Wicked Sense (18 page)

“
Prisci
l
la,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” I say, my
faked
bitch
y-
ness
reaching record heights.
Maybe I
am
mad he made out with Jane.
“
Prisci
l
la is
a good friend.”

“Yeah, she’s
your
good friend,” he says. His tone is so… dark. Oh, what have I done?

He walks past me, not saying another word.

It’s like a punch to the gut.
I want to say I’m sorry
again
. I want to scream it’s just an act. But I don’t. I just let him go.

I look at him and see his fake-proud march toward the school.
I broke his heart. Twice.

While I think
on
how mean I
’ve become
, I don’t realize someone
’s
approaching. The high
school Hulk.
Appropriately, his aura is green.
What’s his name again?
Oh, yeah. Boulder.

He stands by, staring at me.

I try to preempt an awkward moment. “Dude, it’s not a good time to ask me out.” I’m still in
diva
-mode. And I shouldn’t use the word ‘dude’ anymore.

“I’m not
here to ask you out.” He pauses, then
admits, “Don’t get me wrong, I would, but my bro beat me to it.” He shouldn’t use the word ‘bro’ anymore. “Here’s the deal. Don’t hurt him. You let him down nicely, or there’s going to be some Boulder reckoning.”

Way to charm a girl. “You don’t think much of him, do you?
Are you
his babysitter?”

He cocks his head, maybe thinking
whether he should snap my neck
.

“More of a big brother. Hence the ‘bro
.
’ I’m looking out for him. And don’t mention it to him, or
—
”

“A reckoning. Got it.” I try to sound blasé, but I’m impressed Drake can command that kind of loyalty. “You’re something else, Boulder, you know?”

“Of course I do.”
He turns and struts to school.

Oh, Drake. Maybe I made a bigger mistake than I thought.

Today
I
want to
follow Mona’s lead and ditch school.

Skye
leaves without a word, dumps me by text, and then calls me out on a
drunken
mistake? What happened? This is so not her.

Stop making excuses for her, Drake. You did everything right. Well, except
for
the part where you
made out
with her
…
rival
?

Not for the first time, I wonder why Jane and Skye hate each other. Maybe it’s because Jane hooked up with Skye’s ex.
The two girls seemed to know each other on Skye’s first day.

So, it’s not about me. All this is about Skye’s ex-boyfriend. British jerk. I’m just a pawn in their fight for Mr. Darcy.

I
know Skye saved
me in the woods. But I’m bitter. What else could she do? Let me die? She did that weird New Age thing, though. Now I don’t know if it means she cared so much she would try anything, or that she cared so little she thought she had time to joke around.

***

I want
to be alone. Besides my daydreaming during classes, I hid
e
in the library during the breaks. Sean and Boulder would never venture there. I wait until most of the students leave to make my way to the parking lot. Just a few vehicles there, including my sorry Volvo and Jane’s bike.

Today is a good day for swimming. If being alone is my goal, I can’t think of a better activity.
Nobody is there after school.
My gym bag is in the car’s trunk, but before I take
a
step, I see Jane slithering fro
m behind the cafeteria building. She walks deliberately
past
her bike.

It’s like seeing a cowboy without his horse. Jane never leaves her bike behind.

Something compels me to see what she’s up to. Since we locked lips, she
isn’t
as scary as she once was. And if I’m being manipulated by those two
hotties
, I need to know what’s going on. So I, as suspiciously as Jane did, slither too.

I’m not the stalking type, and it takes me a while to even understand what I’m supposed to do. Jane helps me by not looking back, not even once.

She crosses the street
and looks around. I hid
e
behind
the
bushes near the parking lot entrance. From the back of the pool building, Skye shows up and greets her.

What?

They stand
a few
feet from each other. I can’t hear them, but I see Jane making a rounding gesture with her pointer finger up. Skye points to the pool building, and Jane nods. The two of them walk inside the red brick building.

What’s going on? I thought they were
enemies
. Maybe they’re the Let’s-Screw-With-Drake’s-Head
C
lub
. I imagine them having a glass of wine by the pool, having a laugh about me, comparing notes: “I k
issed him and left the country
;
”
“Well, I made out with him and le
ft him asleep alone in the car
;
”
“Can you believe he actually though
t
he had a chance with us?”

I shake my head. Man, I am paranoid.

Well, girls have this irrational compulsion to talk about stuff. Maybe Skye and Jane are talking about Mr. Darcy.
Skye said she didn’t have a boyfriend. She may just le
t Jane
know it’s okay. Except… g
irls are territorial, right? They could be fighting about him. Hell, they could be fighting about me.

Right.

I don’t know how long I spend running these bizarre scenarios in my head. But it’s enough time for my thoughts to swing from them mocking me to them fighting for me.

Fighting. Jane punches guys
who ask
her out. What would Jane do if she got a rival alone?

I forget
my stealth
attempts
and jump from behind the bushes. I cross the street, running,
and
reach
the side door of the pool building. The tiny lobby is empty, as always. I have an idea. I enter the men’s locker room (no way they’re
in
there).
The walls in the
cheap building
are thin enough that I can
hear them if they are in the women’s locker room. A
nd each locker room has a direct
passage to the pool
area
, so I can sneak a peek if they’re meeting by the stands
or the pool
.

I pass the closed lockers and empty benches.
The stench of years of sweat and
bleach
makes me wrinkle my nose.
No sound comes from the women’s side. They must be pool
side
. I approach the door, open it slowly, and look across the narrow gap.

From where I
hide
, I can see t
he pool, but not all the stands
that go up about
ten
steps
to
my left. I hear a
low
humming. They’re
somewhere
around
. I dare to open the door wider. Then I notice it. A ripple on the water. Like someone jumped in.

And bubbles.

Briefly looking up, I see Jane on the top of the stands, sitting cross-legged. Her hands are resti
ng on her knees,
drip
ping
blood
. She is humming something,
her eyes closed.

Without thinking,
I run from the door and dive in the direction of the bubbles.
Cold water envelops me.
While I try to reorient myself underwater, I kick my sneakers out. I see a figure slowly drifting to
the bottom
, leaving
a
faint red stream
behind
.

Skye. She’s not struggling. I reach for her and catch her lifeless arm.

My
summer
lifeguard
stint
comes back to me. I wrap my arm around her. I swim up
quickly,
and we reach the surface. After a deep breath, I swim to the
side
,
dragging
her inert body with me.
I get out and pull her out of the water. As if by instinct, my eyes look up.

Jane is climbing down the stairs
in a hurry
, a knife of some kind in one of
her bloody hands,
rage
in her
eyes
. She hesitates
after she reaches the last step, then s
he darts to the door. 

With Jane out of the equation, I turn to Skye, still in my arms.
I lay her down on the ceramic floor with care.
When I shake her slowly to get a reaction, a wound to her temple catches my eye. She’s bleeding.
S
he’s not responding. And h
er chest is not moving.

The CPR training kicks in. First, call 911. I reach for my cell. It’s drenched in water and dead. I search
for hers
, and I
find
it
tuck
ed in a back pocket. Also
wet and
useless.

I put my face next to hers. No sound, no breath. She’s not breathing.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

I force
her mouth
open and see
nothing blocks
her throat. I
un
zip her jacket. I hesitate for a nanosecond b
efore ripping her t-shirt off. After
finding the center spot of her chest, I
begin applying pressure. Pump, pump, pump. Thirty pumps. No response.

I t
ilt her head back a little bit and
glance
worriedly
at the
blood
pouring
from her temple
. One step at a time.
I pinch her nose,
cove
r her mouth with mine, and
blow twice. Nothing.

Back to pumping. Pump, pump—

A gurgling sound! Water comes out of her mouth, the gagging reflex making her whole body spasm. She takes a deep breath,
a long gasp,
as if she had just come into this world.

Her eyes are wide open. She’s coughing, reaching for me, and trying to look around us. I’ve never seen someone so terrified.

“She’s gone,” I say.

Her chest heave
s
as she sucks air with desperation.
She looks into my eyes, into my soul
,
for a moment. Then she grabs me
,
and we embrace.

Slowly
, I push her away. She looks at me in bewilderment.

“You’re bleeding,” I say, motioning to
her
right temple.

Her hand follows mine, and it dawns on her.

“Jane hit me,” she says, still breathing hard.

Her voice is
hoarse, throaty, b
ut I’m glad she’s conscious, talking, and remembering.

“She hit me with the
butt
of the knife,” she adds.
Then she has a brief coughing fit.

I say, “S
tay here
.
I need to call an ambulance.”

She grabs my arm. “No!”

“No?
C
an you walk then? There’s a phone in the lobby.”

She squeezes my arm. “No. Don’t call anyone.”

“What about the police? She attacked you!”

“No,” she pleads.

She’s confused. I try to reassure her. “It’s okay. We have to.”

“Don’t do it.” Her penetrating look convinces me.

***

At
Skye’s
request, I search for her glasses. I find them by the side of the pool, smashed.
S
omeone stepped on them. Jane, probably. I collect the pieces and the twisted frame, and
hand them to Skye.