The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe, but I don’t let myself cry. Sam needs me to just listen. He has to let this out.
“He put me back in the truck. He started driving away, back down the gravel road. He didn’t say anything for a while. I was surprised he hadn’t blindfolded me. He pulled over again, the car still running. I could tell his brain was still firing, he was still thinking about what I’d said, like could he believe me. He said, ‘If you try and leave, I’ll kill you. You got that?’ I guess I wasn’t quick enough because he yelled ‘Answer me!’ I said yes, I understood. I told him I wouldn’t, but I knew he still didn’t totally believe me. ‘I’ll kill you. But I won’t stop there.’ He took out his phone. ‘I’ll kill your mother, too.’ Then he flashed his phone at me, and there was . . . there was Mom. A picture of her leaving our house.” Sam stops and sort of lets out a high-pitched sob, before he gathers himself and wipes his eyes again. He sniffles, takes a breath. “I mean, part of me was so happy to see her. I didn’t have any pictures, and there she was. But then I realized that Rusty knew who they were, where we lived.”
A cold chill creeps through me, thinking of it—Rusty, here again, in this neighborhood. Watching Sam’s family. Maybe watching me.
“But that wasn’t the end,” Sam says. “Rusty said ‘And I’ll kill your sister.’ He flipped to another photo. It was Beth. She was standing somewhere, maybe at school. And Russell was smiling at me. He was enjoying it. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I know where they live. I know everything.’”
Sam looks at me then. He wants to tell me something more but I can sense him hesitate. He takes another breath. “He put the phone away. ‘You got that?’ he yelled. I nodded, I was crying again, crying like crazy. ‘Answer me!’ he yelled. And so I finally said, ‘Yes!’”
We both go quiet. The urge to reach out, hug Sam is so strong that I’m holding my breath. But what if his mom is watching, or Beth, or Earl? I move fast. I scoot my chair closer to Sam so that we’re only inches apart. I reach out and touch his shoulder and squeeze. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” I don’t know what else to say—those are the only words that come close to how I feel, and they’re a mile off.
“I can’t tell Beth any of that,” Sam says. “I can’t tell Mom. I can’t tell Earl. I can’t tell my dad. I could never tell them any of that.”
No, think. No, you can’t. And part of me wishes I didn’t know any of this either. But it’s too late. I know it, and I have to know it.
Mrs. Manderson comes out just then. “Aren’t you boys cold? You want some more hot chocolate?” She looks at us, smiling and cheerful, totally oblivious to what we’ve been talking about. Sam is facing away, probably hoping she doesn’t notice his eyes or read something else on his face. “Sam?” she asks again when we don’t answer right away.
He closes the sketch pad and pulls it to his chest. He turns and smiles at her convincingly. Like he’s flipped a switch. It amazes me how quickly he can do this, and it makes me sad, too. “Sure,” he says, like nothing has happened, like he hasn’t just told me the most awful story in the world.
CHAPTER 9
Superman
Beth
It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving weekend. The bell for sixth-period finally rings. I get my duffel bag from my locker. For a while I just stand there, acting like I’m fiddling with something as the halls empty out. The bell rings again and I walk around, up and down the halls. No one stops me for a hall pass.
About ten minutes later, I finally head to the locker room. It’s empty, as I’d hoped. I change into my soccer clothes—track pants, because it’s chilly out, a long-sleeve dry-fit shirt, my cleats. I tie my hair back. I also put on the ankle brace my physical therapist gave me, just to be extra safe. Then I leave and walk to the soccer field. Coach Bailey is already having everyone stretch. She turns and sees me and smiles.
“Beth!” Darla shouts.
I look over and flash her a thumbs-up, and she smiles and flashes one back. Ainsley waves. I look around and spot Chita, but she’s just staring ahead, focused on her stretching.
“Your ankle good to go?” Coach asks.
“Yep,” I say, and I lift my track pants and show her the ankle brace. “I have this just to be careful.”
“Okay then. Good to have you back,” she says.
Stretching hurts. I’m stiff—stiffer than the others. At one point, Coach Bailey comes and pushes down on my back and I groan, completing the stretch as far as I can take it. But it feels good to be out here, around my teammates, the cool air like a balm on my skin.
After practice, Chita rushes off, clearly avoiding me. Not that I can blame her. Coach Bailey comes up to me as everyone clears out. “You’re doing well.”
“A little slow,” I say, and I feel so done.
“That’s okay. Don’t overdo it.” She pats me on the back.
Ainsley and Darla are holding their bags, waiting for me, and we walk together toward the back parking lot. They know they don’t have to say anything. That we can just walk peacefully along. Like going back to the way things were.
“Hey, Beth!”
I stop and see Donal, chasing us down.
Ainsley smirks at Darla. They walk on ahead, and I want to yell at them not to leave me. I still hadn’t told any of them about the kiss, but it’s like they know.
“Hey,” Donal says, running up, his red hair shining in the fading afternoon sun. He has a few tiny flecks of grass on his forehead, like green confetti. Even though it’s cold out, he’s in his maroon soccer shorts, with a tight black shirt on top that hugs his chest. He squints those blue eyes at me.
“Glad to see you back out there,” he says.
“Yeah, it’s good to be back.” I start walking again.
“Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“It was fine,” I say. “I saw my dad—he came down from Ohio.”
“That sounds nice.”
I don’t say anything, just continue to walk along.
“Hey, can you stop for a sec?”
I stop. He’s grinning, but I can tell he’s nervous because he’s cracking his knuckles. He was doing that when we were studying. Right before we kissed. I feel a pang of sadness. Something had been stirring inside me that day—maybe inside both of us—and then it all got shoved aside.
“Do you want to, maybe, grab a—I mean, go to a movie sometime?”
“A movie?”
“Yeah, you know, a moving picture, with actors and explosions and car chases and all kind of fantastic stuff.”
I want to smile and laugh. I want to say yes. But I know it’s not just a movie. It’s a date. The truth is that I’m behind in schoolwork. I’m out of shape on the field. And my family—Sam. These are the things I need to focus on. I can’t deal with anything else.Those feelings that stirred that day—well, it’s better to set them aside. I can’t even deal with them for now. “Um, a movie,” I say, stalling. “I mean, I have a lot going on right now.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I say.