Noah. I'd never once talked about it with Noah. How was that possible?
Because we don't talk at all.
What did they tell my mother? Why had she never mentioned it?
A dark suspicion took hold.
My mother knew things she didn't share. I'd sensed that for years. Same with Lowell, and maybe Principal Myers too. How far back did it go? Was there really ever a chemical spill?
I stood frozen in the darkness, mind running wild.
A lunatic hunts and kills me every two years, yet I come back to life.
The adults surrounding me are hiding things.
Those facts have to be connected. Or am I really crazy after all?
I waited for Tack by the gatepost, breath misting in the brisk morning air.
He was on time, though yawning every second. A Hollywood-quality black eye offset the purple splotches blossoming along his chin. I almost asked what his father had said, but knew the answer. No way had Wendell been awake this morning.
A yawn escaped my own lips. I hadn't been able to fall back asleep. So I'd dressed quickly in an old sweater and jeans, then snuck into the living room to watch CNN and witness the world's hangover.
Twitter was alive with crazy hashtags-things like #TakeYourSecondChance and #followingdreams-the usual sparkly crap people spouted after a major scare. Stuff that would be forgotten by this time next week.
"So we're going to live!" Tack quipped, never breaking stride. He wore cargo shorts and a red Machete Kills tee over a long-sleeved thermal. Somehow he never got cold. I fell in beside him and we headed up the rise. "Just long enough for Ethan to strangle us."
"Not my brightest idea."
"Relax." Though Tack didn't appear to be following his own advice. "There's no way he can prove it was us. And who'd believe we'd really do that? I don't even believe it."
We hit pavement and began descending. The lake sparkled in the heart of the valley, unconcerned by mankind's problems.
"The news said half of Reno nearly burned down," I grumbled. "People lost their minds."
"No doubt." Tack pointed to where smoke was rising from the old paper mill. Flashing lights announced the fire truck's presence. "Some idiots did crazy stuff last night, just happy to be alive." He tossed me a significant glance. "Like, say, torching a shiny new Jeep in the high school parking lot."
I pursed my lips. "Interesting."
The timeline didn't work-the Wrangler's smoldering remains had been found well before the Announcement-but countless other acts of vandalism had likely occurred. The entire Fire Lake police force consisted of eight dopey officers-no way they'd investigate everything. If we were lucky, my mad impulse would get swept under the rug with all the rest.
When have I ever been lucky?
Reaching the village proper, we found evidence to support our hopes. Windows were smashed up and down the block. Someone had looted the display items from Buford's Hardware. A police deputy was squawking into his radio as he stood over a fat, shirtless dude snoring in the gutter. It had been a big night.
We reached the school parking lot. I tried not to eyeball the crime scene, but my head swiveled on its own volition. Joey Alcorn, who operated the junkyard, was just then securing the scorched ruin of Ethan's Jeep to the back of his flatbed wrecker. He waved a filthy hand; we guiltily returned the gesture. The Wrangler was a total loss, an acrid-smelling skeleton of blackened metal and melted fiberglass.
"Ho, boy," Tack breathed.
"Yep."
Joey popped into his truck and pulled away, leaving nothing behind but a charred smear on the pavement. A spasm ran through me. If anyone ever finds out . . .
"Listen to that!" Tack pulled me toward the walkway. Music was thumping from the courtyard. "Who's having a dance party without me?"
Everyone in school was outside, hugging and high-fiving, hands in the air as they bounced to the beat. Juniors and seniors swarmed the low-walled stone patio-unofficially off-limits to underclassmen-while sophomores surrounded the flagpole where the youth group usually held morning convocation. "Turn Down for What" was blasting from a speaker propped on a Nolan twin's backpack. Principal Myers was going to have a heart attack.
"That's my kind of prayer circle," Tack said. "Hopefully this is a permanent change."
We'd never actually joined the showy student devotional that took place before first bell. Most of the group spent the entire silent minute with their eyes cracked, keeping track of how many classmates were witnessing their piety. Few got anything spiritual from it, I suspected, although Hector Quino did his best to keep the mood solemn.
But today everyone seemed jacked up on Red Bull. Bro-hugs were rampant. Relieved smiles were paired with machine-gun bursts of laughter. Boys were chasing girls, who screamed prissily before allowing themselves to be caught. No one seemed to care about class.
Derrick Morris, skyscraper tall and one of the four black kids in our grade-we all knew the count; welcome to northern Idaho-had his shirt off despite the chill. He reared back and howled, "I'm alive!" while extending both middle fingers skyward. Toby snuck over and lifted him up from behind. They both started laughing and jumping up and down, chanting something I couldn't make out but had to be stupid. As they broke apart, I saw Toby swig something hidden inside his jacket.
"We should get inside." I was already crossing to the main building. "Last thing we need is-"
"Hey! HEY!"
Too late. Ethan came storming over, half our class at his back. I saw gleeful eyes and hurried whispers. Bile rose in my throat.
Tack inched closer to my side. "Just relax. I'll say we-"
"Don't say a single word, Tack!" I stepped in front of him, mind racing.
Ethan charged to within a foot of where I stood, his gaze lasering over my shoulder at Tack, who glared back defiantly despite his trembling arms. Ethan's face was flushed. There was a glassy aspect to his eyes I didn't like. I suspected he'd been trading sips with Toby.
"You torched my Wrangler, didn't you?" Ethan's voice was soft, almost monotone. He pointed a finger at Tack. "I know it was you."
"That was your Jeep?" Tack replied, all choirboy innocence. "I thought Spencer's dad had dropped by for a cookout."
Scattered snickers. Spence Coleman's father ran Pig House BBQ, and threw massive tailgates for every Boise State football game. His half-ton outdoor grill was legendary-wheeled, monstrous, and smoke-stained jet-black by hundreds of hours of use.
Ethan smiled unnaturally. "A joke! Like your life, only less sad."
More chuckles. The crowd was enjoying Round Two. I spotted Chris Nolan whispering with Sarah and Jessica while his brother, Mike, watched silently. Noah was slouching behind them, oblivious. He squinted over at us for a beat, then looked down at his phone.
A flash of disgust. Why had I been thinking of Noah lately? He was useless.
"Nice face!" Toby called, rubbing his cheek where Tack's was a bruised mess.
"Still prettier than you," Tack shot back. Toby laughed.
"I had that Jeep for two weeks," Ethan said matter-of-factly, but a pink stain was creeping up his neck. "Two. My golf clubs were in it." He shifted to include me. "You guys destroyed it. I know you did. Nobody else would dare."
Play dumb. It's the only way.
"Someone lit your Wrangler on fire?" I asked in a startled tone.
"You know someone did."
I crossed my arms. "Why would we burn your car, Ethan? And how?"
"I don't know how. Or care. But it's not hard to figure out why. I kicked Thumbtack's ass and he couldn't handle it."
I spoke calmly, but made my voice carry. "You're being ridiculous. Tack and I didn't blow up your Jeep in the school parking lot, in broad daylight. Because that's insane. We're not Navy Seals." Gulp. Then inspiration struck. "There were electrical storms up and down the canyon yesterday. Maybe your Jeep caught a stray bolt. Probably because of that ridiculous gun rack you screwed to it like a lightning rod."
The last bit seemed to do the trick. I saw nods in the crowd. Whispers of agreement. Doubt even crept into Ethan's eyes.
"Told you they didn't have the balls," Chris muttered to his brother, who shrugged.
"Somebody would've seen," Toby agreed with a hiccup. "Plus, Tack's too much of a wuss."
I stepped on Tack's foot to keep him from mouthing back. Ethan was still watching.
I met his eyes. Hoped he couldn't see the lie in mine.
Ethan grinned without a hint of warmth. "If I find out you had anything to do with it . . ." Then, unwilling to simply let us go, he changed gears. "Why aren't you guys happier, huh? I saw you lurking over here by yourselves, all emo and sad. Did you want the Anvil to kill everyone?"
"I was hoping you'd die," Tack deadpanned. "Does that count?"
Ethan tensed, but then his gaze slid left. Principal Myers was hobbling into the courtyard.
"To be continued," Ethan promised. He snatched up his bag from the grass near the flagpole and hurried toward C building. The crowd evaporated.