Impossible

by Nancy Werlin

  Lucy had turned in the direction of their table in the far corner, when Gray touched her arm. "Lucy. Stop. I already have the keys."

  "Oh, you found them?" They were standing at the end of the dance floor, near the cloakroom, a few steps from where the sea of tables began.

  "I didn't actually forget them," Gray confessed. He slid a sly grin at Lucy. "I just had—I don't know. An impulse. I wanted to come back here. I needed to. I wanted to be alone with you. Immediately. I just couldn't resist."

  "Oh," Lucy said. She felt a blush start on her cheeks.

  "Come here," Gray said, and pulled her into the small abandoned cloakroom. "Let's be alone for a little while, before we have to go be with all those other people at Sarah's. I've wanted to be alone with you so much. I've hated having everybody else around. I've been dying here, to tell you the truth. Couldn't you tell?"

  Lucy couldn't, no. She looked at Gray. He was a few inches taller than she was, and standing close, she needed to look up. His hand on her arm felt suddenly heavy. She thought of him kissing her neck earlier, when they danced.

  Her blush increased.

  "Come here?" Gray said again, quietly. He held out his arms. His face was all intense.

  Too intense. Lucy had an inappropriate urge to giggle. She suppressed it. She didn't think Gray would appreciate her laughing right now. But after all, it was only a kiss. Even if it would be her first real kiss.

  She moved closer and tilted her face up to Gray's.

  "Put your arms around me," he whispered.

  Lucy realized suddenly that she didn't actually want to do that. There was an alarmed feeling knotting itself inside her.

  She put her arms up around Gray's shoulders anyway. His arms closed around her, one at her back, the other lower, a band around her hips. His face hovered above hers. And then he was kissing her. Those soft lips again. Gentle. Gentle.

  And then not so gentle.

  Later, Lucy knew she had said no. She said it several times; she screamed it against his hand, which was covering her mouth. And she screamed for help, which never came. And she fought, as hard as she could. That, also, had been a terrifying shock, because if anyone had asked her ahead of time about her own strength, she would have had confidence in it. After all, she was an athlete. She was a good hurdler and a decent runner. She could do twenty boy-style pushups. She had even taken kickboxing classes. And, too, she would have said that Gray wasn't strong. He was a skinny band geek, for crying out loud. She would have thought that of course she could fight Gray Spencer, any day, and win.

  But she could not.

  At the end, when Gray was done but she was still pinned down and helpless, there came the most terrible moment of all. Gray looked straight into Lucy's face. And she looked up, stunned, terror-stricken, into his.

  It was Gray. His hair. His nose. His mouth. His cheekbones and his very pale skin. Lucy recognized him. But looking out at her through his eyes …

  It wasn't Gray Spencer at all. That made no sense, but Lucy felt the truth of it to her bones. It was someone else, using his body.

  There was worse to come. The somebody-who-was-not-Gray spoke a single fluid sentence of vowels and consonants. The sentence was rhythmic and beautiful, but it was not English or any other language that Lucy could recognize.

  Then the somebody-who-was-not-Gray smiled. "Fenella," he called Lucy, still using that same alien cadence. And in English: "I win. Again, you see. I always win."

  And then he laughed.

  CHAPTER 14

  Out in the rapidly emptying hotel parking lot, Zach had located Gray's MINI Cooper and parked next to it. It was the logical place to intercept Lucy.

  He was planning how he'd insist that Gray prove his sobriety by walking a straight line and repeating a limerick, when he spotted Gray walking from the hotel, but in a weird zigzag, as if he were not sure how to place his feet. He's drunk for sure, Zach diagnosed, and fury rose in him.

  But Lucy was not with Gray.

  Zach raised a hand to wave at Gray. "Hey! Spencer!" He saw Gray look up, recognize Zach—pause for one long moment—and then swerve. And all at once Gray was running, crazily, in entirely the wrong direction, away from Zach, away from his car, toward the other end of the parking lot where a wooded area began.

  What?

  Zach stood uncertainly by the MINI Cooper for a few more seconds while Gray's figure disappeared into the darkness of the woods. Where was Gray going? More importantly, where was Lucy? Back in the hotel? Or had she accepted a ride with someone else to the after-party?

  He fingered his cell phone, but it was useless since Lucy didn't have hers.

  Now he was second-guessing himself. Had that really been Gray he'd just seen? It was dark. Well. This was definitely Gray's car he was standing next to.

  Frowning, he walked into the hotel, moving fast.

  There were still a few kids lingering in the lobby. One girl said she thought she'd seen Lucy and Gray heading back up to the ballroom, so Zach went up there, taking the steps two at a time. He poked his head into the ballroom. No one was there. He called Lucy's name. It echoed through the room. He grabbed his cell phone again. He could call Lucy's friend Sarah Hebert. The after-party was at her house, he knew.

  But then Zach spotted the ladies' restroom. He paused. He wasn't comfortable going inside. But … there was a feeling pulling at him.

  He nudged the door partly open and called: "Lucy? It's Zach. Are you in there? Lucy?"

  Sometimes silence can be more telling than any noise. Zach could not have said why he suddenly knew Lucy was there. He just did.

  He slammed open the door.

  Lucy was standing before a row of sinks, flat-footed in the red high-tops. The hair on the back of her head, parted and pulled into her two braids, was mussed. She had a wad of wet paper towels in one hand, and there was a bigger pile on the sink counter beside her. On them, Zach could see … blood? And what was that colorful bit of silky fabric right next to the pile—oh. Oh.

  She'd just dropped the hem of her skirt from her other hand. Zach had seen it fall back down into place around her calves as he came in.

  Her eyes met his in the mirror.

  She tried to smile. It was the most ghastly thing he'd ever seen, that she would try.

  He thought of how he'd seen Gray running across the parking lot. Now he was certain it had been Gray. And he didn't understand fully yet—didn't want to—but nonetheless a sentence formed clearly inside his head.

  I'm going to kill him.

  Lucy's voice was a mere thread. "Zach? Can you please take me home?"

  Thoughts of hospital emergency rooms and police stations chased themselves through Zach's head. But there was only one right thing to say to Lucy now.

  "Yes," he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was my fault, Zach thought. For not getting there sooner.

  It was my fault, Soledad thought. For letting Lucy go at all.

  It was my fault, Leo thought. If only I had listened to Soledad and insisted on meeting the boy beforehand. Maybe I'd have known, somehow.

  Only Lucy wasn't playing the blame game in the days that followed. But she had other, even more confusing thoughts to obsess over. She alternated between rage, bewildered shame, and then, most overwhelmingly, and inexpressibly, puzzlement.

  Her original conviction that it had not been Gray attacking her, but somebody else using his body, was fuzzier. It was just plain hard for practical-minded Lucy to believe. Her mind had done some kind of a psychological disconnect, Lucy decided. In her shock, she had thought she'd seen and heard things that she really hadn't. Being spoken to in some unknown language. Being called Fenella. Ridiculous.

  What would her parents think if she told them? There was enough insanity in the family already.

  It wasn't as if it mattered now anyway. Reality was what mattered, and reality, Lucy told herself, was not only about Lucy.

  Reality now included the fact that Gray Spencer was dead.


  On the morning after prom, the news was all over the city of Waltham and even in Boston, being blared from the local TV news stations and in all the newspapers.

  Prom Night Tragedy.

  Last Dance for Waltham Teen.

  Dancing, Drinking, and Driving Don't Mix.

  One or two of the kids who had been at Lucy and Gray's table at the prom said to reporters that Gray hadn't been drinking at all, as far as they knew. But then they conceded that of course they hadn't been watching him every minute. He must have been drinking in secret, it became clear, because it turned out that Gray's blood alcohol level, tested as part of the autopsy, had been over the limit.

  The news focused heavily on Gray's family. His mother blamed her ex-mother-in-law, Gray's grandmother. Crazy old bat with her one-year-too-early graduation present, Mrs. Spencer said on the evening news. If she hadn't already divorced Gray's father, she would do it now, she said. And then she cried, helplessly, on camera.

  Gray's father had his own on-camera tirade, though it was delivered in more measured terms. He blamed the high school. What kind of chaperones let a kid at a school function get so drunk that he'd crash his car straight into a tree not three minutes after leaving the hotel? Hadn't the adults at the prom even realized kids were drinking? It was a scandal, said Mr. Spencer, and every parent in Waltham ought to be up in arms. He was going to sue the city over it, he said. He was already consulting a lawyer, he said.

  Like his ex-wife, Mr. Spencer wept too, but privately.

  For a few days, the entire city slipped into an uproar of blame, counter-blame, and recrimination, mixed in with plenty of talk about out-of-control teen drinking and what public schools could and couldn't be held responsible for and what parents could and couldn't do. Amidst all of this, what had happened to Gray's date, Lucy Scarborough, moved unnoticed into the shadows, which was what Lucy insisted was exactly what she wanted.

  Leo and Soledad fielded the few phone calls that came their way, and told the simple truth: that they had arranged for a family friend to pick Lucy up at the hotel after the prom to take her to the after-party, which she had then decided not to attend. The reporters turned this into Lucy knowing Gray was drunk and refusing to get into his car with him, and Gray then racing off angrily to his death.

  Nobody said this made Gray's death partially Lucy's fault, although, secretly, his mother wondered what would have happened if Lucy had gone with Gray. Would he have driven more cautiously?

  What people did say was that if Lucy had gotten in the car with Gray, she too would likely have died, and that her parents had been smart to send a friend to check up on her. Lucy Scarborough had had a lucky escape, everybody said. The passenger in a tiny convertible would have been even more likely than the driver to have died in that crash.

  There was no contact at all between the Spencer and Markowitz families.

  CHAPTER 16

  Several days after the prom, as the public furor began to fade away, Lucy found herself longing desperately for something she could not name.

  Despite her best attempts to be logical and practical, confusion still ruled her.

  Her whole body seemed to ache. She wasn't sure, despite Soledad's and then a doctor's careful examination and reassurance that she was physically all right, which aches were emotional and which were physical. It certainly didn't help that she'd been largely unable to sleep.

  She had also been unable, despite all the support from her parents, to talk to them very much about what had happened. Part of it was that she was afraid she might slip up and tell them about the stuff that she had imagined. She felt the same way about talking to the therapist Soledad had found for her. And while she wondered if she might talk to Sarah, she wasn't ready for that. There was too much involved, especially since Sarah didn't yet know about the rape, only about Gray's death.

  Lucy thought sometimes that what she really wanted was to stay home forever and be only with Pierre. She had whispered her crazy secret to Pierre. This soothed her, but only for a short time.

  She refused to be crazy. But she needed—needed—to tell the crazy secret anyway. To somebody safe. To somebody who would not judge her.

  There was really only one good choice.

  On the evening of the sixth day, Lucy went for a drive with Zach. He took her out for ice cream after a dinner that Lucy had only picked at. They sat in Soledad's car in the parking lot of the ice cream place as the sun began to set. They both looked straight ahead and worked on their ice cream. Lucy tried frantically to think of an opening.

  Zach was eating a chocolate coffee crunch cone. He had gotten Lucy mint chocolate chip, in a cup, when she tried to order only a soda. Zach noticed with satisfaction that she was now eating her small spoonfuls.

  She was too quiet, though.

  He was almost painfully aware of Lucy's every move. Even when he wasn't looking directly at her, he felt as if he knew every time she shifted her body even a tiny bit. This was the first time he'd been alone with her since he'd brought her home on what he now thought of as "that night." His plan had been to do whatever was necessary to talk her into eating some ice cream at least. He felt victorious. He was being somewhat useful.

  "You feeling okay today?" Zach asked finally.

  "Yeah. This is good." Lucy sounded surprised. Zach thought back to all the times over the years, growing up next door, that he had watched Lucy eat green ice cream.

  There was more silence for a while. Then Lucy spoke.

  "I was right," she said. Her words were certain, but her tone wasn't, not quite.

  "Yeah," said Zach. "You were right. Absolutely. Um, about what, exactly?"

  "Not telling the police what really happened with Gray. There was no point." Her voice was tense.

  "Soledad and Leo agreed with you about that," Zach said carefully.

  "But you didn't. I could tell."

  "It's not that I think you were wrong." Zach decided to be totally frank. "It's that I don't like him getting away with it. I mean, come on, Luce. All that stuff on the news and in the paper about what a good kid he was. His parents carrying on like he was God's gift." He tried to speak calmly but it didn't work. He pressed his lips shut.

  Lucy moved so that she was sitting sideways in the car, one leg drawn beneath her, looking straight at Zach. "He didn't get away with it. He's dead."

  "Good," Zach snapped. He turned too, so he could see Lucy fully. The lights had come on in the ice cream store's parking lot, so it wasn't dark, and her face and expression were clear. "I hope he suffered. I hope it's true that when you're dying, the last few moments of your life stretch out and seem like forever. I hope his were full of pain. Mental and physical."

  Lucy looked away. She said quietly, "I know what you mean. I've caught myself hoping that sometimes too."

  Zach wanted suddenly, terribly, to hug Lucy. She sat all hunched over her ice cream. But he wasn't sure how she'd feel about a boy, even him, touching her. Any move would have to come from her. His hatred for Gray Spencer swelled.

  "I also hope," he said, "that there's really a hell and he's in it."

  Lucy didn't answer, but she didn't stop Zach either, as he went on compulsively, talking about all the tortures that might exist in hell. He was rewarded by how Lucy listened, and how she continued to eat her ice cream as he talked. It was a wonderful release, to imagine Gray Spencer being, say, rotisserie-roasted while a few devils danced around, poking him viciously with pitchforks.

  Lucy actually smiled a little bit about that one. Then some other emotion flashed over her face and she bit her lip. Her brow furrowed.

  Maybe, Zach thought, Gray could be gang-raped in hell. Daily. But he found that this was something he couldn't say to Lucy. Instead he said something that he knew was perhaps more for himself than for her. "It's okay to hate him, Luce. You don't need to feel any pity for him. I don't."

  Lucy looked at him directly again. "Even though he's dead?"

  "Yeah. I'm glad he's dead. He d
eserved to die. I think he knew it too, and that was why he crashed himself into that tree. I think he killed himself on purpose. He sentenced himself. The one good thing he did, if you ask me."

  Lucy said, "I've been wondering about that too. Because—even though the autopsy said he was drunk—he wasn't drinking, Zach. Not when he was with me. They made a mistake, or he drank something at the last minute, or—I don't know."

  Zach was silent. He didn't think the autopsy data could be a mistake.

  "But suppose he did kill himself on purpose," Lucy said. "Doesn't that make you feel pity for him?"

  "No." Zach had long ago finished his ice cream. He folded his arms across his chest.

  Lucy looked at her empty ice cream cup in surprise and put it aside. "Zach?"

  "Yeah?"

  She took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something personal?"

  "Sure."

  She blurted it out. "Are you a virgin?"

  It took Zach a second. Where was this coming from? He didn't want to answer. But this was Lucy. If she needed to know, she needed to know.

  Still, it was hard to get it out. "Yes," he said, after a minute. "I am." And then: "Well, you know. It's a choice. I've had opportunities. You know. But I just haven't. So, yes. Uh. Yes."

  Lucy nodded, a small movement of her head. She said nothing.

  Zach added, a little defensively, "Look. I can hear anything you have to say, Luce. You don't have to, like, protect my innocence."

  "Oh!" Lucy looked up. "I wasn't thinking that you needed protection. It's just that I want to tell you something—ask you something, really. And, oh, I don't know. You're a boy. I was thinking that maybe—there's a lot I don't know, about sex … how men are when …" She moved her shoulders uneasily. "When Gray was …"

  Suddenly she reached over and took Zach's hand. He was amazed at the rush of relief he felt—she was willing to touch him. He was also conscious that his hand was sticky from the ice cream.