the light.
And then I saw what it was. It swayed in the warm breeze, golden, almost translucent in the sunlight.
A long blonde hair.
The ground seemed to drop out from underneath me as I stared at it. Dread rose like bile in my stomach, and a cold sweat broke out down my back.
No matter how much I cleaned, no matter how much I scrubbed, I could never erase all the evidence.
It would always be there, always reminding me, always torturing me.
Forever.
“You sure take great care of this car,” said my dad, emerging from around the side.
I flinched and stuffed the hair in my jeans, but part stuck out, like a neon yellow ribbon. Panicking, I wedged it in deeper, jammed it to the bottom of my pockets
“Whatcha got there, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I blurted, straightening up.
He ran his hands approvingly over the Corolla’s hood. “You want to take this baby for a drive?”
I was about to be sick again.
Don’t throw up, don’t throw up . . .
My own nauseating heartbeat repulsed me.
“I . . . I don’t feel so good.” My hands went to my stomach. “I’m going to go lay down.”
I hurried inside before he could say anything else.
I decided that day, sobbing into my pillow, that I had to know the repercussions of what I had done.
I needed to understand it, see it, feel it.
Or else I would never get closure, I would never move on, I would never live a normal life.
So after school on Tuesday—we had Labor Day off—I went looking for Emory Lacroix. I had met him and seen the haunted look in his eyes, and now I wanted to understand that pain.
I wanted to torture myself with it.
Prowling the halls, I spotted him as he emerged from the history wing, and just had time to duck out of view.
He cut across campus, his muscled shoulders hunched forward in a tight black T-shirt. His blond hair caught the sunlight, which he flicked out of his eyes before he reached into his backpack and pulled out a cigarette.
I darted after him, keeping my distance. Couldn’t let him see me following him. I looked guilty, and I knew it.
But I had to do this.
“Leona!” Andrew ran up behind me, startling me.
I flattened myself against a wall. “Andrew . . . hey.”
“New shoes?” He pointed at my feet.
I looked down at my new Vans Authentic Lo Pro sneakers, color: Aqua Splash. “Oh, yeah.” I wiggled my toes in them. “I bought a bunch of new stuff over the weekend.” I peeked around the corner and saw Emory had vanished. Damn.
He’d been heading toward the parking lot.
Andrew readjusted his backpack shoulder strap and fell into step beside me. “Leona, I was wondering . . . so I’m throwing this party on Friday—well, not really a party, just a little get-together with me and a couple of friends, we’re just going to hang out, do a little this and that, maybe smoke a little . . .” He glanced over at me. “Anyway, you and Megan should stop by.”
I tensed up.
A party. People staring at me, asking questions. That was the last thing I wanted right now. Absently, I wiped my fingers off on my jeans. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Uh . . . okay,” he said. “Sure. Whatever. See you tomorrow in English.”
“Bye,” I said.
I made sure he was gone before I continued my pursuit of Emory, walking briskly between the portable classrooms. The parking lot came into view, heat waves baking off the asphalt.
No sign of him.
By now, the parking lot was mostly empty. I craned my neck to look for his car, then let out a frustrated sigh.
I had no idea what car he drove.
That was, until a black convertible pulled up next to me, engine rumbling. He stared at me from behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, arm slung across the passenger seat, cigarette dangling from his lips.
Caught .
He took a drag from the cig. “Get in.”
I backed away, shaking my head.
“ Get in ,” he said.
“Why?” I managed to croak.
“So I can kidnap you and hold you for ransom,
And then I saw what it was. It swayed in the warm breeze, golden, almost translucent in the sunlight.
A long blonde hair.
The ground seemed to drop out from underneath me as I stared at it. Dread rose like bile in my stomach, and a cold sweat broke out down my back.
No matter how much I cleaned, no matter how much I scrubbed, I could never erase all the evidence.
It would always be there, always reminding me, always torturing me.
Forever.
“You sure take great care of this car,” said my dad, emerging from around the side.
I flinched and stuffed the hair in my jeans, but part stuck out, like a neon yellow ribbon. Panicking, I wedged it in deeper, jammed it to the bottom of my pockets
“Whatcha got there, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I blurted, straightening up.
He ran his hands approvingly over the Corolla’s hood. “You want to take this baby for a drive?”
I was about to be sick again.
Don’t throw up, don’t throw up . . .
My own nauseating heartbeat repulsed me.
“I . . . I don’t feel so good.” My hands went to my stomach. “I’m going to go lay down.”
I hurried inside before he could say anything else.
I decided that day, sobbing into my pillow, that I had to know the repercussions of what I had done.
I needed to understand it, see it, feel it.
Or else I would never get closure, I would never move on, I would never live a normal life.
So after school on Tuesday—we had Labor Day off—I went looking for Emory Lacroix. I had met him and seen the haunted look in his eyes, and now I wanted to understand that pain.
I wanted to torture myself with it.
Prowling the halls, I spotted him as he emerged from the history wing, and just had time to duck out of view.
He cut across campus, his muscled shoulders hunched forward in a tight black T-shirt. His blond hair caught the sunlight, which he flicked out of his eyes before he reached into his backpack and pulled out a cigarette.
I darted after him, keeping my distance. Couldn’t let him see me following him. I looked guilty, and I knew it.
But I had to do this.
“Leona!” Andrew ran up behind me, startling me.
I flattened myself against a wall. “Andrew . . . hey.”
“New shoes?” He pointed at my feet.
I looked down at my new Vans Authentic Lo Pro sneakers, color: Aqua Splash. “Oh, yeah.” I wiggled my toes in them. “I bought a bunch of new stuff over the weekend.” I peeked around the corner and saw Emory had vanished. Damn.
He’d been heading toward the parking lot.
Andrew readjusted his backpack shoulder strap and fell into step beside me. “Leona, I was wondering . . . so I’m throwing this party on Friday—well, not really a party, just a little get-together with me and a couple of friends, we’re just going to hang out, do a little this and that, maybe smoke a little . . .” He glanced over at me. “Anyway, you and Megan should stop by.”
I tensed up.
A party. People staring at me, asking questions. That was the last thing I wanted right now. Absently, I wiped my fingers off on my jeans. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Uh . . . okay,” he said. “Sure. Whatever. See you tomorrow in English.”
“Bye,” I said.
I made sure he was gone before I continued my pursuit of Emory, walking briskly between the portable classrooms. The parking lot came into view, heat waves baking off the asphalt.
No sign of him.
By now, the parking lot was mostly empty. I craned my neck to look for his car, then let out a frustrated sigh.
I had no idea what car he drove.
That was, until a black convertible pulled up next to me, engine rumbling. He stared at me from behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, arm slung across the passenger seat, cigarette dangling from his lips.
Caught .
He took a drag from the cig. “Get in.”
I backed away, shaking my head.
“ Get in ,” he said.
“Why?” I managed to croak.
“So I can kidnap you and hold you for ransom,
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