Panic(67)

“I didn’t make it,” Nat said. Her voice was muffled and her face sticky against Heather’s chest.

“You were still amazing,” Heather said.

Nat was the only one who wasn’t celebrating. She returned almost immediately to the house. But everyone else seemed to forget about the threat of cops, forget about what had happened at the Graybill house and about the body of Little Kelly, found charred and blackened in the basement—for a short while, it felt almost as it had at the beginning of the summer, when the players had first made the Jump.

It took more than an hour for Heather to get everyone out, into their cars and off the property, and the whole time the dogs were going crazy and the tigers were still again, as though deliberately making a point. By the time the yard was almost empty of cars, exhaustion numbed Heather’s fingers and toes. But it was over, thank God. It was all over, and Anne would never have to know.

There were only three players left. And Heather was one of them.

“Heather,” Bishop tried again when almost everyone had gone. “We need to talk.”

“Not tonight, Bishop.”

There were a few people lingering, leaning up against their cars, hands down each other’s pants, probably. Strange how just a few months ago she had been one of them, hanging out at parties with Matt, her capital-B Boyfriend, flaunting it however she could. Wearing his sweatshirts, his baseball hats, like a badge of something—that she was lovable, that she was fine and normal and just like everybody else. Already the old Heather seemed like someone she barely knew.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Bishop said, deliberately moving in front of her as she stooped to collect a cigarette pack, half trampled into the grass.

She straightened up. His hair was poking out from every side of his hat, like something alive trying to get out. She resisted the urge to reach up and try and wrestle it into shape. The worst was that when she looked at him now, she still saw their kiss: the heat that had roared through her and the softness of his lips and the brief electric moment when his tongue had found hers.

“I’m not avoiding you,” she said, looking away so she wouldn’t have to remember. “I’m just tired.”

“When, then?” He looked lost. “It’s important, okay? I need you. I need you to listen.”

She was tempted to ask him why Vivian couldn’t listen, but she didn’t. He looked awful, and miserable, and she loved him even if he didn’t love her. The thought that he was upset, in pain, was a worse feeling than her own pain.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Impulsively, she reached out and squeezed his hand. He looked startled, and she dropped it quickly, as though it might burn her. “I promise, tomorrow.”





MONDAY, AUGUST 15





heather

IN THE MORNING, HEATHER WAS WOKEN UP BY SHOUTING. Lily was calling her name, pounding up the stairs; then the door flew open, so hard it struck the wall.

Lily said, “The tigers are gone.” She was breathing hard, her face red and damp with sweat. She smelled a little like manure—she must have been out feeding the animals.

“What?” Instantly Heather was awake and sitting up.

“The gate is open and they’re gone,” Lily said.

“Impossible.” Heather was already pulling on clothes, shoving her legs into shorts, wrestling on a T-shirt. She didn’t even bother with a bra. “Impossible,” she repeated, but even as she said it, a dull thud of terror began, bringing back images from last night, disjointed memories—hugging Nat, latching the gates. . . . Had she replaced the padlock? She couldn’t remember. Mindy Kramer had been talking to her about her job at Anne’s, and then she’d had to yell at Zev Keller for trying to get into the pigpen.

She must have replaced the padlock. Maybe the tigers weren’t really missing. Maybe they were just hiding out in the trees somewhere, where Lily hadn’t spotted them.

Downstairs, Heather saw that it was already eleven a.m., that she’d overslept, that Anne would be home soon. Lily followed her outside. It was another day of thick heat, but this time the sky was overcast, and there was moisture shimmering in the air like a curtain. It would rain.

She was halfway across the yard when she saw it: the padlock, coiled in the grass like a metal snake, exactly where she had placed it last night when she unlocked the gate for Natalie.

And the gate, now swinging open.

There was no need to search the whole enclosure. They were gone. She could feel it. Why hadn’t the dogs barked? But maybe they had and she hadn’t heard. Or maybe they’d been frightened, bewitched like the crowd last night.

Heather closed her eyes. For a second she thought she might faint. The tigers were gone, it was her fault, and now Anne would despise her and throw her out. She’d have every right to.

She opened her eyes, fueled by a wild panic: she had to find them, now, quickly, before Anne came home.

“Stay here,” she told Lily, but she didn’t have the strength to argue when Lily followed her back into the house. She hardly knew what she was doing. She found a bucket under the sink, dumped out a bunch of shriveled sponges and cleaning supplies, and filled it with some half-thawed steaks. Then she was out of the house again and plunging into the woods. Maybe they hadn’t gone far, and she could lure them back.