‘No, Ma. You did everything you could.’
‘He promised me faithfully he was in school. Nobody even goddamn called me to say he didn’t show up.’
Now I feel guilty for not checking up on him more often than I did. Instead of leaving him to the wolves.
‘Promise me. You can’t tell anyone about this. Don’t say anything on the phone or in the house. If the sheriff comes back, keep on telling him how worried you are about Noah, and that he hasn’t made contact. And don’t even tell Armando.’
‘I can’t tell Armando?’
‘No, Ma.’ I put one arm around her shoulders. ‘If I’m gonna get Noah out of here safely, then nobody else can know.’
I walk a quarter mile in pitch darkness, my new jacket slung over my shoulder.
In the summer, in the attic space above Scotch & Smoke, the humidity is a killer. It’s so hot up there you can barely breathe. The bar is next to the auto shop, which is also my place of work. My stomach growls when I climb the wooden staircase that snakes around the building. When they started cutting the power to Rapture at night, I stopped using the refrigerator, so I’ve not got much to eat. It was my plan to grab dinner at the bar, though tonight took an unexpected turn.
I have Hollie Palmer to thank for saving my brother’s ass.
Once I’m inside, I strip naked and crash on the bed, my skin tacky with sweat. I can’t sleep, so instead I think about days gone by.
Eastvale High was a school of two halves. Constructed when they built the big, fancy houses in Electric Hills in the early Eighties, it fell victim to its geography, because as Rapture went into decline, it became the closest high school for its underprivileged residents. In Eastvale, the rich, entitled kids mingled with the kids who came from nothing. Teachers saw the Rapture kids as troublemakers, the fucktards who were never gonna amount to anything much, bar the one or two who came ready to learn. The parents of Electric Hills lamented the ugly influence the Rapture kids brought into school. The rich kids learned how to slum it, how to bum cigarettes from us, inviting us to their rich-girl, rich-guy parties because it made them look hip. It was the only way we became integrated.
Hollie Palmer was an outsider. A prim and proper British nerd – or that was the image she presented – but she was shy and obstinate, ripe for the Rapture kids to dole out a special kind of torment for our own amusement. Eleventh grade, a rumor went round that she’d come from England to America with her father, who’d struck up a relationship with Evelyn Wallace, a local legislator. Hollie didn’t know deprivation, so couldn’t relate to the Rapture kids. Yet it was obvious she didn’t come from money, so the girls from Electric Hills didn’t welcome her into their circles either.
I embarrassed her tonight, as I left. As I recall, in high school, along with wearing glasses, she was kind of skinny, but thinking about it, she’s filled out a little since then. I don’t remember her having breasts before; now they’re about a small handful each. Tonight, the T-shirt she was wearing stopped at her waist, giving me a glimpse of smooth flesh above the line of her hips.
Yeah… Hollie Palmer definitely got hot.
When I asked for her help, there was a softness in her eyes, that made me feel like I was taking advantage of an innocent girl.
In the darkness, I wince. Neither me, nor my friends deserve to have our asses saved by Hollie Palmer. Back then, we were cruel.
This evening could have turned out real different, had she not acted in the way she did.
And now, I’m very much in her debt.
Chapter Seven
Hollie
I’m awake as the sun comes up. Memories of last night hit me all at once. I tense, bolt out of bed and go and check Noah Brady hasn’t done a runner in the night. Standing there in my pajamas, my hair in disarray, the tension drains from my shoulders when I see him lying face down on my couch, covered with a blanket and snoring soundly.
I go back to my room, sit back down on the bed as a sense of panic descends.
Things always seem better in the morning, my father used to say. I double over, rest my elbow on my knees and cradle my face in my palms.
This morning, everything feelsworse.
And if my father knew what I’d done last night, he wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye for disappointment.
I glance at my phone on the nightstand. This is not me. I’m not the kind of girl to break the law.
I pick up my handset. I’ve had another email from Owen, asking if I got his last poem, and whether we could talk sometime.
I have bigger things on my mind right now than my persistent ex-boyfriend.
My fingertips hover over the screen. It would be so easy to just dial the police. There’s nothing stopping me from confessing to them that I am harboring Noah Brady.
Except there isonething.
