Текст книги "After Tonight "

Автор книги: Annie Kelly

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Okay,” I say slowly. “So, what exactly would you need me to do?”

“Mostly it would be as a liaison between me and the college. I don’t want the doctors to know I’m doing this. My plan is to finish the classes by the end of the summer and prove to them that my brain is perfectly capable of completing college courses, so it can do the daily tasks required if I were living on my own.”

“So, I’d need to go see your professors, get the course work, that kind of stuff?”

He nods. “Right. Then, I’d need you to help me with some of the logistics. Submitting assignments, but also typing them. My typing is still shaky and I hate those dictation programs—saying words like ‘comma’ and ‘space’ out loud is just fucking weird.”

I grin at that—I hate those programs, too.

“Listen, I’ll pay you if you can do this for me. I just need your help. I don’t know who else I can ask.”

I bite my lip. “When would you want this started? It sort of sounds like you’re on a deadline.”

“Immediately. Well, actually, yesterday—or last week—or a month ago, depending on when you ask me.”

I shake my head. “Shit. I’d like to help, but I have the end of my student teaching and my portfolio presentation to put together. Not to mention, I’ve got to write a twenty-five-page thesis paper before graduation to finish off my spring credits.”

Wyatt nods, but he looks completely crestfallen. “I understand—don’t worry about it.”

“Wait.” I sit upright, then smile. “Carson.”

“Who?”

“Carson—my best friend. She’s a private tutor—for high school kids, mostly, but some college students now, too. I’ll bet she could help you. She . . . pushed graduation back a semester, so I think she’ll be able to start right away. I’ll have to talk to her about it, obviously, but it should work out.”

Wyatt’s eyes light up.

“You think she’d be up for it?”

“Yeah. I really do. I’ll talk to her tonight and have her give you a call.”

“That would be great, Cyn. Thank you—so much. Seriously.”

I squeeze his hand before letting go. “I want to see you happy, Wyatt.”

“I want to be happy, Cyn,” he says softly.

I give him a rueful smile.

“Don’t we all.”

Chapter Fifteen

Eyes Wide Shut

On a regular day, the gymnasium at the Franklin School smells a little like rubber and a lot like sweat. Tonight, there isn’t even a hint of the rubber scent—there are far too many bodies packed into this place, and I’m feeling claustrophobic already.

All around me, fans are stomping their feet on the old wooden bleachers and sending out brief but horrifyingly loud air-horn blasts—all of it reminders of why I don’t go to sporting events.

“Having fun?”

Jeremy grins over at me and I force myself to smile back. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here tonight. Sure, I got out of the house. Sure, I’m being social with my colleagues. Sure, I ate some pretty decent brick-oven pizza.

But the noise in here is deafening and it’s bothering me a lot more than I thought it would. I need a break. I consider making an excuse to go out to the car, then I remember Jeremy drove me here.

“I’m going to run back to my classroom,” I sort of yell into his ear. “I left my flash drive and I need it for this weekend.”

I wind my way down the over-full bleachers and make it to the floor, where there are dozens of people pressed up along the sides of the gym. I hurry past the opposing school’s marching band, which is just beginning to cue up their version of “Crazy Train.” Once I make it out into the hall and beyond the locker rooms, the pounding in my head begins to lessen a bit. The dim lighting helps a little, too.

I unlock my classroom door and slip inside. I’m probably not supposed to be here when school is technically closed, but I can’t help but revel a little in the complete quiet. At least until my gaze falls on Smith’s empty desk in the back of the room.

I could have asked Officer Rains about him—it wouldn’t be unheard of, considering he’s on my class roster. I just couldn’t muster up the courage. Besides, it isn’t really shocking news when a kid from Franklin stopped attending. If anything, it’s routine.

For a few minutes, I just sit at my desk, thinking about Smith and wishing I wasn’t. I should probably head back to the gym, but the silence is so much better than the din and discord of the game.

I feel bad that I told Jeremy I’d come at all. Because he’s still clearly interested in dating me.

But the truth is that I came to the game hoping that Smith might show up.

And the truth is that I’m disappointed that he hasn’t.

Which is the exact moment when I glance out the window and see Smith’s truck parked in the faculty parking lot.

He came for me. I just know it.

I don’t put a lot of thought into my next actions because, really, I haven’t exactly been putting a lot of thought into anything lately. In fact, it isn’t until I’ve made it out of my classroom and to the closest exit and out into the crisp night that I realize I’ve probably locked myself out of the school. I hesitate for half a second, then look out at Smith’s truck.

Fuck it.

As I get closer, I can see that the truck is parked next to a familiar-looking red Mustang. I see the driver’s side door of the truck pop open, and Smith climbs out. This is the first time I’ve seen him since our night together last weekend and I feel my heart sort of seize up as he shuts the door, then turns to lean against it. A part of me—a really big part of me—wants to run toward him. Instead, I watch from the darkness as the driver climbs out of the Mustang.

And then everything inside me—my breath, my blood, my heart—freezes.

J. D. Fenton seems even bigger and broader than I remember. Now, he walks toward Smith and they bump fists. J. D. is grinning and I feel a slimy sensation travel through me.

“You got what I asked for?” Smith is asking.

J. D. digs a plastic bag out of his back pocket and hands it to him.

“Told you I’d come through, man. You need more, you know where to find me.”

Smith nods, then unrolls the bag and examines the contents. From the little I can see at this distance, I know for sure it’s not pot—not unless they’re growing marijuana in the shape of little white pills.

A wave of fury washes over me, hot and thick—less like water and more like lava. Before I can fully consider my actions, I stomp out onto the asphalt. They both look up at me with identical expressions of surprise. Then J. D.’s morphs into a sneer.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” he snarls at Smith.

As I approach, I realize that J. D. is intoxicated or high or both. He’s sort of stumbling as he sidles closer, and his eyes are bloodshot. Smith glares at me and I steel myself for his irritation, prepared to hand it right back to him on a fucking silver platter. What I’m not prepared for is the look in his eyes—the dark blue is as piercing as always, but this time his gaze is filled less with anger and more with something else. Something like panic.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap at him. I motion to J. D. with one hand. “You think buying drugs is a good choice for you?”

Smith takes a step closer to me. His teeth are clenched together in a tight smile.

“Go the fuck back inside,” he growls. “Now.”

I glance over at J. D., who is swaying a bit, but still half smirking at me. I can feel my anger flare up, and I take a few steps toward him.

“You shouldn’t be on school property, J. D. You’ve already been kicked out of Franklin—do you really want me to have to get the police involved?”

J. D. throws his head back and laughs. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are filled with derision.

“You can’t do shit to me and you know it.”

He starts to stumble in my direction, but Smith yanks me back.

“Get out of here, Cyn, please,” he breathes, then raises his voice so J. D. can hear him. “I don’t need some bitch teacher interfering in my life.”

“Funny how the tables have turned,” J. D. slurs. “Asher may have protected your ass before, but no one’s sticking up for you now.”

I glare at him, then at Smith.

“I’m going to get your brother,” I hiss at him.

“Shit—Cyn, don’t!”

Smith reaches for me, but I manage to slip through his grasp. Then I break into a run.

“Fucking A—I’m gonna get you, you fucking nosy bitch,” J. D. hollers. Seconds later, I hear the roar of an engine and a peeling of wheels, and I start running even faster. I’ve just made it to the edge of the parking lot when the light hits my body, bathing me in brightness. I can’t help but turn toward it and squint. For some reason, the headlights don’t look like headlights. They look like something singular, like a flashlight. Or a freight train.

There’s no way he’d actually hit me with his car, would he? Then again, if he’s drunk or high, who knows what J.D . Fenton would do . . .

There’s long, low growl coming from the Mustang, then the screech of rubber as J. D. slams on the gas and the Mustang comes barreling in my direction.

“Hyacinth!”

Smith’s voice booms, a thunder rolling over my consciousness. He’s charging toward me and I don’t know where to move. His gaze locks on mine, and the terror I see in them is scarier than anything I can imagine.

I’m not looking at the Mustang when it hits me.

I’m looking right into Smith’s eyes.

There’s a sensation of being crushed, of losing breath and blood and life, all in mere seconds. And then there’s nothing but air. The sounds are the only thing I can concentrate on, because every other body sensation seems to be frozen around me.

Then I slam to the ground, and all those body sensations turn into excruciating, horrendous pain.

Smith is at my side in an instant, pressing his hand to my head. I hear the scream of the Mustang as it peels out of the parking lot and roars away from my broken body and Smith’s frantic voice.

“Cyn, can you hear me? Motherfucking hell.”

He leans closer to me. I feel his warm breath fan over my cheek.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.”

I try to groan, to say something, but my mouth refuses to open. He strokes my face, and everything begins to fade into the distance. I start seeing images flash through my mind.

Body paint.

Cave walls.

Hamlet scripts.

A chalkboard eraser.

Smith’s mouth.

Smith’s eyes.

Smith.

Smith.

Smith.

Then, the sirens in the distance are the last thing I hear before everything disappears in the night.

***

“Miss Hendricks?”

The voice sounds like a student and I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep at my desk. I try to blink, but my eyelids feel immobile. More than heavy, they feel glued down. Like I’ve been drugged.

Oh, fuck—have I been drugged?

I try to say roofies, but nothing comes out.

“Hang in there, princess,” another voice says.

Dad’s here? Why is Dad at school?

“How long will it be until she’s fully conscious?” someone else asks, her tone high-pitched and frantic.

Carson.

“Once her eyelids begin to flutter, we’ll have a better idea,” the first voice says. “Let her do this at her own pace. Talk to her, but don’t try to coax her out of her sleep. It’ll just make her more groggy and confused when she wakes up.”

A warm hand—Dad’s, I think—takes mine and holds it firmly, providing me with his trademark strength through his skin and bones and blood.

I smell antiseptic and latex, and using all of the strength I can muster, I manage to crack open my eyes.

I’m in the hospital.

Why am I in the hospital?

“Whuh—whuh-uh hap-p-ed.”

Those are my first words and they’re not even real words. But Dad and Carson are immediately up in my face, as though getting closer to me will make me speak more. I try again, but my words are too garbled, like my mouth has forgotten how to form them.

“Did she say ‘hat pins’?”

Rainey comes over and peers down at me.

“I heard ‘lap dance.’”

Is that Wyatt? Jesus, how many people are in this room right now?

“Whu-ut. H-h-hap. Ennnd.” I feel victorious, despite the fact that my eyes burn from the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol, and my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“There was an accident, princess,” Dad says quietly. “You’re at the hospital.”

I want to nod, but now my senses seem to be returning—and the sense of touch informs me that I’ve got some kind of weird brace thing around my neck. I manage to reach up and pull at the stiff material.

“No, honey, don’t mess with that yet,” a nurse, the owner of the first voice, says. She places both her hands on my shoulders and refastens the neck brace.

I try to lick my lips, but my tongue is so dry, it’s no use.

“Wa-t-ter.”

The nurse hands me a foam cup with a lid and straw.

“I’m Jessica—the day shift nurse,” she says, smiling warmly. I take the cup gratefully. As soon as the cool liquid meets my tongue, I moan with relief.

“Thanks,” I croak.

Dad wheels himself a little closer to the head of the bed, then reaches out to stroke my face.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

I want to shrug, so I try, but there’s an immediate, searing pain rolling up and over my chest.

“H-hurts,” I finally manage. Dad nods.

“You got yourself a half dozen broken ribs. It’s bound to be painful.”

Broken ribs?

I take a deep breath in and immediately wince. It even hurts to breathe. I can’t imagine actually getting out of this bed and functioning right now.

“There was an accident,” Carson says, coming around the other side of the bed. “You were struck by a car.”

I furrow my brows, trying to recall any details. “Is my car okay?”

Carson and my dad share a glance.

“You weren’t in your car,” she says quietly. “You were standing in a parking lot—in the school parking lot. At Franklin.”

Dad licks his lips nervously and he’s watching me closely, like he’s afraid the whole incident will come rushing back at me all at once.

Which is a rational fear, I suppose, since that’s exactly what happens.

The basketball game. I’d been chaperoning.

I’d gone out into the faculty parking lot.

Smith was there. So was J. D.

There was a bag of pills.

All I saw were headlights. And then I saw nothing.

“I felt like I was flying,” I say slowly.

Rainey cracks a smile.

“Well, your landing was a little rough, and you’ve got some legit bruises,” she assures me with a wink. “But you look pretty hard-core.”

I try to take a shallow, shorter breath, but it feels wholly unsatisfying.

“What day is it?”

“Saturday,” Carson answers. “You slept straight through the night and most of the day today.”

Now that I’m able to focus on the people around me, I notice how exhausted everyone looks. I wonder if they all stayed up last night, waiting at my bedside, hoping I’d open my eyes.

There’s a cough coming from the doorway, and my gaze flickers over to see Officer Rains leaning against the frame.

“You’re awake,” he says, smiling at me. “I hope that means you’ll forgive me for having to ask you some questions.”

He glances around the room.

“Alone.”

My friends take the hint.

“I really need to be getting back to Holly Fields anyway,” Wyatt says. He wheels his chair closer to me and grabs my hand.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cyn.”

He says it so quietly, it’s practically a whisper. I just nod, swallowing hard. He smiles at my Dad, who pats his shoulder as he leaves the room.

Rainey is next, then Carson—both of them try to hug me with the lightest possible embrace. Rainey kisses my cheek, and Carson grabs both of my hands.

“I love you,” she says fiercely. “I don’t know what I would have done if—well, I just want you to know how much I love you.”

“I know,” I say, trying my best to smile. “I love you back.”

They both hug my dad before walking out the door, although Rainey stops to ogle Officer Rains for a second before she leaves.

“Can I stay with her for this?” Dad asks him. “Or do you need me to leave?”

“You can stay. It might be better. Easier.”

Dad smiles at me, then strokes my hand.

“Honey, you can relax—the police aren’t here because you did anything wrong. They just have to ask you a few questions about the accident.”

I manage to nod the slightest bit. “I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

“Just tell the truth, Hyacinth.”

I close my eyes for a long second, then open them. How am I supposed to tell a police officer that his brother was part of a drug deal on school property?

“How are you feeling?” Officer Rains asks, moving closer to me.

I swallow hard. “I’m—I’m okay.”

“Good—that’s good.” He pulls a small notepad from his pocket, along with a ballpoint pen. “I’m going to need to ask you a few questions about last night. We’ve already gotten a lot of information from other witnesses, but we need your version of the story to corroborate the details.”

Other witnesses.

He’s talking about Smith.

“You can ask me whatever you need to,” I manage to say.

Rains clears his throat.

“I really only have one. I need to know about my brother.”

I glance up at Rains. He’s leaning with his back against the nearby wall, and his arms are crossed over his chest. His expression is impassive, his body language fierce. For a second, he reminds me so much of Smith.

“What about him?” I ask.

“What was he doing during all of this?”

“He was talking to J. D. Then, after I was hit, he was next to me. He—he stayed with me, I think.”

He nods. “He rode with you in the ambulance actually. But what I meant was, what was he doing before that? Like, when he was talking to J. D., was there anything exchanged?”

I blink at him. “I—I’m not sure.”

He shifts in his chair. “Are you sure you’re not sure?”

I can feel my pulse quicken, which is kind of a problem when you’re hooked up to a heart monitor. All three of us glance over at it when it starts to beep in warning. I look up at Officer Rains again.

“There was cash,” I finally whisper. “And a bag of something. Pills, I think.”

“Thank you.” He gives me a sad smile—the kind of smile you see when a man finds out his younger brother is involved in drugs.

“I—Smith tried to save me,” I sort of stutter. “He’s made some mistakes, but he’s not a criminal. He’s a good person. I don’t want to see him get into trouble.”

Officer Rains walks closer to me.

“He isn’t in trouble—I’m just confirming all the details. We want to corroborate his story with yours.”

“But, the drugs . . .” I trail off. “Will he be arrested?”

“No,” he sighs. “He won’t be arrested.”

I frown.

“I don’t understand.”

Officer Rains looks down at his notebook, then runs a hand through his sandy-colored hair.

“He won’t be arrested, because he was just doing his job.”

I blink. Then I blink again.

“He was what now?”

He touches my shoulder gently, as though he knows what he’s going to say is about to knock me asunder.

“My brother was working undercover, Hyacinth. He’s not a high school student. He’s a cop.”

***

I don’t hear most of what Rains says after that, not that he has much to say at all. Instead, I sit, frozen, staring at the framed starfish print on the wall across from my bed. I think about everything I know and everything I thought I knew. I try to remember anything that could have tipped me off.

There was a reason he looked so much older.

It’s because he was so much older.

Fuck.

When Officer Rains finally leaves, he gives me a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile.

“Hang in there, alright? I hope you’re feeling like your old self soon.”

I just blink at him, because I don’t know if I want to feel like my old self soon. What self could I possibly want to be now? The self before I met Smith? The self when I believed he was a student? Or the self I am today, enlightened and confused and hurt? None of it brings me any peace.

Dad clears his throat once Officer Rains leaves the room.

“Princess?” I look over at him and he’s holding a book in his hands. I squint at it.

“What’s that?”

“Officer Asher left this for you. He said you lent it to him.”

“You saw him?”

Dad shakes his head. “He called me after you were brought here. Said he’d left the book on the shelf in here.”

He sets the battered copy of Dracula on my bed and I stare at it. There are tears in my eyes when I run a hand over the worn cover.

“Did he say anything else?” I whisper to Dad. He shakes his head.

“No—he just asked me to give this to you.”

I nod, feeling hollow. Slowly, I lift it up in my hands and open it to the title page. Maybe he left me a note—and explanation—something.

The paper is yellowed, but blank. Sighing, I flip through the pages. I’m almost to the end, when something catches my eye. At the bottom of one page, there’s a single sentence underlined twice in blue pen.

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights,

the light of all lights.

Then, beneath that, just above the page number, is a note written with that same pen.

I’m sorry.

S. A.

The tears are back. This time, the sheen of them has burst forth and I’m crying—really, truly sobbing. Dad’s hand is on my arm, and, for the first time in years, I wish I were able to crawl into his lap like a little girl.

But, instead, he holds my hand and strokes my skin, whispering that everything will be okay.

In all these years, through all our tragedies, this is the first time I think my dad’s ever lied to me.

And it’s the first time I’ve ever wanted him to.