big hill and she couldn’t see me any longer. The familiar pop and snap of gravel sounded beneath my tires, and my thighs burned as I pedaled harder, not stopping to coast even as I went downhill, squeezing the handlebars with a grip that turned my knuckles white. The pain felt good, directly proportional to the buzzing ache inside my head, and I pushed down harder, as if to squeeze it out of my pores. The dirt road went for a mile past the farmhouse, and I rode it almost to the end without pausing, relishing the feel of dust and wind against my face, the explosion of freedom that always accompanied such treks.
A green Jeep Cherokee appeared around the bend. It seemed to brake as it saw me, and I moved over, giving it room to pass.
“Marin?” I heard my name float out behind me. I braked hard and glanced over my shoulder.
The Jeep was backing up; a thin arm with a chambray shirtsleeve settled along the window ledge. A little farther up, I could see a blue shape inside the wrist, smooth along the edges, darker in the middle. I froze.
“Marin?” Dominic Jackson said again. The Jeep was stopped right alongside me now. If I reached out and stretched a little, I could touch his arm. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I caught you. Where are you going?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He remembered my name? “Oh, I’m just out for a ride.”
“I can see that.” He grinned, his eyes taking in my bike for the first time. “Nice bike.”
“Thanks.” How much of a dork did I look like right now with my helmet and my sunglasses on? I didn’t want to think about it.
“I was just on my way to your house,” he said. “Like, right this second. To talk to you.”
“Oh.” For a single, preposterous second, I imagined that he had come to ask me out, that the two of us would walk over the bridge to Kirby Park and sit under the two willow trees next to the tennis courts. He would sit close enough that I could feel the soft material of his shirt against my hand, the heat of his breath against my cheek. “Marin,” he’d say. “If you only knew …”
Except that he wouldn’t say that. This boy was here to ask me something else entirely.
“About Cassie?” I asked.
He nodded once, a solemn look on his face. “She’s in the hospital. They took her to Fairfield General this afternoon, and she had another fit there. It was actually worse than what happened at school.”
I bit my lip, tried not to imagine it.
“She got hold of some kind of scalpel or something nearby and carved a number into her face.” Dominic’s face paled as he spoke, and his lips twisted, as if he had justtasted something rotten. “It was really bad. It took a long time to stop the bleeding.”
“She carved a
number
into her face?” I repeated.
“Yeah. An eight.” He stared at me for a moment, as if I might tell him something, or explain the significance of such a horrific action. His upper body, framed inside the window of the Jeep, could have been a photograph. The light illuminated his smooth skin and turned the green in his wide, expectant eyes a pale emerald color.
“God. That’s awful.” I looked away from him, stared at the black triangle of another farmhouse roof peeking out in the distance. It looked like a toy, a picture in a book. “So you just … I mean, you drove over here to tell me that?”
“No. I’m here because I want you to come with me to the hospital. To see Cassie. She keeps begging to see you, Marin.”
I jerked my gaze away from the farmhouse, fastened my eyes on Dominic’s face. “To see
me
?”
“Yeah, you. She’s been begging us almost constantly, since this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. She won’t tell us. She won’t say anything except that she wants to see you.” He paused, studying me, waiting. “Do
you
know why?”
“No.”
The answer came out like a bullet. “I have no idea.”
“Marin, listen.” He opened his door and stepped out of the car. “We
A green Jeep Cherokee appeared around the bend. It seemed to brake as it saw me, and I moved over, giving it room to pass.
“Marin?” I heard my name float out behind me. I braked hard and glanced over my shoulder.
The Jeep was backing up; a thin arm with a chambray shirtsleeve settled along the window ledge. A little farther up, I could see a blue shape inside the wrist, smooth along the edges, darker in the middle. I froze.
“Marin?” Dominic Jackson said again. The Jeep was stopped right alongside me now. If I reached out and stretched a little, I could touch his arm. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I caught you. Where are you going?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. He remembered my name? “Oh, I’m just out for a ride.”
“I can see that.” He grinned, his eyes taking in my bike for the first time. “Nice bike.”
“Thanks.” How much of a dork did I look like right now with my helmet and my sunglasses on? I didn’t want to think about it.
“I was just on my way to your house,” he said. “Like, right this second. To talk to you.”
“Oh.” For a single, preposterous second, I imagined that he had come to ask me out, that the two of us would walk over the bridge to Kirby Park and sit under the two willow trees next to the tennis courts. He would sit close enough that I could feel the soft material of his shirt against my hand, the heat of his breath against my cheek. “Marin,” he’d say. “If you only knew …”
Except that he wouldn’t say that. This boy was here to ask me something else entirely.
“About Cassie?” I asked.
He nodded once, a solemn look on his face. “She’s in the hospital. They took her to Fairfield General this afternoon, and she had another fit there. It was actually worse than what happened at school.”
I bit my lip, tried not to imagine it.
“She got hold of some kind of scalpel or something nearby and carved a number into her face.” Dominic’s face paled as he spoke, and his lips twisted, as if he had justtasted something rotten. “It was really bad. It took a long time to stop the bleeding.”
“She carved a
number
into her face?” I repeated.
“Yeah. An eight.” He stared at me for a moment, as if I might tell him something, or explain the significance of such a horrific action. His upper body, framed inside the window of the Jeep, could have been a photograph. The light illuminated his smooth skin and turned the green in his wide, expectant eyes a pale emerald color.
“God. That’s awful.” I looked away from him, stared at the black triangle of another farmhouse roof peeking out in the distance. It looked like a toy, a picture in a book. “So you just … I mean, you drove over here to tell me that?”
“No. I’m here because I want you to come with me to the hospital. To see Cassie. She keeps begging to see you, Marin.”
I jerked my gaze away from the farmhouse, fastened my eyes on Dominic’s face. “To see
me
?”
“Yeah, you. She’s been begging us almost constantly, since this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. She won’t tell us. She won’t say anything except that she wants to see you.” He paused, studying me, waiting. “Do
you
know why?”
“No.”
The answer came out like a bullet. “I have no idea.”
“Marin, listen.” He opened his door and stepped out of the car. “We
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