I walked down the stairs after last period, and kept going after the first floor, until I was in the basement with the student store and, beyond that, the health center. Which was kind of a comical name, since it was just one nurse, and she only worked during school hours.
I guess that’s why she was already packing up for the day. She paused when she saw me standing in her doorway.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Do you have any Band-Aids? The big kind?”
She put her bag back down and walked to a cabinet over the sink. “I do,” she said. “How big are we talking? Let me take a look at the cut.”
I instinctively turned my left shoulder so it was facing away from her. “Oh no, that’s okay.” And then, when she made no move to come closer, I added, “It’s just a blister.”
“A very large blister,” she said, handing me a stack of Band-Aids. She went back to gathering up her papers and purse, and she slung a raincoat over her arm. “You know,” she said, filing papers into her bag, “there are avenues to report things here so you don’t have to go through the school administration. I am one of them.”
My first instinct was that she was threatening me, that I was being reported for something by someone, but her words were too soft. Too careful. Like she was trying to tell me something. Like she knew something. Or thought I knew something. She cleared her throat and said, “I was on duty at the soccer game last week. Mallory, right?”
I nodded. Then I realized she was saying she witnessed the fight with Jason, and I felt my face turning color. “It’s just a blister,” I repeated.
She put a hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the room, locking the door behind her. “Okay,” she said. “But if it’s ever more than a blister, you know where to find me.” She stared into my eyes, and hers were this bright hazel, the type that could turn kind or mean or harsh or compassionate in a blink. “Somebody has to say something.”
Her eyes were something in between at the moment.
The mist had stopped, and people were back outside. I planned to drop my stuff in my room and see if I could run into Reid, who’d probably be heading back from practice soon. Or maybe he was already back. Because Jason was in our lounge. He was still in his practice clothes, socks pulled high over shin guards. His cleats had tracked mud and grass across the floor.
His head was back on the couch, and Krista was hovering over him. She had a bunch of wet paper towels pressed to his cheek. “Get me something. It hurts.”
“Go to the nurse,” she said.
“She doesn’t like me. And besides, I have you. Family first, right?”
Krista froze when she saw me. Jason tried to smile at me, but his lower lip was swollen and the top of his cheek was reddish purple, and he winced from the pain. “Your boyfriend fights dirty,” he said. Then a sound that must have been laughter escaped from his throat.
I backed out the front entrance, my heart in my throat, and headed away from center campus. Away from the cafeteria. Away from anywhere Reid might be. Because I pictured Brian, using his fists, taking that kid on the skateboard down. And my lawyer saying history of violence.
And me, pushing Danielle into the wall. And imagining doing the same to Jason. Wanting to do the same to Jason. And Reid, actually doing it.
Not right for you.
The irony was, he was entirely right for me. I understood exactly why he did it. Which is why I shouldn’t be with him. I shouldn’t.
The ground was wet, and the mist hovered a little, just above the grass, but I saw the shape of a guy moving toward me, calling my name. Reid. I sprinted toward the gate, heading toward the old student center.
But Reid ran too. The fog drifted up, above the grass, along the road.
His hands gripped my shoulders, spinning me around. “Hey, I was calling you.” He didn’t know how much he was hurting me. I pushed his hands off.
He was staring at me, breathing heavily from the run, and then I saw a flash behind him. Green, through the fog, moving along the road past the gate. Slowly, without stopping.
Not real, not real, not real.
Reid turned and stared at the spot where Brian’s mom could not possibly be, and when he turned back, his forehead was creased and he put his hand on my shoulder again.
“What? What is it?”
I jerked away.
Reid pulled his hand back, and all the color drained from his face. He was still staring at the spot where his hand had just been. I looked down and saw the dark red spreading on the scarlet shirt. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?” he asked. “Did Jason do this?”
I stepped back, my right hand over my shoulder. “Nobody did this. You beat him up.”
“What? Jason?” Reid shook his head, then stopped and nodded. “He told on you—on us. I paid him back for it. Forget about him. Let me see your shoulder.”
“You paid him back for it? You mean you punched him in the face.”
“What the hell, Mallory? So I hit him. I was angry and I hit him. You’re really going to give me a hard time about this? You, of all people?” His clenched hand flew to his mouth, like he was trying to push the words back inside. And then he opened his mouth to say something, come up with some excuse, but nothing could undo that.
“I didn’t mean because . . .”
I waved my arm in front of my face, trying to stop the words before they arrived.
“I meant because we’re . . .”
“Just stop talking, Reid.”
I stepped back, hands palm out toward him, shaking my head. The fog making its way inside, swirling and churning until all I heard was Reid, all I saw was the inside of Reid, and what he really thought.
The mist was forming back into fog, like everything was happening in reverse. Death to life, rain to cloud, thickening around me. I felt the blood seeping out of me, and I waited for a moment, thinking it might reverse course or something, like everything else. But the drops kept running down the length of my arm, like tears.
That night, the boom, boom, boom sounded hollow. Closer. Faster. Not so much like the beating of his heart. As my mind started to drift, I heard something else. The boom, boom, boom and then a scratching at my door, like an animal trying to get in.
And a voice. “Please,” it cried. “Please let me in.”
Not at all like the usual whisper I’d hear calling my name, asking me to wait.
This was a girl. I worried it was another attempt at initiation—worried that I’d get dragged out of my room and abandoned on some roof while half unconscious.
“Please,” she cried again, and then she gulped back a sob—real fear, hard to fake.
I swung my legs out of bed, and my head felt funny from the sleeping pill—too full, too slow—but there was another cry on the other side of the door, and I had to get there. Step, I instructed my leg. Move. Again. And again. But everything was so painstakingly slow. I unlocked the door, and the handle quickly turned from the other side. And then Bree was in my room, gripping on to my arms, leaning into me. Her eyes were wild.
I stumbled back, into my desk. “Help me,” she whispered.
I nodded, because that’s really all I was capable of doing. And even that was a stretch. I was still fading, fading—fighting it, but fading still.
“Can I stay?” she asked. She was looking at her empty bed. Like she meant longer than just that moment. Like she meant indefinitely.
I opened my mouth to say no, but the room felt different with her in it. I imagined her steady breathing across the room at night, and her clothes hanging in the closet, and everything felt crowded, but in a good way. Like sleeping bags lined up next to each other at a slumber party.
Bree looked over her shoulder at the open door. She ran and pushed it closed. “She’s coming,” she said. Or maybe it was he’s coming, but she had whispered, and now the words were gone.
I tried to force my mouth to form the word, Who? But I had nothing. All I knew was that she was terrified. So terrified that she came to me, like I was the lesser of two evils. Or maybe because she knew I could help her.