The Anti-Prom (18 page)

“Are you kidding?” I pipe up, rubbing my ankle. “It was amazing! Seriously, Meg, that was awesome back there. I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither.” She grins, bouncing in her seat. “I was so scared when you took off and left me. But I didn’t have a choice, in the end. I had to make it work.”

I laugh. “You were great. I can’t believe you lied so well. It’s like you’re a natural.”

“I don’t know about that.” She giggles. “My heart was racing so fast, I thought he would figure it out at any minute. And when he went toward the hallway!” She gasps. “I don’t know how you do it, Jolene, I just don’t. Isn’t your blood pressure through the roof?”

Jolene shrugs, slumping back. “No.”

We drive for a while, heading back toward the inhabited part of town. Soon, we’re crossing through quiet residential streets, the golf course up on the ridge ahead. “So where now?” Meg looks around. “What’s next?”

“Umm . . . that’s it, I think.” I pause. “Jolene?” There’s no reply, so I reach forward and prod her shoulder. “Jolene?”

“Huh? Oh. I’m done.” She rests her head against the glass. “You can drop me up by Union Ave.”

“You’re sure?” Meg sounds disappointed. “We could go get some food or something. Celebrate?”

“No,” Jolene snaps. “I got what I wanted. I’m out.”

“OK.” Meg is quieter now. “And you’re going to Brianna’s party, right, Bliss?”

“Umm, I guess.” My ankle is still aching, and the pain is only getting worse. I try to ease my sandal back on, but just the pressure of my straps makes me wince in pain. “Does this look right to you guys?” I stretch it out between the two front seats, angling to get a better look.

Meg gasps. “What did you do?”

I gulp. In the dashboard light I can see it’s red and swollen, the skin around the bone swollen up in a massive knot. “See?” I tell Jolene. “I told you I broke it!”

“I don’t think so.” Meg frowns. She pulls over to the side of the road and gently takes my foot in her hands. “Does this hurt?” She presses lightly.

“Yes!” I yelp.

“How about this?”

“Uh-huh.” I sniffle, wondering how she’s such an expert. “I’m going to need one of those casts, aren’t I? And crutches.”

“I think it’s only sprained.” Meg gives me a sympathetic look. “But you need to get it wrapped up properly. We can swing by the hospital. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Can you drop me first?” Jolene interrupts. “I told you, I’m done.”

I can’t believe her. “Seriously? I’m injured here!”

“And?” Jolene looks sullen. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“But, show some moral support,” I protest. “I took one for the team.”

“You took one because you insist on wearing those stupid shoes,” Jolene snaps back. “So I don’t get why I need to stand around watching you get an X-ray, or whatever. I did my part of the deal — I got you the diary, and now I have my painting. So, we’re quits.”

I look at her, confused. She’s radiating all this anger, back to being tense and messed-up like she was at her dad’s house and the Loft. But we got what she wanted; it’s over now. “Why are you being like this? You should be happy; we came through for you!”

“Gee, thanks.” Jolene is sarcastic. “What do you want, a gold star?” She sighs. “You know what? Here is fine.” She opens the door suddenly, climbing out onto the sidewalk.

“Jolene,” Meg calls after her, “it’s the middle of the night!”

“And I can take care of myself.” Jolene hoists her backpack up. She looks in the car, cold. “What, did you think we were going to sit around painting each other’s toenails now? Get a life.”

She stops at the end of the street and hops the low fence onto the golf course. Her ruffles get caught on the top, and she yanks at them furiously before disappearing into the night.

“Should we go after her?” Meg asks, worried.

“Why bother?” I can’t believe that she’s being such a bitch about things, when we risked our lives — well, our good reputations — to go in and save her ass. Some thanks we get. “She wants out, she gets out.”

By the time Meg pulls in to the hospital lot, my ankle is the size of a cantaloupe and hurting like hell. “Do you want me to get a wheelchair?” Meg eyes it dubiously.

“I think I can deal,” I say, “if I just kind of . . . hop.”

She helps me out of the car, and we hobble toward the ER. It’s not the biggest hospital in the area; the serious stuff goes straight to County, so at this time of night, the waiting room is mostly empty — just a couple of drunks slouched in the far corner, a mother whose kid has half a toy tree shoved up his nose, and a middle-aged man cradling an ice pack in his lap. I don’t even want to know.

“Hey, Luann?” Meg taps on the safety glass. “Can we get through?”

“Sure, sweetie.” There’s a click, and the doors swish open. A pale, red-haired nurse in her twenties is running intake, one of those plastic toy stethoscopes draped around her neck. She looks at us with concern. “It’s late for you to be out, Meg. Is your dad OK?”

Meg nods quickly. “Everything’s fine. But Bliss here tripped and hurt her ankle. She just needs a dressing.”

Luann relaxes. “Oh, you poor thing.” She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my gruesome foot, swiveling on her chair to check a chart. “I’ll have Patrick come by and wrap you up. You girls just wait in the staff lounge. He won’t be long.”

“How do they know you here?” I ask, limping down the hall. I’m leaning heavily on Meg, so I can feel her body stiffen at the question.

She shrugs, guiding me down the hallway. “I volunteer every weekend. I want to go to med school,” she adds, “and you need things like that on your applications.”

“You really do plan ahead,” I say, impressed. I wouldn’t drag myself here, just for some school I might want to go to four, five years down the line. “I bet you’ve got everything all figured out.”

She looks down, self-conscious, so I quickly add, “No, that’s a good thing! I mean, you’re making it happen. I bet you’ll get into whatever college you want.”

Meg gives me a pale smile. “I hope so. Otherwise . . . well, I suppose all this will have been for nothing.”

I collapse onto one of the couches, propping my foot up. It’s a small room, with lockers, a fridge, and an old TV set in the corner. Not exactly luxury, but after all the running around we’ve done tonight, it’s kind of a relief just to stay in one place for a while — without the threat of cops/parents/evil sorority girls chasing us down at any moment.

Meg yawns.

“I know; it’s getting late.” I try to resist the urge to crash.

“Oh. No.” She shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine. It’s just, after all that adrenaline, I’m coming back down.”

“Relax,” I tell her, grinning. “You’re allowed to be tired. Tonight’s been crazy.”

She exhales. “It has, hasn’t it? I can’t believe you guys talked me into even half that stuff.”

I bite my lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t have.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I mean, piling on all the pressure.” I shift, feeling even more guilty as I remember the way me and Jolene manipulated her. We backed her into a corner, even when she made it clear she didn’t want to get involved. I sigh. “I really am sorry. And then I went and said all that stuff . . .”

Meg seems guarded. “I told you, I was fine.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.”

She breaks a small grin. “Well, no . . . but I think I needed to hear it, all the same. I mean, you were right,” Meg adds quietly. “About some things, at least. The truth is . . .” She pauses, uncertain.

“Go on.”

She looks sad for a second. “The truth is, I have given up. Or, I had; I don’t know.”

I must look alarmed, because she quickly continues, “Not on life! But, school, you know? Friends. Being happy.”

“That’s . . . awful.” My voice is soft. She’s not kidding around here. I can tell.

Meg shrugs, awkward. “You get used to it. It’s scary, just how normal being unhappy can get.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then a doctor bustles in. “So who took a nasty spill?”

I raise my hand. He’s in his forties maybe, and balding on top — less McDreamy than McTeddy, but my foot is aching so much, I really don’t care.

“Hmmm . . .” He feels it for a moment, twisting one way and then the next. “Looks like just a sprain. I can give you something for the pain —”

I nod eagerly. He laughs. “And wrap it up to get the swelling down. Unless you want the practice, Meg?”

“Really?” She brightens.

“Sure.” He makes a few checks on a chart and tears off a form. “Hand this to Luann on your way out.”

“Thanks,” I breathe. “I can walk on it, right?”

He nods. “Careful, though. No leaping off tall buildings, or anything like that.”

I catch Meg’s eye and have to hide a laugh. If only he knew. . . .

Meg wraps my foot quickly, like she’s already a professional. Luann checks it and sets me up with a couple of pills — which I gulp down right away. “No driving,” she warns me. I nod obediently. Never mind the medication; I don’t think I could even fit my foot on the pedal.

We make our way slowly toward the exit, Meg supporting my arm.

“Won’t your parents be freaking out by now?” I ask curiously. “Mine know I’m staying at Brianna’s, but you must be way past curfew.”

Meg looks sheepish. “Jolene had me tell them I was sleeping over at your place. An all-girl slumber party. Then I was supposed to drive home later and say you’d all started drinking, so I left.”

My mouth drops open. “That girl!”

“You have to admit, she’s kind of a genius.” Meg laughs. “My dad is super-overprotective, but even he agreed it sounded like fun.”

“Sure, if it’s not your reputation getting wrecked!”

We’re nearly at the exit, but she stops in the middle of the hall. I turn, questioning.

“It’s not just because I volunteer, how they know me here,” she says quietly.

“Oh?”

Meg doesn’t reply for a second; she just looks at the waiting room, her face closed off. “I was here all the time, when my mom got sick,” she says eventually. “Chemo and treatments.” There’s another long pause, and then she adds, “She died.”

Oh.

I grip her shoulder, and for a moment, I can’t tell who is holding the other one up. I feel a lurch of guilt. All those times I wrote off her moping as self-indulgent, or figured she was miserable for no good reason . . .

As reasons go, this one is pretty freaking good.

“Meg . . .” I breathe, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile.

“She’d get a kick out of this. Tonight, I mean. She always wanted me to have great adventures, to take more risks.” Meg starts walking again, so I follow, out onto the sidewalk. “It’s why I kept saying yes to you guys.”

“And I thought it was my charm and persuasion,” I joke, trying too hard, but I’m rewarded with a smile, genuine this time.

“Sure, those too.”

“I . . .” I stop, awkward. I want to tell her I’m sorry for being such a bitch. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known. But she stops me with a look.

“Your ankle’s OK?”

I test it with some weight. “The bandages help”— I nod —“and the pills should kick in soon. Good thing Jolene isn’t here,” I add, still trying to joke. “She’d probably want to sell them on some street corner.”

Meg doesn’t laugh. She pauses by the car, swinging her keys on one finger. “I hope she’s OK. Where do you think she went?”

I sigh. “How would I know? Back home, I hope, or —” I stop, suddenly realizing something.

“What?”

“The golf course. It backs up to her dad’s house, remember?” I gulp, remembering just what kind of crappy mood she was in. “Oh, crap.”

Meg’s eyes widen. “Will she do something, do you think?”

“This is Jolene,” I say shortly. “Of course she’s going to do something. And in the state she’s in right now, it’s probably going to be a felony.”

God, how stupid can that girl be? I yank the car door open, frustrated. I was
this
close to getting to Brianna’s — back to normalcy and party fun. But no, Jolene has to go back for round two. . . .

“Come on,” Meg says, deciding for me. “We’d better go stop her. Like you said, it’s a team thing.”

I stuff the heels in my backpack and walk barefoot over the golf course lawn, Dante’s words stuck in a terrible feedback loop in my mind. For months now, I’ve managed to forget him, and now his voice is the only thing I can hear — telling me, over and over, all the ways I’m ruining my life. But he’s wrong. I’m not the one who wrecked my only shot to get out of this town. I’m not the one breaking promises and being so cavalier with somebody else’s future. I didn’t choose this. I don’t want any part of it. But with each new step, I still hear that note in his voice. Disappointed. Giving up on me, like everyone else.

Screw him.

I stomp onward. It’s pitch-black and silent out here, but I’ve never been scared of the dark. Leave that to girls with faint hearts and weak wills. I know there’s nothing out there in the shadows to hurt me. No — the things that cause real pain come with smiles and affection, lulling you into thinking they actually give a damn before they turn so easily and leave.

Screw them all.

I grip the roll of canvas tighter. I’m digging finger-marks into the fabric, but I don’t care. He will, though. He cared enough to mount it in that heavy frame, put it in a place of pride behind his desk. I cut it out with my army knife. Not perfect, but good enough. The jagged edges will be waiting come Monday morning, along with that shower of broken glass and the contents of his in-box I couldn’t help sweeping to the floor. The plan was invisibility, but plans change. All that sneaking was the wrong idea; I see it now. Why should I be the one to creep around, keeping to my part of town, folding myself into tiny pieces to keep my life away from his? Why should he get to ignore me so easily — just carry on with his perfect job and perfect new family without any inconvenient reminders of everything he’s left behind?