Lost Girls(57)

There was a stand-off for a fraction of a second. Testosterone snapped through the small space, my blood dripped on the tile floor, and my reflection watched from the stainless steel mirror.

“Leave her alone,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Or what?” one of the girls asked. She flicked out a switchblade. Her friends laughed.

“Or your parents will be getting phone calls from the hospital. They’ll be needing someone to identify you.”

A shiver ran through me.

Dylan looked bigger, stronger than ever before.

The other girls noticed it, too. The girl who had been holding me down let go.

“My boyfriend’ll slice you up,” the girl with the blade threatened.

Dylan took a step closer. “Then he’ll be in the hospital, too.”

She tackled him then, the idiot. With two lightning moves, he knocked the switchblade out of her hand and pinned her to the ground, his foot on her back. Another girl jumped him and he grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her so she couldn’t move. He didn’t hurt any of them, maybe because they were girls and there are some rules you’re not supposed to break.

But I knew he could have put every one of them in the emergency room.

They knew it, too.

One by one they all backed out of the bathroom, wary. I worried that when we came out, they’d be waiting with a gang of boys at their side.

The park was empty, lights out, only a few cars left in the parking lot. They’d all run away.

Dylan stayed with me that night, making sure I was okay and that I didn’t have any serious injuries. I fell asleep curled next to him on the sofa and woke up with his arm around me.

I’d never felt that safe with anyone before. Except my dad. But he wasn’t around when this happened and I resented him for it. Too much.

On top of the resentment, there was fear inside me that kept surfacing when I didn’t expect it. Just walking into a public restroom gave me a panic attack. I couldn’t tell my mom, and I wasn’t about to tell Kyle. They’d both freak out. Mom would’ve made me go see a counselor, but what good would that do? Counseling wouldn’t protect me if I was jumped again.

Dylan noticed the change in me. “I can teach you how to defend yourself,” he’d said.

“But there were five of them,” I argued.

“Part of defending yourself is always being aware of what’s going on around you.” He paused. “But I can teach you what to do if you ever have to protect yourself again. In a way, it’s a lot like ballet. You’d pick it up quick.”

Once Dylan began teaching me how to fight, my fears started to melt away.

And, no matter what, I still liked, no, I loved, fighting.

But the feeling that I was invincible was gone.

It had disappeared on that night I went missing.





Chapter Thirty-One


Monday came, a horizon of beautiful, blue sky and warm spring breezes. Today, some kids from school would be getting up early to dash off to the ocean where they’d walk on water via surfboards. Others would be writing last-minute term papers while their parents drove them to school. Still others would be smiling at family members and upperclassmen who had been regularly tormenting them, making them feel like they weren’t good enough, like they would never measure up.

I wasn’t sure which category I fit into anymore.

Was I the leader of the Swan Team or was I a Lost Girl, desperately trying to remember my past?

I downed a glass of juice, clutched a slice of toast between my teeth and headed out of the kitchen, walking toward the garage and my car and freedom. But I didn’t get far before Dad stopped me in the hallway. I didn’t lift my head to look at him. I just stared at the floor while he handed me my phone.

“Keep this with you, got it?” he asked, his tone deep and serious. It was the voice he used that meant Do This Or Else. In other words, it was a voice he rarely used with me and it brought a flush of red to my cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, still not brave enough to look him in the eyes.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late!” Kyle called from the garage.

I resented my little brother right now. He lived in a free zone, untouched by our punishment this weekend because it hadn’t been his fault. Just like a typical teenage boy, he was more concerned about his latest Spartan Op score than whether I was still mad at him.

I walked past Dad, that slice of toast still hanging from the corner of my mouth, my backpack slung over one shoulder. It was a long walk down the hallway, knowing he was watching me. The muscles in my back tensed up and they didn’t relax until long after Kyle and I pulled into the student parking lot. I drove past those flowering cherry trees, fighting the urge to slam my car into one of them, taking it down, shaking those petals off the limbs until the tree was barren and dead.

Which was about how I felt right now.

Kyle and I hadn’t said much to each other during the ride, not until he got out and reached into the backseat for his knapsack. “See ya,” he grumbled, left hand grabbing for the straps, while his right hand cradled an open can of Red Bull.

Then everything happened at once.

His backpack flew open—as usual, there was way too much junk crammed inside—and stuff started spilling out all over my car. Spiral notebooks, Milky Way wrappers, a pack of Orbit gum, a pocketknife, three textbooks. He cursed and started grabbing everything as fast as possible. I swung around to help him, picking up papers and pens from the floor, but at the same time his half-full can of Red Bull spilled on my shirt.