Aftermath(2)

No one’s there.

As I pull out my phone to check my GPS, hands slide over my eyes.

“Tell me what you see,” Jesse says, and I grin, because this, too, is our game.

“A mountain cave,” I say. “It’s dark, but something’s moving inside.”

“What do you hear?”

“A scratching, like claws on rock.”

“Smell?”

I inhale. “Musk. Like a dog when its fur gets wet.”

“So what do you do?”

“Sneak closer to see what it is, of course.”

He laughs. He’s endlessly fascinated by how quickly I can make up a story. If I do the same to him, he sees fingers in front of his eyes, and he can’t imagine anything else. That’s not how his brain works.

His hands withdraw, but my vision stays blocked by what looks like a cardboard rectangle.

“What do you see now?” he asks.

I make out a few printed words. “Are these —? All-Time Five tickets?” I spin to face him. “For real?”

“I hope so, considering I spent my dida’s birthday money on them.”

I breathe so hard I swear I’m going to hyperventilate. “Oh my God, oh my God.” I inhale and say, “So you’re going to the concert with one of the guys?”

He rolls his dark eyes. “Do you think I’d show these to you and then take one of them?”

I smile. “Maybe your brother likes ATF.”

“My brother’s a jerk. I want to go to the concert with someone I actually like. That’s you, Gilchrist. And you’d better say yes, ’cause if I get turned down the first time I ask a girl out, I may never get over it.”

“You’re asking me…? You mean…? Like a date?”

He goes still. Then he shoves the tickets into his pocket, saying, “No, no… well, yeah. Kind of. But it’s up to you. We could just go as friends if you want.”

“Or a date, if I want?”

He catches my grin, and his eyes light up, and he opens his mouth, but a voice says “Skye?” and we both jump. It’s Mr. Garside. He looks from me to my companion. “Jesse?”

“We were talking,” I say.

Jesse nods.

“You’re both needed at the office.” Mr. Garside sounds as distracted as he looked earlier. “Follow me.”

“If we’re in trouble for sneaking out, I’ll tell them it was my idea,” Jesse whispers as we follow Mr. Garside.

I shake my head, but Jesse says, “Hey, I actually did something wrong for a change. I want to take credit. Boost my rep.”

I’ve started to answer when I catch the sound of a radio coming from the office.

“— events at North Hampton High School this afternoon. One shooter has reportedly been killed. Another has been taken into custody —”

I stop so fast my shoes squeak. Everyone in the office turns and sees us. Someone says, “Turn that off!” and Principal Salas rushes out, her arms blocking the office doorway as if she can block the sound, too.

Jesse has stopped beside me.

“Did they say…?” he starts.

“The high school. Luka.” I can barely form the words. “My brother goes to North Hampton.”

“Lots of kids do,” Jesse says as he moves up behind me, and there’s this weird hollow tone in his voice, and I spin on him, ready to snap that I don’t care how many kids go there, I’m talking about my brother.

That’s when I see the wall photos of graduates. Over the frames hangs a North Hampton Wildcat banner, because that’s where we go. Dozens of kids here have an older sibling there. And yet Jesse and I are the only ones who’ve been summoned to the office. That’s what he means.

“We’re having an assembly, right?” I say. “You’re getting all the kids in the auditorium to tell them what’s happening?”

Mr. Garside nods, too emphatically, and my heart pounds.

“No,” I say. “You just wanted us. Me and Jesse.”

“Your parents will explain,” Principal Salas says. “Jesse? Yours are on their way now. Skye? Mr. Garside will drive you to your mom.”

“My parents can take Skye,” Jesse says.

There’s a sound, like a harrumph. Ms. Molina stands behind the counter, and she’s looking straight at me. Glaring. I’m wondering what I did when the principal says, “That’s… not a good idea.”

My heart’s pounding, blood rushing in my ears, and I can barely hear what he says, barely hear what I say when I whisper, “Tell me what’s going on.”

The principal shakes her head. “Your parents will —”

“Tell me what’s going on! Now!”

“Skye!” Ms. Molina snaps. “Enough of that.”

“No, Skye’s right.” Jesse steps forward to stand beside me. “We know something’s wrong. The radio said…” He swallows. “They’ve been shot, haven’t they? Our brothers.”

“Your parents will —”

“No!” I say.

Jesse lays his hand on my arm and says to the others, “You don’t want to tell us what’s happened? Fine. Tell us they’re okay.”