Coach’s words galloped through my head, the warning accompanied by visions of Aiden Cross’s bright blood against the snow. From the law’s perspective, I was the sole aggressor. And I’d attacked him in front of three witnesses. The police were probably going to leave Gannon and head straight for the business administration building. When they didn’t find me there, they would search the campus.
Then they’d visit my parents.
My blood ran cold. Before August, I would have bet my father would stick up for me. Hire his lawyer friend from the city to defend me against whatever stupid charges Cross or Coach Gannon pushed for.“It was just teenage boys arguing,”he would have said.“Hormones. Fighting about a girl.”That was the sort of fiction my father enjoyed.
But now? I wasn’t so sure. He might enjoy seeing me in handcuffs, an officer pushing my head down while he folded me into a cop car. Red and blue lights flashing over my face. The people at church might judge—but they also might be sympathetic.“Caleb chose that lifestyle,”they’d say, “lifestyle” spoken in hushed tones because if you said it loudly enough, that dirt might get under your skin, too. The bottom line was, I didn’t know if my parents would support me. The only thing I knew for certain was that I absolutely couldnotwalk into HVCC.
Head pounding, I rose and moved away, careful to keep the dumpsters between me and the cops. As the sun climbed higher, I clung to the shadows of the stadium. With a final glance over my shoulder, I darted into the parking lot and hurried away from the school.
By the thirdtime I’d circled the outskirts of downtown, I knew something was seriously wrong.
The sun was directly overhead, which meant it was noon. Right? The temperature had been climbing and now I was sweating through my shirt. I’d shed my coat hours ago. Or maybe it was minutes ago. I couldn’t be certain. Also, I was pretty sure I’d lost my coat. I couldn’t remember stuffing it in my backpack. Which sucked, because I’d liked that coat. But it didn’t matter. The police were looking for me. Did people wear coats in jail?
Fuck, I was better off going to the bus station and getting the hell out of New York.
But I was so tired. And my headache had blossomed into a migraine. With each plodding step, the pickax in my brain drove deeper, plowing through gray matter to stab at my eyes. Every time I glanced at a reflective surface, I expected to see them bulging from my head.
As I stumbled past a darkened doorway, I tried to remember the first aid rules I’d learned in Boy Scouts. Something about the alphabet…
ABC. That was it.Airwaywas the first one. But I was breathing just fine. The B was for breathing. Or was it bleeding? I huffed a humorless laugh as I shuffled along the sidewalk. The only person who needed to worry about bleeding was Aiden Cross. He’d probably taken my phone last night. Maybe he thought he could hack it and find some kind of incriminating info or photos to send to Dean Welch, who’d forward them to my parents as proof of my poor “values.” Well, surprise, surprise,fucker, it wouldn’t be the first time photos like that landed in their inbox.
My stomach cramped—a sudden, vicious twist that sent me stumbling into the nearest building and doubling over. The taste of metal flooded my mouth, and I coughed, spitting a glob of yellowish bile on the concrete. I leaned my shoulder against the brick and clutched at my forehead. The pain had spread to my neck and shoulders, making it difficult to turn my head.
Shit, was it meningitis? Wasn’t that supposed to lock your head in place or something?
This was bad. Really bad. I needed to get home. If the police showed up, so be it. My future didn’t matter if I was dead.
I swiped the back of my hand over my mouth and straightened from the wall. The building I’d stumbled into was an old warehouse on the edge of the industrial district. It wasn’t the worst area in Hale Valley, but it wasn’t the quaint, bustling downtown with bookstores and coffee shops, either. If I passed out here, the wrong kind of people might find me. The scent of mold and decay rose thick in the air, making my stomach threaten to revolt. More bile burned my throat, but I moved forward, determined to drag myself home before I lost consciousness. My parents would call a doctor. They’d do that much for me. Maybe.
My footsteps echoed, sounds overlapping as I passed more warehouses. Sweat trickled down my spine. My stomach rolled like the time my dad decided fishing on Lake Ontario would repair our father-son bond.
A whisper of sound at my back made me spin so quickly that the world hitched a ride on a tilt-a-whirl for a second. When it righted itself, a skinny black cat darted into an alley.
I scrubbed a hand over my clammy face. Great, now I was seeing black cats. Maybe I should save the universe the trouble and walk under a ladder next.
I stumbled forward, my legs like lead weights. I tried to follow the sidewalk, but the damn thing kept moving—as if a giant stood at the other end and jerked it up and down like a kid making a jump rope dance in the air. The warehouses seemed to go on forever, and they all looked the same. A few times, I thought I heard people speaking to me. A face would appear at my shoulder like a big, round moon, and a voice would echo around me.
“You on drugs?”one of the moon faces demanded.
No. I tried to say it out loud, but I wasn’t sure I managed it.
The moon turned sideways, and the voice grew louder.“Hey! I think this kid needs help.”
Another moon approached, bringing the smell of grease and car exhaust. Suddenly, I was shoved hard. My shoulder hit brick, and I grunted as the moons spoke to each other, their conversation garbled. One of the moons sounded more agitated than the other.
Whatever they said, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t take another hit like that. I couldn’t risk the anger rising and making me even sicker. So I lurched away from the brick and broke into a run.
One of the moons shouted something, but the words were too muffled to catch.
My world shrank to the thud of my feet on pavement and the pulses of bright, needle-sharp pain in my head. My backpack bounced against my spine, keeping time as I focused on getting home. At some point, the warehouses disappeared, and I jogged through a maze of unfamiliar streets. Strange buildings loomed, casting long shadows across my path. The shadows became living things—amorphous, faceless demons that lay quietly until I approached only to claw at my ankles as I passed.
A scream lodged in my throat. I stumbled, caught myself, and kept going. Rapid footsteps sounded behind me, and I dared alook over my shoulder. Two of the shadows rose from the ground and pursued me.
The cops.I’d forgotten they were chasing me.
Or maybe they were actual demons. I’d never believed in that shit. I suspected my father didn’t, either. But my mother was a true believer. It was part of the reason she acted like I didn’t exist when we passed each other in the hallway at home. She was tough-loving my ass to salvation, hoping that ignoring me would miraculously make me stop liking dick. A few times, she and her fellow “prayer warriors” had gathered at the house and tried to cast out whatever demon was responsible for my sex life. God, she’d be so pissed if she did all that planning and hostessing just for me to turn up with a whole entourage of demons.
Laughter spilled from my lips. Vague, green blobs danced at the edges of my vision. Sweat poured off me even as a chill raised goosebumps on my skin. The cold crept through my limbs and sank icy fangs into my bones. My teeth chattered as I slowed to a walk. Fine gravel crunched under my feet. The scent of pine invaded my nostrils. I froze in place, shivering and blinking as my vision sharpened. The green blobs turned into tree branches.
