Fury (4 page)

Suicide
. Chase felt a tingling heaviness in his legs and arms—the same feeling he used to get in church. His mom used to drag him there before she started working Sunday doubles. He’d never liked church—hated it, in fact, but not because he was bored by the priest’s lectures about sin. He’d never told anyone this, but he’d actually been scared of the church—the weird smell of burning things, the priest’s thunderous voice, and the enormous crucifix over the altar. It had always freaked him out.

Now Chase felt like the room was tunneling around him.

“People don’t just—,” he started to say, but Zach cut him off.

“Is this a joke, Gabby?” Zach asked.

“Not even,” Gabby said, nodding so her blond curls bounced. “It just happened, like, two hours ago! She’s going to be paralyzed for life or something.” By now more people had quieted down and were gathering around Gabby, which only fueled her on. “What I heard is that she fell into the bed of a
truck
—the guy was totally freaked out—and she’s in the hospital. Like in a coma. Someone at my mom’s TV station is reporting on it. That’s how I found out. My mom asked if I knew her.”

Everyone looked shocked, but Chase barely noticed. He
blinked once, twice, and stepped away from the group.

Zach reached out for Chase’s arm. “Where you going?”

“I gotta piss,” Chase responded, avoiding Zach’s eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Chase had been to Minster’s house a few times before, but all of a sudden he couldn’t remember where the bathroom was. He wandered into the TV room, past the huge wall-mounted plasma TV, and into the living room. At a bar in the corner, Chase spied a bottle of whiskey. Perfect—the Minsters’ private stash. He moved casually toward the bar, tipping back what was left of his beer, and picked up the whiskey. No one would notice if some was missing off the top, he told himself, pouring a hefty slug into his plastic cup. Then he stood there for a moment, surveying the crowd. The musty, earthy taste of whiskey burned his throat as he took a large swig.

Suddenly all anyone was talking about was Sasha Bowlder. People were as drunk on gruesome details as on the watered-down beer.
Did she leave a note? Was she really paralyzed? Was she at the local hospital, or had she been sped to Portland or airlifted to Boston?

Chase felt like the room was clenching and unclenching around him, a giant fist.
Suicide
. The word kept replaying in his mind.
Suicide
. And the Sasha he hadn’t thought about in years—the normal Sasha, the best-friend Sasha of his childhood, smiling, gap-toothed—kept coasting into his mind.

With one last swig of the whiskey, Chase shifted, moving
away from the bar and the living room, from one conversation to the next. He hated the way the pictures on Minster’s walls—Smiling happy grandfather! Smiling happy mom! Smiling happy brothers!—seemed to be following him with their eyes, sneering. He picked up a random beer from a bookshelf in the TV room and chugged it. Man, it was hot in here. He passed the bathroom, finally, and the long line of girls waiting to use it. All their faces seemed to blend together. He was having trouble recognizing them, like everything was happening behind a cloud of smoke. He had to steady himself against a doorframe before shuffling back into the kitchen, where a large group had assembled. Gabby was still holding court, divulging details she’d heard from her mom—and, probably, adding plenty of her own. Even though everyone else was standing, Chase sat down in a kitchen chair with a thud.

“You okay?” Chase looked up to see Zach standing over him, offering a fresh beer and an inquisitive look.

“Yeah, thanks. I just . . .” Chase switched gears. “What do you want to do over the next couple of weeks? You’re a free agent!” He quickly looked at Gabby to see if she’d overheard, but she was too deep in conversation with Fiona.

“Free agent—yeah right. I wouldn’t be surprised if Gabs plants a video camera in my alarm clock.” Zach’s breezy tone sounded forced.

“Tough break.” Chase leaned forward to punch Zach’s
arm. The room swayed as he settled back into his chair. “Is that Guitar Hero tournament at your place really the extent of our vacation ambitions?”

“Well, that and study for the SATs.”

“Seriously. If you don’t get a perfect score, we’re going to have to go on stepfather suicide watch.”

A look of embarrassed shock passed between them. The topic of suicide was too relevant to be funny.

And over all this, they could hear Gabby’s voice, ringing clear above the dull roar of the party. “We should start a suicide support group, something for all the grieving students,” Chase heard her say. Lauren was nodding enthusiastically. It looked like Fiona was tearing up.

He grimaced, pulling his forehead into a mess of little lines. All this mopey bullshit was just too much. He stood up and strode over to Gabby, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him.

“Since when do you all care about Sasha so much, anyway?” Chase could hear himself slurring his words. “She was a loser. It’s not like anyone will miss her.”

The group surrounding Gabby got quiet, and she elbowed him sharply, spilling some of her punch on his wrist in the process.

“Why would you say something like that?” she demanded.

Chase’s mind felt like it was coated now, thick and white and blank. “You got punch on me,” he said. The words sounded distant, as though they came from someone else.

“You’re a real asshole,” a voice said behind him. He turned, and there was the artsy girl, Jess something-or-other. She was looking at him with disgust. There went that prospect.

He tried to change the subject.

“Five minutes—beer-pong tournament,” he shouted, noticing that people were uncomfortably, and subtly, moving away from him. “I challenge any of you to defeat me and Zach.” As he headed for the bathroom line, he heard Zach trying to smooth over the moment, urging people to quit gossiping and enjoy the night.

A couple of minutes later, in front of the vanity mirror, washing the sticky punch from his fingers, Chase examined himself. He adjusted the collar on his shirt and turned his face to the left and right, checking for missed shaving spots. Finding no imperfections, he looked himself square in the eyes.
Chase, dude,
he said to himself,
get it together.

Someone was banging on the bathroom door.

Just then Chase noticed a tiny stain next to the second button on his shirt. Shit. The punch. He clenched his fist.
Get it together,
he repeated. It was only a small spot. Still, Chase knew how easily things could fall apart. And sometimes all it took was one little thing gone wrong: a fumble, a lie, the click of a
SEND
button. A moment of weakness. Even something as minor as a stain could ruin everything.

Em was distracted on the drive over to the party. All she wanted was a hint from Zach. Just one hint that he felt what she’d been feeling. That she wasn’t insane. That she hadn’t imagined all the fizzy, crazy vibes bouncing between them for the past few weeks. Any hint would do. Then she’d let it go. Really.

“Thanks so much for coming with me,” she said to JD as they rounded the corner, not realizing that she’d said it just a few minutes earlier.

“Ah, you know. It’s always a treat when
eccentrics
like myself are allowed into the presence of populars.” JD sighed sarcastically, adjusting his hat. “Perhaps I’ll get lucky and some girl will want a piece of the Fountain,” he said, invoking his rarely used nickname, the Fountain of Nerdiness.

Em barely noticed. She fumbled with the bag on her
lap, digging for her lip gloss, trying to steal a glimpse of her reflection in the passenger-side mirror. As they got closer to Minster’s, she scanned the cars that were already lining the street, looking for a particular blue Jeep Wrangler, one with Ascension High basketball and football bumper stickers lined up neatly side by side.

When they finally arrived at Ian’s house, Em’s brain was swimming with thoughts of Zach. She felt like she’d already had a few drinks; everything looked just a little off-balance as she walked through the door, like someone had set all the rooms at slightly different angles.

For one thing, the whole mood of the party seemed . . . off. People were drinking and dancing and flirting, as usual, but everyone’s voices seemed quieter, and groups of whispering girls kept breaking off, shaking their heads, hugging each other.

On top of that, Gabby was in turbo mode. Her outfit looked great (she’d paired her dress with brown tights and wedge boots), and she’d been right about having a good hair day. As she dragged Em toward the kitchen and the punch, she chattered about her forthcoming family trip to Spain and Majorca.

“Em, you have to promise—pinkie swear—that we’ll go to Maintenance when I get back,” Gabby said, referring to their favorite Christmastime tradition—one they would have to forego this year. It involved taking the train down to Boston,
lunching at a Newbury Street restaurant, and shopping.

“Of course, Gabs,” Em said.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be away for eight whole days,” Gabby said, bouncing from topic to topic. “It feels like a lifetime. Chase is
wasted
, by the way. Watch out. God, Em, you have to promise not to do a single fun thing while I’m gone.”

Em grinned. Of course she would miss her best friend, but she was secretly a bit grateful that they would have some time apart. It was just like Gabby to assume that the world would stop when she left and restart the moment she returned.

“Oh, and don’t let Zach do anything fun either,” Gabby added as they approached the keg and the punch bowl, where Zach was standing with a few other juniors.

Em’s stomach flipped. It seemed recently that every time she saw him, she was experiencing him for the first time—his piercing eyes, his adorably shaggy hair, his broad shoulders, the way his nose kind of crinkled when he was paying attention. It was as though a spotlight had been switched on, and in its beam, she saw only Zach.

She knew it was wrong, and she knew it was terrible, but she also knew that this feeling was the one that pop songs were written about. Em threw her shoulders back and prepared for the private heartbreak that had become part of her daily routine.

“Hi, baby!” Gabby bounded toward Zach and gave him a peck on the lips. Em looked away. “Did you miss me?” Without
giving him the chance to respond, Gabby barreled ahead. “Not as much as you’re going to miss me next week. Look who I found!”

“Is there Red Bull in that punch? You’re crazier than usual.” Zach laughed and gently detached himself from Gabby, reminding her that the trip was only eight
days
long, not eight years. He motioned to the punch bowl. “Hey, Em.” Did she imagine it, or did Zach’s eyes brighten when he turned them on her? “Can I pour
you
some of this crazy-making elixir? And watch out for Singer—he’s a man on a mission tonight.”

Em nodded, trying to ignore the thrill that zipped through her as Zach passed her the cup of punch, accidentally brushing her wrist with his fingertips.

“So I heard. What kind of mission?” she asked.

“I think it’s a Football Feast mission,” Zach stage-whispered, wiggling his eyebrows ever so slightly. “A date mission, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, Em! Speaking of which, I have to show you the dress I’m going to wear to the Feast,” Gabby said, interjecting. “It’s kind of a pale purple-blue—like that scarf I love at Maintenance?” She winked and nudged Em for emphasis, but Zach had turned around to talk with Sean. They were probably scheduling ice hoops. Playing basketball on Ascension’s frozen ponds was the boys’ favorite winter tradition.

“The dress comes up to here,” Gabby was saying, hitting
the middle of her thigh. “That’s not too short, right?” She hiccupped and then giggled a little.

For a moment, Em thought about what she would wear if she were going to the Football Feast. Maybe her green dress, the scoop-neck, pencil-skirted one that looked like something from the 1950s? Em knew that she could go if she wanted. Sean or Brian or any of those football guys would be happy to take her. But she could only picture herself walking in on one person’s arm.

There was no way around it: Em had fallen for her best friend’s boyfriend. Over the last few months, Zach had seemed to get her in a way that no one else did. They laughed at the same jokes and rolled their eyes together at Gabby’s antics. Whereas Gabby was usually uninterested in Zach’s college goals or his basketball triumphs, Em paid attention. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Gabby and Zach were a great couple—clearly they were a perfect match on paper, the cute prom queen and the adorable, smart captain of the basketball team—but sometimes she felt like Zach deserved someone a little bit deeper than Gabby.

Someone a little bit more like Em.

Not that she would ever do anything about it. But she had to admit that the prospect of having more than a week to hang out with Zach—without Gabby always around—was exhilarating.

“So the reporter told my mom that Sasha is on life support,” Gabby was saying to Abbie Stevens, another yearbook staffer who’d joined the group. “But even if she gets better, she’ll probably never come back to Ascension.”

Em froze midswallow and grabbed Gabby’s arm. “What are you talking about, Gabs?”

“Oh, you just got here. You haven’t heard. Sasha Bowlder tried to, you know, commit
suicide
,” Gabby said, wide-eyed, lowering her voice again.

Em blinked. “Sasha did
what
?”

“She tried to kill herself by jumping off the Piss Pass,” Gabby said, trying to disguise a small hiccup. Maybe it was just because she was drunk, but Gabby seemed to be almost enjoying telling this story, like she was on a stage, performing. “But she didn’t die, so . . . she’s in the hospital. Paralyzed, or in a coma, or both. It’s crazy. I thought it would be nice to send flowers and a card, so I’m starting a collection. We already have, like, fifty bucks. It’s great.”

Gabby turned back to Abbie, who was now also flanked by Fiona and Lauren, but Em stayed rooted to the spot. She felt strangely shocked and she couldn’t figure out why. She and Sasha had not been friends. It’s not like she’d done anything to stop the Sasha-bashing. Sure, Em had always made a point of smiling at Sasha in the hallway, but Sasha could easily have misinterpreted that as a popular girl smirking at her.