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“Back away from me,” she yelled, pointing the knife at him. It was big, glinting dark, heavy in her hand. It looked to have a razor-sharp edge.
He backed up, staring at the knife. She edged toward the door.
God, herhead. It was pounding from the blows she’d taken, from the fall.
“Cricket,” he said, just as the rain started to fall even harder, and thunder rumbled in the distance. “Don’t go out there. She’s dangerous. Please, let’s just go.”
He held a hand out to her. His face—all the coldness she’d seen before had melted and he was the man she wanted him to be again. She wanted him to comfort her, hold her tight and tell her this was all a huge mistake.
Almost, she almost did it.
Put the knife down and left Mako and Hannah behind. She wanted to.
But what wouldHannahdo? That’s what she always asked herself when she was in a bind. This time, she didn’t have to think. Hannah would rush out after her and Mako, like she’d done a hundred times, and save them all.
When Cricket got to the door, she slid it open and stepped out into the night. The rain was coming down in sheets, soaking her. But as soon as she was outside, she turned and ran into the night.
“Hannah!” she yelled. A flash of lightning answered, followed by the wind picking up and a deafening clap of thunder.
“Hannah, where are you?”
36
Hannah
Summer 2001
Oh my god, we are in so much trouble.The whole house—her parents’ house—smelled like weed and spilled beer; someone had knocked over the bear statue that her dad had bought in Alaska and it lay on the living room floor, decapitated. He loved that thing. Hannah bit back tears as she moved through the rooms—which didn’t even seem like her home, lights dim, full of strangers.
“Everybody needs to leave,” Hannah shouted over the blaring of music, Eminem asking the real Slim Shady to please stand up. But nobody heard or paid attention if they did.
“I’m serious,” she shouted louder, sounding whiny and shrill. “I’m calling the police.”
“Chill, bitch,” someone said, and whoever heard him laughed.
Hannah looked around for who but couldn’t determine in the crowd of losers and stoners who might have spoken.
People were gathered in the foyer, many of whom she’d never seen before—where had they come from? Other high schools? A couple was making out in the downstairs powder room. The boy had his hand up her shirt; the girl was working on the boy’s fly. The boy’s neck was flushed red; the girl’s pink bra strap had slipped down her shoulder. They hadn’t even bothered to close the door. God—seriously?Hannah had never even been kissed.
Hannah pushed her way up through the kids hanging out on the stairs to find Mickey, who she was going toabsolutely kill. How could he do this?
She’d left Cricket drunk and weeping in the basement. Her friend had watched Mickey kissing another girl, when he and Cricket had just broken up days earlier.
How could he do this to me?
So there wasthatdrama to deal with. And somehow, when the plan was to have “a few friends over,” now the house was full of high schoolers drinking from kegs in the backyard. There was a gathering of punk wannabes sitting on her mother’s dining room table, cheerleader and jock types making themselves at home on the sectional. Oh my god. How are we going to clean this place up? Hannah felt sick. She would not cry. She would fix this, another Mickey mess.
Upstairs it was quieter, the hallway lights out. She heard voices from behind closed doors, but luckily her bedroom was empty. She reached inside and pressed the little button lock, then pulled it closed. She’d worry about how to open it later. In the meantime at least no one would be getting it on in her virginal bedroom.
She pushed into her brother’s room to find a group of people sitting on his bed, in his bean bag chair, playing video games.
“Get out,” she said flatly. “The police are coming.”
“Oh, shit,” said one kid who she recognized from school. He was tall with a large nose, floppy hair. The rest she’d seen around, as well, in the hallways, in the cafeteria—the spotty redhead graduated last year and now worked at the local convenience store. The one with the shaved head was on the remedial track in her grade. The other two were strangers—both slovenly and looking like they were up to no good with heavy brows and ripped jeans.
“I think I hear the sirens,” she said, cupping a hand to ear.
They all cut and run. She heard them thundering down the stairs, yelling about the cops. It sounded like that got people moving—voices raised, doors opened and closed. She heard more voices out on the lawn and went to the window to see a line of people moving out the front door. Car engines started up.
