You in Five Acts(82)

“Let’s go, let’s go!” I yelled. Liv was still curled on the couch.

“Help me get her up?” you asked. Outside, I heard the sound of tires skidding to a stop. The room was emptying out. There was weed piled on the coffee table just a few feet from us. I wasn’t great at math but it looked like enough to get someone in trouble. I didn’t even want to think about what else was in the apartment.

“Can she walk?” I asked, my voice far away, drowned out by the thick hum of blood in my ears.

“She’ll have to!” you cried.

There was no yelling downstairs, no “Freeze!” or “Come out with your hands up!” The lookout by the ice machine had probably been long gone by the time the cop car turned the corner. I whipped my head around, looking for Dante to tell me what to do, but he was gone, too. Everybody was gone—everybody except us.

Don’t run. That’s another thing mom had always told me. If the police stop you, don’t run. No matter what. But my body was screaming at me to GET OUT, every muscle fiber straining to move. And we hadn’t even done anything. There was no way I was going to ruin everything I’d worked for when life was finally starting to line up for me, not with all those shiny business cards in my back pocket, lined up like wishes just waiting to be granted.

“We gotta go. NOW!” I yelled, finally loud enough to get Liv’s attention. I grabbed her around the waist and dragged her onto her feet as you bolted for the open door, Liv stumbled forward a few steps before starting to move more assuredly.

“There’s a back exit,” she slurred.

In seconds, we were running.





Chapter Thirty-Two


    May 13

15 minutes left


WE RACED DOWN to the third floor, me, you, and Liv, in that order, as another siren sounded outside. Luckily the urgency of the situation had finally sunk in halfway down the stairs and flipped Liv’s switch, so even if she wasn’t moving fast she could talk. No one lived in the second-floor apartment, she told us. It was empty, sometimes used as a meeting spot. There was a window in the back that opened onto a ladder. We could drop to the ground in between the buildings, to an alley that fed onto First Avenue.

I pushed past the stack of rancid garbage bags and got the door open just as the cops banged past the mailboxes in the lobby, their walkies hissing with dispatchers radioing in other nearby threats. I pulled you in behind me, hearing you suck your teeth as your ankle banged against the door frame, but there wasn’t any time to look back and check on you. Hesitation was not an option.

“I think my heart’s exploding,” Liv croaked.

“Just breathe,” you said, although I could tell by your voice that you weren’t following that advice.

“We’ve got runners!” I heard a cop shout, the cry clanging off the stairwell, and for a split second I thought he meant us before I heard all hell break loose outside, shouting and scuffling, and then, in the distance, the unmistakable popcorn pop of a bullet that flooded me with terror. I’d seen police break up parties in our building before, watching the flashing lights turning our kitchen windows red, then white, then blue. People would scatter, some getting chased and thrown in cuffs, still mouthing off even bent over the back of the cruiser, but I’d never seen a serious bust. I’d never seen live fire. As we reached the promised window at the back of a dark, dusty bedroom, I felt more like I was in a video game than real life. What was that crazy one Ethan always talked about? Destiny? Mine seemed to be slipping through my fingers. I would have given anything to disintegrate into pixels.

The window was already cracked open, but it was stuck like that, so I had to wedge my shoulder under it to shove it up the rest of the way. Searing pain shot through my neck and I grunted as the glass crashed loudly against the top of the frame.

“Oh, no,” you whispered. No noise was good noise.

“Out,” I directed, helping you first, then Liv.

“My legs feel funny,” she said, looking up at me with wild, glassy eyes. The drop was at least twenty feet, onto concrete. If she fell and didn’t die, she probably wouldn’t walk.

“I’ll carry you,” I promised. “Just make it to the ground.” I said it like it was easy. As I swung myself out, feeling for the rusty metal bars with my worn-out Converse, I could hear footfalls on the stairway, getting louder. Closing in.

I should have gone first; Liv was barely moving, and I kept stepping on her knuckles by accident, making her cry. You helped as much as you could, guiding her slippery wedge boots from one rung to the next, but there were a few times when her feet shot out, or she lost her grip, and one of us had to grab her to keep her from falling. The ladder didn’t go all the way to the ground, either—it was a fire escape, and stopped about seven feet short. You made the jump first and landed hard—I could hear the smack, which sounded so much like the neck snap from my dream that I looked to make sure you were still alive. Somehow, though, you were already back up and reaching out for Liv, who dropped down onto you like a rag doll. As I navigated the last few steps, cursing myself for ruining the tread on my piece-of-shit shoes, I heard the telltale spit of the walkie up above.

I let go of the bar—hands up, don’t shoot—and fell just as a cop peered out of the window above us.

“Stop right—!” he yelled, but we had disappeared around the corner.