From out of nowhere, my driver’s ed instructor’s voice intercepts my thoughts. Steer into the skid. I do my best to keep from jerking the wheel to the right. Instead, I steer into it. The car swerves and wobbles and makes it to the opposite shoulder. I ease on the brakes until the car rolls to a stop.
It’s a miracle I haven’t wet my pants. Dress. Whatever. My heart has never beat so hard. My hands still clutch the steering wheel, and I put my forehead against the leather. The smell of burned rubber is thick in the air. I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon.
Adrenaline is a great ally: I’m not cold at all.
Did I hit something? A deer?
Something worse?
It takes me a while to unwrap my fingers from the steering wheel. I’m terrified to climb out of the car and into the darkness, to see what I hit.
Finally, I do. I kill the engine and climb out to inspect the damage.
To my surprise, there’s nothing wrong with the front end of the car.
Except for the fact that my entire left tire is gone. The shiny steel rim rests against the pavement.
How is my entire tire gone? Does that kind of thing happen?
I climb back into the car and find my cell phone. Even if I knew how to change a tire—which I don’t—I can’t do it in a strapless dress on the side of the road during a thunderstorm. At least I’m away from the cemetery, and I can tell my father I was on my way home from the dance.
Well, I could tell him that if he’d answer the phone. It rings and rings and goes to voice mail. Twice.
I look at the clock again. It’s after ten, and he expects me to spend the night at Rowan’s. He’s probably asleep already.
I try a third time. No answer.
I try Rowan. Straight to voice mail. I send her a text, but she doesn’t respond right away. She’s probably back on the dance floor, flirting with Brandon.
I can probably turn the car back on and get some heat going now. I don’t need wipers and headlights if I’m stranded.
The car won’t start again. No matter what I do.
This sucks.
Then I look back at my phone. I click on the Freemail app.
There’s his message.
You think you’re having a bad night? I think. Beat this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
From: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]> To: The Dark <[email protected]> Date: Friday, October 4 10:22:03 PM
Subject: Upping the ante
Here’s a recap of my evening:I began the night coming face-to-face with the rudest, most abrasive person I know, and somehow I walked away from the interaction feeling like I was the bad guy.
Then I sobbed all over my best friend because I thought my mother might be disappointed in me doing something as silly and frivolous as going to a dance when there are more important things in the world.
A little later, I realized my date was more interested in my best friend than in me (which is fine because I’d be more interested in dating a piece of wood than him, but still), so I left them on the dance floor to go sulk in the shadows.
And now? I’m sitting on the side of the road in a car that won’t start.
I’m soaking wet.
I’m freezing.
My car is missing a tire.
My dad won’t answer his phone.
And I don’t know what to do.
Trump that, Dark.
Holy crap. I almost drop my phone.
I look at the time stamp on her email. She sent this five minutes ago.
I click back to the main screen of the app. The little green dot sits beside her name.
I don’t even think about it. I send her a chat.
The Dark: Are you OK?
Cemetery Girl: That depends how broadly you’re defining OK.
The Dark: Seriously. Are you in a safe place? Are you off the road?
Cemetery Girl: I’m on the shoulder of Generals Highway. It’s raining hard, but I have my headlights on.
The Dark: Are you sitting in the car? Please tell me you’re not standing on the side of the road.
Cemetery Girl: I am in the car. The doors are locked.
“Who are you texting?”
I glance up at Rev. He’s been warning me about my eleven o’clock curfew for the last half hour. We live less than ten minutes away, so it’s not like we’re in any danger of being late. Rev is funny about rules, though. Breaking them makes him anxious.
“Cemetery Girl,” I tell him.
“Is she still here? Is that why we haven’t left yet?”
“No.” I show him her message.
He reads through the whole thing. “Should we call someone?”
“Who? I don’t even know who she is.”
“You could ask her.”
My fingers hover over the buttons. I don’t want to ask her. I like this anonymity. Once we know each other, that’s gone.
Rev watches me, probably sensing my hesitation.
“Ask her if she wants your help,” he says quietly.
The Dark: I’m still at the school. Do you want help? I can come to you.
For the longest time, nothing happens. No response, not even the flashing message to tell me she’s typing.
Maybe someone has already stopped to help. Maybe her father called her back.
Then my phone flashes.
Cemetery Girl: Yes. Please help me. I don’t know what to do.
Rain falls in sheets across the road. Rev and I got half soaked getting to the car, and the drops felt like icicles. I cranked up the heat as soon as I had the engine started. This weather is one of the worst things about Maryland: a warm day can be followed by a rainstorm followed by temps in the thirties.
“Do you want to call Alan?” Rev asks.
I’d rather slit my wrists. “Why the hell would I want to call Alan?”
“Because of your curfew.”
“God, Rev, would you give it a rest? I’m not going to miss curfew. It’s barely ten thirty.”
“Do you think there’s any chance this is a setup?”
I glance away from the road to look at him. In the dark, his eyes are hooded and serious.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I think about it for a long minute, turning the thought around to examine it from all angles. I’m the last person anyone would call popular, but I’m not hated. At least I don’t think I am.
After a moment, I shrug. “I don’t know who would do something like that. Or why.”
“People don’t always have logical reasons for doing what they do.” He pauses. “You should know that better than anybody.”
I don’t have a response to that.