“I’m with Reed and Lorna. I say we go,” she said. “We should support our friends.”
“But they’re not our friends anymore … right?” Amberly said, biting her bottom lip.
I was appeased when half a dozen pillows flew at her head.
“Okay! Okay! I’ll go!” she said, lifting her arms up to shield her face.
“Right. Now on to the more important question,” Tiffany said, yanking a stack of glossy magazines out from her messenger bag and tossing them on the floor with a thwap. “What’s everyone going to wear?”
There were a few squeals as Lorna and Amberly lunged for the magazines. The girls fell into a babble of giggling, catcalling, and oohing and ahhing. As the circle grew tighter, the better for everyone to share the magazines, I stayed right where I was, on the outskirts, staring toward the rafters of the airy, old chapel.
Noelle should have been there. Of course, if she was, she probably would have rallied against going to some lame Easton event. But still. Who cared? She should have been there.
The longer I stared up at the exposed beams of the high ceiling, the more the voices and laughter of my friends faded into the background. Suddenly, I started to feel as if I was sinking. Into the floor and out of reach. The ceiling loomed farther and farther into the distance, and the blankets sunk with me, smothering me, closing out all light, all happiness, all possibility.
Noelle could die and it would be my fault. Another life lost because I was too inept to help. Too stupid to figure out what was going on around me.
I couldn’t do this on my own. I just couldn’t. I had to tell someone. But who? Who could possibly know how to handle this?
An image of my father flashed through my mind, and suddenly, I found myself able to breathe again. My dad was the most levelheaded person I knew. And he loved me unconditionally. Plus, he was nowhere near Easton, had nothing to do with the community, was in touch with no one at the school. I could tell him without the kidnappers knowing, right? I could tell him and he would tell me what to do.
That was it. I was going to call him right after this meeting. As soon as I got back to Pemberly. I’d use the old pay phone in the hallway just in case these crazy, spying kidnappers could somehow trace my phone. Everything was going to be fine.
“Are you okay?” Ivy said in my ear.
I flinched, sucked out of my brainstorming spiral and back into the now.
“Uh, yeah. Why?” I asked. She sat down right next to me and tucked her phone back into her bag.
“You just seem really out of it,” Ivy said.
“I told you. I’m just tired,” I said, which was part of the truth anyway. “Actually, I should probably head out soon. I haven’t even started my English project and after tomorrow I’m going to have an extra-credit assignment from Barber to deal with too.”
I pushed myself up to my knees and manically gathered my things, suddenly intent on my new plan. All I could think about was getting back to Pemberly and calling my dad. The thought of that creaky old phone was like a beacon, a big pool of water to a dying man in the desert.
As I reached for my cell to tuck it away, it let out a beep, indicating I had a text.
“Must be from Josh, since everyone else you know is here,” Ivy joked. “Oh, unless it’s from Noelle,” she added, raising an eyebrow.
If only.
I swallowed hard as I picked up the phone. The text was not from Josh or Noelle. It was the kidnappers, contacting me with my new directive.
ASSIGNMENT NUMBER TWO: STEAL SOMETHING FABULOUSLY EXTRAVAGANT FROM A SHOP IN EASTON; THEN MAKE SURE TO WEAR IT AROUND CAMPUS FOR ALL TO SEE. GET CAUGHT AND NOELLE DIES. TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS TEXT AND SHE DIES.
My heart sunk into my toes. They really had to remind me about that whole silence or death thing didn’t they? Looked like I wouldn’t be calling my father after all. I dropped my things back down on the floor, and sat down cross-legged next to Ivy.
“Changed your mind about your homework, huh?” Ivy said with a wry smile.
“It can wait,” I said. “Pass the chocolate.”
If I was really going to steal something tomorrow, I may as well live it up now. Because considering the fact that I’d never even attempted to shoplift so much as a ChapStick in my life, there was a very good chance I was going to get caught. Which meant I’d be spending tomorrow night in jail.
And I had a feeling they didn’t serve chocolate and sparkling cider in jail.
I lay in bed that night, so tired I could feel my skin tightening on my face, feel the weight of my bones as my body pressed into the bed, but still, somehow, unable to sleep. I’d taken a shower upon returning from the chapel, even though it was after eleven. I’d scrubbed my face, washed my hair and blown it dry, brushed my teeth for a good five minutes–all to get my mind to realize that it was time to relax. Time to sleep. Then I’d donned my most comfy flannel pj’s, the white-and-purple polka dotted ones my dad had given me for Christmas, and crawled under the covers. Taking a deep breath, I had closed my eyes, and repeated one word to myself slowly, over and over and over again.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.