I scan the caf. My eyes catch on Nikki’s perfect bun. She’d freak if I tried to sit with her. Hartley waved at me this morning, but she’s not here. Where’s Lyla?
For a crazy moment I think about sitting with Tucker. Let’s see what Ethan thinks then. But even the idea is too foreign to consider, and I can’t make my legs move. Ethan glances over, and I feel so stupid and pathetic just standing there, watching him.
I turn around and run.
There’s a bathroom outside the caf, but it’s bound to be full of girls, and I don’t want to be seen right now, like this, so I turn down hall after hall until I’m in the empty tech wing, sawdust heavy in the air. I slam into the bathroom, out of breath and huffing. I check under the stalls to make sure no one’s there, then hork up wads of phlegm into the sink, running the water full blast to cover the sound. My skin is shiny with sweat by the time I’m done, and there’s a long string of saliva leading from my mouth to the sink, but I can breathe.
Running was a bad idea. Running into a dusty area was worse. The pain is back, and it’s an hour before I should take more meds. But who am I kidding? What does it matter if I shoot my liver to hell when the rest of me is already circling the drain?
There’s a knock on the door. Ethan. He came.
“Hope?” a girl’s voice says.
I wilt against the counter.
The door edges open. “Can I come in?” Lyla asks.
I stand up straight and wipe my mouth, hyperaware of my bloodshot eyes and pale, damp skin. “It’s a public bathroom.”
The chatter from the hall roars into the bathroom, then becomes muted again as the door thumps closed behind her.
Lyla’s wearing a Nike T-shirt and a pair of shiny black track pants, her hair pulled into her characteristically high ponytail. She takes in the scene. I self-consciously run a hand through my hair.
“Are you okay?” she asks carefully. “I saw you run out of the caf.”
So she was there.
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” I give a brittle laugh.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Just a flare-up,” I admit. “Happens all the time.”
“Are you sure?” She hikes a thumb behind her. “I can get the nurse.”
“No!” I realize I’ve shouted it and lower my voice. “It’s okay. She’ll just make a big deal out of it. I’m going there anyway later for chest physio.”
A beat of silence stretches out.
I decide to distract her and make use of this opportunity. “Hey, I wanted to ask you, did anyone break into your house after the jump? When I got home, there was a gift on my bed.”
She lifts a delicate gold chain out of her shirt. “This was on my bed when I got home. I had it appraised. It’s real.” After a long beat, she adds, “What did you get?”
I flush a little. “Um, medications.”
“Oh.” She says it like she feels bad for me that I got a shitty gift.
“They’re really expensive. We can hardly afford them.”
She nods.
I scuff my shoes on the tile. “I also got a text yesterday. It said…” Time to cut the cord. I clear my throat. “It was reminding me to stay quiet about what happened.”
“I got something like that too.”
“You did?” For some reason I feel relieved. It wasn’t just me. “Do you still have it?” I ask. “Can I see?”
“I deleted it,” she says. “I didn’t want my mom finding it. She likes to snoop on my phone when I’m in the shower.”
Shit. That sounds like something Mom would do. I make a mental note to delete mine too.
I get an idea and stand up straight. “These are huge purchases. I bet we can track them, call some pharmacies, find out who bought a bunch of meds recently.”
“Ever heard of a little thing called HIPAA?” Lyla asks. “You’d need a warrant for that. We’re just a bunch of kids.”
“Okay, well, does your necklace have a serial number? We could probably check in with local jewelers, pretend you have a secret admirer or something.”
“Good idea,” she admits, “but I doubt whoever bought it gave his real name. And they’re not going to hand over Visa slips or security footage.”
I almost tell her we should turn this over to the cops, but I remember the tear tracks on Mom’s face this morning and know I’m not ready to give up yet.
“When do you think the next invitation will come?” I ask.
She blows out a harsh breath, tendrils of hair fluttering around her face. “Probably soon. If the game is supposed to be two weeks, like the note said.”
I cross my arms against a shiver.
The faucet drips loudly in the sudden silence.
“Okay. Well,” Lyla says. “I have to meet with Coach, but I just wanted to check on you.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Really.”
She nods, and then she’s gone. I face the mirror. I look like shit. No wonder Lyla wanted to get the nurse.
I splash water on my face and dry it with a scratchy paper towel. Then I pull out my cell. Two missed calls from Mom. I dial her number.
“Hi, Mom!” I say brightly, hoping she doesn’t notice the echo of the bathroom in the background. “Just wanted to call to tell you everything is going really well.”