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My annoyance with him seems to float away, and suddenly Delilah’s signing doesn’t seem as terrifying. Thank you, Henry.
Delilah. I check my phone again—ten more minutes until I have to leave.
Indistinct chatter fills the exhibit as another group of people enters.
“What do you think you’ll do if you win?” someone says, not whispering the way we’re supposed to.
“Five grand is enough for a used car, and I’m so sick of the bus,” another voice says. “I know Savannah said killing them was more important, but damn if I don’t want that money.”
As slowly as I can, I turn around, and though I can’t see the expression on Neil’s face, I swear I can feel him tense next to me.
“Trang was camped out here all afternoon and didn’t see them. They have to be headed here soon.”
“I thought he’d be easier to spot, with the red hair.”
“Apparently not. Did Savannah mention who had Rowan?”
“Nope. Must not be someone in the group.”
We crouch down, and Neil leans in so he can say directly into my ear, “We’ll stay here until they leave?” His breath is hot on my skin.
I swallow hard. “Okay,” I whisper back.
This close to Neil, I can feel his body heat, smell what must have been the soap he used this morning, or maybe his deodorant. It must be the edible taking over my brain, warping this experience.
Savannah’s emissaries continue making their way through the exhibit, stopping every so often to take a closer look at something. I try my best to keep my breathing under control, aware that at any moment, they could find and kill Neil.
And then I don’t know what I’d be playing for.
Without access to my phone, I can’t tell how much time has passed. Two minutes? Ten? I have to get out of here, have to see Delilah, but the more pressing issue is this: we’ve been crouching for far longer than crouching is reasonably comfortable, and my muscles are not happy with me.
I stretch forward until I’m pretty sure my mouth is right up against his ear.
“I don’t know if I can keep balancing,” I whisper. I’m so close that my nose grazes—the side of his face? The shell of his ear? I’m not entirely sure.
He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay. As slowly as you can, come forward onto your knees,” he says, “and then slide your legs to the side.”
“Could you, um—”
“Help you?”
I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Please,” I whisper.
A warm hand lands on my shoulder, steadying me, and slowly, slowly, I maneuver into a more comfortable position. He’s stronger, more solid than I ever expected him to be. Definitely no longer a twig in a T-shirt.
“Good?” he asks once I’m settled.
I try to exhale. “Mm-hmm,” I mumble. His hand leaves my shoulder.
We are extremely close, and that fact plus the drug plus the fear of being caught combine to send a unique kind of panic through me.
“I don’t think there’s anyone else here,” one of the seniors finally says. “Let’s go. Savannah can be an asshole, anyway. I want to win this for myself.”
I wait a little longer than is probably necessary to make sure they’re not only gone but far enough away from the exhibit not to notice us when we leave. Then I get to my feet, eager to stretch my legs.
“I think we’re safe,” I tell him, and when I don’t get a response, I interpret it as tacit agreement.
By the time I make it outside, the sky has turned a dusky blue, and the clouds are heavier than they’ve been all day. It’s beautiful, really, and I can’t help staring up at it for a while, waiting for my eyes to readjust to the light. Ah, yes, there’s the mellow Henry was talking about.
