Authors: Mandy Hubbard
I snort. “Something like that.”
“Can we see the river first?”
“Sure.” I zip up my jacket and pull my hood over my head
as we follow the sounds of rushing water. Then I grab Logan’s hand and pull him along.
Logan happily trails after me, then blinks when a rain drop lands on his nose. “Is it seriously raining?
Again?
” he asks, studying the sky.
“I’m telling you: If you’d hoped for sunny weather, don’t hold your breath. It’ll be May before we see anything like that.” I take another few buoyant steps, then feel a tug on my hand and realize Logan’s stopped. “You coming or what?” I ask.
“You don’t think we should go home? I don’t want to get stuck out in a rainstorm.”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. A little drizzle and then it’ll clear right up. Come on.”
“Okay,” he says, shifting his gaze from the gray sky to follow me to the river. We climb up on a large boulder, and then stare down at the frothing white water.
“It’s not really green,” he jokes.
“Yeah, actually, I’m not sure where the name comes from. The river we crossed over to get to the haunted maze is the White River. And there’s a little town called Greenwater to the east. I guess people around here aren’t that creative.”
Thunder rumbles in the east, but it’s so quiet, the storm must be miles and miles away.
I turn to Logan, and he slips his arms around my waist. I relax into him, forgetting about the thunder. “Wonder what would happen if you fell in right now,” he says, one side of his lips curled up.
“Har har,” I say, sarcastically.
“Do you think we should find out?” His fingers tighten on my waist, and he pushes ever so slightly.
My heart slams into my throat and I jerk back so quickly, I nearly fall off the rock. It’s only Logan’s hands on my waist that save me, and I slam into his chest so hard the pain in my shoulder makes me cry out.
“Whoa, are you okay?” Logan asks, holding me up.
“Why’d you do that?” I hiss, breathless from the pain as I push him away, cradling my already injured arm.
“I was just joking around,” Logan says in a low voice. “Trying to get you to face your fears. I didn’t think you’d react like that.”
I take in a deep breath and fight the urge to glare at him. “How did you know that water is one of my fears?”
“I didn’t. Not really…” His voice trails off. He gets a strange look on his face, like he’s lost in another world, but then he meets my eyes again.
“It’s number five. I can’t swim. My mom wanted to take me to lessons, but then she—” I stop abruptly, then meet his eyes. I don’t have to finish the sentence for him to know what I mean.
“Ohhh,” Logan says, his face falling. “God, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
I turn away and step onto the path again, looking up at the sky to rein in my erratic heartbeat.
“Look. The rain stopped,” I say, gesturing up to the sky. The heavy gray has lightened considerably, the masses of rain clouds rolling away to reveal tiny patches of blue.
“Mm-hmm.” He steps down from the rock and slips his arm around my waist. “I’m a good swimmer, you know.” He leans down, kissing my cheek. “This summer, I’ll teach you how to swim.”
I allow myself to picture the long, hot summer days stretching out before me, Logan’s eyes sparkling with the reflection of the sun on the river. We’re in the water, and he’s wrapping his arms around me, his skin hot against the cold river water. I want it so badly it hurts.
“So how about this bubbling geyser?” he asks.
I just stare at him.
“Hey. Seriously, I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I had a good hold of you. You weren’t going in.”
I nod, letting go of my annoyance. He turns me toward him, leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips, and my irritation floats away.
We walk down the trail, hand in hand, and I try to relax, to not picture how the water frothed and gurgled when he playfully pushed me toward it.
We wind down the pathways, crossing a few little wooden bridges that creak pleasantly underneath us, until we finally end on a platform, leaning over the railing and peering into the water below.
“Okay, so I know I was supposed to manage my expectations or whatever, but that’s not what I pictured when you said bubbles,” he says.
The bottom of the creek bed has a gray, ashy sort of color, and tiny air bubbles sprout almost constantly, rise to the surface,
and pop. It’s a never-ending, constant stream of bubbling, like a champagne glass lined with mud.
“I told you it wasn’t going to be that impressive.”
“So then why are you smiling like that?”
I shrug. I hadn’t even meant to smile, but there it is. “I dunno. Because I like being with you even if you sometimes have a kind of sick sense of humor. Isn’t that enough?”
He steps closer and touches my chin with his pointer finger so that I look up at him. “I
really
like being with you.”
And then he closes the gap, and we’re standing there beside the bubbling geyser as his lips graze mine. The faintest flutter of a touch steals my breath away. My eyes slip shut and the world seems to give way beneath my feet.
Logan leans into me, until my back is against the wooden railing, the geyser fizzing behind us. His elbows rest on the railing, and I reach up, interlacing my fingers at the back of his neck. I pull him against me, and for one beautiful moment, it feels like we’re one. Then it seems like it’s just a heartbeat later that he’s pulling back, but it must be longer because by then I’m practically panting, trying in vain to catch my breath.
Logan makes the breathing thing even more difficult when a second later, he reaches up and traces my cheek with his thumb. “So maybe it’s more impressive than I thought.”
A
couple hours later, I wait impatiently at the elevator, slapping the up button again and again, even though it’s already lit. Hospitals always feel so…uncomfortable to me. I can’t stand in them without thinking of my mother. Without feeling an echo of the panic I’d felt that day. And now, they also remind me of my broken collarbone, of flying over the handlebars of the quad.
I just want to find Bick and get out of here.
The doors glide open and I slip inside the lift, hitting the button for the second floor at least three times in the hopes that will make the doors close faster. Of course, when they eventually do, I find myself wondering how many germs are crawling around on the buttons, how many sick people touched them.
It seems like forever later when the doors slide open, and I follow the arrows until I’m standing in front of room 223.
I knock on the door frame and then step inside to see
Bick sitting at the edge of the bed, dressed in street clothes—Carhartt jeans and a black T-shirt, plus his Romeo shoes. When my eyes meet his, my mouth goes dry.
“
Oh
,” I say, my voice falling.
He has cuts over his eyebrow, and one black eye, plus a swollen, split lip. “It looks worse than it is.”
“I hope so, because you look terrible.”
He laughs, and then winces. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh.”
“Would you rather I made you cry?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Thanks for picking me up. My mom was driving me insane, running around and fluffing my pillows and handing me ice chips.”
“Well, I thought we’d make a nice pair, what with your charming face and my lovely brace here,” I say.
He chuckles again and shakes his head. “Can we just get out of here?”
I grab the backpack off the couch. “Sure. Are you all discharged or whatever?”
He nods. “Yeah, my mom signed all the stuff when she brought me my change of clothes.”
“Cool.”
I start to swing the backpack over my good shoulder, but Bick lifts it off me. “I can carry this, gimpy.”
“Whatever, crash,” I say, leading him out the door.
“Hey, the wreck wasn’t my fault,” he says.
“It wasn’t?” I turn back to him as I push the down key on the elevator pad. We’re almost out of here. Just a few more moments…
“No. Somebody plowed right into me. All I saw was a big black SUV. It pushed me right into the ditch and my truck rolled onto its side.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “Do you think they were drunk?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “They were going fast as hell though. I hardly saw them coming and by then it was too late to move.”
“Why don’t you know? Did you get knocked out?” I grab a hold of the railing inside the elevator, using my good hand to hold me up. Bick completely downplayed this on the phone. He
rolled
his truck. It was not some teeny little fender bender.
No wonder his mom was fussing over him.
“No. Well, maybe, but only for a minute. I remember what song was playing when they plowed into me, and it was still playing when I came to.” Bick reaches up, tenderly touching the abrasions on his forehead. “The other driver didn’t stick around.”
We step into the elevator and I stare at him in the harsh light of the lift. “It was a hit and run?”
He nods. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“How’d you get out of your truck?”
“I had to climb out the passenger side door. By then someone else was there, and they called 911.”
The elevator dings and we step into the hall. “So is your truck totaled?”
“Probably. My mom had it towed to our house but she said it looks pretty bad. I might be able to turn it into a four-by-fouring rig. Take off the fenders and everything.” He frowns, furrowing his brow.
My shoes click on the sterile tile floors as we walk past the hospital gift shop and out into the suddenly cloudless day. “Wow. That sucks. I know you love the thing.”
He nods. “Yeah. I just keep telling myself it could have been worse.”
“True.” We cross the lot to my little car, and I hold the door open for Bick.
“Thanks, Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I laugh under my breath as I round the driver’s side. Then I climb in, snapping my seatbelt on. “Well, you’re right. It
could
be worse.”
“How’s that?” he asks, wincing as he reaches for the seatbelt.
I hold up my right arm. “I could drive a stick. And then we’d both be screwed.”
When we arrive at Bick’s house, I park next to his mangled truck and barely manage to contain my shock—it’s so much more twisted and crunched than I could have ever imagined. I knew he rolled it…but…
wow.
We climb out of my coupe and I can’t help but stare at the crushed metal, the shattered windshield, the cracked headlights as we round the back of the truck on our way to the door of Bick’s house. Bick shuffles along quickly, obviously eager to move past the hulking reminder of his accident. I move to follow him, then pause at the right front fender, my heart going still. “Um, Bick?”
“Yeah?” he looks up from the door to his house, disappointment swimming in his eyes as he once again catches sight of
his prized truck. He obviously didn’t realize it was in such poor shape.
“How long did you say you were unconscious?”
“A minute. Maybe two, tops.” He gives up on the door and comes back to meet me.
“Long enough for someone to do this?” I ask, pointing to the truck.
A blood-red handprint is emblazoned on the fender.
O
n Saturday, Adam pulls into my driveway in his jacked-up Samurai, all smiles as he whoops out the window.
I roll my eyes, thinking it’s probably crazy to go four-by-fouring today, with my broken collarbone and with the image of Bick’s truck so fresh in my mind. But I told Logan I would, so I can’t back down now. Allie gets out of Adam’s car and slides her seat forward, making room for me to climb into the tiny backseat. I’m glad I won’t have to be crammed back here for long—once we get to Logan’s, I’ll be riding with him.
“Ow,” I say, as I thunk down too hard and jar my elbow. I lean my head against the vinyl window, staring out at the fields as we leave my house.
“Smooth move,” Adam says, slamming his door shut.
I roll my eyes, ignoring his barb. “It’s too bad Bick can’t come with us. It seems wrong to go without him.”
“He’ll catch us next time,” Adam replies.
Then Allie adds, “I doubt his mom would let him go even if his truck was workable right now anyway.”
I nod and stare out the window, thinking that Bick’s mom might have the right idea. It took a good half hour for me and Bick to remove the red handprint from his truck window—it was just paint, fortunately. Still, though, the mark burns in my brain, making me believe that the “accident” wasn’t one at all, that the same person who caused it is the one who sabotaged his quad, and that maybe that same person is also the one who’s doing all of the other crazy stuff around town.