Select (Select #1)(13)
“CPR?” It was John. Somehow he had remained in the inner circle, right there at Liv’s side.
“Not yet,” I answered.
I was vaguely aware of the shrieks of lifeguard whistles and sirens in the background. I bent low and started whispering in Liv’s ear, “It’s over. You’ve got this.” Before I could stop him, John moved fully over Liv and began using his hands to try to warm both her arms, undoubtedly the first stranger who had ever touched her.
In a blink Liv came to. She sat up, twisted her body, and exhaled all the water that had filled her lungs. She took one look at John, who moved aside, and then, in full view of the crowd who had just seen her all but dead on the pavement, Liv simply stood up to her full five feet ten inches.
I let out a ragged breath, as if I’d been hyperventilating this whole time. “What were you thinking?” I yelled. It was pure instinct, I was so scared. I had never yelled before in my life, and most definitely not at her.
Startled, Liv looked at me, and I watched the expression in her blue eyes cloud. I realized my mistake immediately. Lowering my voice, I asked, “Are you okay?” I stood and reached out protectively.
“Jesus. I’m fine.” She shook my hand off her arm.
Angus appeared, a gash under his eye and blood seeping from a cut on his head. He placed his hand gently on Liv’s back. Liv looked from me to Angus as if we were her parents, hovering. I could see she was deeply embarrassed, and I knew she suddenly felt like an inept little girl.
Liv took in the crowd around her. Things had suddenly grown very quiet.
“Thanks, Julia,” she said nastily, gesturing around her.
John sat back on his heels, trying to catch his breath, a long, raw scratch on his cheek from Angus. He looked up at me. His eyes told me he’d seen everything. He’d seen more than any other person had.
Excess adrenaline coursed through my body, and I felt like I was going to vomit as the enormity of what had just happened began to sink in. How had I known from halfway across the park that Liv was trapped underwater? And I had created a spectacle. We all had.
After being hyperfocused on Liv, I was fully coming out of a daze. With tunnel vision I saw lifeguards leading a pack of EMTs, all of them running toward us.
Moments before, the two groups had been beating each other to a pulp. Now, in what looked like a choreographed wave, the Lost Kids and Liv’s friends turned on the descending EMTs and lifeguards, forming a wall to block them from examining Liv. I saw Angus take hold of John’s arm to push him from us, but John jerked away. Everyone was yelling and shoving.
A police officer grabbed me roughly from behind, dragging me backward to make way for the medical workers. Angus lunged forward to stop him, his fingertips gouging the cop’s shoulder. The policeman was thrown backward as if electrocuted.
I stumbled forward and John caught me. I heard a sickening crack as the cop’s head smacked the pavement. Whipping around in John’s arms, I saw Angus standing over the cop he’d rendered unconscious.
It was like time stood still as we all accepted the inevitability of what would happen next. Seconds later Angus allowed himself to be tackled to the ground.
The heavy door opened, letting fresh air wash into the humid, stale room. In with a youngish cop came Angus, looking no worse for the wear, behaving like it was no big deal that he had just assaulted a police officer. They had taken Angus separately in a police car. The rest of us were driven in a white corrections van, a police chaperone riding in the back to make sure we didn’t talk and change our stories. After a fifteen-minute ride, we’d pulled into an underground parking garage. They’d taken us in and questioned us individually before leading us to this large room with a concrete floor and benches lining the walls.
Angus’s smile disappeared when he saw why we weren’t talking. There were twelve of us in the room, and one stranger.
I’d heard him give his full name and date of birth to a cop when they had us sit on the low concrete wall, out on display for all of Barton Springs to see, some people even taking photos. John Ford. Four months older than me. Already eighteen. I knew that was going to make things worse for him.
I couldn’t believe they’d slapped handcuffs on him as well. The only thing he’d done was pull Liv out of the water. But happily it worked in our favor. There was no need to even discuss it; we automatically knew to coordinate our statements and point the finger at him for the damaged public property. We’d completely screw him over.
Everyone waited for the cop to call the next name. Liv’s friends Emma, Serena, and Kate had escaped the roundup at Barton Springs, so we knew support would arrive soon. Until then we waited. A couple of the boys were vibrating with anger but were barely moving—just knees bouncing up and down and sudden shifts from upright to elbows on knees. Whenever they made eye contact with John, they simply looked bored and unimpressed, the standard reset face when dealing with the public. Then their gaze would slide away as if they had already moved on.
John sat directly across from me on a bench by himself, long legs crossed at the ankle in front of him. Once in a while he’d subtly roll his left shoulder, like he was testing out an injury. I saw him scratch the back of one of his hands, and I suddenly remembered seeing his hands on Liv, how they’d been unexpectedly scaly and raw. It was eczema. His hands were a crazy contrast to his otherwise tan, smooth skin. Like he knew I was thinking about it, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets to hide them from view.