The Last Song (27 page)

28

W
ill

W
inning their first-round game was remarkably easy; Will and Scott barely broke a sweat. In round two, their game was even easier, their opponents scoring only a single point. In the third round, both he and Scott had to work hard. Though the score appeared lopsided, Will walked off the court thinking that the team they had just beaten was a lot better than the score indicated.

They started the quarterfinals at two p.m.; the final was scheduled for six. As Will rested his hands on his knees, waiting for the opposing team’s service, he knew his game was on today. They were down five to two, but he wasn’t worried. He felt good, he felt quick, and every shot he placed sent the ball flying to exactly the spot he wanted. Even as his opponent tossed the ball in the air to begin his serve, Will felt unassailable.

The ball came arcing over the net with a heavy topspin; anticipating its drop, he scrambled forward and set up the ball perfectly. With flawless timing, Scott rushed up and leapt before spiking the ball crosscourt, returning the serve to their side. They won the next six points in a row before the other team got the serve back, and as he settled into position, he quickly scanned the stands for Ronnie. She was sitting in the bleachers opposite his parents and Megan—probably a good idea.

He’d hated that he couldn’t tell his mom the truth about Marcus, but what could he do? If his mom knew who’d done it, she would go for blood… which could only lead to retribution. He was certain the first thing Marcus would do if arrested would be to get his sentence reduced in exchange for “useful information” about another, more serious crime—Scott’s. It would cause problems for Scott at a critical time in his scholarship search, not to mention hurt Scott’s parents—who also happened to be close friends of his own parents. So he’d lied, and unfortunately his mom had chosen to blame the whole thing on Ronnie.

But she’d shown up this morning and told him that she loved him nonetheless. They’d talk later, she’d promised. And she’d told him that more than anything, she wanted him to play his best in the tournament, which was exactly what he was going to do.

As the opponents served again, Will raced across court to make the shot; Scott followed with a perfect set, and Will spiked it home. From that point on, their opponents scored only one more point before the game ended; in the next game, they scored only twice.

He and Scott advanced to the semifinals, and in the stands, he could see Ronnie cheering for him.

The semifinal match was their toughest yet; they’d won the first game easily, only to lose the second game in a tiebreaker.

Will was standing on the service line, waiting for the official to signal the beginning of the third game, when his gaze wandered first to the bleachers and then to the pier, noting that the crowd was three times larger than it had been the year before. Here and there, he saw clusters of people he’d known in high school and others he’d known growing up. There wasn’t an open seat in the stands.

At the referee’s signal, Will tossed the ball high in the air and took a series of quick steps. Launching himself into the air, he sent a driving serve down the baseline, aiming for a spot about three-quarters of the way back. He landed, ready to scramble into position, but he already knew it wasn’t necessary. By splitting the court, both of his opponents had frozen for an instant too long; the hard-driving ball sent up a plume of sand before skating off the court.

One to zero.

Will served seven times in a row, putting Scott and him comfortably ahead, and they ended up alternating points from then on, leading to a relatively easy victory.

Walking off the court, Scott slapped his back.

“It’s over,” he said. “We’re on fire today, so let Tyson and Landry bring it on!”

Tyson and Landry, a pair of eighteen-year-olds from Hermosa Beach, California, were the dominant junior team in the world. A year ago, they’d ranked eleventh in the world overall, which would have been good enough to represent virtually every other country in the Olympic Games. They’d been playing together since they were twelve years old and hadn’t lost so much as a game in two years. Scott and Will had met them only once before in last year’s semifinal of the same tournament, and they’d walked off the court with their tails between their legs. They hadn’t even made a game of it.

But today was a different story: They won the first game by three points; Tyson and Landry won the next game by exactly the same margin; and in the final game, they found themselves tied at seven.

Will had been outside in the sun for nine hours. Despite the liters of water and Gatorade he’d consumed, the sun and heat should have worn him down at least a little, and maybe it had. But he didn’t feel it. Not now. Not when he realized they actually had a chance to win the whole thing.

They had the serve—always a disadvantage in beach volleyball, since points were scored with every volley and the team returning the serve had the chance to set and spike the ball—but Scott sent a knuckleball serve over the net that forced Tyson out of position. Tyson was able to reach the ball in time, but he sent it flying in the wrong direction. Landry charged and somehow got his hand on the ball, but that only made matters worse; it soared into the crowd, and Will knew it would be at least another minute until the ball was back in play. When that happened, he and Scott would be leading by a point.

As usual, he turned first toward Ronnie and saw her wave at him; then, facing the other set of bleachers, he smiled and nodded at his family. Beyond them on the pier, he could see the crowd packed in the area closest to the courts, but it was clear just a little farther away. He wondered about that until he saw a fireball arc through the air.

The score was tied at twelve when it happened.

The ball had soared into the crowd again, this time because of Scott, and as Will returned to his spot on the court, he found himself gazing up at the pier, because he knew Marcus was there.

The fact that Marcus was so close made him tense with the same anger he’d felt the night before.

He knew he should let it go, just as Megan had advised him. He knew he shouldn’t have troubled her with the whole story last night; it was her wedding, after all, and his parents had booked a suite at the historic Wilmingtonian Hotel for her and Daniel. But she’d insisted, and he’d unburdened himself. Though she didn’t criticize his decision, he knew she’d been disappointed that he’d remained silent about Scott’s crime. She’d been unequivocally supportive this morning nonetheless, and as he waited for the referee to blow his whistle, he knew he was playing as much for his sister as for himself.

On the pier, he caught sight of fireballs dancing in the air; the crowd had cleared near the railing, and he could just make out Teddy and Lance break-dancing as usual. What surprised him was the sight of Blaze juggling the fireballs with Marcus. She would catch one, then send it flying back toward Marcus. To Will’s eye, the fireballs were moving back and forth faster than usual. Blaze was retreating slowly, probably trying to slow things down, until her back finally hit the railing of the pier.

The jolt probably made her lose concentration, even as the fireballs continued to fly her way, because she misjudged the trajectory of one of them and ended up catching it against her shirt. With another fireball following quickly, she reached for that one while pinning the former to her body. Within seconds, the front of her shirt became a sheet of fire, fueled by excess lighter fluid.

Panicking, she tried to bat out the flames, obviously forgetting that she still held the fireball…

A moment later, her hands were on fire as well, and her screams drowned out all other noise in the stadium. The crowd surrounding the fire show must have been in shock, because no one made a move toward her. Even from a distance, Will could see the flames consuming her like a cyclone.

Instinctively, he sprinted off the court, racing through the sand toward the pier. Feeling his feet slip, he lifted his knees to increase his speed, Blaze’s screams splitting the air.

He barreled through the crowd, zigzagging from one opening to the next and quickly reaching the steps; he took them three at a time, grabbing hold of one of the pilings so he wouldn’t slow down, then whipped around as soon as he’d reached the pier.

He shoved through the crowd, unable to see Blaze until he reached the clearing. By then, a man was squatting beside her writhing, screaming figure; there was no sign of Marcus or Teddy or Lance…

Will stopped short at the sight of Blaze’s shirt, melted into her raw, blistered skin. She was sobbing and screaming incoherently now, yet no one around her seemed to have the slightest idea what to do next.

Will knew he had to do something. An ambulance would take at least fifteen minutes to get across the bridge and over to the beach, even without the massive crowd. When Blaze cried out in agony once more, he bent over and scooped her gently into his arms. His truck was close by; he’d been one of the first to arrive in the morning, and he began carrying her in that direction. Stunned at what they’d just witnessed, no one tried to stop him.

Blaze was fading in and out of consciousness, and he moved as fast as he could, careful not to jolt her unnecessarily. Ronnie came bounding up the steps as he was carrying Blaze past; he had no idea how she’d been able to get down from the bleachers and reach him so fast, but he was relieved to see her.

“The keys are on the back tire!” he shouted. “We need to stretch her out on the backseat—and when we’re driving, call the emergency room and tell them we’re on our way so they can be expect us!”

Ronnie raced ahead to the truck and was able to get the door open before Will arrived. It wasn’t easy to maneuver Blaze into the seat, but they managed it, and then Will jumped behind the wheel. Peeling out, he floored it for the hospital, already certain he was going to violate a few dozen traffic laws along the way.

The emergency room at the hospital was packed. Will was seated near the door, staring out into the darkening evening. Ronnie sat beside him. His parents, along with Megan and Daniel, had shown up briefly but had left hours earlier.

In the past four hours, Will had told the story multiple times to countless different people, including Blaze’s mom, who was in the back with Blaze now. When she’d rushed into the waiting room, Will had clearly seen the raw fear written on her face before one of the nurses had led her away.

Aside from learning that she’d been rushed into surgery, Will hadn’t heard anything yet. The night stretched out ahead of them, but he couldn’t imagine leaving. His memories kept taking him back to how she’d looked when they sat beside each other in third grade and then forward to the image of the ravaged creature he’d carried in his arms earlier that day. She was a stranger now, but she’d been a friend once, and that was enough for him.

He wondered if the police would come back. They’d arrived with his parents, and he’d told them what he knew, but they’d been more interested in why he’d brought Blaze to the hospital instead of allowing the paramedics to do so. Will had been truthful—he hadn’t remembered they were on-site, and he could see she needed to get to the hospital immediately—and thankfully, they’d understood that. He thought he’d even seen Officer Johnson nod slightly, and Will had the sense that in the same situation, Officer Johnson would have done the same thing.

Every time the door beyond the nurses’ station opened, Will searched for one of the nurses who’d been there to receive Blaze. In the car, Ronnie had somehow been able to get through to the hospital, and a trauma team was waiting; within a minute, Blaze was on a gurney and being led away. It was almost ten minutes before either he or Ronnie could think of anything to say to each other. Instead they sat motionless, holding hands, trembling at the memory of Blaze screaming in the truck.

The hospital door opened again, and Will recognized Blaze’s mom as she walked toward them.

Both Will and Ronnie stood. When she was close, Will could see the tension lines around her mouth.

“One of the nurses told me you were still out here. I wanted to come down to thank you for what you did.”

Her voice cracked, and Will swallowed, realizing his throat had gone dry.

“Is she going to be okay?” he managed to croak out.

“I don’t know yet. She’s still in surgery.” Blaze’s mom focused on Ronnie. “I’m Margaret Conway. I don’t know if Galadriel ever mentioned me.”

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Conway.” Ronnie gently reached out to touch her arm.

The woman sniffed, trying and failing to stay composed. “I am, too,” she began. Her voice became more ragged as she went on. “I told her a hundred times to stay away from Marcus, but she just wouldn’t listen, and now my little girl—”

She broke off, unable to contain her sobs. Will watched, paralyzed, as Ronnie stepped forward to hold her, both of them crying in each other’s arms.

As Will drove the streets of Wrightsville Beach, everything stood out in glittering focus. He was driving fast but knew he could drive even faster. In a split-second glance, he was able to notice details that ordinarily would have escaped him: the soft, misty halo around the streetlamps, an overturned garbage can in the alley beside the Burger King, the small dent near the license plate of a cream-colored Nissan Sentra.