If she stayed here any longer, people might wonder. Makani swallowed her tears, dried her face with a scratchy paper towel, and exited the bathroom.
Ollie was leaning against the wall beside the drinking fountains. His eyes were dark with under-eye circles. “You got my brother.” It wasn’t a question.
“Officer Larsson requested me specifically.”
Ollie sighed.
“It was fine. He was nice.” Makani glanced around, but the hallway was empty. “Were you . . . waiting for me?” And then she noticed her backpack on the floor near his feet. “Why do you have that?”
“I asked Se?ora Washington if I could use the bathroom. She didn’t even notice when I grabbed our bags. I saw you go inside, so I waited.”
She’d been in there for over ten minutes. Panic floated to the surface, instantly accessible. “I was sitting. Just sitting. I didn’t want to go back to class.”
Ollie nodded.
“You should have knocked,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. They both knew that he would never have dared to knock on the door to the women’s restroom. Too many potential embarrassing outcomes.
“No, sorry.” Makani was exhausted and confused. None of this was making any sense. “But . . . why do you have my bag?”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What?” She shook her head. It was like they were having two different conversations. “No, I’m not okay. Are you okay?”
Ollie smiled. “Not at all.”
Makani stared back at him until she erupted with helpless laughter. Tears returned to the corners of her eyes. “I have no idea what’s happening.”
“There are still twenty minutes until the final bell, but I’m leaving now.” Ollie picked up her backpack and held it out. “Want a ride?”
CHAPTER NINE
The only people who noticed their early departure were the reporters. They hovered like vultures between the campus and parking lot, waiting for the students to be let out for the weekend. Waiting for carrion. As Makani and Ollie neared, Makani’s spine stiffened. She lowered her head and walked faster. Ollie adjusted his speed to match.
The reporters erupted all at once: Did you know the victims? How would you describe the atmosphere inside the school today? Will this hurt your team’s chances in the playoffs? Microphones and cameras were jammed in their direction, and Makani angled her body away from the intrusion in the clearest possible signal, but a woman with a wall of hairsprayed bangs chased behind them anyway. “How does it feel to have lost two of your classmates in only three days?”
Makani focused on Ollie’s car at the far end of the lot.
“How does it feel to have lost two of your classmates in three days?”
Car, car, car, car, car, car, car—
A hand touched Makani’s shoulder, and she screamed. Her eyes looked manic with fright. The reporter stumbled backward into her cameraman, and Makani screamed again. The woman exclaimed something in confused anger, and suddenly Ollie stood between them shouting, “Get away from her! Get the fuck away from her!”
The cameraman placed a hand on the reporter’s arm, urging her back, but she wasn’t ready to yield. “You,” she said. “Pink hair. How does it feel—”
“How the fuck do you think it feels?”
The cameraman pleaded with the reporter. “They’re probably minors—”
Through the haze, Ollie reached for Makani. An arm slid around her back as he hustled her toward his car. Car, car, car, she thought. Car. He opened the passenger’s door, helped her inside, and ran to the driver’s side. All five of her senses were overloading. Instead of trying not to cry, Makani just tried not to sob.
She expected—maybe even wanted—him to tear out of the lot, but he exited cautiously and stuck to the speed limit. He turned left, away from the direction of her house, and drove until they reached the park near the elementary school.
The cruiser pulled over to a stop. Makani felt him trying to decide whether or not to lay a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her overreaction was blatant and humiliating. She had to lie. “I don’t know why . . .”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
She sniffled, rummaging through her backpack for tissues.
Ollie leaned over her to pop open the glove compartment. It was lined with crumpled napkins from an out-of-town KFC.
She accepted a wad and blew her nose. There was no attractive way to do it. She felt like a monster. “It’s been such a shitty day.”
“Such a shitty day.” He laughed once.
They sat in silence for a full minute. Makani stared out the window. The park was empty apart from a mom and toddler on the swings. “I don’t want to go home.” Her voice was weak and dispirited. “She’ll want me to rehash everything that happened at school today, but I don’t wanna talk about it. I can’t think about it anymore.”
Ollie nodded. He understood that she was talking about her grandmother. “Where would you like to go?”
“Someplace quiet.”
So, Ollie took her to his house.
It was a twenty-minute drive, halfway between Osborne and East Bend on Highway 79, another lonely road of cornfields and cattle ranches. Every mile, they’d pass another highlighter-yellow billboard for the Martin Family Fun Corn Maze. A smiling family of cartoon redheads beamed at them from the top corner of each advertisement.
NEBRASKA’S LARGEST CORN MAZE! 5 MILES AHEAD!
PUMPKIN PATCH! 4 MILES AHEAD!
HAYRIDES! 3 MILES AHEAD!
PETTING ZOO! 2 MILES AHEAD!
CORN PIT! 1 MILE AHEAD!
“What’s a corn pit?” Makani already felt lighter, knowing that she had a few hours’ respite ahead of her. She’d texted Darby that Ollie was driving her home, and she’d texted Grandma Young that Darby was taking her to his house. Neither seemed pleased, but they’d each correctly assumed that she needed a distraction from the news.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Ollie said. “A giant pit of corn kernels.”
“Okay. But what does one do with a corn pit?”
He glanced at her with a smile. “You know those ball pits at McDonald’s? It’s like that, but bigger. A lot bigger. It’s pretty fun,” he admitted. “Now, the petting zoo. That’s what I could do without. When the wind blows just right . . .”
Makani laughed as circus-like flags appeared through the fields. They passed the sprawling maze and a massive dirt parking lot, which was mostly vacant. “Does anyone actually come here?”
“It’s packed on the weekends. People drive in from Omaha and Lincoln. And it’s loud. You can hear it in my house. On Saturdays, they even have a polka band. When our windows are open, I’ll often find my feet tapping to the belch of their tuba.”
She laughed again. “I’m still imagining you swimming in the corn pit.”
Ollie kept his eyes ahead, but they twinkled. Or maybe gleamed.