“I’ve always been so jealous of you, always,” she continues. “You were always so perfect. You always did everything right, said everything right. Everybody liked you. I was jealous of your perfection. And now I’m jealous that you’re Flawed. It should have been me who did what you did on the bus. I wanted to. I thought about it all the time. But even when it came to it, I wasn’t brave enough, another thing I couldn’t do. I’m so sorry.”
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened on the bus,” I say, and I mean it. “It was all my own doing. None of this is your fault. I never asked for either of you to save me. You couldn’t have. The three of us would be in the same situation that I’m in right now. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I don’t want to dwell on the Art issue now. I need time to find the right words.
“No,” she interrupts me, firmly. “I chickened out. I relive it every second of every day. I should have backed you up on the bus.” She wipes her cheeks, an air of bravery in it, the little soldier. “But now I’m doing the right thing. The brave thing. You have to go, Celestine, or else Crevan will take you away, and I don’t know where that will be.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, squeezing her hands in mine. “The man who brought me here. Do you know his name?”
“Carrick Vane.”
I smile. I didn’t imagine him, I didn’t dream him.
“Does he mean something to you?”
I nod and remember the feel of his seared chest beneath my finger as he carried me away from danger, see his Adam’s apple at the tip of my nose.
“Will you find him?”
“Yes,” I say, full of confidence now, not able to think about the fact that I am leaving my family, going into the unknown alone. I think of how Professor Lambert quoted Pólya, “If you can’t solve a problem, then there is an easier problem you can solve: Find it.” I can’t take down Crevan all by myself, not now, but I will have to find Carrick Vane. It is all I have now.
SIXTY-FIVE
I TIPTOE DOWN the stairs as quietly as I can, knowing one false move will be the end of me. Once downstairs, I hear the raised voices of my dad and Crevan, Dad going at him full throttle. I want to burst in there and stop Dad, afraid that he’ll be next in the firing line for protecting me, but I know I can’t. It won’t help anything in the long term. My only way to end this is to reveal Crevan to the world.
“Go,” Juniper whispers loudly, and I feel her pushing me.
I stare at the door to the library, unable to leave Mom and Dad in this situation, feeling frozen on the spot. If I leave, they could be punished, accused of aiding me. If I give in and stay, they will be safe. The door suddenly opens and Juniper grabs my hand. Both of us freeze. It’s all over.
Instead of Crevan, Mom steps outside, face pale but angry. She has a new undercut hairstyle, one side of her hair has been shaved close to her head, the other side still a reminder of her long, beautiful waves. She looks like a warrior. She sees me with the packed bag, ready to leave, and she closes the library door firmly behind her. I know she won’t let me leave and I will have to try to convince her. She rushes to me, throws her arms around me, and covers me in kisses. She whispers one word close to my ear that leaves no question in my mind and goose bumps on my skin.
“Run.”
With tears almost blinding me, I leave her side, feeling torn from her, ripped at the seams. I clamber over our backyard wall. I stay low and run to reach the lane, which will lead me up the hill to the summit hidden from view.
A car appears from around the corner, lights on full, and heads toward me. It stops me in my path. I’m not sure whether it’s going to stop; and with its headlights on, I can’t see who’s driving. But I fear whoever it could be intends on running me over. I don’t recognize the car, though it is brand-new, expensive. It stops inches from me. The headlights are still so bright I can’t see who’s behind the wheel. I think about turning around and running, but I know Crevan is in the other direction. I am so close to the lane that will hopefully take me to freedom, the lane I used to take to see Art on the summit, when life was simpler.
The driver’s door opens, and Judge Sanchez gets out. My heart races.
“Nice evening for an escape, Ms. North,” she says, coolly.
“What do you want?”
“I want what you want,” she says. “We have something in common.”
“I doubt that,” I say, bitterly.
“To bring Crevan down.”
I’m shocked by that admittance, but, of course, I shouldn’t be. She was trying throughout my entire case to undermine him. She was just using me to do it.
“I hear you know something about him that could be beneficial to both of us. Something that’s making him awfully nervous, sending out groups of Whistleblowers here, there, and everywhere. I don’t know what it is, but I’m hoping you can tell me.”