Part 33 (1/2)

”Get the drugs and go to the police.” Adam holds my gaze. ”You can do this.”

Distantly, I hear a sc.r.a.ping squeak. The cafeteria door squealing open. Daniel's inside.

”Okay, I need you to hit me and run,” Adam says.

My head feels loose and fuzzy, like static is buzzing through my brain ”No! We can't just leave you.”

”Yes, you can. Use the back door in the library then cut away from the school. Now, hit me.”

I shake my head. ”Adam-”

I see something flying by my face and then I hear the sickening smack of flesh against flesh. Adam's jaw whips back, and I cry out as I see blood bloom on his lip. Maggie pulls her fist into her open hand, rubbing her knuckles as red blotches rise on her cheeks.

”Maggie!” I cry.

”Good hit,” Adam says.

I hear footsteps in a nearby hall. The sound sends ice up my spine. I turn to Adam, feeling my heart spiraling into my throat. I don't want to go. I don't want to leave him.

He reaches for me, his fingers warm against my cheek. ”Be safe,” he says softly. And then he slaps his open hand against a locker. The cras.h.i.+ng makes me jump. ”Stop, you little b.i.t.c.h!”

We race back down the hallway, hearing the distant mutter of footsteps and then male voices in the front of the cafeteria. We cut across the back instead, pa.s.sing the stairs where we eat lunch, and then the school office. We file into the library, wide-eyed and panting.

It's darker than dark in here. The smell of aging books and new highlighters tickles my nose.

Mags volunteers in the library, so she knows it like the back of her hand, thank G.o.d. She slides along the south wall, and I follow her, spotting the muted red glow of the emergency exit at the end of a narrow row of shelves.

The door is old and wooden, a relic of a school with a limited remodeling budget. I twist the k.n.o.b and push hard. Nothing. I twist again, grunting with the effort.

Maggie's hand clamps like a vise into my shoulder. I'm about to yelp when I hear footsteps thundering toward the library.

I freeze in place, afraid to release the handle. Afraid to breathe.

”They're probably at the front by now.” It's Adam. I'm sure of it.

”You'd better be right, Reed.”

The footsteps move past, and the grip on my shoulder loosens. I take a single shuddering breath, and Maggie presses her hands to the door as well. Our eyes meet and we share a slow nod.

I lift up my fingers one at a time. One, two, three. We slam into it together, and the door flings loose.

We're out.

We fly into the parking lot in a full sprint. My feet slide on the asphalt, but it's Maggie's gasp that stops me in my tracks.

”What is-” I cut myself off because I see what it is. A black Mustang, engine purring and headlights on. Blake.

I keep my eyes locked on the car, on the dark square of gla.s.s that hides Blake's face from me. My hand searches blindly for Maggie until I find her coat sleeve and pull.

”Run,” I say.

”Where?” Maggie asks, her voice shrill. She's got a point. High fences and thick brush surrounds the high school lawn. From this side, the only way out is the driveway, which means moving straight into the parking lot. We either take our chances of dodging Daniel again in the school-or we run for it.

”We have to book it,” I say.

Maggie follows me as I half run, half slide into the slick, white lot. Running isn't going to be possible. Ice-skating would be closer to the truth.

I don't look up, but I hear Blake's door open and his feet hitting the ground. ”Chloe, stop! n.o.body's going to hurt you.”

I just move faster, ignoring the way my feet slip and the way the cold air burns my lungs. We can do this. We have to do this.

Blake is closing in behind us. The sound of his footsteps sends me rus.h.i.+ng faster, but every step is a chance to fall. And we can't afford to fall. I hear a scuffling and turn to see Blake in an awkward stance, his arms stretched wide for balance. I square my shoulders. We've got the edge for now.

And that's when Maggie goes down, hitting the ground knees-first with a cry. I pull her up and look at the road beyond the school. We're close now. The street and sidewalks are clearer, probably thanks to the last dusting from the salt trucks.

”C'mon,” I say. We head for the road and hear a desperate scrabble of boots on ice. I glance back to see Blake on the ground now, swearing.

I don't look back again. Not when I hear him limp his way back to the car. Not even when I hear the crunch of his tires on the fresh snow. He's coming for us.

”Chloe?” Maggie's voice is small.

All I can do is nod. The sidewalks are better, so we pick up speed. But Blake is right beside us, that big engine growling as he keeps pace with our jogging. I don't know why he doesn't stop. I guess he doesn't need to bother. It's not like we can outrun him.

Not on the street anyway.

Nudging Maggie, I veer into a yard, cutting toward the narrow s.p.a.ce between two of the houses near us.

I hear the whirring of a window rolling down and then Blake's voice.

”Don't be stupid, Chloe. My dad called. Just show me where it is and nothing bad happens.”

I ignore him and my burning lungs. We climb a chain-link fence and move diagonally across a snowy backyard. Blake speeds up, no doubt trying to cut us off. We switch directions halfway through the yard and cut through to Beech instead of Maple.

Not that it matters. This isn't Manhattan. He can loop all the streets in town until he finds us. We're like rats running in a maze.

Maggie stays close as we head back to the road, trying to stick to the shadows. It's six blocks to her house, and my boots are soaked through. I can hear Maggie's teeth chattering. How the h.e.l.l are we going to get there without him seeing us?

”W-w-why is he staying in the car?” she asks.

”Because he knows he has a better chance of keeping an eye on us.”

”So he's just waiting t-to tire us out?”

”He doesn't need to catch us, Mags. He just wants to know where I'm going. Let's cross here.”

We move quickly and quietly across the street, eyes darting in both directions, but there is nothing. No headlights, no rumbling engines. The quiet is almost enough to convince me that I've lost him. We're in and out of a half dozen lawns, zigging and zagging through the growing blanket of snow.

Sometimes, I hear a car that sounds like his. But it's not. We're getting lucky. At Main Street, we finally stop. Maggie braces her hands on her knees while I wipe sweat from my brow.