O’Malley touches my arm. The contact makes my skin break out in goose bumps.
“Your arm is hurt, too,” he says. “Did the monster grab you?”
Four parallel red lines mark the skin there—obviously the shape of fingers gripping far too hard.
“Yes,” I lie. “The monster grabbed me.”
It was Bishop, his crushing strength, but he didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t want to give O’Malley a reason to hate Bishop even more than he already does.
O’Malley’s fingertips reach out again, trace a warm line down my cheek. This time, his touch doesn’t seem awkward. It seems right. Everything fades away, everything but O’Malley’s eyes, the feel of his skin on mine.
“We’ll figure out what’s going on,” he says softly. “You can’t know everything. What’s happening here is crazy, I know, but you’re the best leader for us. The people follow you, Em.”
I answer him in a whisper. “But why? Why do they follow me? I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He shrugs. “Because there’s something about you. And no matter what’s happened so far, it’s better to have you as the leader than Bishop. You saw how he knocked me down? You saw Gaston’s eye, Latu’s cheek?”
I nod. I’m glad I didn’t say it was Bishop who bruised my arm. O’Malley is right, though—Bishop has a history of hurting people.
But then I remember what Bishop said in the hallway: when I yelled for help, he plunged headfirst toward unknown danger. O’Malley did not. O’Malley stayed with the others, he didn’t come after me.
My opinion of the two boys seems to waver based on which one I’m talking to. That’s not how things should work.
“Maybe you’re wrong,” I say. “Maybe Bishop could be a good leader.”
O’Malley huffs. “He’s a bully. He throws his weight around, he intimidates. If he winds up in charge, it’s dangerous for all of us. You’re a good leader, Em. Bishop acts. You think.”
I gesture to the room. “I’m a good leader because I think? Look around, O’Malley. Look where my thinking got us.”
I want to trust in what O’Malley says. He’s helped me make hard decisions. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have won the vote. But the fact that we are back where we started makes it clear: when it comes to his confidence in my leadership, O’Malley is plain wrong.
Another boy pops into my thoughts. Yong this time—the look on his face when I stabbed him, and what he said right before he attacked me.
You tried, Em, but you failed.
Maybe he was right.
I open my hand and let the spear fall away. It drops like a cut tree, slowly at first, then picking up speed before smacking into the aisle and kicking up a long puff of dust.
“I had my turn,” I say. “Let someone else have theirs.”
O’Malley shakes his head. “You can’t quit now. We need you. I’ll help. When you’re in doubt about something, anything, you pull me aside and we’ll figure it out together.”
He should hate me right now. I’m sure the others do. I somehow led us in a circle, yet he says that’s not my fault. Maybe there is a good reason he didn’t come to help me in the woods. Maybe he thought someone had to stay with the group, keep them together, keep them safe. The things he’s saying right now, the intensity of his quiet voice…O’Malley believes in me.
Maybe he’s the only one who does.
He’s so close I can smell him. I shut my eyes, feel heat pouring off his body.
I have never felt like this before. I can’t remember much, but I know that I have never been kissed.
I want O’Malley to kiss me.
Someone rushes into the coffin room. It’s Spingate. I quickly lean away from O’Malley, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“Em, I know what happened!” Tears still gleam on her cheeks, yet she is wild-eyed with excitement. “I know how we wound up back here! Raise the spear, Em. Bring everyone in and I’ll explain.”
She finds an area with undisturbed dust, kneels and starts drawing lines with her finger.
What is she doing? What is she going to say to everyone?
I look at O’Malley.
He picks up the spear. He brushes dust off of it, then offers the spear to me.
“We don’t just need a leader, Em,” he says. “We need you.”
I have no faith in myself, but for now, maybe I can rely on his faith in me.
My fingers curl around the spear. I lift it slightly. It feels heavier than it did before.
I walk into the hall. All heads turn my way. Some people glare with open anger. Some look at me with hope, with expectation…they still think I can guide them out of this place.
I raise the spear.
“Come into the coffin room,” I say. “We’ll figure out what to do next. El-Saffani, stay out in the hall, yell if anyone comes.”