by Rebel Hart
As Bridgett and I stand there taking it all in, I catch sight of Coach Granger and Jada standing off in the corner, supervising. I can’t imagine why they’d have him chaperone this thing since he’s the only one who would have the audacity to make anyone actually follow the rules. The bass from the speakers pounds through the wooden gym floor and up through my body as I continue scanning the room.
That’s when I see him. Suddenly, I’m unable to tell the difference between the booming music and my own pounding heart. Emmett is here, lurking in the corner. I can tell he’s trying to go unnoticed while looking for someone. He’s looking for me.
I grab Bridgett’s hand and squeeze tight. “Is he fucking crazy!?” I hiss in her ear, pointing my head in his direction. “How did he get out!? And why would he show his face here? He’s going to get himself killed!”
She leans in as if to whisper but has to shout over all the noise. “Didn’t you hear? It was just on the news this afternoon. He made bail somehow. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but you’re right…It’s dangerous for him to be here. Phew, he’s got some balls.”
Just as she finishes talking, Emmett spots me. His eyes focus in like a hawk as he runs over. I want to run away but I’m completely stuck. Frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Ophelia!” he shouts, getting closer. I try to force myself to move, but he yells out again. “Wait! Please! I need to talk to you!”
Bridgett studies my face and decides to step in. She plants one foot in front of me and holds up her hand. “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” she says firmly.
“Please, you have to listen to me,” he begs urgently. “You have to know I didn’t do this. I’m being framed. You have to believe me!”
I look deep into his eyes, wanting to see something I can believe in, but there’s nothing. He looks like a complete stranger to me. My heart feels like stone, and the last thing I want to do is listen to him lie.
“Tell me you believe me, Ophelia!” he demands in desperation.
My lips slowly part, spilling out the only thing I can bring myself to say. “Theo told me everything. I know what you did.”
His face drops with stunned confusion. “What?” he grimaces. “Theo told you what!? What are you talking about!?”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I insist boldly. “I don’t want to see you. Please leave me alone.”
I expect my heart to break as I say the words, but it’s still hard and cold. I feel nothing for him in this moment. I just want more than anything for him to go. But he persists, erupting into a string of pleas and panicked explanations as he drops down before, clutching at my legs and feet. Bridgett tries to stop him, but he pushes her away. I look around the room helplessly, wishing someone could do something.
That’s when I notice Coach Granger catch sight of the scene, and he immediately runs over. He grabs Emmett by the arms and locks him against his chest, lifting him up into the air before finally carrying him out of the gymnasium kicking and screaming.
“You okay?” Bridgett asks, gently rubbing my arm as I stare off into space.
“Just a little embarrassed,” I say.
“Let’s not let that ruin the night,” she suggests, pulling me toward the dance floor. “Whatever happens with him can be sorted out later. You deserve to have fun tonight.”
I follow behind her, feeling apathetic to this entire dance all over again. But then I realize she’s right. I do deserve to have fun. And why should I feel embarrassed? This school has seen all sorts of things from me including outbursts, emotional breakdowns, stolen and leaked nude photos, and fake images of Malcolm and I having sex. It’s really silly to have thought I could have made it out without at least one more incident. I decide to think of it as my farewell gift and dive into dancing with Bridgett.
We both lose ourselves in the pumping music and after a while, she pulls her own flask out from the cleavage of her corset. We take turns tossing back bitter, burning swigs from the little silver bottle in between songs. Soon I start to feel lighter and freer than I have in a long time. That is until one of my sips from her flask hits me the wrong way, making me gag as I nearly throw up.
“Go get some punch to mix it with!” she laughs over the blaring music.
I nod and make my way over to the punch bowl. I pour myself a glass, but when I turn around, I nearly bump into a big burly guy. My heart sinks when I realize who it is. I have to set my cup down to keep myself from spilling it. I can’t remember his name, but I’d never forget his face. It’s the punk who gave me my oh so warm welcome to WJ Prep. He gave me a tour and a little taste of what to expect during my time here. I brace myself for him to snap at me the way he did on that very first day.
“Oh, sorry,” he smiles lightly before disappearing back into the dancing crowd, as if nothing happened at all.
“What the fuck,” I mumble to myself under my breath.
Even if he didn’t remember me from my first day, he would know that I am blacklisted. Everyone does. The Elites make sure of it. And it is everyone’s responsibility to make my life as difficult as possible. Everything that’s happened with Emmett and Malcolm’s death would only make their expected wrath even worse. It’s hard to think of a single reason this kid would have the guts not to go off on me, much less apologize and smile.
Is everyone just that drunk? Or high on their quickly approaching escape from the hell hole? Or maybe we’re in one of those short periods of time when no one is sure who is in charge. With no one at the top of the food chain, maybe we can all just be nice to each other. It happened once before after Thomas died and a chunk of the Elites went under investigation.
I shrug it off and turn to pick up my cup, eager to steal some more of Bridgett’s liquor. I just want to drink and dance and keep thoughts about Emmett or anything else that’s painful as far from my brain as possible. I throw myself back into dancing until I’m covered in sweat and my feet are aching.
“Wanna take a break?” Bridgett suggests finally, but only after her flask is empty.
“Absolutely!” I yell back.
I follow her over to a line of folding chairs where a few sad, lonely looking kids sit along with another couple of kids who look pale or green, like they’re about to vomit. As I crash down into one of the chairs, still panting and out of breath, I start to feel a tinge of queasiness myself. I do my best to ignore it.
I stare around the room, laughing at how crazy some of the students are dancing. Bridgett and I point out our favorite ones to each other. But the more I look around, the more the lights start to bleed together. I feel my head bob slightly out of my control as it grows heavy. The sick feeling in my stomach grows and the only thing that seems to make it stop is closing my eyes. But the moment I do that, I feel like I could pass out within seconds. I quickly stiffen up, trying to stay awake.
“You okay?” Bridgett asks, looking at me with concern. “Did you drink too much?”
I try to answer, but my throat and mouth suddenly feel dry as cotton. But I know I didn’t drink too much. I’ve drank plenty before and made myself sick more than once on a lot more than what we had tonight. This doesn’t feel anything like that. This is something else entirely.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BOOK 3
I sit as still as possible, hoping this sudden sickness goes away. But the longer we sit, the worse I feel. The booming speakers swell in and out, sounding too close one minute and a million miles away the next.
“Want to dance some more?” Bridgett leans in to ask. “I love this song!”
“What?” I groan, thinking how much I do want to dance. But I can’t even tell what song is on, much less how to stand up and flail around without falling over right now.
“I love this song!” she shouts louder, starting to dance from her seat.
I sway a little, wanting to join her, but I almost fall out of the chair. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, but I know this is quickly becoming too much for me to hide.
“I don’t feel good,” I moan, feeling like vomit might come up with the words. My throat tightens and my vision vibrates. I’m overwhelmed with the need to get the hell out of here.
I shoot up from the chair, falling against her a little before taking off towards the exit. The music fades and everything suddenly seems distant, like I’m submerged underwater. My head sways to such an extreme that every step makes me feel like I’m going to fall over.
“Want me to come with you?” she calls out after me.
I think she calls out after me. Maybe I made it up. I can’t tell anymore.
All I can manage is a dismissive wave back at her, hoping she’ll just leave me alone. I may have decided I don’t care what anyone else in this school thinks about me, but I don’t want to look like the loser who couldn’t handle her alcohol in front of Bridgett.
I’m suddenly very glad I decided to wear these tennis shoes because I’m positive I’d fall right over if I were trying to manage walking in heels at this moment. The smells wafting from the refreshment tables mix in with the scents of fresh flowers, hairspray, cologne, perfume, breath mints, and alcohol. It all swirls together, making me terribly nauseous.
I push forward with a weaving walk, my voice slurring as I try to give normal greetings to the people staring at me. My arms wave in front of me, but I feel like I have no control over where they’re going. Then I nearly fall as I bump into the corner of a bleacher.
As I stumble past, I eye the tower of water bottles and think I should grab one, but I’m so disoriented, I’m scared of sending them all crashing to the ground. Then I notice the punch bowl and remember what happened when I filled up my cup. That guy distracted me, and I sat it down for a while. Did someone drug me?
I turn back towards Bridgett, wanting to ask for her help. But she seems to have disappeared back onto the dance floor. I know I’ll never manage to hunt her down in the bouncing crowd. If I don’t get out of here right away, I’m going to throw up or faint right here in the middle of everything. Part of me thinks if I’ve been drugged, it’d be worth it to humiliate myself and make a scene if it meant getting some help. But then again…what if whoever did this to me is watching? Waiting to swoop in and carry me off before anyone can see what’s happened?
I don’t feel capable of making any rational decisions right now, so I decide to follow my instinct to escape. My dress feels like it’s constricting around me, growing tighter, and I just have to go. I have to get out of here. I’m hit with a gush of cold air as I stumble out the exit, escaping the swelling heat of the dancing bodies in the gym. I lurch to the side with shuffling steps, hunched over against anything to steady me.
I feel a little better once I can brace myself against the wall in the hallway. I take long, slow steps, my feet feeling like cement blocks, as I drag myself to the bathroom. I’m faintly aware of how sweaty my palms have gotten as I feel my way down the shiny, slick painted cinderblocks. But everything is starting to feel further away. Even the things that are only inches away from my face. But the bathroom door up ahead weaves back and forth, seeming within reach one minute and then when I extend my hand for it, it vanishes back to the other end of the hall, seeming miles away.
Just when I think I’ll tumble down right here in the hallway, I reach the door. My hand fumbles across the handle and I realize it doesn’t seem right. I don’t remember any bathroom at this school having a handle like this, but just as I think it, I crash inside, falling to the floor as the door gives way in front of me. I hit the ground like a ton of bricks, but somehow don’t feel anything from it. My body is completely numb, reminding me of the shots you get in your gums at the dentist, except every inch of my skin feels that way.
I try to lift my head and I swear it’s shaking. But I can’t tell if my head is shaking or just my line of vision. That’s when I notice the buzzing fluorescent lights up above and the cold concrete floor against my arms and legs. The shelves lined with mops, buckets, and cleaning solutions let me know I’m not in the bathroom at all. I’ve fallen into a closet.
I want to get up, but no matter how many times my brain sends the command, my body won’t respond. Unable to move anything else, I blink rapidly, trying to focus on anything I can. Then I hear voices coming from an open door at the other end of the room. My head falls back down to the floor against my will, and I can see the shadows of two people standing on the other side of the wall.
“Do you regret it?” a familiar male voice asks.
“No,” a woman replies sternly.
At first, I’m unable to place them, but then I recognize the man’s voice. It’s Coach Granger and I’m positive the woman he’s speaking to is his assistant, Jada.
“My brother made some mistakes, but he was a good man,” she adds with a cold resolve in her tone. “He was trying to turn his life around, and had those assholes not planted those drugs right in front of his face, he’d still be with us today. I know he would’ve stayed sober this time or asked for help. Even as a junkie, he was never the kind of sick person these spoiled, entitled brats like Malcolm are.”
“It’s a shame,” Coach replies. “But I think the world is better off without people like him in it.”
“What about the other one?” Jada asks. “That Lily girl?”
“Let her be,” he says. “She’s suffering enough locked up in rehab and I doubt her parents will be signing off on her release any time soon.”
“But Dad…” she argues.
“I said let her be. I’ll keep an eye on that whole situation and let you know if anything changes,” he barks, leaving no more room for debate.
My head is swimming as I try to understand it. Dad? Jada is Coach Granger’s daughter? Why wouldn’t he tell us that and what the hell are they talking about?
“What about you?” she asks him. “Do you have any regrets?”
“No,” he sighs. “We had no choice. The police and the courts weren’t going to do anything. We had to take justice into our own hands. My son deserves to rest in peace without the guy responsible for his death roaming around free, hurting anyone else.”
“And what about that Emmett kid? How did that DNA evidence get in the car?” Jada questions.
“I don’t know. I had nothing to do with that,” he explains. “But I bailed him out. I’ll find some way to make sure he doesn’t take the fall for this.”
I can’t tell if the pounding in my chest and rising sickness in my gut is from whatever is happening to me or realizing that Jada and Coach Granger are discussing how they murdered Malcolm. I want to call out for them to help me but interrupting a murder confession seems like a terrible idea even in my impaired state.
But if they killed Malcolm…how did Emmett’s DNA get on the car? Was he telling the truth when he insisted someone was trying to frame him? And what does this mean for all of the threats made against me?
“How were you so certain his car would crash that way?” Jada asks.
“I’ve seen it happen before,” he grumbles. “And if I hadn’t been there that time, she would have died. That’s when I got the idea for how we would pull this off without getting caught.”
When Coach Granger saved me from plummeting off the cliff in my car, it inspired him to get rid of Malcolm. So whoever tried to kill me wasn’t connected to his murder at all. But there are still so many unanswered questions, and they swarm around in my head making me feel dizzier than I ever have in my life. Impossibly dizzy. Like my brain could explode from the spins.
My eyes start to hurt from the bright lighting, and once again I find that the only thing that makes me feel better is to close them. But each time my heavy eyelids fall, it gets harder to open them up again. I panic, wondering if I’m dying. My survival instinct starts to overpower my better judgment and I try to scream out to get Coach and Jada’s help. Maybe they’ll hurt me or kill me, thinking I know their secret, but right now I feel like I’m dying regardless. So I might as well take the risk.
But nothing c
omes out of my mouth. I can’t even tell if my lips are opening at all. Any sense of tingling or fuzziness in my limbs fades as my vision tunnels. The disconnect between my brain and my body grows bigger and bigger until finally I’m left trapped inside of myself, completely motionless. I can’t speak, scream, or move at all. And as their distant voices fade, I realize my hearing is disappearing too. I don’t know when I stopped being able to open my eyes, but I become vaguely aware of pitch-black darkness just before I slip off into nothingness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BOOK 3
My mind wakes up before my eyes can open. I hear the whirring rev of a car engine and the sound of air gushing through open windows. As the wind bursts by, I slowly come to enough to realize how cold it feels against my skin. But the fabric seat beneath me is warm. I push my face against it and am relieved to be able to move again.
That’s when the red flashing warning lights start rapidly firing off in my brain. I’m in a car. But who’s car? Who’s driving? This is bad. Somebody drugged me. I think I can assume that much. Did they follow me into the closet and capture me?
When I try to move the rest of my body, unsure of what I even hope to accomplish, the car hits a bump and sends me rolling into the floorboard. I groan with the harsh thud against my bones as I hit the floor, my body contorting into the tight, uneven space.
“You’re awake,” a guy’s voice rings out from in front of me. I open my eyes and gather it’s the driver speaking. I know that voice. I know the curls of his hair.
Then he turns around to look at me, briefly taking his eyes off of the road. Emmett.
“You okay?” he asks with concern. “I can pull over if you want.”
