Page 21 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

I wish I could be like Kaitlyn. There was only one question that seemed to actually dig at her, but she hid her reaction before anyone else could see. Just a flash in her eyes that was gone before even Javi saw.

Avery’s so much easier to read. Her lies light up her entire face, turning her cheeks and freckles red. I wonder, what’s she saying to Caulder now? Are they actually going to kiss? Emerson’s gaze hasn’t left the hallway, as if he could see through the doors at the end of it if he looks hard enough.

I shift in my seat. I need to get up and move around. I’ve been sitting still for too long. The rain is a steady drumbeat, a constant reminder of the storm outside. Of just how long this night is going to be.

“I’ve got an idea,” Emerson says, drawing my attention back to him. What’s next?

The others answer him. Whispers slip through and around me, like I’m in the bottom of a pool watching everything drift past.

When no one’s looking, Lucas takes my hand. I glance at him, finding his eyes on mine, a slash of lightning through the window illuminating the shadow of his jaw. He’s smiling, and I might be floating as he whispers to me.

“You okay? I’m so sorry he said that before. He’s such an asshole.”

His palm is warm in mine, but I shiver anyway. A singular truth hits me, a hope that burns almost as cleanly through me as Lucas’s touch.

After all, Caulder and Avery have seven minutes.

But so do we.

Chapter 12

Avery

October 17

12:36 a.m.

The storm outside seems louder somehow now that Caulder and I are alone. Rain batters the roof and slashes against the one window. I walk over to it, hoping for some fresh night air, but it’s locked. I look back, taking in the room. There’re bookshelves lining most of the walls, the smell of old paper in the air, an enormous red rug woven with intricate designs at the center, and a large, ornate chair in the corner. If this were any other time, I could grab a book and settle in, listen to the rain. I might even get some peace for the first time after this disastrous week.

But obviously, that’s not why we’re here.

“You don’t have to kiss me,” Caulder says.

“I know that,” I say, unable to hold back the bite in my voice. But didn’t he make it perfectly clear out there that he didn’t want to kiss me?

As if that would be so awful. As if we haven’t—

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell him to shut up sooner.”

I blink, surprised by the apology, but more than that, surprised by the anger in Caulder’s voice. He’s sitting on the heavy desk on the opposite side of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, head bowed so that his light brown hair falls in front of his face, hiding his eyes.

“Oh,” I say. “I could’ve told him to shut up. You don’t have to do that. And besides, it’s Emerson. That’s just…who he is.”

Caulder snorts. “Sure. But I still should’ve stopped him, and I’m sorry. You don’t owe him anything.”

I flush. “I know.”

“I know you know,” Caulder says, exasperated. “I just—”

“Why’d you lie?”

Even though the chances of being overheard are slim, I keep my voice down. I know what Emerson was hoping for when he locked us in here together. He stirred the pot, and now he wants to watch it boil over. But he doesn’t know—none of them know—everything that happened at the debate competition. They don’t know what really happened last night.

Caulder does, though. I see it in how he shifts away from my question.

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it,” I say. “But—”

“It wasn’t a lie,” he says.