Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,76

tell her any of this?

Before I get a chance, the final band finishes its two-song folkie set, and all the bands are gathered back on the stage for the voting. In the back of the auditorium, I see a pair of policemen standing by, watching and waiting.

One by one, Ms. Coleman calls out the names of the bands and each group steps forward to stir up the crowd and drum up the highest-decibel support. The loudest response, not surprisingly, comes for Cameron’s band. But ours sounds like a strong second.

“And the winner is—Red Tide!” Ms. Coleman announces. Lights go wild, the crowd shrieks, the winning band comes forward for their trophy and check. Cameron throws me a triumphant look, and I give him a cheesy salute in congratulations, which obviously confuses him. Okay, we’re not exactly friends, but not enemies either. My time has almost run out and there’s no energy left for grudges. At least I know he’ll be watching out for Hailey after I’m gone.

Everything else is a blur. Somehow I manage to let Hailey take me by the hand to accept congratulations from her mom and dad and Danielle, who says something flirty in my ear that I can’t make out. Somehow I accept pats on the back, people yelling in my ear, “You were incredible!” and random girls giving me hugs. I wish I could enjoy some of this.

But I know that the good stuff is dwindling fast. Soon, everything will be out. The cops are waiting right now to ask me questions. Bad stuff is waiting for me and I can’t put it off much longer.

I spot Thomas, Suzanne, and Nessa near the foot of the stage, and the three of them rush forward to congratulate me. They tell me how great the guitar sounded, how our group totally should’ve won the award, and I make myself smile through it all, dreading what has to happen next. I manage to mumble my thanks, but once they stop gushing and stand there blinking and smiling at me, I don’t have it in me to muster one syllable of small talk. I blurt out what has to be said.

“I found Jack outside, behind the school,” I tell them. “He’s real messed up, but an ambulance came and he’s at Emerson Hospital by now. They think he’s going to be okay.”

Nessa buries her face in her hands and starts to cry, a mixture of fear and relief. Suzanne puts an arm around her and strokes her hair.

The happy noise of the crowd, people talking and laughing, swirls and bends into a muffled rush of chaos that excludes us. Over there are the normal people of Concord, who have just enjoyed an evening of music and friends and entertainment and safety. And then there’s us.

Peering over Suzanne’s shoulder, I see two uniformed cops walking toward us. One of them is the guy who took my name. They’re waiting to hear my story, to find out how I’m connected to the boy who overdosed behind the high school. This is where the truth comes out, where all the shit in the world hits the fan. After talking to the police, either I’ll go home to parents who hate me or straight to jail for my crimes in New York. This is where I say good-bye to Hank forever and have to be Danny Henderson full time again.

But I am still not ready.

Hailey catches my eye from where she stands with her family near the edge of the stage. “Hank, can you come over to the house to celebrate?” she asks. “My mother made a cake and everything.”

“I can’t, Hailey.” I grab her hand, tight, and kiss her fingers. “I have to go.”

She blinks at me, green eyes flecked with gold, piercing mine. Seeing me. And I know it’s not my imagination. The girl can read me like a book and she can sense the raw finality there, loud and clear.

“You’re going?” she whispers in disbelief. “Before you even tell me who you really are?”

My eyes prickle with tears. “I have to,” I whisper back. “I’ll contact you, I promise. I’ll tell you everything.” Then I let go of her hand as the cops approach, radios crackling on their hips, handcuffs clinking, badges blinding.

“Oh hey, I forgot the guitar backstage,” I say to no one in particular, giving myself a little smack on the forehead, like oh, what an idiot. “Look, I’ll go get it and be right back.”

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