Between These Lines (A Young Adult Novel) (23 page)

Chase, on the other
hand, remains a mystery. A perfect one, maybe. Hiding behind those eyes. It’s
his quietness that caught me, even though everyone else said he was strange.

I think he’s cautious.
He has good reason to be. It’s amazing when life smacks you over the head,
isn’t it? I finally know that my life with Shane was a lie – and Chase
Mitman just might be a miracle.

The
last one spread chills across my skin.

October 16
^th

Please God, please let
Chase be safe tonight. Shane might do something horrible. And I might not be
able to do anything about it.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Friday

It’s been
a week. I wonder if that explains why I feel so off this morning. I woke a
million times last night feeling like I was hallucinating. I dreamt of fire,
but it was cold, and I heard my parents calling for me. Most days I can barely
remember their faces.

When
I awoke this morning, after finally drifting into a deep, strange sleep, I felt
sick enough to consider skipping today, but I couldn’t bring myself to miss out
on finding another page from Evie’s diary.

I
decided to beat the system, and kept my belongings in my backpack rather than
my locker.

I
didn’t want to see anything disappear, like my English folder, so it seemed
better just to leave my locker empty. The hallway was unusually crowded as I
made my way down the science wing. My head still felt fuzzy, but I kept moving.
A bad feeling brewed in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t put my finger on
since getting dressed, and I forced my legs to move faster.

I
am a freak.
I
had become dependent on finding a way to be with Evie every day in my locker.

The
dial turned and stopped. Jammed.

Dammit,
no!

I
stared, waiting for it to come to life and spring open on its own. This
couldn’t be happening.

I
looked over my shoulder and cringed, knowing I’d be late for Mr. Generro’s
class. This would earn me at least three pink slips today, but as far as I
could see, there was no other way around it. I pounded on the door just above
the lock, testing it. Then, backing up, I placed a good distance between myself
and the metal, and, at full speed across the width of the hall, I hurled myself
forward, jumped, and forced my foot into the lever. My breathing felt labored,
heavy, and I closed my eyes as the strange feeling washed over me again, making
me dizzy. By the time

I
opened them I was amazed no one had heard—even more amazing, my locker
door was wide open, without a single dent.

The
inside of the door was empty, and I panicked.

I
probably knocked it off with my super ninja skills.

Then
I saw the crisp paper lying at the bottom, folded perfectly into a precise two
inch square. The same feeling that gripped me earlier came again, but I
shrugged it off as I stared down at the paper, suddenly nervous to reach down
and pick it up.

But
I did.

I
opened it.

I
stared at the date, knowing it couldn’t be right. This was a mistake. It had to
be.

Evie’s
handwriting was the printed across the top, just like it had been on all the
others. The same writing, the same type of journal paper, only the date
couldn’t be right.

October 17
^th

Forgive me.
 
I am so
sorry. It was all a mistake, bringing you into this. Everything was a mistake
except for how I still feel about you.

I
stopped reading for a second.
How she still felt about me?
I looked at
the date again.

Oh, my God, Chase
– I can’t believe what’s happened. I don’t remember how I made it home.

She
made it home? My hands were shook so much I could barely hold the paper steady.
My mind flashed to lunch and for the briefest, most impossible stretch of
seconds, I let myself believe what couldn’t possibly be.

The
date proved it.

This
was written the day
after
the party.

I
leaned against the lockers to steady myself, suddenly coping with the endless
stream of questions that pounded my brain—questions I was certain could
never be viable. Baffled. Elated. You name it, I felt it. I folded the paper
back into the perfect square it had been when it was still lying innocently at
the bottom of my locker and headed home, searching for Evie the entire way.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Monday

I stared
at my phone and willed it to chime. My thumbs had punched at least twenty texts
to Evie over the weekend, but nothing came back. Maybe her phone had been
damaged by the fire. Maybe her parents were home for once, finding good reason
to enjoy their daughter after her close brush with death. Regardless, my phone
was in my pocket, just in case, keeping company with each diary entry I had
collected this past week.

A
hollow metallic echo sounded throughout the corridor as I made my way to Mr.
Generro’s class. As I approached, the noise ceased, replaced by the jingling of
a master set of keys. A small group of men in dark blue jackets huddled around
the section near Evie’s locker, and I eyed them with curiosity.

“What
are they looking for?” Someone asked in the small crowd that had formed behind
me.

“Everyone
to the auditorium please, you may go to your lockers in a moment.” Headmaster
Whitley ushered the students away from the area, his face pale and sweaty. I
wondered if this had anything to do with our original arrangement. The one I
thought he had decided against.

I
stayed put, however, and watched from behind the bend in the hall as the men
worked away at the lock. The metal hinge on Evie’s locker snapped off easily,
allowing the door to swing wide open. Inside were her belongings: a rainbow of
notebooks stacked neatly on the top shelf, text books towered on the bottom, a
bag of gym clothes. Her coat still hung on the hook. I stared with disbelief at
the contents—my head reeling, my stomach feeling punched as it all came
rushing back: Evie, her life, the things she owned, the things she touched.
It’s been a week since the party. How could her locker still be
so—normal?

“Have
you found it?” Headmaster Whitley stood tense as the men continued their
search.

“Got
it.” The man whose arm was deep inside Evie’s locker motioned to the stack of
books, and reached behind, pulling into view a white envelope, and my pulse
raced as I relived the moment Shane dropped it between the slats. With a gloved
hand the man placed it into a plastic evidence bag. “It should match the prints
from the folder taken at the house.”

My
stomach dropped.
My
finger prints were all over that folder. I was the
one who had delivered it to the party. My blood ran cold as I thought of how
ruthless Shane could be, but I didn’t mess up. I went through with the deal. He
had no reason to follow through with his threat. I began talking myself into
all the rational avenues this investigation could take. There were three sets
of prints on that manila folder: Ty’s, mine and Shane’s. The men had it wrong, mine
were never on the envelope that had just been lifted from Evie’s locker.

“Is
there anyone we should question, Mr. Whitley?” the blue-jacketed man asked.

“No.
We have a statement from my nephew, and other boy’s locker has been cleared.”

The
man in the jacket checked a clipboard, paused, then looked up, “And the other
boy? Chase Mitman. He’s no longer a student here?”

My
heart stammered. I looked at Headmaster Whitley, panicking as I waited for him
to explain that this was a terrible mistake, but he remained composed as he
gave a short nod.

The
only thing I could think of was Shane’s final word to have me expelled.
Somehow, he had found a way to take me down with him. I wiped the perspiration
beading beneath my hair and slowly backed away, determined not to have
Headmaster Whitley turn around and find me eavesdropping. I had to get to my
locker before he pulled me into his office. I had to find one more note from
Evie.

But
when I opened my locker it stood completely empty. There was no note.

In
a way, part of me was relieved to be spared the agony of reading one more page.
But I wasn’t expecting the disappointment that hit my stomach. No one asked me
if it could end here. There was no notice shoved in my locker, giving me the
heads up that my subscription to Evie’s diary was about to expire, no chance
for renewal.

Done.
Zip.

And
now I was about to be thrown out of school for something I didn’t do.

I
stood in front of the empty locker and closed my eyes. I had felt closer to
Evie this last week because of those little papers. These pages ripped from her
journal, left for me, helped ease the pain from that awful night. I felt the
phone in my pocket. It was still silent. Maybe this was a sick joke after all.
The date on yesterday’s entry had to be a mistake. It had to be. Nothing else
would explain why she still hadn’t texted me, called me, anything . . . except
that Evie died in the boathouse at the party. And part of me died with her.

I
closed the door and pressed my forehead to it, never hearing the soft approach
of footsteps behind me until they stopped right behind my back. My fists balled
as I drew in the deep breath that would help me pivot around. I turned, just as
the slender hand holding the cream paper with lavender lines swept past my
eyes, and I watched as the note disappeared between the slats with a gentle,
almost reluctant, push.

Desperate
to stop this repetitious torture of reading the past, I reached out for the
paper, my hand brushing against the hand holding it . . .

.
. . and passing weightlessly through . . .

Stunned,
I stared at Evie only she looked back at me strangely—looked
through
me,
with sad eyes that stared at the locker behind me.

“Evie,”
I whispered softly. “You’re okay.” My hand reached out to touch her cheek as a
tear escaped the corner of her eye and began its decent. My thumb moved to
swipe it away. I needed to feel her skin. I needed to tell her how I felt, how
much she meant to me. Only my thumb hovered strangely over her skin as if a
barrier were guarding her against my touch, and then she turned and my hand
collided with the side of her face, skin overlapping skin, moving through it.
She turned and walked away, never saying anything back, never pausing long
enough for my heart to give her what it wanted—as if it never happened.

Evie.
   

I
was torn between running after her and standing dumbfounded. I held my hands
out in front of me and turned them over, touching them—pressing them onto
any surface I could find to prove to myself I hadn’t just flipped from being
normal to being absolutely insane.

Mr.
Floyd approached from the opposite end of the hall. I ran to him and stopped
short, waiting for the reprimand that I rushed too quickly through the hall. He
said nothing. He didn’t urge me to join the others in the auditorium. He didn’t
suggest I move along to class at a pace that was more appropriate.

He
walked right past me.

He
didn’t even see me.

I
stared after him, my heart in my throat, a scream building in my chest.
No,
no, no . . .
I wandered the hall, searching for Evie, hoping she would
somehow explain what was going on, as disbelief’s heavy hand struck me again
and again. I touched everything and watched my hand repeatedly slip right
through objects I was sure I would feel. Panic settled in as I began to rush up
to other students now filing out of the auditorium, trying to get their
attention, trying to poke them, grab them—but every attempt failed
miserably.

Desperate,
I ran back toward the Science wing, back to the safety of my locker and found
myself standing in front of it, wondering if I would be able to feel the dial
and turn it. I stretched my hand out in front of me and watched it hover over
the black disk as I closed my hand around it.

The
dial swept clear through my hand.

The
note Evie had just brought was on the other side of the metal door and the deep
pull to reach in and get it was unbearable. I tried again and again to fumble
with the dial, the lock, anything that would let me open my locker. I failed
miserably each and every time. Exhausted, I slumped to the floor. Somehow, I
knew what was written on that piece of paper, as if I were holding it in front
of my face.
 

Evie’s
words were as clear as day to me. Even now, as the hallway faded, I pictured
every word she had ever written for me. I let them weave throughout my head,
knowing they were more than just words. They were little gifts no one had ever
been allowed to see. Pieces of her flowed between them, winding in and out of
the truth she put down on the creamy paper. They were clear to me because she
let me see what was between them, let me see the secrets the words held, no
longer invisible like me.