The Locket (21 page)

Slowly, the locket cooled, and I drew a slow, calming breath.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Ally whispered as Rachel threw her makeup bag into her backpack and left the room. “One time, I almost drank lighter fluid. I was so drunk I thought it was vodka.
So
embarrassing.”

“Thanks.” I worked on a shaky smile. Ally was much nicer than I’d given her credit for.

“No problem,” she said, grabbing my deodorant from the floor and shoving it back into my bag. We both dropped our makeup on the bench and headed for the door. “And Rachel will be cool. Just tell her you like her new bracelet or something.”

I followed Ally out into the gym and settled between her and Rachel on the bleachers. I didn’t want to compliment the girl who was probably after my boyfriend, but I couldn’t afford to have her mad at me either. I needed my life to stay calm, not get any more crazy, and having Rachel Pruitt mad at you was a good way to end up in Crazyville.

“Nice bracelet,” I whispered, my voice so soft I wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear.

Surprisingly, she did, and smiled right away. “It’s from Tiffany’s, a gift from my dad for excelling at charity work,” she said, holding it up for me and Ally to admire.

“So gorgeous!” Ally squealed.

“Really pretty,” I agreed, focusing on the delicate gold-and-diamond bracelet, deliberately avoiding Sarah’s eyes as she walked by.

She loathed my new friends, so there was no chance she’d try to sit with us. A cowardly part of me hoped she might also rethink her plan to tell me the truth I didn’t want to hear if she saw how tight I was with Rachel and Ally. Surely she didn’t want to mess things up with me and Isaac
and
ruin my new friendships all in one big swoop.

“I wish my dad bought me jewelry. The last two things he got me were a four-wheeler and a pink shotgun for hunting season. He totally wishes I’d been a boy.” Ally sighed and popped her gum. We weren’t supposed to chew gum in Coach Miller’s class, but she got away with it most of the time.

“I can’t believe you even go hunting with him. So gross.” Rachel watched Coach head out of the equipment room, wrinkling her nose when she spied the cart of big red balls. “No! Not dodgeball.”

“I hate dodgeball,” I agreed, neglecting to add that I usually hated it because Rachel had a surprisingly accurate—and powerful—right arm.

In my old life, I’d cried with relief on the last day of gym the year before. Sophomores and juniors had class together, but seniors had their own, separate class. No more leaving gym with my cheek throbbing bright red because Rachel had “accidentally” thrown the ball right at my face . . . or so I’d assumed.

But at least today I had a decent chance of being on Pummeling Pruitt’s team.

“I’ll choose you first, Ally, then you choose Katie,” Rachel said, automatically assuming she’d be one of the team captains, which she no doubt would be. Coach Miller loved Rachel. “Katie, you can choose either Sammy or any of the jock girls.” Rachel stood up, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off her black shorts. “Just don’t pick Sarah Needles. M’kay?”

“Why?” I asked, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Underlings didn’t question the queen’s authority, especially so soon after a deodorant misunderstanding.

“I want her on the other team.” Rachel smiled. “She’s so cute and tiny and I like a challenging target, don’t you?”

“Um . . . yeah . . . but, she’s my friend.” I couldn’t aid and abet Sarah’s face smashing, especially when I guessed Rachel’s reasons for wanting Sarah as a target had little to do with her “challenging” size. Whatever Sarah knew, Rachel knew that she knew—she’d made that clear that day in the theater—and she wanted Sarah’s mouth to stay shut.

Rachel shrugged, an ultra-feminine lift of her shoulder that sent boys into rabid drool fits. “Okay, you can pick her for our team. No worries.”

I should have known right then that something awful was going to happen. Rachel had agreed too easily, without so much as a wrinkled nose or a narrowing of her melty, baby-deer-esque brown eyes. Looking back, I could see trouble coming a mile away. But at the time, I was just pleased by the way Sarah’s face lit up when I called her name.

“Thank you,” Sarah mouthed as she scampered to our side of the gym, casting a pointed look at Rachel, grateful to have been spared.

I forced a smile. Sarah was a good friend. I didn’t like the way it felt to have a secret between us, but I liked the idea of having Isaac’s infidelity confirmed even less. If I didn’t hear the cold, hard facts, it was so much easier to pretend everything was fine.

“You know the rules, girls.” Coach Miller lovingly arranged the balls along a thin white line she’d had painted on the court specifically for her yearly dodgeball tournament. “Play tough, but play fair.”

As if she cared about fair. I would swear Coach enjoyed seeing us hurl things at each other with intent to do damage.

“Be prepared to suffer!” Ally giggled and ran to the centercourt line. Rachel, Sarah, me, and the two other girls on our team lined up beside her, facing down our opponents, who had reluctantly arranged themselves beneath the basketball goal.

They were condemned prisoners facing a firing squad, but . . . twitchier. Prisoners knew it would only take a bullet or two to get the job done. These girls had an entire forty minutes of brutality ahead of them without the promise of death to cling to.

“I’m starting the three-minute timer . . . now!” Coach blew her whistle and our team bolted toward the balls like starving children swarming a food-supply van. I’m not much of an athlete—neither is Sarah—but we both knew better than to hesitate.

Rachel’s team didn’t lose. Not ever.

We were both right there with the rest of our team as they bent down, snagging all of the balls but one. As we spun—heading back to our line to take aim at our opponents—Rachel was on one side of Sarah and I on the other. So I saw what happened, saw it
perfectly
, though Rachel moved so fast I was sure no one else had.

I watched Rachel’s foot dart out at the last second, tangling in Sarah’s ankles, bringing her down. I watched Sarah’s eyes fly wide and her hands release her ball a second too late to block her fall. I watched my friend’s chin smash against the hard wood of the court and blood fly from her mouth, splattering across the floor like we were at a boxing match instead of a girls’ high school gym class.

Sarah screamed—a thick, liquid sound—and rolled over onto her back, pressing her hands to her mouth. Blood leaked through her fingers and trickled down the sides of her face, cutting a curved, crimson trail from her lips to the gym floor.

Couch Miller’s whistle screeched and everyone froze—balls falling from hands and soft cries from lips—as Couch raced to the center of the court to kneel beside Sarah.

“Let me see, Needles. Let me see,” she said softly, but Sarah only moaned. Coach turned, searching the eyes of the horrified onlookers. “Did anyone see what happened?”

“She fell, Coach. I think she might have tripped on one of the balls or something.” Rachel was innocence personified. She didn’t even look my way. She was that certain no one had seen what she’d done.

“Sarah, come on. Sarah, let me see,” Coach said, finally coaxing Sarah into removing her hands long enough for Miller to sneak a peek into her mouth. “Shit. Pruitt, go get the nurse.”

My eyes flew from Sarah’s bloody mouth to Rachel’s face just in time to see the shock etched on Rachel’s features before she nodded and ran for the door. She hadn’t meant to hurt Sarah so badly . . . but she wasn’t too broken up about it either.

Not like I was. This was all my fault.
Again.
I’d made a big freaking mistake when I’d insisted Sarah join our team.

The locket warmed against my skin, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts.

I could go back in time and fix this, make sure Sarah ended up on the opposite team and Rachel didn’t have the chance to hurt her. I could make it all go away. I could make life better for a girl who mattered to me in the same way I’d made life better for a girl I loathed. I’d saved Rachel; I
had
to save Sarah, no matter how frightening the side effects of time travel.

Hotter, hotter, until I could feel the scar tissue on my chest ache and twitch. This was it. I was going back.

I fought to keep my eyes open as the metal edged into the burning zone. I had to be ready to act fast, just in case the locket did what it had done last time and put me only seconds ahead of impending danger. Every muscle in my body tensed, preparing for the pain . . .

But the pain . . . didn’t come.

A sharp knock on the steel gym doors made me jump and clutch at my neck, hands fisting around the locket through my shirt. It was cold now, so icy it made my fingers seem feverish.

“Mottola, go open the door. It’s probably the EMTs,” Coach said, before turning back to Sarah.

The locket hadn’t worked. This couldn’t be happening! I had to go back, I had to fix this! It
had
to take me back. I squeezed the metal harder, silently pleading for another chance, imagining how I would pull Rachel away before she could trip my friend. But nothing happened. No temperature change, no time travel, nothing except another shout from Couch Miller.

“Mottola! Move it!”

I took one last look at Sarah’s face—tears streaming down her cheeks, blood painting her chin like something out of a horror movie—then ran to let the paramedics in. As I watched them load Sarah onto a stretcher and wheel her out into the crisp, perfect day, the locket grew cold enough to make me shiver.

Chapter Sixteen

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 9, 3:23 P.M.

T
he school parking lot was emptying fast. Only a smattering of cars, trucks, and luxury SUVs littered the vast expanse. The emptiness made me feel smaller and smaller as each vehicle pulled away, leaving me and my little Hyundai stranded in one lonely corner.

The student parking at BHH was at least three times the size of any student lot I’d ever seen. Everyone had a car.
Everyone
, even the “poor” kids who lived in the oldest subdivision on the north side of town. Brantley Hills poor wasn’t like real-person poor. We were all so over-privileged and under-appreciative. We were self-absorbed jerks.

And I was the worst one of all.

How could I have spent so much time and energy stressing about Rachel and Isaac? And worrying about avoiding Sarah? There were bigger things at stake here—life-and-death things. People were getting seriously hurt, lives were being ruined. I’d been able to hold the horror and guilt at a distance when I believed I could go back and fix the past if I really needed to, but now . . . the locket hadn’t worked. Even when I’d
begged
it to take me back in time.

My teeth began to chatter, despite the warmth of the autumn sun on my face. I had to get to the hospital. I had to see Sarah and make sure she was okay. Maybe her injuries weren’t that bad, maybe that’s why the locket hadn’t—

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out but let it go to voice mail. It was Mitch. Again. He’d called half a dozen times today, four times in the past hour. He must have heard about the “accident” in gym class. I knew I should answer, but I didn’t want to talk to him right now. I didn’t want to talk to anyone except Sarah.

I’d already be halfway to the hospital if I hadn’t locked my keys in my car like a total idiot. I hadn’t even realized they were gone until I’d made it out to the parking lot and seen them sitting in the driver’s seat, where I must have dropped them while I was talking on the phone with Isaac this morning.

Isaac. He was on his way with my spare key. He’d be here any second. A part of me dreaded looking into his face. It was loving him and being so afraid to lose him that had put this terrifying series of events in motion in the first place.

No.
You
put this in motion. You and your mistake.

I squeezed my eyes shut as a tsunami of self-loathing swept over me. I fought against it, struggling to breathe past the shame that did its best to level me where I stood.

I’d made mistakes, yes, but this wasn’t my fault any more than it was Isaac’s. I hadn’t known what the locket could do or how my do over would affect other people. If I had, I never would have put the jewelry around my neck. I was selfish and wanted the happily ever after I’d dreamed of, but not if other people had to pay the price for my happiness. I wasn’t that type of girl.

I was a good person, and I was going to do my best to make things right, starting with being there for my best girlfriend. If only Isaac would hurry . . .

“Hey, Katie! You need a ride?”

My eyes flew open to see Theo hanging out the passenger’s window of a beat-up VW Bug idling a few feet away. His long hair was even more tangled than it had been a few days ago and his eyes so bloodshot they matched the rusted paint of the car.

“No thanks,” I said, the sight of the new Theo triggering a fresh wave of regret. How far back in time would I have to go to fix Theo’s life? A year, maybe more? Was I capable of that, even if the locket would let me? The past two weeks had been crazy enough. I couldn’t imagine reliving a
year
, even to get Theo his MIT acceptance letter.

Maybe I wasn’t as good a person as I’d thought . . .

The locket warmed for a split second before cooling again—just enough of a temp change to make my hand clutch at my throat and my left eyelid twitch. I was really starting to lose it.

“You sure? We’re headed your way,” Theo said.

“No.” I fought to keep my voice level, normal. “Isaac’s bringing my spare key.”

“Isaac! He’s so cool. He told me to swing by your party tomorrow,” he said, laughing like he’d made some huge joke. The driver, a long-haired blond boy I didn’t recognize, laughed too. “I’m totally going to come. Cool Band Name is hysterical. I saw them at the Bean a few weeks ago.”

Mitch’s band. They were playing at my party? I’d had no idea. Maybe that’s why Mitch had been trying to call me. I’d been dumb to assume it was about Wednesday night or that he even cared that I’d been avoiding him since our strained ride home from the Parthenon.