exaggeration to say we run for our lives.
We run as if we believe we can leave the insanity behind us, as if the insanity isn’t clasping our hands together. As if I am not the very person who unleashed all of it in the first place.
Once we reach the Cherokee, Larry slips into the backseat while Smith and I fumble around a bit, trying to figure out how we can get in while holding hands. Finally, Smith shoves me inside and I clamber over the center console and settle myself in the passenger seat. As he starts the car, Smith glances over his shoulder. And then continues to stare. And somehow I just know.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Smith grinds the word out between his teeth.
Luckily (if such a word can even apply in this instance), he spots her almost immediately, playing some one-on-one with Seanie, who apparently survived his run-in with Bat Boy.
Stomping on the gas, Smith sends us rumbling over the grass. Chunks of lawn go flying into the air as we skid to a stop by the basketball court.
“Time to go, Dyl,” Smith calls out the window in this pleasant sort of way.
“Umm . . .” Larry stutters from behind me. “Isn’t she—”
I spin around and give him a hard look. “No. Now, ssshhhh.”
I look back out the window to see Dyl toss the ball to Seanie. She says something I can’t make out, then jogs over and hops into the backseat. Before the door is fully closed, Smith is rocketing across the lawn once more—this time headed toward the street.
As the brick columns flanking the end of the driveway get closer, I twist in my seat to face Larry, who looks nervous.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell him. “We’re getting you out of here.”
He bites his lip. “They said it would hurt. They said—”
I never find out what else they said because at that minute we hit the edge of Michaela’s property and Larry shrieks. It is this horrible high-pitched sound of agony that is its own type of painful just listening to it. On the bright side, it lasts only a few seconds. On the less bright side, this is because Larry begins to violently convulse.
Dyl reaches for Larry, while I scream, “Back up! Back up!”
Smith has already reversed by then, but is so shaken by hearing Larry that he slams us into one of the brick columns.
Foam drips from Larry’s mouth as I yell at Smith, “Go! Go! Go!”
Smith manages to get us away from the column, and then backs up again until we are once again parked on Michaela’s rolling green lawn.
The convulsions stop immediately. Larry’s eyes roll up into his head and a second later he goes limp.
Throwing my door open, I jump out of the car—only to be yanked back by Smith’s hand glued to mine. “Let me go!” The words come out shrill and full of unshed tears. Using all my weight, I jerk my body away from Smith’s again and again, but our hands might as well be welded together. I slump back into my seat, curling into myself and finally giving in to tears.
After several long moments of my silent sobbing, Dyl’s hand lands on my shoulder. “He’s okay. Still breathing. Heart beating. All the good stuff.”
That should make me feel better. It doesn’t, though. I did this to him. I brought him to Michaela’s party and told him it would be fine. I made him drink and make a wish. I called him names because I was stupid and drunk and angry. And when he needed my help, I promised him it would be okay. I told him I would fix everything and nearly killed him instead.
I hear the car door open and the sound of Seanie’s voice. “He okay?”
“Yeah,” Smith answers. “Can you get him back up to the house?”
“No!” Swiping away tears with the back of my hand, I turn to face Larry once more. His expression is so peaceful I could almost believe he’s sleeping. Except his skin is scary white and the breaths coming from between his parted lips are thin and raspy.
“We can’t leave him here,” I protest.
Smith gives my hand a tug. He looks almost as freaked out as I feel. “If you want to stay, I’ll stay with you. I mean”—he holds up our attached hands with a caustic smile—“I go where you go, right?”
I blink at Smith, wondering if I’ve had a full mental breakdown and am imagining him saying