I turn off my phone and start jogging.
In a few minutes, I trot down the stairs to the parking lot. David was right; he got here before me. I hop in his car.
“Nice shirt,” he says. “Are those zombie teddy bears?”
“Yeah.” I tuck my feet to the side so he can’t see I’m barefoot.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Take you home?”
“No! Can we … can we go to your house instead? I’d like to see it.”
“Um, okay.” He combs his fingers through the hair over his forehead, checks for traffic in the mirrors, and then puts the car in gear. We pull away from the curb.
I should use this time to explain what I’ve told all my other friends. Except I’m not up to it. I’ll need to be a lot stronger than this to take seeing his face when he finds out the truth about what goes on in my head.
I fumble with the window controls but it won’t open …
“Sorry, they’re locked.” He unlocks them.
I roll my window all the way down and lay my head out on the frame. We’re on the highway heading south. I’m exhausted now but still buzzing everywhere: in my head, in my chest, in my arms and legs. I close my eyes and the fierce wind blows my face dry.
“Hang in there, Mel.” David rubs my shoulder a couple times. “We’ll be home soon.”
*
We turn off the freeway. My eyes pop open and my heart jumps. I duck out of sight.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I … it’s fine. I just don’t feel well. Where do you live exactly? You’ve never told me.”
“Not far from your place. If you’re sick, I should take you home—”
“No! No. Your house, okay?” He doesn’t answer. “Okay?”
He runs his fingers through his hair again. “All right.”
David takes a left turn and it pushes me into the car door.
After a moment, he says, “You’re not carsick, are you? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. It’ll be all right. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can. I am. Please tell me. What’s wrong?”
He touches my hand and I shrink away.
“Are we there yet?”
He pulls over to the curb.
“I really like you, Mel.”
He’s using the wrong kind of voice. My alarms go off. I glance up at him.
“Remember that. Okay?”
Oh God no …
I pop my head up—we’re in front of my house—Mom and Dad are trotting from the front door and across the lawn— “What are you doing?!” I yell at David. I see a police car parked across the street and a uniformed officer jumps out of it. “Drive! Go! Get me out of here!”
David shuts off the car.
“Please! They’re going to lock me up! I thought you liked me! You said—”
“I do like you—”
“Prove it! Get me out of here!”
He grabs the key but pulls it out.
“Help me, David!”
He lowers his head to the steering wheel and says “I am” but I can barely hear it— I see my dad and I slam my hand on the door lock before he can open it—he reaches in and I slap his hands away—behind him on the porch Connor holds Zumi next to HJ whose hands cover her mouth and another cop in uniform beside her runs forward and he looks familiar but I don’t know why— Dad gets the door open and I scramble away and grab David’s arm but Dad’s got hold of my waist and he says “Mel you’re safe come on out” and Mom cries and says “Please baby it’s going to be okay” but it’s not going to be okay!
“How could you do this to me?!” I yell at David. “How could you! You’re a liar! You lied to me!”
“I’m sorry,” he says with his head on the steering wheel and he still won’t look at me. “Dr. Jordan said this was the only—”
“What?!” I scream. “This was all a setup?!”
I claw at the door frame but can’t get a grip and Dad drags me out and I thrash and flail— “Don’t touch me—get away from me—let me go—”
It works and I’m free and I push off the ground and run but after three steps a huge weight hits me from behind and squashes me down on the grass and before I know what happened my arms are behind me and I’m pinned and can’t move except for thrashing my legs below my knees but there’s nothing to kick— “Please baby they’re not going to hurt you,” Mom says but she’s crying so maybe she doesn’t believe it and just wants me to give up.
I’m lifted by the shoulders—it’s HJ’s friend Tom and another cop which is bullshit since they’re not supposed to send uniforms to a 5150 and make a scene in front of your house and—I crane my neck to look back at the porch, at my family and friends united against me …
I see what’s going on and go limp but the cops don’t loosen their grip as they maneuver me into the back of the patrol car and shut the door.