Authors: Pat White
Taylor. My friend? I consider. Do friends rat you out to your parents? Tell them you’re “troubled?”
We pull up to school and I start to get out of the car. Mom touches my shoulder. “Honey, please don’t be upset with us about yesterday.”
“Whatever.” I don’t want to waste another minute talking to her when I could be inside with J.D.
I hop out of the electric lime and head into school.
I need to get to J.D., hear his voice, and wrap my arms around him.
I’m wearing Yoga pants and a pink tank, but keep my hoodie in my backpack. I figure the pants will make me seem more familiar to everyone. Mom actually smiled this morning when she saw my outfit.
Unfortunately I’m freezing. Hopefully J.D. can warm me up with a hug.
I glance down the hall, making sure no sees me. Do I sound paranoid or what? I duck into the art room. The lights are off.
“J.D.?” I whisper.
“In here.”
I follow the sound of his voice to the matte room. He’s sitting behind a storage cabinet on the ground, drawing. He glances up and smiles. My heartbeat skips. Really, truly skips.
I sit next to him and brush hair out of his eyes.
“You okay?” he says, taking my hand and interlacing our fingers.
“Now I am.” I lean my head against his shoulder.
“Why did they think you need a shrink?”
“Friends busted me. Taylor said something, and Greg told them I raced away from a party into the woods.”
“That’s it?”
I hesitate, I’m not sure why. “Someone saw us together Saturday and told my parents.”
J.D. releases my hand and jumps to his feet. “Which is why we can’t be seen together, ever.”
“Hey, get back here.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He paces a few steps away.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” I argue.
“Tell your shrink that. She’ll lock you up.”
“Sit down, Pratt.”
He hesitates.
“Please?”
With a slump of his shoulders he struts back to the wall and slides down. I take his hand. “I don’t care what people think.”
He looks at me with sad eyes. “Then you
are
crazy.”
“Yeah, how do you figure?”
“Because you’re sitting here with me.”
“There’s no one I’d rather be sitting with.”
Unable to hold back, I kiss him. His lips are soft and the kiss warms me all the way to my fingertips. I never feel this warm, not even when I’m wearing three layers of clothes or sitting by the fire in our den.
When I kiss J.D. the chill dissolves. Completely.
Suddenly the lights flash on. I break the kiss and look at him, panicked. He puts his finger to his lips and pulls me close.
If it’s Mr. Cooper we might be okay, but if it’s anyone else…
“He’s usually here by six-thirty,” Mr. Cooper says.
Whew. We’re okay.
“I’ll wait,” another man says. I don’t recognize his voice.
Now what do we do? J.D. releases me and flashes his hand, signaling me to stay put. I hate to think of the fallout if we’re found alone together.
He grabs his backpack and steps out of the matte room. “What are you doing here?” he says.
I pull my knees to my chest and wait. Who is it? His father? Oh God. This is going to get ugly.
“You have to come with me, kid.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got to bring you in for questioning.”
Questioning? It’s the detective?
“About what?” J.D. says.
“A bomb threat was called in and we found bomb-making materials in your garage.”
The walls close in and I struggle to breathe, to think straight. They found bomb materials in J.D.’s garage? No, that’s wrong, that’s—
“Let’s go.”
“No!” I jump out of my hiding place and spot Detective Ryan standing beside Mr. Cooper and Associate Principal Burke.
“You’re arresting the wrong person.” I march toward them.
“Catherine?” Mr. Cooper says, shocked.
Detective Ryan glances at J.D. “Kid, have you got a death wish?”
“You can’t arrest him, he didn’t do anything wrong,” I protest.
“Shut up,” J.D. orders, glaring at me.
“J.D.—”
“Stay out of my life.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped.
“The most sensible thing you’ve said in weeks.” Detective Ryan leads him out of the art room with a hand on his shoulder.
I start after them, but Associate Principal Burke blocks me. “Hang on, young lady. What were you two doing in there?”
“Talking.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“We don’t have a lot of people we can talk to.”
“You’re the most popular girl in your class.”
“I was. That girl doesn’t exist anymore.”
He frowns.
“J.D. would never make a bomb.” I glance at Mr. Cooper. “Right, Mr. Cooper?”
“Not the J.D. I know.”
“I’d better call your parents,” Burke says.
“No! Please, Mr. Burke, don’t.”
He purses his lips. “We’ll find you a new note taker as soon as possible.”
“But J.D.–“
“That relationship is inappropriate. We’re not even sure if he’ll be allowed back in school. If he is, I’ll advise you to keep your distance.” With a judgmental frown he leaves.
Inappropriate? Who is he to tell me what’s inappropriate?
I start for the door.
“Catherine?” Mr. Cooper says.
I glance at him.
“The police will figure out the truth.”
“I doubt it, but thanks.”
I race out of the art room, not sure who I’m more upset with, Mr. Burke or J.D. I’m not upset with Greg. I’m furious. Greg is the perfect All American Boy. The cops aren’t going to connect those dots and figure out he’s behind this.
As I rush through the crowded hallway, I shove back the panic about Mr. Burke calling my parents. Right now I have to focus on helping J.D.
I weave my way through the swarm of teenagers and spot Detective Ryan escorting J.D. outside. Chasing him down will only cause more drama in my life. So I watch from a window at the end of the hall as kids step aside to let the cop and delinquent pass.
Out of the corner of my eye I sense someone approach. Taylor. I can tell by her Berry Blossom body wash.
I can’t take my eyes off J.D., his head down, shoulders slumped, like he’s given up.
“Looks like he’s finally going to leave you alone,” Taylor says.
I wish she would leave me alone.
“What’s going on?” Greg says over my shoulder.
“The delinquent is getting hauled off to jail,” Taylor announces with pleasure.
“What’d he do now?”
I close my eyes for a second fighting off the urge to say, “Like you don’t know, asshole?”
Taylor nudges my arm. “He’s your school slave. Why is he being arrested?”
I refuse to perpetuate the lie. “I have no idea.”
“Cops don’t drag people out of school unless they’ve done something vile.” Taylor wrinkles her nose.
I watch Detective Ryan put J.D. in the back of his unmarked car. My glasses are too dark to see through the back window, but I smile anyway, hoping J.D. will see me. He might be pushing me away, but I’m not going anywhere.
The car pulls out of the lot and a part of me fears I’ll never see him again. Frustration rises in my chest.
“Damn!” I pound my fist against the glass.
“What’s your problem?” Taylor asks.
I turn to respond and realize a small crowd has formed. Uh-oh. What now? Tell her I like J.D. and the real criminal is standing beside us with his bright smile and violent plans?
Instead I crack a wicked smile. “I just lost my school slave.”
The kids chuckle and Taylor gives me a hug. Guess that was the right answer. I shrug and cast a quick glance outside.
I’m utterly helpless.
“Don’t worry, babe. You’ve always got my notes.” Greg offers.
With a deep breath, I look up at him and his victorious grin. Jerk.
“My hero,” I say. “You’re right, I don’t need Pratt.”
Taylor claps her hands and our little group—Taylor, Greg, Andrea, Clarisse, and the McDonald kid—stroll down the hall to class.
A week ago this would have been my dream come true. I have the perfect guy and my enemy is behind bars.
Instead I’m in hell. The guy I deeply care about has been taken away; I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me, and act the part of popular Catherine.
As we pass kids in the hall I notice how they eye me with envy and respect. This is what I’d wanted.
Yet I feel like I’m in a cage that’s been triple-locked.
And I’m desperate to get out.
As we head to my first period class, I regain my focus and analyze the current situation. J.D. was taken in for questioning because of a bomb threat. I suspect Greg was the one who planted the stuff in J.D.’s garage and called in the tip.
On the bright side, Greg can’t throw a bomb and pin it on J.D. if he’s in lock up. We’re safe for now. Who knows, maybe Greg will ditch the firebomb idea.
No amount of wishful thinking is going to make that happen. His goal is to get back at the people who’ve wronged him, starting with Mr. Cooper.
So when J.D. is released—and he has to be because he’s innocent—Greg will finish his plan out of spite or frustration.
Or just plain vindictiveness.
In the meantime I need to figure out how to get J.D. out of jail and expose Greg.
How ironic. I’m not fighting to get my “old normal” life back, I’m fighting to help my former enemy. I don’t know what my new life looks like, but I’m sure of one thing: I want J.D. in it.
Hang in there, J.D. I’m coming.
* * *
Detective Ryan could have taken J.D. directly to the Department of Youth Services. Instead, he shoved J.D. in a conference room for most of the day and disappeared, probably gathering more evidence.
The detective brought J.D. a sandwich at noon, but didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why he’d done it. His disappointed frown bugged J.D. It had been a long time since J.D cared what anyone thought of him.
He cared about Catherine, so much so that he pushed her away this morning. Her pained expression tangled his gut into knots for hours. He’d hurt her when he told her to stay out of his life, but he had a good reason — he didn’t want her to get burned by association.
He fisted his hands, freaking out that the dick-head Hoffman was still out there, probably sucking up to Cat. And she thought staying close to him was the only way to stop Greg from his revenge-bombing plan.
The thought of Greg walking down the hall with his arm around her shot anger through J.D.’s chest. He stood and paced the small room.
The door opened and Detective Ryan entered. “Bored yet?”
“Whatever.”
“Come with me.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know, do you?” Detective Ryan led J.D. into the outer office.
“Like we couldn’t have done this earlier? I’m missing school.”
“More like you’re missing the Westfield girl.” He motioned to a chair next to his desk. J.D. sat down and glanced at the items in evidence bags: a Wicked G energy drink bottle, J.D.’s favorite, filled with some kind of liquid, and a PE shirt with J.D.’s name on it. Then he spotted a piece of paper with instructions on how to make a Molotov cocktail.
Only none of it belonged to him.
J.D. was screwed.
“Where’d you get this stuff?” J.D. said.
“Your father gave me permission to search your garage.”
It figures that the old man would jump at the chance to get rid of J.D.
“Why the hell would you do this, kid?”
J.D. clenched his jaw and glared at the detective, the one
guy J.D. thought had grown to understand and maybe even believe in him. J.D. was an idiot to think anyone, especially a cop, could see through the bullshit to the truth.
“It makes no sense.” The detective leaned back in his chair. “So, explain.”
Like he’d believe a word J.D. said?
“Do you realize what kind of damage this can do?” Detective Ryan pushed.
J.D. eyed the Wicked G bottle. Poppin’ Pineapple, his least favorite.
Detective Ryan slammed his fist on the table. J.D. snapped his attention to the detective’s blue eyes.
“People pass out from smoke inhalation and maybe die before their bodies are burned, if they’re lucky.” The detective leaned across the desk. “If not, they’re burned alive, their skin blisters and burns up and for half a second they might regain consciousness and scream their lungs out from the pain. Do you get that?”
J.D. fought back the image. Greg wouldn’t toss the bomb when people were in school or when Coop was working late, would he?
“I’m calling in the Westfield girl.” Detective Ryan reached for the phone.
“Why are you calling her?” J.D. clenched his fist.
“There’s obviously something going on between the two of you. Maybe she can shed some light on your motivations.”
“She doesn’t know anything.” He needed to protect her, keep her secret. He wouldn’t risk anyone finding out about the HULU’s.
Ryan put the receiver down. “Then talk to me.”
J.D. glared straight ahead at the far wall.
“Hell, kid, is it so bad at home that you’d want to kill people? Is that going to make it better? Or are you just so angry that your mother abandoned you and your father hits you that you want to share the pain?”
“How do you know about my mom?” J.D.’s voice tensed.
“I know everything about you.”
“Bullshit!” J.D. jumped to his feet, towering over him.
A cop at a nearby desk stood, but Detective Ryan waved him off. “You’re just like the rest of them,” J.D. started. “There goes juvenile delinquent Pratt, the stoner, the loser, the criminal who’ll be sent to jail by the time he’s twenty.”
Detective Ryan stood, looking him square in the eye. “That’s what you are, right? I mean, you keep to yourself, you barely make it through school, and you run innocent girls down with your car.”
“I didn’t do it!”
Damn. How did that slip out?
“Right, you didn’t hit Catherine Westfield?”
Had to recover, had to protect Billy.
“I didn’t make the bomb. This stuff isn’t mine.”