Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(20)
She stares at me, the girl in the bed with the wet, white cheeks and the bleeding heart. Emotions are crowding close, reaching out for her like weeds in water. My nothingness swallows me whole. I stand. As if on cue, I hear Maggie’s parents down the hall, talking in lowered, worried murmurs. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” I say, standing.
“I love you, Liz,” Maggie whispers to my back. I pause, consider offering another false sentiment in return, but for some reason, I don’t. I walk out the door and don’t look back.
Nine
“So when did you want to do this?”
I squint up at Joshua, lifting a tired hand to shade my eyes. The drawing I’m working on lies half-finished in
my lap, an image of hands braiding long hair. Quickly I unfold the cover of the notebook and close it. “Do what?” I ask. I’m slow this morning; more dreams and unanswered questions plagued me throughout the night.
Joshua shifts from foot to foot, debates for a moment, then plops down on the ground beside me. “We need to work on the portfolio. So, well, we could decide who should do what and work separately, but I’m not exactly creative, so … ”
“It’s not due for almost two weeks,” I remind him.
He plays with a rubber band around his wrist, staring out at the street. “Yeah, but I like to be prepared,” he answers.
We’re sitting on the front steps of the school. It’s quiet; no need to pretend, no risk of making a mistake.
Joshua moves restlessly. I can see that he’s one of those people who never stays still, probably not even when he’s sleeping. “Do you want to meet somewhere after school, maybe later this week?” I finally ask him.
A group of our classmates crosses the street, approaching the school. Their voices startle Joshua. The crowd is followed by two Emotions: Apprehension and Desperation. It’s so important to these kids to fit in, to belong. Joshua watches everyone clattering up the steps for a moment and then he looks back at me. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking from his expression. I note how neither of the Emotions stops to touch Joshua.
Then the front doors open, and the others are gone. Silence hovers around us again.
He realizes I’m waiting for an answer, and red spreads along his neck and cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be great,” he says, grinning at me sheepishly. “How about Thursday night? I can probably be done with my chores a little early and we can meet at my house.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Why not my house?”
His lingering glance at the hidden bruises on my face says more than words could. “I just thought you might like to have an excuse to … to get out for a while,” he tells me, his tone careful, gentle, as if I’m glass and he’s handling me in
his callused palms.
“Fine. I’ll be there at six.”
Joshua grins, and his crooked smile brightens the sky. I arch my neck to keep my gaze on him as he stands, studying that unpractical hair of his, the strong jawline. There’s something … different about Joshua Hayes. My body reacts to him; I note the clenching sensation in my stomach where there should be none. It’s similar to how I feel when I’m working on my paintings or an Emotion is near: like I should be feeling something. Like I would if it weren’t for the wall. This has also happened with Fear.
It isn’t until Joshua’s smile fades that I comprehend I’ve said some of my thoughts out loud. “You’re different too, Elizabeth.” His voice is soft and he touches my shoulder, not an instant of hesitation in the movement, before turning and going back up the steps. “Bell’s going to ring,” he calls over his shoulder. “You already have too many tardies. Get up.”
I don’t move, just watch him disappear through the front doors. Danger, my mind whispers. Stay far away from him. I should. I really should. This can’t end well.
But I know I’m not going to.
I’m lying on my back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s dark out, and the single lamp on my dresser makes soft light spill out down the floor and over my bedspread. Charles’ words come back to me: You should decorate this room. It’s depressing in here.
I sit up, touch the eggshell-colored wall. An idea comes to me. I gaze around, seeing the potential. No one besides Charles ever comes into my room; my parents won’t protest against what they don’t know about.
Making plans for tomorrow, I sit back against the headboard of my bed, hugging my knees to myself. Images dance before me, all my paintings and waking dreams. Trees, darkness, the spray of the ocean, screams. You will forget everything. You did this.
Suddenly, disregarding it all for a moment, I jerk upright. After a moment I jump up and go to my door, opening it just a crack. I poke my head out into the hallway. Tim is downstairs on the couch, and he lets out a long belch as he watches TV. Mom is at her sewing machine in the corner—the steady hum of the needles drifts to my ears.
But this isn’t what makes me so alert, so attentive. The wall inside me is moving again; there’s someone near. Someone with power. A haze at the edge of my consciousness confirms it: the presence from the road is back. Not in the house. Outside.
I close the door and go to my bedroom window. But then I pause, reconsider, walk back to my nightstand, and dig a flashlight out of the drawer. Then, as quietly as possible, I return to the window and slide the glass pane open. Flashlight clamped in my mouth, I straddle the sill and grasp the trunk of the tree that’s only a foot away from the house, positioned slightly on the right. It’s easy to climb down and drop to the ground. Leaves crackle under my weight and I look around. The fields stretch out and I know that the stranger is in there, waiting for me. The power is strong. Without hesitation, I plunge into the dark depths. I wait to switch the light on until the house is out of view.