Bethany.
I knew her handiwork immediately, but embarrassment blotted out my anger. I glanced around. Thank God for the holiday and the gathering storm. The street was empty.
I edged toward the car and slicked my thumb over the paint. It was dry, but recent, judging by the lingering chemical odor.
My heart squeezed. I touched the door and hesitated. What if she’d done something more? Cut the brake line, or worse?
A drop of rain hit my forehead.
I pulled out my phone and forced myself to relax. If I called Matt, we would spend the rest of our night at the police station, Matt on the phone with Shapiro, me filling out endless paperwork while strangers took pictures of my car.
The SLUT-mobile.
No … fucking … way.
I found Chrissy in my contacts and hit her number.
*
Seth’s rental car, a silver Lincoln, slid up to the curb.
He leapt out.
I didn’t see Chrissy in the passenger seat, which, strangely, was a relief.
“Just me,” Seth said, his voice breathless. Fifteen minutes had passed since I’d called Chrissy and she’d promised to catch a cab over. She didn’t mention last night. Her voice was papery and faint: Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.
“Where’s Chrissy?”
“We were at the house.” Seth coughed into cupped hands. His black T-shirt and dark jeans emphasized the ashen tone of his skin. “She wanted to tell your parents. You know, about…”
“Did she?” I frowned. No wonder Chrissy sounded off.
“We did. That’s why she stayed. She wants to have it. The baby.”
“Are my parents okay?”
The rain began to pelt, frizzing my curls. The wind sucked our voices up the street.
“I think so,” Seth shouted. “Don’t worry about it now.” He glanced at my car, then dashed to the Lincoln and lifted a plastic jug and a sponge off the seat. He sloshed soapy solution over my windshield and began to scrub.
Nothing happened.
He grimaced and ground the sponge in circles. The white curve of the S flaked away.
“Thank God,” I said. “Can I help? Let me help.”
“Just get in the car. You’re getting soaked.”
“So are you.”
“Get in the fucking car, Hannah.” He coughed into his shoulder.
Get help, Seth.
He looked strung-out and edgy, a shadow of the man I’d met five months earlier.
And I remembered that man. I remembered him sneering at me in Nate’s house, charging across the graveyard to deck Aaron Snow, playing the piano onstage, singing with a rough, beautiful voice. I remembered the goodness and fierceness in him, which reminded me of Matt.
Good and fierce, both of them, like avenging angels.
The rain fell at a sharp angle, chilly drops stinging my face.
“I’m scared to get in,” I stammered.
Seth had cleared the S and half of the L from my windshield. His expression softened. He set down the jug and sponge and guided me away from the car. We stood close for a moment, his fingers around my arm.
“You okay?” he said.
I nodded.
He jerked his head toward the car. “One of Matt’s psycho fans?”
My chin fell to my chest. “Something like that.”
“Well, that ain’t you. That word. Not in a million fucking years.”
He opened the door. Nothing exploded, and my silly fear dissolved. He lifted the hood and scanned the engine. He knelt and stared under the car.
“Get in already,” he called. “Everything looks fine.”
I hovered uselessly for another minute and then I climbed behind the wheel. Thunder bowled across the sky. The rain reached a frantic tempo. I huddled in the shell of my car while Seth Sky strained over the windshield, furiously scrubbing off the letters UT.
Once the glass was clean, he splashed the remaining solution around my wipers, sluicing away white paint. The rain stripped the soapy film from my car. Seth gestured, turning an invisible key, and I started the car. It revved on smoothly. I let out a breath.