“But, I—I don’t have my phone!” None of us did; we’d left them in our lockers at the entrance.
“One of the workers can call,” he replied, pointing at the exit gate. Then he looked over at Patrick. “Are you all right?”
Patrick nodded, but he was clutching his left arm, which was bent at an unnatural angle. I felt vomit rising in my throat.
“Clara.” Hamlet looked at me again. I nodded and ran to the gate, finding one of the workers. After he called 911, I ran back to everyone, hoping that somehow when I returned everything would be different. That my friends were pulling another prank.
But Rose and Hamlet were sitting next to Felix, keeping his head out of the water. The sight of Cynthia holding her bundled-up tank top to Felix’s head, soaked red with his blood, made me woozy.
Nope, it was all very real.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Rose said firmly. “Unless you want to die.”
Cynthia sobbed, and Hamlet threw Rose an exasperated look. She frowned. “Well, it’s a possibility!”
Patrick stood next to them, still cradling his arm. When he started to sway, I ran over and steadied him. “Hey, how about you get out of the water and sit down,” I said.
He followed me, nary a wisecrack for once, and I helped him climb the stairs out of the pool. As I set him down on a bench, I heard sirens. Shortly after that, a group of medics were running in, some of the park’s employees close behind.
Everything happened in a blur—Felix was lifted onto astretcher. Cynthia was okay but wanted to ride in the ambulance with Felix. After some inspection, a medic told Patrick he’d probably broken his arm and needed to go to the hospital, too.
Hamlet, Rose, and I followed them out into the parking lot. I walked alongside Patrick for a few seconds. I didn’t know what I was expecting, contrition or an apology? But when they got into the ambulances without a word to Hamlet and Rose—both of whom had done everything to help them—I had to say something.
“Hey!” I shouted.
Other than Felix who was lying down, everyone looked at me. I took a deep breath. “I hope you guys feel better soon, but after this is all done, you owe Hamlet an apology.”
Hamlet tugged at me. “It’s okay, Clara. They’re hurt—”
“Are you seriously asking for an apologyright now?” Cynthia cried from the ambulance bench.
Felix put a hand on her arm. “It’s fine, Cyn. She’s right. Sorry about this, Hamlet.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Hamlet said with a grim smile. “Just take care of yourself, man.”
Then the doors shut, and Felix’s ambulance wailed off into the distance. Patrick’s ambulance was idling, his injury not as serious. I walked over to him and he gave me a small smile. “Best summer ever.” I didn’t laugh. He sighed. “You’re right, we were being jerks.” He looked down at his lap. “But, I mean, it kind of sucks. Being ditched, you know?”
I bit down on my lip, suddenly feeling like I wanted to cry. “I didn’t ditch you guys.”
He glanced behind me at Rose and Hamlet, who were talking to the EMTs. “Maybe not. But you’re going to.”
Before I could respond, the medics closed up the doors and drove off, the ambulance growing smaller in the distance, leaving me caught between its receding lights and Hamlet and Rose.
CHAPTER 24
“Clara, look alive!”
I startled and looked up at the TV. My player had just fallen off a cliff.
Hamlet’s grandma threw her controller down in disgust. “I want to be on a different team!”
It was a few days after the water-park catastrophe and I was sitting on the carpet at Hamlet’s, playing our usual Friday nightSpace Pineapple Death Match. Early on in this new Friday routine, his grandpa reluctantly moved the video-game console downstairs so that we could play group matches. I was distracted, and Hamlet’s grandmother pulled herself off the carpet with a groan. “I’m going to get some snacks.” She pointed at me. “You. Practice some more while I’m gone.” Hamlet’s grandpaheaved himself off a chair to follow her. “You’re going to pick bad snacks,” he complained after her.
We paused the game, and the second his grandparents had scuttled into the kitchen, Hamlet reached over and pulled me closer to him—both of our backs pressed against the sofa. He touched the tip of my nose. “What’s up?”
“Your grandpa’s kicking my butt, as per usual.”
“No, I mean you seem off today. Is everything okay?”
