I ball my hands into fists and try to look taller than I am. “What do you want from us?”
“I want you to show me where you put the drugs.”
“No way.”
He sighs like it’s really not a big deal to him. Then he opens the leather case again and pulls a new needle out. My eyes fix on that syringe, on the clear liquid inside it. “You know, this drug could change the world. Imagine criminals reformed. Students with perfect marks. Soldiers without fear. Do you know what governments would pay for something like that?”
“That’s what this was about for you?” I feel the horror twisting my face into something ugly. “This is why you killed Dr. Kirkpatrick? For money?”
Daniel looks up at me. “Killed her? Now, who would believe I’m the killing sort? That kind of crime takes someone with a dark side. A record, perhaps. Someone like your boyfriend here.”
“Liar,” I say, shaking my head.
“Am I? But he’s already a criminal, isn’t he? A criminal and a liar. What else is he hiding? Who’s to say he wouldn’t confess to unthinkable crimes?”
The smile he gives me is the purest form of evil I’ve ever seen.
“Were you there with Dr. Kirkpatrick’s body?” Daniel asks Adam.
“Yes.”
“You saw her on that desk, didn’t you? All that blood, Adam,” Daniel says, shaking his head. “How could you?”
“Did I hurt her?” he asks, his brow furrowing confusion. “I don’t—”
“You didn’t hurt anyone, Adam,” I say. And then I turn to Daniel with a scowl. “You’re a twisted bastard.”
“And you’re stalling.” Daniel’s face contorts, and he rears back, backhanding Maggie in the mouth.
I’m not sure whose cry is louder, hers or mine.
Adam struggles weakly to get up, and Daniel pushes him back. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to sit right there and think of all the ways you’re not good enough.”
Adam shrinks back from his words, and I try to lunge, hearing the syringes rattle in my pocket. Daniel has Maggie’s arm in his hand and the needle at her flesh before I can take a step.
“Think very carefully about how you want this to go,” Daniel says. Then he presses the needle in, just a little. Maggie whimpers softly, and my stomach curdles like day-old milk. “You show me what I want or we’ll see just how much of this I’ll need to knock her out for a month.”
Adrenaline surges through me, hot and hungry. My whole world is reduced to the sight of that needle at Maggie’s arm.
“The drugs, Ms. Spinnaker!”
“Okay, I’ll show you,” I say, shoving my hands into my pocket. I feel the cap on one of the syringes and think of the life Dr. Kirkpatrick doesn’t get to have. The life Julien doesn’t get to have either.
“You have it with you?” he asks, looking skeptical.
I do.
I do, but I cannot let this happen. I will not let him win.
I try to form the words with my lips, but Maggie’s eyes are pleading with me. Not for herself. She’s begging me for courage. For the strength to do the right thing.
“Show me what you have!” he shouts, jabbing the needle in farther.
I hold up one hand. “It’s a map, okay? I’m getting it out.”
But I’m not getting it. I’m getting a syringe. And I don’t know how I’ll do this because he’s staring right at me, but I can’t not try. I have to try.
While I wrestle to find some way, some sliver of a window of possibility, Maggie suddenly moves. She lurches wildly , leaning away from him until her chair topples over onto its side.
“You conniving little bitch!” he says, leaning to grab her.
This is it.
My one chance.
I pull the cap off and lunge. I stab the closest thing I can find and push the plunger hard and fast.
For Dr. Kirkpatrick. For Julien. For all of us.
He roars and slams his hand against my arm, batting me away. The needle still dangles from his neck when he punches at me again. This time I’m faster. I dodge left.
Daniel pulls the syringe from his skin, reading the label with obvious horror. I grab the nearest heavy thing I can find—a vase from the coffee table.
I wield it like a bat, ready to strike. But I won’t need to hit him. He reaches for me and stumbles, one knee hitting the ground in front of the couch. He’s panting and pale.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” he says, slurring his words. “Those needles are concentrated…” He trails off, swaying on his feet. “It hasn’t been tested like that.”
I force air into my lungs and courage into my voice. “Well, then consider this my experiment. That’s what we were to you, right? Experiments?”
He stares at me then at his feet. He shakes his head and looks around. I think of a deer in headlights. And I decide to use his own bag of tricks against him.
“You look so tired, Mr. Tanner,” I say, tilting my head in mock concern. “I heard you say you want to sit down.”
“I didn’t say—” He cuts himself off, looking at Adam on the couch and Maggie beside him. He tries to take a step, but his knees buckle. I watch him land on the couch gracelessly, his long legs bent at awkward angles.
“You want to rest,” I say. “You’re so tired. So weak. You want to sleep.”
His eyes are glazed, pupils too wide. I see him shake himself, trying to clear his head. “I don’t…I’m tired.”
“You are tired,” I say, feeling a cold rush of power. “And now you’re going to close your eyes until I tell you to open them again.”
Maggie wriggles out of the rope around her legs after I free her hands. She sets to work tying Daniel up while I call the police.
When it’s done, I go to Adam.
I approach him on soft feet, and he watches me through half-mast eyes. He looks like he’s in agony. It makes my chest ache, seeing him broken like this.
“The police are coming,” I say.
“The police," he repeats. And then he stiffens, looking alarmed. “You’ve got to get out of here. You didn’t have anything to do with this, Chloe.”
I try to touch his arm, to be soothing. “Adam—”
“Go, Chloe! You are too good to get mixed up in this. This is my fault. I’m the problem. Please. Just go.” He’s pushing at my hands, and he’s so strong, even like this. It’s all I can do to keep myself close to him.
I look to where Daniel is passed out on the other end of the couch. The feeling that goes through me is too hot, too red to just be anger. I remind myself that the police will come, that this man will leave here in handcuffs and he will go to jail.
It isn’t enough for me.
I could hurt him the way he hurt us. With whatever creepy drug that is running through his veins, I could wake him up and say things that would torture him for the rest of his life. I could feel the weight of his justice in my hands.
“You are too good for me,” Adam says, breaking my focus.
I’m not too good for him. But I am too good to turn into Daniel Tanner.
I slide into the space between Adam and the couch arm. I touch his face and he frowns, still looking groggy and confused.
“You deserve better, Chloe. I keep trying to tell you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I never listen.”
When he tries to pull free, I kiss him. He makes a halfhearted effort to stop me, but I fight harder. When we separate, I can see his eyes are clearer. His touch brought my memories back. Maybe mine is doing the same to him. It’s a crazy idea, but it still makes me smile.
“You know, I remember everything now,” I say. “All my missing time came back.”
I see the worry in his face before he manages to hide it. “Yeah? Any big surprises?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. I mean, I already knew I love you.”
He’s halfway through a nod when it catches up with him. I see the way he hesitates, feel the way the intensity in his
eyes changes, his whole face going soft. “Chloe, you can’t—”
“Yeah, well, I do. And I’m way stubborn, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
I see the barest hint of a grin before he pulls me in. His kiss is sweet and lingering, his hands trailing up my back and into my hair. It pushes out all of the cold and the fear of this night, leaving me warm and strong.
When we break apart, Adam smiles with his eyes closed. “Stubborn works for me.”
I laugh for the first time in forever. And that feels even better than the kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The reporter’s face on the screen is full of concern. “How do you feel about the school board’s voluntary retesting invitation?”
I bite my lip. I wish I hadn’t. It’s not pretty in person, but with my head filling up the entire television screen—remind me to thank the cameraman for that one—I look like a nervous wreck. But, then again, I was a nervous wreck.
“I haven’t thought much about it.”
“So you haven’t made a decision on how you’ll proceed?”
“Oh, no. I’ve decided. I’m retaking the test.”
The reporter tips her head in that way reporters do when the answer they receive isn’t quite what they expect. “Like many of the other students involved in this scandal, your SAT scores were exceptional, correct? Some have suggested it might be the one benefit to your suffering.”
On screen, I shake my head. I look revolted. “I guess I don’t think there were any benefits. There’s really no silver lining here. Not for me.”
“Do you find some satisfaction in being the one to bring him to justice? Your courage to come forward with this story has given other victims the strength to speak out as well.”
She lays eight pictures on the table between us. It’s all a concoction for the segment—a news trick to visualize the magnitude of Daniel’s impact. As if somehow the number of pictures on that table is directly proportionate to how big a hero I am.
But I’m not a hero at all.
“You gave these students a voice. That’s something.”
They were my friends then. And we are something different than friends now, tied together in a way we can never unravel.
On the screen, I close my eyes and take a breath. In the here and now, I feel Adam’s hand reach across the couch for mine, his fingers lending me strength.
“It isn’t nearly enough. But it’s all I could do.”
The reporter closes with a reminder of the upcoming trial for Daniel and the investigation that’s still underway on two unnamed, involved minors. The minors have names: Blake Tanner and Adam Reed.
I still don’t know what will happen to them.
“Don’t start worrying about that,” Adam says, reading my mind.
Maggie, who’s curled up on the other side of me, turns off the television. “She’s n-not the only one who’s worried about it.”
“Coming from my fan club, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Adam says, but he’s mostly teasing. The two of them probably aren’t going to start trading secrets or braiding each other’s hair. But they love me. And that seems to be enough for both of them.
“Well, I, for one, am proud of you,” my mom says from the love seat. Her smile wavers a little, which tells me that’s not all she wants to say. “I still wish you’d reconsider the test. There’s no harm in you keeping that score—”
I roll my eyes. “Mom. We’ve been over this.”
She relents with a sigh. It’s almost like she’s letting it go, but we both know better than that. Beside her, my dad makes a cuckoo sign with his hand. “Don’t listen to her. You’ll probably get even better scores.”
“I doubt that,” I say.
“I don’t,” my dad says. “And, as you know, I’m always right.”
I laugh. “Well, brace yourself for reality.”
“One of these days you’re going to figure out how smart you actually are,” Adam says quietly. “Then you’ll be the one bracing.”
My dad notices. He’s been doing that with Adam. Noticing things.
It’s kind of weird, still, me dating this guy with a record. Not exactly everything they’d dreamed, and I get that. Hell, Adam’s worse than them. He wouldn’t even come in the house at first. But one day, Maggie and I dragged him inside, and we forced the elephant out from under the carpet.
Awkward does not begin to cover it. But here we are. And it’s okay.
Good even.
“When’s your next meeting with the detective?” my dad asks.
Maggie looks right at me, her brows arched. I force myself to close my mouth and watch as Adam looks down. He takes a breath before he answers.
“Friday.”
“Will your grandmother be there?”
“She’s not…well,” he says, and I squeeze his hand. He’s barely comfortable having a soda from the fridge. Dragging his senile, alcoholic grandmother into the mix is probably somewhere he doesn’t want to go.
“If it’s all right with you, I might give him a call,” Dad says.
Maggie and I both whip our heads to stare at him. Mom’s gaping too.
“What?” he says, looking at us like we’re crazy. “Is it so strange that I want to put in a good word for the guy?”
Um, yes, it’s strange. My dad defending a boy I’m making out with on a regular basis is pretty much a portent of impending apocalypse.
“You don’t have—” I cut Adam off with a hard squeeze to his fingers and a very pointed look. His eyes soften and he tries again. “If you’d like, that would be great. Thank you.”
Mom claps her hands together and offers pizza, and my dad joins her as she heads into the kitchen talking toppings and pickup versus delivery.
Maggie pulls out at least four stacks of flash cards, thumping them on the table in a line. “Now that that’s out of the way, we need t-to get down to business. Where are your highlighters?”
I stare at the mountain of work on the coffee table with a frown. “They’re in my backpack. Tucked in beside the last shred of hope for a fun weekend.”
Adam laughs.
His laugh was the first thing I remembered all those months ago. It’s still one of my favorite sounds on earth.
***
Six minutes. In six minutes I will walk through those double doors and sit down at a desk, and it will change my future.
I wait in a row of orange plastic chairs with Adam and three dozen juniors I don’t really know. Everybody else kept their scores.
The other kids here look like they’ve had three cups of coffee with a Red Bull shooter. They’re twitchy and sweaty, shifting in their seats and watching the clock with dread etched in their faces.
“I thought I was the calm, cool, collected one,” Adam comments.
I shake my head. “No, you’re the smoking-hot, irresistible one.”
“Am I?” The smile he gives me is probably illegal in four states. Sadly, even the promise of an impromptu make-out session wouldn’t outrank what we’re waiting on. Not for him, at any rate.
Not for me either, really. Maybe once. But things are different now. I look at the closed double doors on the south wall. White SAT testing signs are taped to both doors. Maybe I’m crazy, but the sight of them makes me grin.
“You’re scaring the natives,” Adam says.
I kiss him, and he makes a humming noise in the back of his throat when I pull back. “Hey, don’t stop on my account.”
“Oh, that’s not for you. I need a clear head.”
“Right. Clear heads.” He shakes his head and straightens up in his chair, looking grave. Like he needs to bother. He’ll walk out with a score that should land him in any school he wants.
Should but probably won’t.
And as for me—
“So what’s your goal?”
I think about it. About the 2155 that was framed on my fridge. The score I probably don’t have a snail’s chance of getting again.
“Don’t think negative,” Adam says. “You’ve studied your ass off.”
“I know, and I’m good with it. No matter what it is, it’ll be mine.”
“It’ll be good enough for Brown,” he says with absolute conviction.
I take a breath and hold it in because it might not be. The truth sits low in my chest. It’s solid and ugly, but I can swallow it. I can keep breathing.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I want. And I’ll find a way to get it.”
He gives me a pointed look. “Well, God knows that’s the truth.”
My too-loud laugh earns a stern frown from the proctor. I’m never going to be the teacher’s pet. Or the top of the class. It’s fine. I kind of like the view from where I’m standing.
“When the doors open, please find an open desk and be seated,” the proctor says.
The doors swing wide open. Just like my future.
Acknowledgments
This is harder than I thought it would be. I want to thank everyone I’ve ever met and maybe a few random strangers—and it probably looks like I have. But truthfully, I know I will think of others later and wish I’d mentioned them too. I hope they’ll have the grace to forgive me.
My first thanks is to God, for planting this dream and giving me parents that would let me chase it. To my mother, who I hope is looking down with pride, and to my father, who teaches me every day what the word perseverance actually means.
Six Months Later was championed by an unbeatable publishing team at Sourcebooks Fire. Kim Manley, Cat Clyne, Jillian Bergsma, Derry Wilkens, and, most of all, Leah Hultenschmidt, thank you so much for believing in me and in this book. You have made every part of this process lovely.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without the hard work of my agent, whose wisdom and kindness are unmatched. Cori Deyoe, as always, thank you so much for being in my corner.
I am blessed with an amazing group of supporters, some friends, some relatives—all family to me. Angela, Debbie, Tori, Tiffany, Leigh Anne, Sharon, Christy, Esther, Jon, Melissa, Kathy, Paul, my cousin Jennifer (who just “knew” this book would sell), and my stepmom Karen (who read this long before it was actually good)—I’m more grateful than you know for your encouragement.
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