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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

STELLA MALDONADO

Stella claws the metal grille separating their compartment from the driver’s section of the van.

“We shouldn’t… they may be out there, they may come back,” Libby says, her voice quavering.

“Do what you want, but I’m not dying in this stupid fucking van,” Stella shout-whispers back. She means it: She’s not dying here. She’s flooded with fear, but no way is she going out like this.

Felix sawed the duct tape securing his wrists on some jagged metal under the side bench in the van, then freed the rest of them. They pulled the tape from over their eyes, wincing as it stung their skin. The interior holds only two benches—it’s essentially a stripped metal box. They were lined up on the grimy floor for hours? Days? In the darkness, the haze, it’s impossible to tell.

Stella continues yanking at the grille as Felix and Blane slam their shoulders into the back doors, but they’re locked and solid.

Mark’s on the floor. His breaths are shallow, his shirt covered in red, but he’s alive. Stella flashes to the roadside. Where they were frozen in shock at the sight of the gun. Where Mark bravely lunged for the weapon. The awful pop .

How did it all come to this? Her mind blazes through the what-ifs. What if she hadn’t convinced the others to come to the bonfire? What if she hadn’t pressured them to take the psychedelics her new friend supplied? Felix and Libby were reluctant, but Stella used her power over Felix to convince him; he’s such a lapdog. And she knew Libby wouldn’t be left out. Her mind flickers to the scene in the firelight. When Blane and Mark arrived at Panther Beach, half baked themselves… their faces twisted in anger when they saw Stella’s friend.

“I can’t believe this! You know what she posted about me?” Mark’s face, a combination of hurt and anger. Things have been hard for him after everybody found out about his father.

But worse was Felix, the look of betrayal. “Wait, what? It wasn’t just Mark that was accused in those posts,” he said. “How could you?”

She has the image, almost dreamlike, of Blane and Mark taking off, then Libby and Felix disappearing down the beach into the darkness—Libby’s dream-come-true, as she’d been pining for Felix since the first capstone meeting. Libby had been jealous that Felix obviously was into Stella, not her.

Stella doesn’t remember much else. The blur of the fire. The sound of laughter. The sound of her own scream.

What if, what if, what if.

The screech of metal on metal brings her back to the present. The back door of the van is buckled, a gap is widening, maybe big enough for them to squeeze through.

“We need to move,” Felix says.

He kicks at the door, the opening bigger, then squeezes through the hole. Blane is saying something to Mark, who is whimpering on the floor. Blane helps Mark to his feet, puts Mark’s arm around his shoulder to try to help him through.

Libby’s already outside, Stella close behind.

Where are they? A dirt road surrounded by woodland.

Felix is tugging on the door again, trying to widen the gap. Mark wails in pain as Blane guides him through the opening. Mark collapses to the ground, blood staining the gravel. Felix pulls him upright.

Stella’s heart is galloping. But she’s feeling a gush of euphoria. They’re going to get out of this. They’re going to survive.

Her jubilation vaporizes when she sees the gun trained on them.