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“Get in the car!” I yelled.
“What?” His brows knit in confusion over his warm brown eyes. “Rory, what’re you—”
“Get in the car, Chris!” I shouted again. “We have to get out of here!”
Keeping my eyes on the woods, I staggered toward the passenger-side door. The trees dipped and swirled in my vision, and the ground beneath me began to tilt. I pressed my hands against the hood to keep from going down, breathing through the dizziness. I couldn’t give up now. Not when I was so close to safety.
“I’ve got you,” Christopher said in my ear.
He helped me into the car and slammed the door. I jammed my trembling fingers down on the lock button over and over again until it finally clicked. Something moved in the corner of my vision and I seized up, but then I saw the flick of a bushy tail and realized it was just a squirrel scampering up a tree trunk.
“Rory, what’s going on?” Christopher asked, getting behind the wheel. “Why are you covered in mud?”
“Just drive, Chris. Please,” I begged. My body started quaking so violently it hurt. I tried to hold my breath, tried to control the shaking, but it wouldn’t stop. Even when I shoved my hands under my arms, clamped my knees together, and clenched my jaw. It just wouldn’t stop.
“But my house is right—”
“Please just take me home,” I begged. “And call nine-one-one.”
“Why?” Christopher asked. He looked me up and down, his face pale. “Rory,” he said, his voice tense. “What happened?”
“Mr. Nell,” I stammered through my teeth. “Mr. Nell attacked me.”
“Mr. Nell the math teacher?” he blurted, taking the turn at the end of his street too wide and nearly hitting a car waiting at the stop sign. My stomach swooped as the other driver leaned on his horn. My hands flung out and braced against the door and the side of Chris’s seat.
Chris pulled the car over onto the shoulder. He cupped one hand over his mouth, a worry line forming just above his nose. When he looked at me, my heart stopped beating. His eyes went from stunned, to resigned, to murderous in the space of five seconds. It was only then that I understood how he really felt about me. Right there, in that awful moment, with cars whizzing by fast enough to make the car shudder.
Why had I ever turned him down? If I had just said yes, if I had just blown off Darcy’s feelings like she’d done to me so many times in my life, Chris and I would have been a couple. We would have left school together today, and he would have driven me over to his house to tutor his sister. If I had just said yes, I never would have been taking that shortcut through the woods, and none of this would’ve happened.
“He didn’t—” Red splotches appeared along Chris’s neck and moved up his face. “Rory, he didn’t—”
My stomach hollowed out as I realized what he was asking. I shook my head. “No.” A sob escaped my throat, and I covered my face with both hands. “No.”
Chris sank back in his seat. “Thank god.” He reached for the Bluetooth button on his dashboard.
Suddenly, a man’s voice filled the car. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“My girl—my friend was attacked,” Christopher said, his voice cracking.
“Is your friend with you?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Christopher replied. “She’s here. She’s…okay.”
He reached out and took my hand, clasping it so hard it hurt.
“What’s your location?”
“We’re in my car on Seventeen, right near Fisher’s Crossing,” he said. “But the guy’s still out there. Mr. Nell. I don’t know his first name. He works at my school. At Princeton Hills High. He’s still in the woods.”
“And your names?” the man asked.
“Christopher Kane and Rory Miller.”
“All right, sir. Don’t move. We’re sending someone right to you.”
“Okay,” Christopher said, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
Rain began to fall in huge drops, splattering across the windshield. He hit the button to end the call. For a long moment, neither one of us said a word, or moved, or breathed. Then he got out of the car, walked around to my side, and squeezed in next to me. I crawled into his lap, and he shut the door and just held me. Burying my face in his chest, I breathed in the deep woolen scent of his jacket, closed my eyes, and tried to stop seeing Mr. Nell’s face. I tried to think of something else. Anything else. My mother smiling at me a few months before she died. My father taking me on my first run. My sister twirling around in a red tutu and heart-shaped sunglasses, putting on a show for the family at Thanksgiving. But the image of Mr. Nell obliterated the memories one by one. That ugly, puke-colored corduroy jacket. The chip at the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. The watery eyes. The yellow teeth. The thin, dry lips. The slick tongue. It just. Wouldn’t. Stop.
