And just before I turned the corner, I felt a hand gently grab my wrist and pull me into the girls’ bathroom. I knew it was him even before I saw that face.
I lingered on the blue-gray eyes that studied mine, on the small crease between them above the line of his elegant nose. My eyes wandered over the shape of his mouth, following its curve and pout, as if he was just about to speak. And that hair—I wanted to jump into his arms and run my fingers through that hair. I wanted to crush my mouth against those lips.
But Noah placed a long finger on mine before I could say a word. “We don’t have much time.”
His nearness filled me with warmth. I couldn’t believe he was really here. I wanted to feel him more, just to make sure he really was.
I raised a tentative hand to his narrow waist then. His lean muscles were taut, tense beneath the thin, soft cotton of his vintage T-shirt.
But he didn’t stop me.
I couldn’t stop my smile. “What is it with you and girls’ bathrooms?” I asked, watching his eyes.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “That is a fair question. In my defense, they’re much cleaner than boys’ bathrooms, and they do seem to be everywhere.”
He sounded amused. Arrogant. That was the voice I needed to hear. Maybe I shouldn’t have worried. Maybe we were okay.
“Daniel told me what happened,” Noah said then. His tone had changed.
I met his eyes and saw that he knew. He knew what happened to me, why I was here. He knew what my family thought.
I felt a rush of heat beneath my skin—from his gaze or from shame, I didn’t know. “Did he tell you what I—what I said?”
Noah stared down at me through the long dark lashes that framed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Jude’s here,” I said.
Noah’s voice wasn’t loud but it was strong when he spoke. “I believe you.”
I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear those words until he said them out loud. “I can’t stay here while he’s out there—”
“I’m working on that.” Noah glanced at the door.
I knew he couldn’t stay, but I didn’t want him to leave. “Me too. I think—I think there’s a chance my parents might let me come home,” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “But what if they make me stay? To keep me safe?”
“I wouldn’t, if I were them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Any minute now . . .”
Two seconds later, the sound of an alarm filled my ears.
“What did you do?” I said over the noise as he backed up toward the bathroom door.
“The girl who gave you the note?”
“Yes . . .”
“I caught her staring at my lighter.”
I blinked. “You gave a child, in a psych ward, a lighter.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “She seemed trustworthy.”
“You’re sick,” I said, but smiled.
“Nobody’s perfect.” Noah smiled back.
7
NOAH’S PLAN WORKED. THE GIRL WAS CAUGHT setting fire to my drawing, actually, but not before the alarm went off. They managed to override a full-scale evacuation and in the midst of the chaos, Noah slipped out. Just before my mother arrived. And she wasn’t happy.
“I can’t believe someone on staff would bring a lighter in here.” Her voice was acid.
“I know,” I said, sounding worried. “And I was working really hard on that picture.” I shuddered for effect.
My mother rubbed her forehead. “Dr. West thought you should stay here for another week, to get your medications stabilized. She also thought you’d be a good candidate for an inpatient program, it’s called Horizons—”
My stomach dropped.
“It’s off of No Name Key, and I’ve seen the pictures—it’s really beautiful and has an excellent reputation, even though they’ve only been operating for about a year. Dr. Kells, the woman who runs it, said she met you and that you’d fit in really well—but I just . . .” She sucked in her lower lip, then sighed. “I want you home.”
I could have cried, I was so relieved. Instead I said, “I want to come home, Mom.”
She hugged me. “Your father’s been discharged and he’s waiting downstairs—he can’t wait to see you.”
My heart leapt. I couldn’t wait to see him.
“Should we get your stuff?”
I nodded, my eyes appropriately misty. I didn’t have much with me, so I mostly milled around while my mother filled out a bunch of paperwork. One of the psychiatrists—Dr. Kells—clicked toward me in expensive-looking heels. She was dressed like my mother—silk blouse, pencil skirt, perfectly applied makeup and perfectly coiffed hair.
Her wide red lips pulled back to reveal a flawless smile. “I hear you’re going home,” she said.
“Looks that way,” I said back, careful not to sound too smug.
“Good luck to you, Mara.”
“Thanks.”
But then she didn’t leave. She just stood there, watching me.
Awkward.
“Ready?” Mom called out.
Just in time. I left Dr. Kells with a wave and met my mother by the elevator. As the doors closed, it took everything I had not to cheer.
“What do you think of her?” Mom asked me, once we were alone.
“Who?”