Rush
Page 18
“Should you be standing? Should you be moving?” Kelley’s hands flutter out to the sides now like butterflies. “I’m a lifeguard. I took first aid. I don’t think you should be moving.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Maybe Kelley’s right,” Dee says. “Maybe you shouldn’t be moving. You could have a concussion. Or a fractured neck. I saw this show where this guy was tackled during football practice and he thought he was okay and then a couple of days later he died because some bone at the top of his neck was actually broken and he”—her voice trails away as the others turn to stare at her—“died.”
“I’m fine,” I say again, and glance over at Luka. He’s on the far side of the road, his expression anything but happy, his arms crossed over his chest. I’m confused. We’re alive. We made it. What’s he so pissed about? I take a step toward him. “I just need to—” ask Luka something. I don’t get to finish my sentence because the police pull up, followed by an ambulance.
“You’re not normal,” Kelley says.
I wince. Carly glares at her. Dee gasps.
Cardinal sin—publicly calling me out on one of my issues. I have to bite my tongue to keep from hurling one of Kelley’s own back in her face. I’m not usually quite that vindictive, but at the moment, my defenses are pretty shredded.
“Don’t do it,” Carly says. “She didn’t mean it that way.” And that’s enough to ground me. I know that if I snarl at Kelley, I’ll just regret it later.
“I mean, you’re so calm,” Kelley rushes on, flushing. “If I was almost hit by a truck, I wouldn’t be so calm. That’s all I mean. I don’t really mean that you’re not normal; I just mean—”
“I know.” I cut her off because the look on her face tells me that she feels like crap for saying the wrong thing, and right now, I don’t want to feel like crap because she feels like crap because she’s worried about my hurt feelings. Right now, the only person I want to talk to is Luka. He’s right there, maybe twenty feet away. Twenty feet that might as well be a thousand, because it’s painfully apparent that Luka doesn’t want to talk to me.
And the fact that Luka isn’t talking makes me think of Jackson. He promised that once we were done, he’d give me all the answers. An easy promise to make when he knew he wouldn’t be here to hear the questions. I laugh darkly. My friends stare, but I’m saved from offering explanations as one of the EMTs strides over.
The next half hour passes in a blur. The EMTs check me out. The police take my statement. I think they write the driver a ticket, but I’m not sure.
They’re done with Luka before they’re done with me. With his back to me, he lifts his hand in a farewell wave, then walks away without even a glance, leaving me sitting in the open back of the ambulance while an EMT finishes bandaging my elbows.
I feel like crying; I feel like curling in a ball. I feel like punching something so hard that the skin on my knuckles splits. I feel like running for miles. Running away.
I can still see Luka in the distance when they’re finally done with me. I’m about to bound after him when a dark blue Ford Escape pulls up, blocking my escape. Dad jumps out, his dark hair disheveled like he’s run his fingers through it again and again. His mouth is tight, bracketed by lines of worry. He stands perfectly still, only his dark eyes moving until they light on me, and then he’s moving, his strides eating the distance between us.
“You would have done exactly what I did,” I say the second his arms close around me. I take a deep breath. He smells like fabric softener and spicy shaving cream. He smells like Dad and memories of childhood. He smells safe. And I’m incredibly grateful that right now, he doesn’t smell like booze.
He tightens his embrace for a second and then releases me. “Yeah,” he says, his voice like gravel. “But it doesn’t mean that my blood didn’t turn to ice when I got Carly’s call.”
“She didn’t need to call you.” I shoot her a dark look where she’s standing on the sidewalk with Dee and Kelley, but she isn’t looking my way.
“You should have called me.”
“I’m fine.” It’s my day to do the parrot thing. First I kept squawking what, what, what and now it’s I’m fine.
Dad gives me a stern look, and I press my lips together and say nothing. The truth is, I’m glad Carly called him. I’m glad he’s here.
He walks me to the car and holds the front passenger door open for me while Carly and Kelley and Dee pile into the back.
“You want company?” he asks softly before I get in.
I shake my head. I love my friends, but right now, I just want my music and my privacy.
“I’ll take them home, then.”
I start to climb into the car, then pause with one foot inside and my hand on the roof as a cold wind touches the back of my neck. Except there is no wind.
I stare first up, then down the street.
Luka’s not gone after all. He’s there in the distance, watching me, as if he wants to make sure that I’m okay. Or to make sure I don’t say anything I shouldn’t.
But I still don’t get in the car. I take my time looking around because I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not the only one watching me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ALIEN IS REACHING FOR ME, SMOOTH, GLOWING LIMBS AND clawed fingers. Jackson is there, beside me. I wait for him to shoot. Why doesn’t he shoot? His booted foot slams into the alien’s hand, sending its weapon flying through the air, turning end over end.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Maybe Kelley’s right,” Dee says. “Maybe you shouldn’t be moving. You could have a concussion. Or a fractured neck. I saw this show where this guy was tackled during football practice and he thought he was okay and then a couple of days later he died because some bone at the top of his neck was actually broken and he”—her voice trails away as the others turn to stare at her—“died.”
“I’m fine,” I say again, and glance over at Luka. He’s on the far side of the road, his expression anything but happy, his arms crossed over his chest. I’m confused. We’re alive. We made it. What’s he so pissed about? I take a step toward him. “I just need to—” ask Luka something. I don’t get to finish my sentence because the police pull up, followed by an ambulance.
“You’re not normal,” Kelley says.
I wince. Carly glares at her. Dee gasps.
Cardinal sin—publicly calling me out on one of my issues. I have to bite my tongue to keep from hurling one of Kelley’s own back in her face. I’m not usually quite that vindictive, but at the moment, my defenses are pretty shredded.
“Don’t do it,” Carly says. “She didn’t mean it that way.” And that’s enough to ground me. I know that if I snarl at Kelley, I’ll just regret it later.
“I mean, you’re so calm,” Kelley rushes on, flushing. “If I was almost hit by a truck, I wouldn’t be so calm. That’s all I mean. I don’t really mean that you’re not normal; I just mean—”
“I know.” I cut her off because the look on her face tells me that she feels like crap for saying the wrong thing, and right now, I don’t want to feel like crap because she feels like crap because she’s worried about my hurt feelings. Right now, the only person I want to talk to is Luka. He’s right there, maybe twenty feet away. Twenty feet that might as well be a thousand, because it’s painfully apparent that Luka doesn’t want to talk to me.
And the fact that Luka isn’t talking makes me think of Jackson. He promised that once we were done, he’d give me all the answers. An easy promise to make when he knew he wouldn’t be here to hear the questions. I laugh darkly. My friends stare, but I’m saved from offering explanations as one of the EMTs strides over.
The next half hour passes in a blur. The EMTs check me out. The police take my statement. I think they write the driver a ticket, but I’m not sure.
They’re done with Luka before they’re done with me. With his back to me, he lifts his hand in a farewell wave, then walks away without even a glance, leaving me sitting in the open back of the ambulance while an EMT finishes bandaging my elbows.
I feel like crying; I feel like curling in a ball. I feel like punching something so hard that the skin on my knuckles splits. I feel like running for miles. Running away.
I can still see Luka in the distance when they’re finally done with me. I’m about to bound after him when a dark blue Ford Escape pulls up, blocking my escape. Dad jumps out, his dark hair disheveled like he’s run his fingers through it again and again. His mouth is tight, bracketed by lines of worry. He stands perfectly still, only his dark eyes moving until they light on me, and then he’s moving, his strides eating the distance between us.
“You would have done exactly what I did,” I say the second his arms close around me. I take a deep breath. He smells like fabric softener and spicy shaving cream. He smells like Dad and memories of childhood. He smells safe. And I’m incredibly grateful that right now, he doesn’t smell like booze.
He tightens his embrace for a second and then releases me. “Yeah,” he says, his voice like gravel. “But it doesn’t mean that my blood didn’t turn to ice when I got Carly’s call.”
“She didn’t need to call you.” I shoot her a dark look where she’s standing on the sidewalk with Dee and Kelley, but she isn’t looking my way.
“You should have called me.”
“I’m fine.” It’s my day to do the parrot thing. First I kept squawking what, what, what and now it’s I’m fine.
Dad gives me a stern look, and I press my lips together and say nothing. The truth is, I’m glad Carly called him. I’m glad he’s here.
He walks me to the car and holds the front passenger door open for me while Carly and Kelley and Dee pile into the back.
“You want company?” he asks softly before I get in.
I shake my head. I love my friends, but right now, I just want my music and my privacy.
“I’ll take them home, then.”
I start to climb into the car, then pause with one foot inside and my hand on the roof as a cold wind touches the back of my neck. Except there is no wind.
I stare first up, then down the street.
Luka’s not gone after all. He’s there in the distance, watching me, as if he wants to make sure that I’m okay. Or to make sure I don’t say anything I shouldn’t.
But I still don’t get in the car. I take my time looking around because I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not the only one watching me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ALIEN IS REACHING FOR ME, SMOOTH, GLOWING LIMBS AND clawed fingers. Jackson is there, beside me. I wait for him to shoot. Why doesn’t he shoot? His booted foot slams into the alien’s hand, sending its weapon flying through the air, turning end over end.
