NO. Dumbass, New Plan is bad. VERY BAD. You are literally sitting on the floor of his car. He’s going to find you!
Time does that weird taffy-stretch thing where it goes fast and yet slow as my brain battles my brain. I should go. No, I won’t get another chance like this. I should stay. But it’s dangerous. I should go. Yes, I should definitely go. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t be here, lying on the floor of my teacher’s car. This is insane. I should—
The front door opens. The swirl of voices in my head abruptly goes silent. Mr. Werner throws his briefcase onto the passenger seat before sliding in. The car fills with the scent of his cologne. The sound of my breath is deafening. He’s definitely, for sure, 100 percent going to hear it. And what will happen then?
For the first time today, I feel a sense of true fear stabbing deep into my belly. I haven’t given this crazy thing I’m doing much thought beyond I’m out of options, must do something, anything! But now, a small, insistent voice is whispering, What if Mr. Werner turns out to be dangerous? What if he hurts you?
He wouldn’t. He’s cruel, and greedy, and awful, but I can’t see him physically hurting anyone. I think.
But what if he reports this to the police? What if he spins it so that I’m stalking him? Coupled with all those false accusations about me bullying, maybe this would land me in juvie. Holy shit. This is bad. This is so bad.
But then he turns the engine on, and the sound of the AC and the engine help mask other sounds in the car. I take the chance to steal a few deep breaths and try to bring my heart rate from Quantum Computer Whirr down to Mere Gallop.
Before long, we’re out of Draycott and on the main road. Maybe this plan isn’t too crazy after all. I’ll make it all the way to his house without him even knowing I’m here. I breathe a small sigh of relief and relax my muscles a little. Then Mr. Werner takes something out of his pocket. I tense up again. He’s got his phone in his hand. What is he doing—
It hits me a second too late. He’s dialing the number that sent him the message. As in, MY number.
I scramble for my phone just as it begins to ring.
“What the—” Mr. Werner turns in his seat, his mouth dropping open, his eyes going so wide they’re almost cartoonish. The car swerves to one side, horns blare, and I yelp as the momentum throws me against the door. He regains control of the wheel, makes a sharp turn, and screeches to a halt. “What in the fuck?” he screams, jumping out of the car.
I clamber up onto the back seat and hit the lock just before he wrenches the door open. He curses, hits the Unlock button on his remote. I hit the lock again.
“Get out of my car!”
It takes a lot—it takes everything—to shake my head at him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s a blur of movement, prowling outside the car. The front door is open, but it’s hard for him to try and reach me from the front. He throws up his hands. “You’re insane! You know how much trouble you’re in right now? Do you? Unbelievable. First Sophie, now this.”
“Can’t get much worse than being expelled. Which I will be after the next board meeting, apparently. Mrs. Henderson told me herself. And don’t talk about Sophie like that.”
That stops him dead. He sighs. “I’m sorry.” Bastard actually sounds like he means it. “And I am sorry about Sophie. God, of course I’m sorry about her.”
My voice comes out as a poisonous whisper. “I don’t think you are. You pushed her into being depressed, into killing herself. And now you’re the whole reason I’m about to get kicked out of school. And it’s not even about staying at Draycott now.” To my horror, tears are sliding down my cheeks. “No school will have me. I’m finished.”
“Christ,” he mutters. “Look, I’m sorry. I truly am. I wish there were another way.” A woman comes out of a nearby shop, pushing a stroller, sees me crying in the car, and gives Mr. Werner a funny look. He blanches. “Come on, I’ll take you back to school.”
“No!” My shout’s loud enough for the woman to turn her head.
Mr. Werner gives her a small smile and then leans through the front door and whispers, “Alright, we’ll talk. But not here. Christ, people are probably going to think I’m kidnapping you. Lie low on the floor and don’t let anyone see you.” He straightens his hair and climbs back into the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath, starts the car, and rejoins the traffic.
From my vantage point, I can see a really huge vein throbbing on the side of his neck and the way he’s strangling the steering wheel. I struggle to control my breathing. What just happened?
Mr. Werner sighs. “I’m not a monster, you know.”
Something in his tone of voice catches my attention, and I still.
“My life was fine, up until two years ago. Then my wife decided she’d had enough of middle-class life and left me. Just took off for Jakarta. She missed the city, she said. I pointed out to her that Draycott is hardly a small town, but oh no, compared to Jakarta, it’s tiny.” His voice drips with resentment, but I get what his wife meant.
People always think that Indonesia’s some third-world country where people live in shacks and bathe in the river. I guess in the rural parts of the country, it’s like that, but Jakarta is a huge city with ten million people. Ibu describes it as a place filled with skyscraper after skyscraper, luxury hotels and shiny nightclubs and trendy hipster cafes all bunched together in a never-ending metropolis. Compared to Jakarta, Draycott is nothing but a sleepy little town.
“She took my kids. You don’t know what that’s like. Losing her—I mean, yeah, that hurt, but losing my kids…it’s like—god.” His voice pitches all weird, and I look away out of embarrassment. I don’t want to see Mr. Werner cry. I wish he’d stop talking already. He’s making everything so awkward.
“You know what’s funny?” he says. “Help came from—of all people—Daniel’s mother. My wife’s sister. Can you imagine that family dynamic?”
“Indonesian families are complicated,” I mutter.
Mr. Werner laughs. “You can say that again! I guess Daniel’s mother has always had a thing against her sister. So she contacted me and said she’d help pay for my lawyer’s fees if I look after Daniel.
“She wanted me to meddle in his life. Make sure he’s taking the right courses to prime him for business school. Make sure he’s spending his time with the right friends. I sent her reports on Daniel and she sent me money to pay my lawyer, my mortgage. I have to be honest with you, the idea that my wife’s own sister is helping me fight my wife tickled me. But it’s a challenge to steer someone in a direction they don’t want to go into. Despite my best efforts, Daniel never showed an interest in business. Then, a year ago, he ran away.”