Slow Burn Part 23

I shrug and smile, but Tanya doesn't return it. She's staring at me now, the serious expression in her dark eyes pinning me to the spot.

"Juliet, no offense-you're really cute and all-but Johnny's legend. If you want to keep him, you really should make some kind of effort to get involved, you know? Like Dani, she's head cheerleader, right, and she's always cheering him on at games-and she's super popular. Not to mention, she's gorgeous!"

"What's your point?" I growl.

"My point is you need to go to this dance!"

She says this so loud, heads turn in our direction-and even Mrs. Sepulveda sways a little, as if caught in a breeze. Tanya claps a hand over her mouth and giggles sheepishly, but remains facing me, d.a.m.n it.

She's right. I should have been more supportive when Johnny and I were together. I should have made the time to go to more of his games and hang out with his friends. He was always blowing off parties to visit me at work, or at my dad's. Yeah, I changed schools for him, but...was it really for him? I know I b.i.t.c.h a lot about Leclare, but there is a great deal of prestige a.s.sociated with attending this school. And I'll admit, whenever I'm wearing this uniform, I feel like I'm part of an exclusive club. I like b.u.mping into my former cla.s.smate (or losers, as I now like to call them) when I'm wearing it, and seeing the jealous looks cross their faces at my elevated social standing. Thank goodness I'm not rich-I would be such an a.s.shole. I'd tell so many people to suck it.

No, I'm joking. No one is jealous of me in this uniform. I don't even know why I said that.

I'm on my way to the pep rally with Sara and her friends when I get a text from Johnny. He says he needs to talk to me right away, and can I meet him downstairs in room 105A. I frown and immediately text back, "What? Why?" I wait for a reply, but I don't get one. I mutter an excuse to Sara, and reverse direction, heading for the stairs on the west side of the building. 105A?

What could be so important that I have to meet him right now? Isn't he's suppose to be in the gym right now? I hope everything's okay. This better not be about Laundry Room Girl-Dani.

Heart beating in a nervous rhythm, I locate room 105-but there's no 105A. Unless it's the unmarked room right next to it. Only one way to find out, I guess. I twist the doork.n.o.b, and finding no resistance, I pull the door open.

It's dark inside, but I can make out shelves full of boxes. Is this some kind of storage room? "Johnny?" I call, feeling along the wall for a light switch.

I'm just now wondering why Johnny would be standing in the dark in a storage closet when the door closes behind me. I hear the soft snicking sound of the lock sliding into place at the same time I hear the strange hissing noises, and notice the smell.

It smells like...smoke...fireworks?

My flailing hand finally locates the light switch. I quickly flick it on, and-s.h.i.t! I'm greeted by the terrifying sight of white gray smoke billowing out at me, quickly enveloping the room in a thick fog. My first thought is: the arsonist! The second is: I'm gonna die! I immediately whirl around and yank on the doork.n.o.b. Locked! I start pounding and shouting for help, then start choking and coughing when the smoke fills my lungs.

Getting low on the ground doesn't really help, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die in here. Somewhere in the whirling chaos of my brain, I realize that the smoke is weird, not like a fire. Smoke bombs, maybe? The burning in my throat and lungs remind me that I can just as easily suffocate as burn.

I've got to get out of here! Tears streaming from my stinging eyes, I fumble for my phone. I can't see anything! Desperately, I start pushing b.u.t.tons. Panic has me in a chokehold, threatening to overwhelm me. G.o.d d.a.m.n it, someone pick up!

I mentally scream at myself to focus, but-G.o.d-I can't breathe! Distantly, I hear a male voice shouting my name from the phone. I'm so disoriented and freaked out, I don't recognize who it is. Nick-I think. I scream out my location, hoping he can understand me. My voice is so ragged and clogged with smoke. I struggle out of my blazer and lie with my face smashed into it.

My life doesn't flash before my eyes, or anything like that. How long has it been? A couple of minutes-or longer? How long do smoke bombs burn for? If that's what this is. What if it's something else? Something electrical. I should've called 911. Who did I call? What if it was my favorite takeout place, Wonton China? G.o.d, I'm no good in an emergency situation. Maybe they'll engrave that on my headstone. Juliet Somers-No Good in an Emergency.

I should have tried harder to get that door open. I think about moving when I'm suddenly lifted into the air. Strong arms carry me out of the room. Someone's shouting my name, but I'm too busy hacking up a lung to see who it is.

Concerned faces hover above, excited voices jumbling together in a confusing cacophony of sound. I can't stop coughing-and my eyes feel like they're going to explode from the pressure. I try to suck in some air,. but my constricted and swollen throat won't let me-sweet pickles, it hurts!

Shortly after, the paramedics arrive. They strap me to some oxygen and load me up in the ambulance. My first ambulance ride. The siren doesn't sound so loud from the inside, not nearly loud enough to drown out the conversation between the male and female EMTs about someone named Lillian's amazing sopapilla recipe. Normally, I'd be eavesdropping, but now I want them to shut up and take care of me.

By the time we arrive at the hospital, I'm able to catch my breath, despite the small spasms in my chest. A cheerful pudgy nurse takes my vitals and hooks me up to a couple of monitors. She had such a calm nurturing way about her that I immediately started tearing up when she fusses over me.

"You'll be just fine, honey," she says, patting me on the arm while keeping her eyes on the monitors. "Your sat is good, and everything else looks good, too. The doctor will be by to see you very soon. He might want to run some tests-maybe do an x-ray, and keep you here a few hours for observation."

"My mom's a nurse here," I say hoa.r.s.ely. "Erica Somers-she usually works the night shift, but she picked up a mid today. Can you tell her I'm here?"

"Yes, I know Erica. I believe she's a.s.sisting in surgery right now, but she'll be out shortly. Don't worry-someone will inform her right away."

I want my mom. I want to go home, and take a shower. I start to reach for my phone, but then I realize I have absolutely no idea where it is. I can't be without my phone-it's like having my left hand cut off.

An indeterminate amount of time goes by, and still no doctor. Two cops, however, show up. They ask me a ton of questions, and inform me that they recovered five non-toxic smoke bombs from the scene. When they ask me what I was doing in that room, I tell them that I was walking by on my way to Government cla.s.s to retrieve the textbook I had left there. I heard a funny sound and smelled something burning, so I got curious and went in the room to investigate. I tell them the door somehow locked behind me, and they exchange glances. What, do they think I'm lying? Suddenly, I'm paranoid, and I get all shifty when they question me further. Great, they're gonna think I did it myself, for attention or something.

But I can't tell them about the text from Johnny. Not until I talk to him first.

The doctor shows up before Mom does. He's a short dark man who mutters so incomprehensibly that I give up trying to understand him, and just nod along. He seems competent enough, even though he never looks up from his iPad thingy. After two minutes, he either sneezes, or tells me he'll see me in a bit. He shambles out without a second glance.

It's almost three when Mom finally appears, wearing light pink scrubs and a harried, tired expression. She's got Aunt Jo with her, which makes me want to growl like a rabid dog. How am I suppose to scream to my mommy and have a mental breakdown with my princ.i.p.al as a witness?

Mom looks me over with a relieved sigh. "You're okay," she says.

"Are you asking me, or telling me?" I say, real snotty-like. In my opinion, she doesn't look nearly as worried as she should be-considering the fact that I almost died today!

Mom rolls her eyes, then glances at Aunt Jo, mentally saying, "Teenagers!" Aunt Jo gives her a look back which I interpret as, "I hate 'em all!"

"I'm telling you, Miss Thing. I spoke to Bob-your doctor-before I came to see you." Mom only gives me half her attention as she fiddles with some b.u.t.tons on one of my monitors. "I doubt he'll order an x-ray. You don't seem to be having difficulty breathing."

"I feel a lot better," I admit, sinking back in the stupid hospital bed. "My chest hurts."

"I'm sure it does," she say sympathetically. "You should be able to go home in a couple of hours."

"Great. Will I be moved to a room?"

"No, we have a full house today, so I'm afraid you're stuck here." Mom leans against the side railing of the bed, and squints down at me. "So, was it the arsonist? Were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

I start to say that I have no idea when Aunt Jo speaks up. "Right now, we're treating this as a silly prank gone horribly wrong," she says quickly. She rubs her temples in a telltale gesture of stress. "Let's not speculate until we investigate further, alright? I would hate for the rumors to fly, and have students and parents panicking for no reason."

No reason? Dude, I could've died. How does no one get that? I'd whine, but I erupt into a fit of painful coughing. Eyes tearing, I can't help but give my mother an accusing look. Why, I don't know.

She quickly moves to hand me a plastic tumbler full of ice cold water. Meanwhile, Aunt Jo takes a couple of steps back, looking politely horrified. Mom rubs my shoulder as I take a drink, letting the cool liquid run down my swollen throat. Ow. I take a tiny sip and hold the water in my mouth for a minute. It's soothing, until it gets warm and I have nowhere to spit it out. I suddenly wish Ben was here to tell me a couple of dirty jokes and get my mind off the pain.

"I'm okay," I say in my raspy voice, even though no one asks.

I watch as a weary sigh seems to run through Aunt Jo's entire body. "I'm so glad you weren't seriously hurt, Juliet." She looks at Mom, and shakes her head. "When I first took this job, I thought the worst thing I'd have to worry about was an irate parent threatening to run me out of town if their baby doesn't graduate. But this! All that negative publicity...I can just imagine what Harry will have to say about this latest fiasco."

I feel like I should apologize. She looks so discouraged-even her tailored gray suit is drooping. Looking at her, I realize Aunt Jo has an amazing figure, and she's pretty underneath her stern expressions and thick eyebrows. I wonder if anyone's ever noticed this? Why am I noticing this? I wonder if guys, whom we all know are more visual than girls, have checked her out? Would they think she's hot? Why am I wondering about this right now? I wish someone would get me a sandwich. I probably couldn't eat it, but I could stare the h.e.l.l out of it.

Mom is talking to Aunt Jo, interrupting my mental babbling. "-do about it?"

"Well, I think CCTV is our best bet, but the students are vehemently opposed." Aunt Jo sighs. "And the parents aren't exactly thrilled about the idea, either."

"Why not?" Mom asks, perplexed. She glances over at me briefly. "Shouldn't we be comforted by the added security?"

"You have to understand how these people think, Erica. Leclare is very exclusive, the cream of the crop. Our parents pay a lot of money to ensure that. Now, exterior cameras are fine-they keep the riffraff out. But interior cameras imply that their pedigreed angels need to be watched like common criminals. And G.o.d forbid we capture proof of any wrongdoings!"

The venom in Aunt Jo's voice shocks me. I thought she was one of them, but that bitter look on her face right now tells me she only wishes she was. I make that b.i.t.c.hy jealous face all the time when I think no one's looking.

Instead of clearing her throat, and subtly reminding Aunt Jo of my presence, Mom is nodding in agreement. "I know what you mean. I would love to sneak a camera in here, and catch some of these doctors in the act," she says dreamily. "Half of them would have their licenses stripped so fast, their heads would spin."

Oh, she's about drop some juicy gossip! I don't want to call attention to myself, because she's focusing on Aunt Jo-but I really need to cough again. Wow, Mom, I haven't seen that spark in your eyes in a long time. It makes me wonder if she uses up all her liveliness and personality at work-and comes home with dead batteries. I should visit here more often. Maybe next time I could fall down some stairs, or something.

My loud cough reminds them I'm in the room and listening to everything they're saying. Aunt Jo forces a smile to her face, and comes close to pat me on the hand.

"I think it would be best if you let me handle the press, Juliet. We've got to speak carefully, or it will get blown way out proportion."

"I have no plans whatsoever to talk to the media about this," I say firmly. G.o.d, no.

"Good." She looks relieved. "I have to get going, I have several phone calls to make. Dear, I'm going to make an appointment for you to talk to Calvin, our school psychologist." She looks at Mom for approval. "He's very good at listening, and after the traumatic experience you've just been through, I think it would help a lot if you saw him."

"I don't need to..." I begin.

"That's a good idea," Mom interrupts. But she's got this look on her face, like, she thinks it's really unnecessary, and my brush with death was no big deal.

Why am I being so whiny about this? It's not like I'm a little kid, and she can sit next to my bed and sing me camp songs all day like she used to when I was sick.

Aunt Jo says her goodbyes, but stops to huddle with Mom for a moment. She puts her hand on Mom's arm, and leans in to talk so I can't make out anything. She gives her shoulder a pat after the brief conversation, then turns to go.

"Oh, Juliet." Aunt Jo stops, and turns around. "You have quite a few concerned friends waiting to see you-many of whom are football players. You might want to remind them about the big game tonight!"

I feel my eyes grow big as I look over at Mom. "They're still out there? Tell them I'm okay, and they can go. No, wait! Can Johnny visit me-just for a little while?"

Mom raises a dark eyebrow at me. "Didn't you break up with him?"

"Yeah, but...we're still friends." I quickly try to smooth my wild hair while simultaneously searching for a shiny surface to check out my reflection.

She looks amused at my quick primping session. "Alright, but just for a few minutes. You'll be getting discharged soon, anyway."

"I know. Thanks."

She leaves, and not long after, Johnny walks in. He immediately gathers me in his arms, holding me like I'm breakable china. Tears suddenly fill my eyes as I allow myself to sink into his familiar warmth. He looks so worried and hara.s.sed, I feel I should take back almost every mean thing I've ever said about him.

"You okay?" Johnny pulls back and searches my face intently, his hands on my shoulders. His jaw clenches as he looks me over. "What the h.e.l.l happened, Teeny?"

I take a deep breath, trying to push my sobs back. "I'm fine," I say in a wobbly voice. "I'll tell you what happened, but first-did you text me right before the pep rally?"

"No," he says, confusion making his brow furrow. "I didn't have my phone on me all day. I left it in my locker 'cause I didn't want to get busted by Driskell for having it on in cla.s.s again."

I nod, looking down at my hands. I didn't really think the text was from him. I look up at him, and quickly explain what happened.

Johnny's cerulean eyes seem to darken with dangerous intent. "I'll find out who did this," he promises, his voice grim.

I lean back against the pillows. "Okay, great," I say in a casual tone. "But I think I already know who it was. Kara."

He stares at me, his face blank for a second. "Kara?" he repeats incredulously.

"She hates my guts," I blurt out. "Especially after...I can totally see her doing it."

Johnny starts to chuckle. "Babe, Kara can barely open a water bottle by herself, let alone mess with smoke bombs. It wasn't her. She wouldn't do something like that, anyway."

Wow, he seriously underestimates the devious little b.i.t.c.h. I guess she puts on a good act for him. I don't want to argue the point again, so I just give a one-shouldered shrug. If I find out she set me up, I'll take care of it myself.

"Did you tell the cops about the text?" Johnny asks, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. "No one's asked to talk to me yet."

"I didn't. I didn't want anyone to accuse you of anything when I know you didn't do it," I say. "Plus, I don't want you to miss the game. Speaking of which-you'd better get out of here."

"f.u.c.k the game," Johnny says explosively. "I'm not going anywhere."

Uh-oh, he's got that stubborn immovable look on his face right now. I let out a sigh and rub my sore eyes. "I'm fine, Johnny. I'm going to be released soon, anyway."

"So I'll wait around and take you home."

I shake my head. "No, just go. My mom will take me home, then I'm going to shower, and go straight to bed."

He starts to argue, but I can be stubborn, too. Besides, I know he'd hate to let his teammates down. They take their cues from him and Dean. If Johnny stayed, then so would they. I finally convince him to go, and promise to answer his call after the game.

Right after he leaves, I remember I've lost my phone. I wonder if it's still in that storage closet, or if someone stole it by now. Not because it's such a cool phone, or anything. To the students of Leclare, the only thing of value on it would be all the hot guys' numbers I have. And the pictures. I try to think if there's something incriminating, or dirty on there-I don't think so. I hope not!

I call Heather using the hospital phone, and she shrieks so loudly, I have to move the receiver away from my ear. Her freak out gets me all worked up again, and we babble hysterically at each other for a few minutes. I'm impressed by how emotional she seems, but then I notice how she's slurring some of her words. She's drunk at almost five in the afternoon? I tell her to come see me when she's sober, then hang up on her when she belches loudly in my ear.

Depressed, I call Dad, because I'm sure Mom hasn't bothered to tell him. He immediately says he's driving down to see me, and I have to tell him not to since I'll be at home and asleep by the time he'd get here. I promise to call him when I wake up, and he a.s.sures me he'll tell Mich.e.l.le what happened. It's not like I want everyone to know, but they'd be p.i.s.sed and hurt if they found out from someone else. I know I would be.

Gah. I just wanna ball up under a hot spray of water in my shower-that's how I do my best thinking. There's no question that this was a deliberate attack on me-more than just an embarra.s.sing prank. Who has access to Johnny's locker and hates my guts?

Kara.

Johnny didn't see the look on her face the night I caught the preppy rapist guy on her. I know it's her. I just have to prove it.

Yeah, how?

Chapter 22.

It's Sat.u.r.day, and I feel much better. My chest and throat hurt a little, but not bad enough that I can't eat the homemade brownies Heather brought over last night. Mrs. Jones is an excellent baker, by the way-Heather should so be fat. Johnny calls from his phone, which was still in his locker-though our texts have been mysteriously erased. He and Dean come over after the game-even though I told Johnny I have no plans to leave my bed. So it's really awkward with them standing in my room while I hide under the covers the whole time. Johnny got me a gorgeous plush carousel unicorn, b.u.t.tercup yellow with a sparkly horn. He seems unfazed by my room, which I haven't had time to un-crazy for his visit. Dean brings me cherry Jell-O, which is weird, but surprisingly thoughtful, considering my sore throat. It's hard to eat it under the confines of my blanket, but I manage.

Oh, Leclare won over Easton High, thirty-two to fourteen. That has Johnny in a great mood, and he tries to convince me to go to the dance with him before I head over to my dad's. I stubbornly refuse, reminding him of Mich.e.l.le's party tonight. Of course, he immediately decides he should go with me. Though I'm really tempted to say yes so he doesn't go to homecoming, I resist. He got crowned king last night, and it wouldn't be right if he didn't show up. I don't ask who won queen, and he doesn't volunteer the information.

I do homework at Dad's until Mich.e.l.le comes to get me. I remain super mopey-even though she pampers me like a princess. She takes me to the mall to get a new phone, and now we're eating huge ice cream sundaes in her newly renovated kitchen. The stainless steel counters are awesome.

"You have to go to that dance, Juliet," Mich.e.l.le declares, licking whipped cream off her thumb. "Screw my party-homecoming is an important rite of pa.s.sage. G.o.d, that was a great night for me. I got so drunk, I threw up all over the back of Mrs. Dempsey's head."

I make a face at her. "That was a great night for you?"