Wilder Girls(22)

   “Hi,” I say. She doesn’t look up, and I bite my lip to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. Remember what Welch said, I remind myself. Remember this is important.

“About Boat Shift.” I lean against the trunk, leave plenty of room between us. “I didn’t know I’d get it. I thought it would be you.”

“Me too,” she says, voice gritty and hoarse like it was her throat that got crushed, not mine. And I want to scream, want to wring an apology out of her. But then she looks at me, frowns. “You okay?”

It’s something. Maybe the most I can expect. “Fine. Really, fine.”

“Are you sure?” She tries for a smile. “Because you look terrible. Like, that’s a Beth in Little Women face.”

“Oh no,” I say flatly. “Do you think I might be sick?”

“At Raxter?” She raises her eyebrows, face stamped with fake surprise. “Never.”

We fall quiet, both of us I think in shock that we’ve managed to make even the weakest joke. Byatt needs to get here, and quick, before we ruin it.

I twist around to peer through the trees, and when I face front again, Reese is swinging her feet. She looks almost shy. But Reese doesn’t do shy. Even when she came out to me, it was like a weapon. “Queer,” she said then, as though she was daring me to disagree.

   “You went on Boat Shift yesterday,” she says now. And waits.

“Yeah.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s different.” I barely get the words out.

“Different how?”

“Um.” Remember Welch, remember my job. Everything is fine. “There are more trees,” I say stupidly.

“Look, Hetty, I have to know. I have to. Did you see him? My dad? My house? Anything?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Reese.” She looks away, but not before I see the tears she’s blinking back. I clear my throat awkwardly, wish more than anything I could just disappear. “Where is Byatt? She was gonna come find us.”

Reese doesn’t answer, so I start toward the house. But I’m only a few yards out of the grove when Cat comes running, breathing hard. I try not to look at the blisters scattered across her hairline, each of them torn and bleeding.

“Hey,” she says. “You better get inside.”

Dread, creeping and bitter. I swallow hard. “What for?”

“It’s your girl. She’s having a flare-up.”

At first there’s nothing. Just a tingle in my fingers, a dull ache behind my blind eye. And then a dizziness, and I sway as my knees buckle.

“No,” I say. “No, I just saw her.”

“Sorry,” Cat says. “I came as quick as I could.”

   It’s impossible. I was with Byatt barely ten minutes ago, and she was fine. She has to be fine.

I turn, searching for Reese, but she’s jumped down from the branch, followed me out of the grove and is right there behind me, mouth drawn in a tight line. Without a word we run for the house, faster and faster, until I’m tearing into the main hall.

Mostly empty this time of day, with only a few girls clustered by the fireplace. No Byatt. I should’ve asked Cat where she was, I should’ve, I should’ve.

“Easy,” Reese says quietly, and I reach out, fumble for her hand, squeeze tight.

I’ve been there for them all, for the flare-up that stole Byatt’s voice for nearly a week, for the one that sliced a line down her back and left her with a second spine. I have to be there for this one.

A shuddering whine breaks the air. Fear crashing over me, cold and fresh, and I tear away from Reese. That came from the back of the house, down the south wing toward the kitchen.

I elbow my way through the group by the fireplace and sprint along the hallway, classrooms and offices rushing past. Each one empty, and no Byatt, no Byatt, no Byatt. Until at last, there she is. Sprawled on the kitchen floor, her dark hair covering her face.

Please. This can’t be happening.

I crash to my knees next to her. Twin lines of blood trail from her nose, streaking across her teeth as she gasps for air. She’s crying, I think, but it’s hard to tell. One hand gripping a packet of crackers, the other clawing at her throat.

   “What happened?” I say, words tumbling frantically over one another. “What hurts? What is it?”

She mouths something, and it looks like my name, but then her eyes roll back. She convulses, her muscles snapping tight as a curve sweeps up her body like a wave.

I think I’m screaming, but it sounds like nothing. Hands on my shoulders pulling me back. I bat them away, feel for a pulse on Byatt’s neck.

“Hey,” I say as she opens her eyes, both of them bloodshot. “It’s me. You’re okay.”

“I sent someone to find Welch,” Reese says. She sounds calm, deliberate, but I know Reese, and I know that means she’s panicked. She comes to stand on the other side of Byatt’s body, only she’s not watching Byatt. She’s watching me. “Hold on, okay?”

Last time there was so much blood. Blooming underneath her, pooling in the cracks between the floorboards. This time there’s only her nosebleed, smeared across her mouth, dripping onto the floor. I push up her sleeves, search for marks or wounds, anything.