Page 12

Besides, Lacey was still on my side of the virgin-line—which gave us some intrinsic loyalty to one another. I hadn’t even had a boyfriend yet, and Lacey had only gone out with a boy twice before her mom’d locked down hard.

I could’ve had a boyfriend, if I wanted just anyone. There were enough boys at Redson High to go around. But most of them were stupid or hideous or stupidious and not worth my time. The few that weren’t—like Liam—had been claimed by one girl or another ever since they’d turned eleven.

Clouds hid the moon and I brought my flashlight out. I could hear the rain like it was chasing me, a million tiny footsteps just behind, and then I was in it—I barely had time to pull on my coat. I danced between sleeves, tucking the flashlight in and out of armpits until I was covered, but I could already tell that my coat would not be enough. This was the kind of rain that’d soak my jeans straight through, and mud was already starting to suck at the bottom of my shoes. I angled up closer to the road where there was less dirt and kept walking.

When I saw Lacey—when she saw me—if she was not in the hospital for something life threatening to make being this disgusting worthwhile—I started thinking about relative values for assorted illnesses versus how uncomfortable I was and how long I’d be that way, seeing as even once I gottothe hospital, I was still going to have to walk back home.

The rain camouflaged the sound of a car pulling up behind me—I didn’t know they were there until they honked their horn and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Hey!” someone shouted, from the passenger side of a white four-door, as their lights came in range. They slowed and pulled over toward me. “You go to Redson?”

I nodded mutely.

“My brother goes there too—need a ride?”

The lights of the dash illuminated four college guys, one for each seat.

“We’ve got space,” he went on, jerking a thumb toward the back.

Just then, the rain decided to go from loud to deafening—his mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what he’d said, although I saw the guy in the backseat smirk.

“I’m good!” I shouted, waving them away.

The guy in the passenger seat looked at me like I was dumb.

“I’m fine, thanks!” I shouted louder, grinning like the idiot they likely thought I was, and took a step or two back from the road.

I could see a collective shrug ripple through their group until the window rolled up and the car zoomed off again with a shoe-soaking splash.

Half a mile away, my blisters were getting blisters—walking in wet socks and shoes guaranteed it. I’d stopped thinking about Sarah or Lacey and was only focused on myself and my current misery.

If I’d let those guys take me to the hospital, I’d be there by now.Right foot.But who the hell takes rides from strangers?Left foot.What kind of cynical jerk says no to a ride in the middle of a rainstorm?Right foot.The kind that doesn’t wind up in a serial killer movie.Left foot.Was I an idiot?Right foot.Or wasn’t I?Left foot.

Soon, I was too cold-hot-uncomfortable for actual thinking. If Hannibal Lecter pulled over, I’d have gladly gotten in, as long as he’d promise to let me get all the way dry before killing me. The rain was ebbing though, I was over halfway there—and this time when a car came up, I was able to hear it approaching.

I turned. The car was definitely slowing down, and its headlights were blinding. I stood still just like deer do, waiting, unable to see anything but the painful brightness of its lights—and then it sped up again, zooming on, in a white blur.

I stood on the roadside, blinking after it, until it rounded a corner and disappeared.

Was it residual light burn from the headlights? Or was it really the same white four-door? If it was, why did they slow down? Why didn’t they say anything? If it wasn’t them—same question! Who does that and why?

I panted, exhausted by the time of night and exertion used thus far, unable to tell myself what I’d really seen, scared of being right, and scared of convincing myself I was not right so I wouldn’t be frightened. Then, as much as my feet hated me for it, I trudged back into the deeper gravel and muck so I’d be farther from the road—and found myself a very large stick to drag along.

Mercy Hospital appeared like a brightly lit angel on the horizon. If my life were a movie, and Mercy were a person, I’d be running down an airport causeway toward her right now, arms extended and shrieking. Instead, it took me another long fifteen minutes or so to reach the edge of its expansive parking lot.

The lobby was closed, but the emergency room was open—I walked through it, and out into the lobby through a side-door like I belonged, and no one questioned me, which made sense. High school had already taught me that half of life was looking like you belonged—the other half was looking like you had somewhere to be.

There was a map printed on one wall—there wasn’t a ‘Lacey Is Here’ stamp on it, but it did list the pediatric floor, and since Lacey was sixteen like me for two more months before I becamethe hotter and wiser of our pair by turning seventeen, I figured she’d be there. I found an elevator and let it take me up.

Three floors and one more map consult later, I was outside the ‘Kids Floor!’ I knew, because it said so, in bright pink letters stenciled over the desk assorted women in scrubs sat behind. One of them looked curiously at me, and I looked down at myself. I’d trailed water from the elevator over and despite my coat’s hood having saved me from some of the rain I probably both looked and smelled like a wet dog—the kind you’d shoo away if it came up to you on the street.

However, I was still a ‘Kid!’ so I tried to wag my tail with a winning smile.

“Hi—I’m looking for my friend, Lacey Harper,” I said, walking up to the desk, trying to ignore the way that my wet sneakers squeaked.

She typed slowly, giving me plenty of time to wonder how old the chipped enamel Bison on her lanyard was, before telling me, “We can neither confirm nor deny her being a patient here.”

The first thing I wanted to say was,What are you, a robot?but I caught myself in time.