Stifling, hot, and dark, that was the world. I didn’t know where I was or what was happening. Chance’s knees dug into my spine. Something like a rivet was gouging the top of my head. Whatever the bastard’s name was, he’d wound enough duct tape around my arms and legs to immobilize someone twice as large. The tape was on my face, too. I was seriously fucking afraid, and Chance was no better off. He was sucking hard through his nose, trying to find enough air.
Three hours in the trunk?
Five?
At some point, time had simply stopped. I didn’t blame Chance for crying. I remembered a jet of blood, hot and quick, from some big man’s neck.
I could still smell it.
Why were we still alive?
That was the first question, and as questions went, it was pretty fucked up. I’d driven it around the block once or twice. It had something to do with Jason. That’s all I could figure.
Why the trunk?
What were we waiting for?
I took those questions for a longer spin, but came up just as empty. I was in the dark, and cooking alive.
Hot air in.
Hot air out.
Nothing changed until the phone rang.
When Becky Collins woke that morning, she took particular care of her appearance: the low-rise jeans that flared just right, the white vinyl belt and the daisy-print top, a little makeup, but not too much. She wore the round sunglasses with purple lenses, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Most of the clothes were secondhand, but they fit right, and made her feel right. Even Dana White sensed the change. “Damn, girl. What’s gotten into you?” She was leaning against a brick wall, smoking a cigarette ten minutes before first bell. “Go on, girl. Swing those hips.”
Becky couldn’t hide the blush, but didn’t mind it, either. Life was different. She’d crossed over. “Give me one of those, yeah?” The cigarette gave her time to settle her thoughts: the shakeout and the light, the first, deep drag. She leaned against the same yellow brick, pushed out the same smoke, and shared the only thought that made this day different. “I’m looking for Gibby. Have you seen him?”
“It’s 7:50 in the morning. Why would you want to see any boy at such an unholy hour?”
Becky tried to play it cool, but her lips twisted in a way that most young women would recognize. She didn’t mean it to happen, but it did. And when it did, Dana came off the wall, her eyes widening into a knowing, almost suspicious look.
“Is that why you’re so smoking hot today? Because of Gibby French?” Dana said it jokingly, but gawped as the blush in Becky’s face spread like wildfire down her neck. “Wait. Is that it?” She looked Becky up and down, nothing almost about her suspicions. A wry smile twisted her face. “Did he get to second base?” One eyebrow went up, teasing her. “Third base?”
Becky turned away, dropping the cigarette at the same time, and grinding it beneath a boot.
“Oh my God.” Dana was so excited, she was almost dancing. “You went all the way! Look at your face. You totally slept with Gibby! The most notorious virgins in the school…”
“Come on, Dana. Stop it.” Becky played firm, but wasn’t really angry. She was too warm on the inside; too satisfied with the way her life had changed.
“I’m not going to stop anything. Are you kidding? Good God, girl. You’ve been talking about him since when?”
“First week of sophomore year.”
“And you really…?”
Becky had too much self-respect to share details, but she did slide the purple shades down her nose, and let Dana get a good look at her eyes.
“Oh my.” A wicked grin spread on Dana’s face. “So he was … um? I mean, was he pretty, um…? Come on, you know what I mean.”
Becky allowed herself the first real smile, teasing her friend in return. “I’m not at all sure that I do.”
“Now, Becky Collins. Don’t tease a girl.”
“Let me put it this way.” Becky put a finger on her lips, as if in deep thought. “If he asked me out again, I would say yes.”
“Oh my God…”
“An immediate, eager, and most definite yes.”
Dana had lost her virginity in ninth grade, so it took time for Becky to settle her down, and peel away into the morning crowd. Gibby was not in precalculus; she couldn’t find him in the courtyard or the halls. By third period, Becky decided he wasn’t in school at all. No one had seen Chance, either.
Becky used a pay phone to call his house. No answer, but that was nothing new. At lunchtime, she went looking for Dana, and found her leaning against the same wall, her earlier enthusiasms melted away, as if by the heat. Her eyes were half-closed, one foot braced against the brick. “School sucks this close to summer.”
That was all the opportunity Becky needed. “Do you feel like ditching?”
“Yes. Please. God.”
They waited until the end-of-lunch bell spilled a thousand students into the hallways, then used the confusion to slip away, across the baseball diamond and into student parking. Squatting by the car, Dana fumbled with her keys as Becky craned her neck to see if they’d been spotted or followed. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Keep your skirt on, woman.” Dana found the right key, and unlocked the driver’s door, climbing in to unlock the other side. “God, this heat.” She started the car when Becky got in. “We’re clear?”
“Right as the rain.”
“Then we are out.” She didn’t bother with reverse, but thumped over the curb and onto the street, saying, “Yes! Thank you, Becky Collins!”
“Ah, it was nothing.”
“Where are we going?”
“Gibby’s house.”
“Wait. That’s why we’re doing this?”
“He wouldn’t ditch without a reason.”
“Seriously?” Dana shook her head, half-smiling. “He’s cute and all, but I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that boy.”
“Stop. I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” Dana grinned around the cigarette pinched between her perfect teeth, hair whipping out as she drove faster. “Sometimes a cowgirl needs a pony.”
The rest of the drive went like that: Dana amused, and Becky tied into knots of worry. Gibby’s car was not in the driveway when they got to his house, so Becky rang the doorbell. When no one came, she rang five more times.
“He’s not home!” Dana yelled. “Let’s go already!”
Becky got back in the car, and belted herself in. “Let’s go to Chance’s house.”
“I hate that side of town.”
“Just drive the car, Dana. Please.”
They found Gibby’s car in Chance’s driveway, top down and glinting in the sun.
No response to the doorbell.
Dead silence in the house.
Dana made a shooing motion, and said, “Go on in!” But Becky was thinking of Tyra and Sara. Dark house. Dead quiet. Dana stuck her head through the car window, shouting, “Go on, cowgirl! Ride that pony!”
Becky put a finger against her lips.
“Put a brand on that pony!”
Dana could get in these moods, and Becky knew from hard experience that the best way to shut her up was to take away the target. So she opened the door, and stepped inside, half-blind.
“Hello? Anyone?”
Becky couldn’t explain the fear she felt, but it grew by the second, a serious, no-bullshit kind of fear. Gibby should have been in school. His car was here.
And what was that smell?
Every curtain was drawn, and that felt wrong on such a sunny day, the kind of wrong that made Becky think of outside and people and fast fucking cars. Instead, she went to the living room, which was darkest. Something shapeless was on the floor. In the gloom, it could be a pile of laundry, but Becky knew better. She thought she saw a leg, that maybe those were fingers.
Don’t do it, she thought.
But her fingers found the switch on the wall.
When the light exploded, she wanted to run—God, did she want to run! But those were fingers. And that was a leg. So Becky screamed. She screamed so loud and long that Dana tumbled from the car, and burst into the house, following the sound of those screams. She came at a dead run—a fine damn friend—and that’s how she tripped on the body, and fell facedown on top of it. Ride that pony, Becky thought, but it was a mad thought, and a wild one, a where-the-hell-is-my-boyfriend thought.