The best part of my day was lunch—Zack grabbed me just outside of Art and tugged me to the side. Bless Wanda, she didn’t even blink or cast me a sidelong look. She walked on without me. The perfect wing-girl. She was starting to give Morgan a run for her money. Not that Morgan was a particularly useful wing-girl—she attracted far too much attention for such a position.
Anyway. I shook Morgan out of my thoughts and stared up into Zack’s eyes. I told my muscles to relax. I sent orders to the sweat-glands to stand down, and tried my best to smooth my hair through sheer willpower alone. My eyes drifted from his and slid down to his lips—I thought of the kiss in the movie theater. Our first fleeting moment together—and so far the only one.
“Lucy?”
Crap
. I’d been drifting.
“Of course,” I said. “Well, today. On the weekends it’s
Sasha Fierce.
”
Zack laughed. His skin wrinkled around his nose, and he stared down at me with those intense sapphire eyes.
“Nice,” he said. “I meant have you heard anything yet?”
I nodded, my eyes wide, wondering about the question I must have missed. No way to play it cool without making the situation worse.
Stupid truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d like to buy a vowel?”
“What?”
“I totally spaced,” I said, sheepishly. “What did you want?”
I watched his face twitch—he didn’t think my attempt to pass it off was very funny. He looked offended, actually. I felt my heart sink down somewhere around my shoes. I took a deep breath, but he cut me off before I could launch into an apology.
“Can you go to Benny’s party tonight?”
I smiled huge. Gigantic. My face was gonna hurt the next day from cheek-trauma.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
Zack blinked at me. If we’d been in a cartoon, I would have heard the
dink-dink
noise.
“I’m kidding,” I said. “Just gotta be home by—”
Ten-thirty. Ten-thirty. Ten-thirty.
It flashed in my brain like a neon sign.
“Eleven-thirty,” I said.
“Really?” Zack said. His shoulders squared off, and I watched relief wash over him, “Wow. That’s great. That’s amazing. You have the coolest parents.”
And they had the dumbest daughter. I shrugged off the sense of worry twisting my belly like bad Chinese food—I didn’t have to stay out until eleven-thirty just because my rebellious mouth said so. Maybe I’d be home at ten-thirty, or even ten. Yeah, and maybe Zack would propose to me tomorrow and fly me to Italy on his private flying reindeer-driven sled.
“Cool,” Zack said. “Mind if Benny and me come pick you and the girls up first? So he doesn’t have to go out again.”
First? It was tragically uncool to be the first people at a party.
“Benny doesn’t have to pick up anyone else?”
Zack shifted uncomfortably.
“What?”
“You and Sara, Wanda and Daphne are the only…non-wheeled. Sophomores, I mean.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You’re a sophomore, too.”
Zack grinned, “But Benny is my best friend.”
“So it’s just juniors and seniors? I don’t believe it,” I said. “Upperclassmen not trying to take advantage of helpless frosh girls?”
Zack shrugged. Again, not terribly amused. His sense of humor was so hot and cold. I had trouble getting a bead on what made him laugh and what offended him. It had to be all those newspapers he read. Gave him an over-developed sense of umbrage. Dad was the same way.
“It’s a damn shame Morgan can’t come.”
I made a face. I couldn’t help myself.
“For Benny,” he quickly corrected. “The poor guy is heartbroken about it.”
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “Though I feel pretty terrible for her.”
Zack nodded. I could tell what he was thinking—his first thought was to sneak her out, and his second was a memory of what kind of trouble that had caused last time. He’d heard through the grapevine, namely me, that when Morgan’s mom found out that Benny was her date the night of Morgan’s escape and my disappearance, she’d forbidden Morgan from talking, calling, or seeing him.
“So…you’ll pick me up?”
“At seven,” he said. “Give or take.”
“Just come to my house,” I said. “I’ll just gather the
chicas
there first.”
“
Bueno
,” Zack said.
He walked me to the circle of girls. We brushed elbows a couple times, each contact sparking little thrills of excitement. When he left to rejoin Benny’s crowd, the girls pounced.
Daphne: “When are you just going to tear his shirt off already?”
Wanda: “That’s great, Luce.”
Sara: “How are we getting to your house?”
Morgan: “Benny was heartbroken?”
I calmed them down and answered their questions and concerns one at time, press conference style.
“Because I’m not an animal; thanks, Wanda; your parents or your Huffys, and yes.”
Daphne looked disappointed, Wanda pleased, Sara unhappy, and Morgan besotted. We launched into more detailed plans almost immediately. Daphne had a new hat she wanted to give a spin, and Sara had a brand new dress. It looked like me and Wanda were just going to have to mix and match something from the collection. Granted, that meant Wanda was going to have to mix and match something from
my
collection, because her clothes, in general, were sad. They made me sad.
Morgan sat through our excitement as best as she could. I wanted to shut up, watching her smile and nod gracefully. Her grounding had been finalized because of the attempted sneak out—when I asked her about her prison sentence, she had laughed and considered it more likely that she’d be crushed by a spaceship than set free. Her mother had explained, in no uncertain terms, that she better get used to the couch, the fridge, and the vast lands between.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked her.
“Nothing,” Morgan said, the smile she flashed me was devoid of amusement. “I think that’s the point.”
I groaned, slipped my chin into my hands, and lost myself in the Daphne/Sara chatter. Wanda, strangely quiet, twirled her hair, listening to me and Morgan verbally spar. I did battle with Morgan’s self-pity—but no matter what I said, every attempt ended the same way:
“Morgan,” I’d say. “Your parents won’t ground you forever,” or
“Morgan, your mom is just freaked out,” or
“Maybe you can talk to her and change her mind.”
It didn’t matter. She had her stock response, and she wasn’t diverting.
“I’m screwed, Lucy. I’m screwed.”
Eventually I gave up and lapsed into furtive silence, punctuated only by little comments to Sara and Daphne about their hair-do plans or their worries about the party.
I was looking forward to Spanish, namely the Spanish-time with Zack, but it just wasn’t going to happen. When I walked into class one of Ms. Crane’s messengers was already in my class. It looked like
Seńor
Halloway was giving the messenger guff about my frequent absences. It made me smile, to be honest—Halloway may have harassed me and Zack daily, but he was a good teacher, and a nice guy.
When he looked up, his face crinkled. He gestured the messenger in my general direction and sat down with a loud huff behind his desk. I smiled and mouthed “
thank you,
” to him, but he just seemed confused. The messenger handed me my obligatory note, and I went to see Ms. Crane.
As usual, she was in her black leather chair, her right side facing the window, her eyes to the wall across from her, her hands tangled across her expansive lap. It would have been a nervous posture, save the look on her face—stony. Almost cold, but in a comforting, hard to explain way.
I sat down in my usual chair, trying to relax, preparing for questions about my first dog or my favorite teacher. She spoke in her fluid but all-business tone.
“Were you raped last week, Lucy?”
I didn’t even sit up. My muscles hardened, locking me in a lazy slouch—a slacker statue. Rodin’s
Daydreamer
. My jaw clicked as my mouth moved, but nothing resembling words squeaked out. I’d been asked the question, more or less, but not in those words. I struggled to find an answer.
“Don’t rush,” Ms. Crane said, still not looking at me. She looked the part of the daydreamer as well. “I just have a feeling no one has put that question to you so…nakedly.”
I shook my head. Apparently my muscle control was returning.
“I’ve been asked, yeah…”
Crane’s eyebrows arched slightly.
“By who?”
I cleared my throat, “Officer Sykes.”
Crane nodded again, and it came with a smug smile. As if I’d provided the answer she’d been looking for. After a moment, she turned toward me.
“So just a police officer…and your guidance counselor?”
I stiffened, and this time it wasn’t surprise. I felt a jet of anger—my fingers curled around the armrests of my chair. She noticed it all right, but she didn’t look particularly stunned. I knew her accusation already.
“My parents are—”
She cut me off. “You don’t understand—”
“No,” I said. I could feel the raw nerves making my voice shake—I wasn’t used to blowing up on adults, much less an adult/semi-teacher. “
You
don’t. My parents are good parents. My friends are great. Just because they don’t—”
“Wait,” she said, her face still a mask of calm. “Wait. That’s not what I’m saying.”
My breath came in gasps. Leaning forward in the chair, with my lips parted, I could taste her. I could smell her perfume, something light but flowery, but more importantly I could feel her. A dull warmth baking off her. I caught a glimpse of something—a young man, clean-shaven, handsome, his face edged in the dark orange glow of firelight. I took another deep breath, and the image became clearer. I saw what she must have seen—the blurry shape of a hand moving too fast, then a shock of white light.
I closed my lips and leaned back in horror. I tried to purge the stolen thoughts, tried to vomit them out. They wouldn’t go. I was
her
in the image, I realized. Being violated in first-person perspective. My skin crawled, and I felt the very real urge to lose my lunch.
She took the look of horror on my face the wrong way, I realized. Her face softened, and she leaned forward to put a hand on my wrist. I allowed it, only because I was too shocked to think.
“I’m just saying that you need to share, Ms. Day,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “You have to talk about it to get past it. To overcome it.”
I shook my head—my emotions were a tangled mess. She’d been attacked, sometime in college, I think. Her sense of panic, of stark terror and helplessness…I could think of nothing but the sickly yellow glow of the parking lot. The guys backing me into an alley, cornering me. Laughing. Making fun of me. I thought of the little bald one with his gun, so self-satisfied and yet nervous. A newborn monster, excited and scared and hungry all at once.
I stood up and yanked my hand away.
“Please…I…” I said, skirting towards the door. “I have to go.”
Her face changed—went from sympathetic to…what? Angry? It was a hard look to read. Almost offensive. She ran a hand over her cheek and finally nodded with a tired look.
“All right, Ms. Day,” she said. “But we’ll be here on Monday, you understand?”
I didn’t care. I just had to go. I grabbed the door handle like it was a life-preserver in a hurricane and yanked. Ms. Crane said one last thing, but I didn’t hear it before I slammed the door behind me. I tucked my arms tight to my body and almost ran through the counseling center. Outside, I sprinted for the parking lot at full speed.
I made it just to the gate near the gym when I heard footsteps pounding the grass behind me. Terror spiked my belly, and I picked up speed. The person was faster than me. Stronger too. My pursuer caught me in moments and scooped me up in powerful arms.
I kicked and struggled, but he turned me around like I didn’t weigh a thing. I looked into cool blue eyes. Zack looked down at me, his face a map of confusion and worry. I struggled to break out of his grip, but there was no use. I wasn’t small or short, but Zack was still positively huge in comparison.
He couldn’t see me like this, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“Let go,” I said, struggling against his chest. “Let go!”
He did. I reeled back and went to slap him, but he deflected the shot with a lightning-fast forearm. His face hadn’t changed—he didn’t look mad at the attack. He’d barely registered it—the block had been instinctual.
“What is it?” he asked. “What happened?”
I backed away from him. My back hit the chain link fence at the edge of the grass, and I saw the jaundiced parking lot again. I thought of being cornered, of being attacked. I sucked in huge gasps of air, but I couldn’t catch my breath. I knew I was losing it, but I didn’t know how to stop. My head felt light and my arms and legs oddly heavy. Zack blurred—the school behind him blurred. I couldn’t catch my breath, no matter how much air I swallowed. I couldn’t—
—grey…—
No
. I opened my eyes. I was beginning to lose consciousness, something I didn’t know I could even do. If I didn’t get my breathing under control, I was going to be hurtling back toward the Grey Meadows. And if I did that in front of Zack…if I just disappeared…
Well it would be a whole lot worse than just the simple humiliation I was facing now.
I grabbed the chain fence behind me, trying to let it ground me, trying to let its cold aluminum sink into my hand.
Breathe, Lucy. Slow down and breathe.
Zack took another step forward and grabbed one of my hands. His touch burned in mine. My heart fluttered in spite of everything—it felt like it was climbing up into my neck. My arms tingled, then my legs. My breath slowed but grew more ragged. He grabbed my other hand too, crushing it into his. I looked up at him.
"Shouldn't you be in class?" I asked, my breath in tatters.
“I saw you bolt out of the counseling office. Seemed more important than the proper use of the formal
usted.
Señor
Halloway's working on his detention slip right now, I imagine."