“I can’t,” I say.Just from looking at it, I can tell it’s too small for me; it’s too small for pretty much anyone.Except for Laurie.She’s willowy.Waifish.And she’s not going to be jealous of my bubble butt after this.That’s why I’m already looking around the bathroom to find a way to get her up there.
“No.”
Maybe if she climbs onto the toilet or—no, we’ll have to use the sink, it’s taller.Then she can use that upper-body strength she’s always lording over me to pull herself into the shaft and—
“Jamie,no.”
I almost think she’s trying to argue I would fit into the vent, but when I look back at her, I realize it’s a more petulant no.Like an “I’m not going if you’re not going” no, which is so damn stupid for someone so smart.
“Don’t even start with that shit, Laurie.”
I push her over to the sink, then bend down to undo the high heels I can’t believe she’s been wearing this whole time.
“No, no, no.”She’s just being hysterical now.“First rule of slasher movies: Don’t.Split.Up.”
That makes me pause with my fingers gripping the buckle of her shoe, and I squint up at her from the ground, the tiles cold against my bare feet.
“Rule number one is don’t have sex,” I say slowly, deliberately, because she would know that if she paid as much attention to the poster on the back of our bathroom door as it deserves.Moving back to working the strap of her other shoe away from her ankle, I can’t help but feel hurt.“God, Laurie, it’s like you never listen when I talk—”
“It’s still a rule!”she grits out, but it’s too late, she’s going into that vent if I have to shove her into it like an uncooperative tampon.
I pop back up from the floor and smack my palm against the countertop, using all my first-year-theater elective skills to sound sunny and confident and not shit-scared that I’m about to make my best friend slide into a metal tunnel andDie Hardher way out of this massacre à la John McClane.
“Well then, rule number eleven: take the goddamned escape route when it presents itself to you.”
Her bottom lip starts trembling, tears rimming those pretty eyes I’ve practiced some of the more difficult eye makeup tutorials on and laughed hysterically at the results.I know they won’t fall, though.It would take something truly insane for my girl to cry.
“You made that rule up.”
Her voice is a wisp of her usual cool, confident, measured tone.It makes my throat feel tight when I say, “I did.But I’m the expert on this, remember?”
The grin on my face is so obviously for show I can’t make myself look at her when I push her toward the sink again.Well, it’s more like a shove.
“Air vents connect to outside, so you just have to keep crawling until you come to the end.”
“I will.I will.”She’s on board now, nodding and kicking off her heels.Showing exactly how someone who does YouTube Pilates three times a week can balance and bend, she swings her leg up, plants a foot onto the counter, and pushes up to a stand over the sink.
“Then just get help, okay?”
“Jamie—” She looks down at me, her hands reaching up to the vent cover, her bottom lip shaking.I know what she wants to say.
Stay safe.
I’ll do whatever I can to save you.
Don’t get murdered…
Please,don’t get murdered.
But none of the words come out.She’s never been great with verbalizing her feelings.She’s the smart one.I’m the dramatic one.She’s logical.I’m emotional.It’s been that way ever since we met in Intro to Cinema Studies.Since we stood across from each other in that first tutorial and realized that despite our incompatible aspirations and interests, a mutual distaste for icebreakers was enough to build a friendship on.One that—so many years and major and minor life events later—has become real and deep and so,soimportant that if our roles were reversed and I could fit and she couldn’t, I have no doubt she’d already have her shoulder in my ass pushing me through that vent.And that’s why it’s so easy for me to smile up at her.It’s genuine this time because I can read every involuntary movement of her facial features.I know what shewantsto say.So, I make myself swallow down the lump in my throat, blink away the tears in my eyes, and say, “I love you, too, baby girl.”
CHAPTER 22
“You should be killed and often, and by someone who knows how.”
—NotGone with the Wind
The corkscrews finally come into use.While they’re too dull to cause any damage to a human, the ends of the spirals are pointy enough to dig underneath the cover of the vent.They loosen the paint around the edge and allow enough room for Laurie to dig her fingers into the gap so she can pry the bottom of the cover away from the wall.The hinges at the top whine in protest, but once I hop up onto the counter and maneuver around Laurie to hold the vent open, it takes us no time to figure out a way to get her into the metal shaft.
