.
Admittedly, JD had been avoiding the Dungeon. He had his subconscious to thank for that. Pain was supposed to ease in time—but it seemed that with every passing day her death became more difficult to process. His throat tightened and his chest felt heavy. He was shocked and devastated by one crippling thought: that he’d never see Drea again.
In the months before she died, JD had become increasingly suspicious that Drea was developing a crush on him. There were the late-night study sessions, and the flirty anonymous texts that he suspected were her weird, secretive way of confessing her feelings. She’d once hinted as much. His cheeks got hot remembering how close they’d come to kissing the night before their AP Physics midterm . . . She’d been leaning over his leg, pointing to a diagram in his textbook, wearing his yellow buffalo-plaid flannel because it was cold. It was big on her, and falling slightly off her shoulder. He’d bent closer to grab his highlighter and she’d looked into his eyes, questioning him, daring him. But then, just when he decided to go for it—JD Fount was going to kiss Drea Feiffer—she’d put her hand on his chest and said a single word: “Em.”
And he figured it out then that Drea might like him, but somehow knew he was in love with Em, that she would only be a substitute. His chest swelled like someone was inflating a balloon in there—thinking of Drea, how smart she was, and how sweet, under all that metal and that big, fierce mouth that got her into so much trouble.
He missed her. Maybe he should have kissed her that night. Because she was funny and brilliant and because of his own dumb luck, a girl like her had liked him.
Stopped at a red light near the shopping plaza, he spotted a familiar flop of dark hair . . . it was Crow, with his guitar case slung across his back, standing in the parking lot, deep in conversation with the same girl whom JD had sat next to at Drea’s funeral service—the one with the honey-blond hair and the ribbon around her neck (it was still there, he noticed). Meg. That was her name. If she was one of Drea’s friends from another nearby town, it would make sense that Crow knew her too. And he definitely seemed to know her. They were talking so intensely that their faces were just inches apart. JD watched as Crow grabbed her arm with one hand and gesticulated madly with his other one. They appeared to be . . . close. Boyfriend-girlfriend close.
He felt a flash of anger, wondering whether Em knew about this girl. Why did she always fall for these two-faced guys? First Zach McCord, who gave “shithead” a new definition; and now Crow, who was more consumed with his image and his stupid guitar than with Em’s happiness. And now, apparently, he’d found a distraction with this other, ribbon-wearing chick . . .
JD couldn’t understand what seemed to be willful blindness on Em’s part, at least where her heart was concerned. She deserved better. She deserved someone who understood her, who knew how to care for her and what flavor ice cream she liked best (rum raisin), what her favorite movie was (Dirty Dancing), and how to make her laugh until she spit soda from her nose (tickle her ankles). JD knew that he was jumping to a whole lot of conclusions—and being slightly judgmental, which was Em’s long-standing criticism of him, but he couldn’t help it.
His phone beeped, and he reached over to grab it from the passenger seat. The text was from Jenny, one of Melissa’s best friends.
Melissa got hurt. Someone’s taking her home.
“Terrific,” he muttered. “Now what?”
As the light changed from red to green, JD glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Crow getting into his red-and-silver pickup truck. Red Ribbon Girl was nowhere to be seen—it was like she’d disappeared completely in the few seconds JD wasn’t looking. Strange. The click-clack of his turn signal seemed louder than usual.
He stepped on the gas, only to see a flash of white just in front of his tires, directly in his path. JD sucked in his breath and swerved to the right, slamming on the brakes right in the middle of the intersection. Cars going the other way honked and moved around him. As the car skidded to a stop, JD’s heart still pounding, he made momentary eye contact with a thin white cat, mangy and mean, standing right in the middle of all the traffic, just staring back at him. It appeared to have something hanging from its mouth. Something red. For a second, he was almost sure it was the red ribbon he’d seen the girl wearing just minutes before. Christ. Was he hallucinating now? The cat’s eyes shone black in the quickening dusk.
Cats had always unsettled him; they gave the impression that they knew so much more than they let on—and this one was no exception. JD beeped his horn and the cat paused f
or another second before turning and moving off languidly into the shrubs on the side of the road.
He drove the rest of the way home with his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel, then burst in the front door calling his sister’s name.
“Mel? Melly? What’s up? Where—” He stopped short when he saw her sprawled on the living room couch, her right ankle wrapped in sports tape and propped up on a million pillows. She looked at JD with the wide-eyed excitement of someone who has just discovered a new toy—or in her case, social-networking platform.
“I hurt my ankle, JD, practicing for the spring cheer-squad tryouts,” she said. “I thought it was broken!”
“Why didn’t you call me?” JD said. “I got a text from Jenny.”
Mel shrugged. “My phone was dead again.” She was always killing her phone battery from all the use it got. It was getting to be a miracle for that phone to make it past two p.m. without a recharge.
For the first time, he noticed a soda and a bag of popcorn sitting next to her on the coffee table. She looked like she was having the time of her life. His heartbeat started to slow.
He came to sit down next to her. “Are you okay now?”
“I’m fine,” Melissa said. “Ali says it’s just bruised.”
“Ali . . . ? Who’s—”
“I’m Ali,” a voice said from the doorway.
JD turned to see a girl with practically white-blond hair leaning easily in the door frame. She was holding a bag of ice.
And she was gorgeous. Like, magazine-cover-supermodel gorgeous.
“Um, hell-hi,” he stammered. His brain seemed to be trying to work through sludge. “And . . . who are you?”
“Ali saved me,” Melissa piped in. “Me and Jenny were practicing near her house—you know where she lives, right, kind of near the Behemoth? And I slipped ’cause it’s so freaking muddy! And Ali was just right there—”
“I just happened to be driving by at the right time,” Ali said, handing Melissa the ice pack. Her movements were easy and practiced. Maybe she really was a model; he could picture her on a runway. “And I offered to take her home. I hope that’s okay.”
“I guess . . . I mean, thank you,” JD said, still mystified over the appearance of this girl in his living room. “Mel, did you call Mom and Dad?”
“Not yet,” Melissa said. “I haven’t even plugged my phone in yet. It all happened so fast, you know?”
“You’ve been away from your phone for more than five minutes? Wow, you must really be hurt,” JD said. He reached over and mussed Mel’s hair, and she shrieked and ducked away from him. He sniffed. “Is something burning?”
“Nothing burns unless I want it to,” Ali said with a smirk before she headed back in the direction of the Founts’ kitchen. She walked like she owned the place. Like she’d been here before.
“Ali’s making me Pop-Tarts,” Melissa said. “She said she wanted to stick around until someone got home.”
JD looked at Melissa’s ankle, which was encased in a mound of white medical gauze. “And you’re sure you’re okay? How do you—how does she—know it’s not broken?”
“Ali’s studying to be a nurse,” Melissa informed him. “And yes, I can stand on it. It just hurts. I’ll be fine, JD. It’s not bad at all. Don’t tell Mom and Dad, though. I want to milk this. I have a stupid English test tomorrow and I haven’t even studied.” She shook out a handful of popcorn into her palm and ate the whole thing in one go. He couldn’t help but laugh. There was the Melly he knew.
Still, he couldn’t quite relax. Something was off. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline from his drive home, or the presence of the new girl, or what, but the energy in the room was electric.
All of a sudden, without having made a sound, Ali was next to them, putting a plate of pink-frosted Pop-Tarts on the coffee table and sitting down on the love seat across from them.
“Thanks, Ali,” Melissa said, scooping one up and biting into it greedily. “Delish.”
JD grinned. “I think you may have a new president of your fan club,” he said in a stage-whisper to Ali, who laughed. She had kind of a low voice but her laugh was high and tinkling, like falling glass. Melissa reached around to punch him and JD fake-winced, pretending it hurt. “So, Mel tells me you’re studying to be a nurse—do you live around here?”
Ali shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders back. JD caught himself staring at her chest and immediately looked away. Christ. He was sweating. She was straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.
“I’m taking classes up at UNE,” she said. “I was just visiting some relatives today.”
JD nodded. The University of New England was known for its nursing program—Em’s parents were always talking about it. “Well, thanks. You know, for doing your job—even in the field.”
Ali smiled. “I love it. Some people are freaked out by blood, you know? But I never was.” Her smooth voice provided a sharp contrast to the words coming from her mouth. “It’s almost like I get a rush from it.”
JD felt his stomach clench up. He didn’t like blood. There’d been too much spilled this winter in Ascension. “Plus you’re good at being in the right place at the right time,” he said to change the subject. “I’m not sure Melissa and Jenny would have really known what to do on their own.”
“Um, I’m not an idiot,” Melissa said. “We would have just called you. And if you weren’t too busy moping somewhere, you would have come to get me.”
“Moping?” Ali asked. Her eyes, icy blue, seemed to bore into him.
“JD is, like, mope-city these days. Not that you don’t have a reason to be,” his sister added quickly as JD shot her his look of death. “But admit it: You’ve been basically a zombie.”
He looked over at Ali with an expression of both apology and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said. He pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. I just . . . I lost a friend recently, and I’ve been dealing with that.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Ali said, bringing a hand briefly to her mouth. Her nails were red. Blood colored. Suddenly he wasn’t finding her so pretty anymore. There was a pause. Then she looked at him with eyes full of sorrow. “I know about tragedy,” she said quietly. Her voice seemed to drop octaves as she spoke her next sentences: “I know how you feel. Sometimes it seems like the wrong people get hurt, doesn’t it?”
JD felt a ripple of discomfort shimmy along his spine; something about this girl was . . . different. He was about to ask her what she meant when Ali leaped up from her perch.
“Well, I’ve intruded long enough,” she said, and JD noticed that all of a sudden she was back to cheerleader mode. “I better get going. I’m so glad you’re okay, Melissa. I hope I see you again—oh!” She cut herself off, pointing at a picture on the mantel. “You know my cousin Ty?”
JD squinted at the photo, confused. “That’s our neighbor Emily,” he said. “Emily Winters. She lives next door.”
Ali frowned for a second. But then she smiled, and her face was once again transformed: radiant, gorgeous. “So weird . . . they could be twins!” In a quieter voice she said, “Very pretty.”
“JD has a total crush on Em,” Melissa blurted out.
JD stared at her. “I give up with you, Melissa. You’re worse than Gossip Girl.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding very sorry at all. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
Fortunately, Ali only laughed. “Well, if you like Em, you’ll have to meet my cousin Ty,” Ali said as she walked toward the Founts’ front door.
“Ali, wait,” Melissa called out. “When are you going to show Jenny and me those drills, the ones for high kicks?”
JD rolled his eyes. “You wanna talk about crushes? I think you have one on Ali.” He ducked to dodge the pillow that Melissa lobbed in his direction.
“Oh, don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easy,” Ali said musically as she sailed out the door. “You’ll see me really soon�
�that’s a promise. And I never break my promises.”
The house felt eerily quiet with Ali gone. JD stood there for a moment, thinking of what to do next. It was weird—Ali was clearly very sweet, but she’d left him somehow feeling sour.
“Is that Ali’s glove?” Melissa asked, pointing at a bright red leather glove on the floor.
JD picked it up and ran outside, strangely grateful for the excuse to get some fresh air. To thank Ali again, too, and try to shake off the bad feeling he had. But outside, he found that Ali had already disappeared.
Had Ali brought a car here? He didn’t remember seeing one when he pulled up, but then he’d been stressed out and worried about Mel, so maybe he just hadn’t noticed.
He looked at the glove still in his hand—it was kind of old-fashioned. Who wore driving gloves anymore? He stood on the porch another moment, inhaling the wet smell of new growth. The sky was navy, and spring peepers were chirping somewhere in the woods. New life. That was what Ascension needed.
He turned to go back inside, and as he did, he instinctively looked up to Em’s window to see if she was home. Her lights were out. Her windows were dark. No one was home.
CHAPTER FOUR
Crow’s obsession with music extended to an active online presence—where he shared his favorite music and tirelessly promoted his band, The Slump. Plastered all over his Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr was news about everything band related, from the latest numbers hitting iTunes to tour info and recordings of gigs. He even had his own YouTube channel with an extensive following, where he posted videos of covers and his own songs.
What was supposed to take two minutes took half an hour. Em’s one goal was to find out where Crow would be on Monday night; she needed to talk to him about what had happened in the gym earlier. Yet she felt compelled to watch video after video of him. His voice was fantastic and he played just about every instrument there was: piano, ukulele, mandolin. The list went on.
Em had watched a series of posts made over the last month, but she’d noticed a trend that disturbed her. Crow’s earlier videos had been engaging, funny, and even a little bit flirtatious—but in recent posts he seemed careless and sometimes incoherent. His voice seemed to have gotten grittier and lower. More tortured. But it was still beautiful. It still got her every time she heard it.
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