Part 19 (1/2)

He looked at me. ”Because you were dancing with Jack. And I know how that's going to end.”

”How do you think it will end?” I said quietly.

He frowned. ”You know how. Anyone can see this. When it comes to you and Jack, there is no happy ending. To expect otherwise is delusional.”

He closed his eyes again, and I thought about leaving him here, but one of the chaperones came over to see if Cole needed medical attention.

”No, I'm pretty sure he's fine,” I said.

Cole nodded in agreement.

The chaperone, one of the gym teachers, whose name I didn't know, asked, ”You'll make sure he gets home okay?”

I took a deep breath and looked at Cole. He was the cause of all my pain. But maybe that wasn't exactly true.

Despite all the other factors that had contributed to my fate, in the end it was my decision that destroyed my life. And all the hurt I was enduring now was my doing.

The blame rested solely with me.

”Yes, I'll make sure.”

When I dropped him off at his condo, I reminded him of the deal we'd made-that he would never come to my house again.

He said he'd keep his word.

As I drove home, I thought about what had happened, and came up with two conclusions. First, Cole was clearly trying to convince me he had feelings for me. Whether or not it was true, I didn't know. But it was vital to him that I believe it.

Second, even in total exhaustion, Cole was telling me to stay away from Jack. He'd caused the disaster at the dance just because I was dancing with Jack. But why?

Why was Cole so freaked out about me being close to Jack? Did he really think Jack could ever fall for me again? And so what if he did? That wouldn't change my fate. I'd still be stuck in the Tunnels. It would just make it harder for me. Not Cole. If it were anyone else, I'd say he was jealous. But that would mean Cole had real feelings for me, and that was impossible.

I didn't know how to find out the truth to conclusion number one, but I had a plan for the second, and that was to do the one thing Cole feared the most.

I parked the car in my driveway, went inside, said a quick good night to my dad so he wouldn't be worried, and then sneaked out through my bedroom window.

I'd go to Jack. Maybe I wouldn't tell him everything, but I'd tell him enough for him to understand what was going on. It would be a gamble, and it might drive Jack further away, but I had to take the chance so I could incite a reaction out of Cole by doing the one thing he'd never expect.

EIGHTEEN.

NOW.

Walking. Two months, one week left.

The freezing-cold air didn't make a dent in my resolve-my anxiety over what I was about to do was enough to keep me warm through and through. Jack's house was only a few blocks away. The white picket fence at the Boltons' house marked the exact middle point between our houses. We knew because we'd measured the distance one time when I was about eleven years old. We both left our houses at the same time, and walked until we met up.

I ran my fingertips along the fence as I pa.s.sed the halfway point. Jack always said it wasn't perfectly halfway. He claimed he walked faster, and so it was a longer distance from the Bolton home to the Caputos'.

But when I reached Jack's house, it felt like no time had pa.s.sed at all. Jack's house, like most of the homes in our development, had a similar floor plan to mine-three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the main floor. Jack had the room on the corner, facing the street. I hoped he hadn't changed it since I'd left.

I tiptoed through the bushes and put my hand up to the gla.s.s as I peeked in. I caught just a glimpse before my breath fogged the view, but that was all I needed. Jack's backpack was hanging on the doork.n.o.b of the closet.

He was in bed, asleep. For a moment, I thought about turning back, but I didn't.

I held my breath as I tugged on the window. It gave. Jack had one of those older windows that opened outward like a door. The latch had been broken for years.

I slipped through. Jack s.h.i.+fted in his bed in the corner of the room, but he didn't wake. I watched him sleeping for a minute. I focused on his breathing. The air leaving his body. The soft fluttering of his eyelids as he dreamed. His legs jerked a couple of times.

Running. I was pretty sure he was dreaming of running. Escaping something. The panic rolled off his skin in waves. I could taste it.

Maybe I was just imagining his fear. Maybe I needed it to give me the okay to wake him. I stayed as far away from his bed as his small room allowed. If he didn't move when I said his name once, I'd leave.

”Jack,” I whispered.

He stirred and then rolled over, shaking off the sleep.

”Jack.” This time he shot into a sitting position, his hands flying to the nightstand where he kept his gla.s.ses. He didn't turn the light on.

”Becks?” he said. ”That you?”

”Yeah.”

”I'm dreaming.”

I couldn't help but smile. ”No.”

For a person who'd just discovered an intruder, Jack didn't seem as surprised as he should have been.

He tilted his head. ”I used to dream of you like this. After you disappeared, it was like you came to my room every night...” His voice faded as he lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. ”Stupid,” he muttered, so quietly I couldn't be sure he'd said it. Then he reached over to his nightstand again and turned the clock to get a glance. ”Two thirty,” he said.

”Yeah.”

”You okay?”

”Yeah.”

We were quiet for a few moments after that. He didn't ask what I was doing there. He didn't look upset. He just waited.

If I was going to tell him anything, it would be in this room. But now that I was here, I had no idea where to start. How to begin.

I glanced around the room I used to know so well. I recognized his clutter. The picture on top of his dresser of Jack as a ten-year-old, standing next to his grandpa. Behind them, a ranch house. His grandpa had been one of the last of the old-West cowboys, a relic of the history of our town.

Next to the picture was a painted rock from a grade-school art project. Jack had a real problem with throwing things away. Next to the rock sat a folded picture that looked like it had been crumpled up and refolded several times.

I pointed at it. ”Is that-”

”Your picture,” he finished for me. ”I showed it around when I used to look for you.”