She was half-asleep again, and he couldn’t force out the last bit of his speech. The most important part. The part about being in love with her. So instead, he kind of half-stroked her shoulder, pulled up the afghan that was folded at the bottom of her bed, tucked it around her, and left.
As he trekked back across his lawn, he replayed the last few minutes in his head. Em’s sleepy smile. The way his palms had tingled when he’d kneeled next to her. At least he’d said some of what he needed to say. There was some satisfaction in that.
But a sense of dread cut into any contentment he might have felt, and he blamed it on Em’s ancient book. He couldn’t shake the memory of the words Only blood will bring them back. What the hell did that mean? Hadn’t they all seen enough blood by now?
CHAPTER TWO
Through sleep-fogged eyes, Em peered at her alarm clock. Seven o’clock. Gabby would be there soon.
After the memorial service yesterday, and especially after Crow’s speech and song to the crowd, Em had decided that her self-imposed break was over. A week of avoiding the everyday pressures of Ascension had apparently done nothing but heighten her anxiety. She could only watch so many movies—and spending her days alone allowed her mind to circle back, always, to what Crow said the night of the fire. Her mood had alternated between fierce rage (like hell she was “becoming one of them”) to a deep concern something within her was changing undeniably.
Either way, it was time to face reality—nothing would be gained by lying in bed, scared and angry. And reclaiming her life is what Drea would have wanted and what she would have done. It was funny how much she had learned from Drea about true strength: about sticking up for the people who mattered; about loyalty; about ignoring what other people thought or said about you; about pushing through your own fears.
Em had made Gabby promise to pick her up on Monday morning, normal time, no questions asked. Gabby had sounded skeptical over the phone, but she’d agreed.
There was a knocking on the door and Em jumped.
“What?” she called, too sharply.
“You awake, sweetie? Gabby will be here in about half an hour. . . . ” Her mom’s voice floated tentatively through the door.
“I’m up, Mom,” she called back, trying to make her voice sound as groggy-normal as possible. Em moved over to her nightstand and forced the motions of her morning routine—after only a week, it felt unfamiliar, like trying to squeeze into someone else’s jeans. She began to run a comb through her long layers. “I’ll be down in a few.”
She moved robotically, washing her face and brushing her teeth, trying to think of normal things. Math class. Spring break. Digging through her dresser drawer, she found a blue henley, one of her favorites—worn thumbholes, soft as flannel. She was pulling it over her head when she began to gag, a wrenching, sudden feeling of sickness that burst from her stomach into her throat.
The smell. It wasn’t her.
Someone else had worn this shirt.
She tugged frantically, trying to get it off her body, finding her head stuck in the collar, like hands around her jaws. Get off me. Get it off. The feeling wasn’t too far from what she imagined it would be like to be thrust into a barrel of snakes.
Finally she was free of the fabric; she threw the shirt as far as she could muster. That smell. Like flowers drooping—just slightly dead, emanating their last bit of sad sweetness. Disgusting. If her mom was using new detergent, she’d have to throw it away.
With a shudder, she plucked a plain white T-shirt from the drawer.
Gabby was already honking outside; Em looked out the window and could see her car idling in the driveway. She hurriedly finished dressing, pulling a black hoodie over her head and kicking through the pile of clothes on her floor. She needed a pair of jeans—any pair—that didn’t look like it had been balled in a corner for seven days. Finally she found a pair of dark denim that wasn’t too wrinkled and slipped them on, nearly tripping over herself as she rushed out of her bedroom. She flew downstairs before stopping short; if her mom was in the kitchen there would be an awkward pep talk. Confirming the coast was clear, Em shoved a pile of books into her bag and grabbed a yogurt from the counter.
“Thanks, Mom!” she shouted as she slammed out the front door.
As soon as she settled into the passenger seat, she felt instantly relieved. Gabby handed her a steaming cup of hot chocolate and gave her a quick once-over.
“You look good,” Gabby said, raising her perfectly groomed eyebrows in approval.
“Really?” Em responded, pulling down the sun visor to look at herself in the mirror.
“Really,” Gabby said. “More beautiful than ever. Welcome back.”