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“Those bastards tried to kill me!” I shriek, half hyperventilating as I stare down at the mangled mess below.
Coach Granger pulls me in tight and drags me away. He shuffles me into the passenger seat of his car. Once I’m sitting inside, I become aware of the pain shooting through my head and limbs all over again. My fingers touch lightly against the wet ache on my forehead, and when I pull them back, I see they’re bloody.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” he says as he watches me with concern.
“I’m fine,” I heave in disbelief.
“Doesn’t hurt to get checked out,” he insists. “That’s a pretty nasty gash. You could need stitches. Anyway, you don’t want some hidden injury popping up next time you start running laps.”
I laugh lightly at Coach’s focused concern on my ability to run track, even after my near-death experience. But he’s right. As much as I’d love to pretend none of that just happened, I need to see a doctor. And beyond that, my car is gone. Completely crushed and mangled. Which is just what I need as I near the end of my senior year.
Coach drives me to the hospital for a check-up, where they determine I don’t need stitches. But they do give me a prescription of muscle relaxers from the aches and pains, which I can expect to be worse tomorrow. I’m waiting to be officially dismissed when two police officers walk into my room. Jameson police are terrifying to me. They’re corrupt and with all the changes in the structure of the Elites lately, it’s impossible to know whose side they’re on.
“Ophelia Lopez?” one of the officers questions as Coach takes a cross-armed stance in the corner. He knows all too well about the corruption of local police and is just as skeptical as I am. “We’re sorry to hear about what happened to you today. Mr. Granger filled us in, but we’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Okay,” I answer blankly.
He nods and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from his coat pocket. “He told us you suspected someone tampered with your car before driving it. Can you tell us what made you think that?”
“Ha!” I laugh out accidentally. “I didn’t just suspect it. It was obvious. They spray painted it, keyed it, and shredded the seats! I thought I could get it home to be fixed, but when I started driving…the brakes wouldn’t work. Then the seat belt was jammed.”
“Was it an older car?” he asks suggestively.
I have to fight back a spark of rage before answering. “What does that have to do with it? You’re saying it was just a coincidence that it was vandalized right before I discovered the brakes weren’t working?”
He shifts his feet, looking slightly offended by my tone. “Well, if you’re so certain someone tampered with the brakes, who do you think might have done such a thing? Has anyone threatened you in any way? Someone at school maybe?”
Once again, I can’t contain my laughter as I consider all the ways in which the Elites have threatened me since my first day at this school. I try to keep it together. My laughter trails off into suppressed snickering as I cut my eyes over to Coach Granger, unsure how honest I should be. He nods his head in encouragement, pushing me to tell them more.
“Malcolm Henderson,” I blurt finally. “It’s a long story, but I know he hates me. Him and the whole clique he runs in.” I try to avoid using the term Elites. If these officers aren’t already bought by the new leaders of the circle, the phrase alone will scare them off from actually doing anything about this.
“Malcolm Henderson?” he echoes in surprise. “Didn’t he and Liam Henderson just take over Jameson Automobiles?”
“From my boyfriend, Emmett Jameson. Yes. He’s the one who rightfully inherited it,” I shoot back firmly.
I see the wheels turning in the officer’s eyes. He perks up and tries to pin down what question to ask next. But just as his lips part, the officer behind him whispers something in his ear. They mutter things back and forth for a moment, and finally I see his pen click shut before he puts it back into his pocket along with the notepad.
“Thank you for your time, Ophelia,” he announces suddenly. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
I’m not surprised, but the blatant calculation of it all enrages me. They’re obviously trying to get a handle on who’s off-limits around here now, rather than pursuing all crimes and criminals equally.
“That’s it?” I huff. “Will there be any consequences for Malcolm over this?”
I notice Coach Granger’s eyes darken. I should know the answer to that. We had DNA evidence that Malcolm maliciously planted heroin into the hands of his recovering addict son and nothing happened to him. He’s definitely not going down for this.
“We’ll look into it,” the cop assures me half-heartedly, already halfway out the door.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I grumble sarcastically, thinking he won’t even hear it. But he stops abruptly in the doorway and whips back around, looking angry.
“Look, Ms. Lopez,” he snaps. “I understand this was very scary for you. But the fact is we have no way of proving who vandalized your car or if they were also the reason the brakes malfunctioned. There’s a big difference between vandalism and attempted murder, and we can’t make that leap with no evidence. Your car is at the bottom of a valley, completely crushed. I just don’t think we’re going to get the result you’re hoping for out of this.”
I’m quiet as I process everything. I know part of what he’s saying is true, but I also know it all comes down to how hard they’re willing to try. And with Malcolm being the accused culprit, we all know they’re simply not going to try that hard.
“Thank you,” I finally mutter, knowing it’s useless to argue with them. With that, he finally turns and walks away without another word. Once they’re gone, I turn back to Coach. “This is bullshit. You know Malcolm and the Elites were behind this.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he offers, his eyes still haunted by the memory of what Malcolm has put him through.
“Ophelia! Oh my god!” my mom’s voice cries out from the doorway.
