“But what does it feel like exactly? Tell me.”
Charlie giggled again in her throaty way, then broke into a coughing fit. The boat bounced in the wind. I felt sickened and thrilled. I thought of the whispering trees in the forest as I rode on Keith’s back. The talking stars. The moon. Could everything speak to me? Did I just need to listen?
“Drew!”
My head whipped up. Keith marched down the dock in green swim trunks and no shirt. His voice held a tone of warning.
“Drew!” he snapped again. “Get out of the damn boat.”
A flush of anger washed through me. I didn’t answer.
Charlie gave a languid stretch. She turned toward Keith as he approached.
“He’s fine,” she said, although she hastily dropped the little cigarette into the lake.
Keith saw her do it. He frowned. “He doesn’t look fine. And he knows better.”
I shot him a look of pure hatred.
“Don’t take your anger at me out on him,” Charlie called.
Keith blushed and ignored her. He jumped onto the cabin floor, causing the boat to sway wildly. He knelt on the wooden bench and reached across the bow for my arm. Just before he touched me, I leaned over and vomited up everything inside my stomach. It went all over my lap and part of Charlie’s towel.
Keith waved his hands helplessly. Charlie muttered, “Nasty,” and bolted from the boat, quick as lightning.
chapter
twenty-seven
matter
A little part of me hears the familiar whisper of the trees as I thunder down the hillside, across the meadow, and it’s so hard to tell: Am I on two legs or four? The capacity of my heart to pump blood to every part of my body is unparalleled thanks to years of tennis, years of running, years of striving for excellence. More than one person calls my name as I streak past the bonfire, but I don’t stop. I don’t slow down. I round the sharp turn past the cliff wall and really put on speed as I pass the caves. It’s like I’ve entered the bell lap of a race that really matters. A race with the highest stakes. A race in which I have everything to lose. I run faster. My lungs contract and expand. There’s no light, but I don’t need it. The moon is more than enough.
If Penn hears me bearing down on him, his reflexes are too slow. He’s drunk. He’s high. He’s horny. A strangled cry escapes me. I launch myself into the air, picturing talons and teeth, and slam against his back. Our bodies collide with a thud. We fall to the ground. I am skinny but tall. He’s strong but slow. We grapple. Limbs twine. I writhe and throw punches and kick and grab and scratch. I’m yelling, but I don’t know that until I realize I can’t hear what Penn’s yelling back. Then I wrap both hands around his throat to shut him up.
I squeeze.
Harder.
White pain explodes on the side of my face. I crumple like a felled stag and Penn wriggles away from me. He mutters, “Goddamn … goddamn,” over and over. I lie on my side, feeling nauseated. I hear the thunder of approaching footsteps.
“What happened?”
“It’s goddamn Win! He jumped Penn.”
“Jesus.”
“The guy’s nuts. Total fucking psycho.”
“Remember that stunt he pulled on the tennis court last year?”
“You good, Riggsdale? You knocked him the fuck out, didn’t you?”
“Hell, yeah, I did.”
I lift my head. I pant. Penn’s lying, but I don’t care about that. He’s not the one who knocked me out. My good eye, the one that’s not bleeding and impossible to open, flickers to the person standing back from the crowd. To her steel-tipped motorcycle boots with the silver buckles that flash and gleam in the night’s lunar glow.
Jordan.
Her hands are on her hips. Her nostrils are flared. She’s glaring right at me.
*
Penn’s friends drag him off, back toward Eden, all while blabbing about how fucked up they are and whether or not they should just crash up here or risk sneaking back into the dorms during the night. Both plans have their pros and cons, and I can’t help hoping they get busted. I have no problem saying it: I’m pissed.
As they walk away, I hear a voice say, “Dude, why do you even talk to that guy? He sucks.”
“Fuck off,” snaps another voice. It’s Lex. He kneels beside me. “You were too fast for me, Win. Seriously. I had to miss watching you get your ass beat by Penn Riggsdale, of all people. You should’ve been able to take him, you know. I mean it. I hate that asshole.”
I curl into a ball. The flashlight shines right in my eyes. Lex’s face is like two inches from mine. His breath is awful. Cigarettes and Early Times make for an unpleasant combination.
“Jesus. Did he kick you?”
I don’t answer.
“Holy crap,” Lex says. “That’s low.”
“I kicked him.”
I hear the crunch of pine needles as Lex sits back on his heels. “What?”
“I kicked him,” Jordan repeats. She sounds drunk, sort of shrill. “He was killing that guy.”
“Yeah, right.”