Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(49)

Something nesting in the ceiling beams flutters, and the faint tang of perspiration dots the air. Terror. A scream sounds through the loft a second later.

I lift my head from the palm of my hand, calling out, “Fear?”

He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s nearby. He’s avoiding me and my questions about the night of Sophia’s party, but at the same time he wants to be near. “You can’t have it both ways,” I say distractedly, pursing my lips in contemplation. Hiding. Pretending. Protecting oneself. I just have to start—that’s the first step.

There are different kinds of hiding.

My handwriting is neat on the page. Fear remains uncharacteristically hushed, and I know he doesn’t plan to come to me tonight. Which means not only is he avoiding me, but he knows something he desperately refuses to tell me. Something arrived at the party that night, something that sent all the Emotions and Elements running. What could it possibly be? It doesn’t matter—the truth will probably come out one way or another, and if not, I’m no worse for wear.

I bring my knees up to my chest, becoming a ball. The paper rustles and I smooth it out, my fingers tracing the edges. There are different kinds of hiding. I hide, I protect, I pretend. I will not go down in history for my poetry, but my promise to Joshua will be fulfilled; I will finish what I’ve started.

Will you? my little voice taunts.

I remember Sarah’s pain as she asked me if I knew where her daughter was. Maggie letting her optimism crumble toward the end, lying there in that bed. Fear’s impossible infatuation. Joshua’s innocence.

I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about the kids I see every day. How many of them have secrets they keep from the rest of the world? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical.

Thinking about his words makes me think about Joshua himself. He, too, has been avoiding me. He doesn’t look at me in class. He passes me in the hall without a greeting of any kind. He’s guarded after what he saw at Sophia’s party, after what I said to him on the steps. Just another person in Edson who knows what I am: something strange and unnatural. A freak.

I made a mistake, saving him and Susie that night. If I know anything about the world, things happen the way they’re supposed to. I interfered in an event that should have taken place. Even the rebellious Emotions can follow the rules I’ve broken.

An event …

What if Rebecca warned me against going to the party because she was afraid something specific would take place? Something specific like me losing control. Was there a chance she knew I would reveal an ability I shouldn’t have, an ability I never knew I had until that night? But what if I hadn’t broken any rules? Maybe I’d been … meant to interfere. For reasons I don’t know, maybe I was supposed to stop Joshua from being hurt …

I set my unfinished poem aside and stand.

Too many questions, not enough answers.



My truck rumbles into the school parking lot. As I reach for my bag in the passenger seat, I notice Sophia Richardson glaring at me. She’s probably been making plans to get back at me for a few days now.

The first bell is already ringing inside. I haul the bag onto my back and start jogging to make it on time.

Just as I reach the front doors a shadow looms across me, and I turn my head to meet Joshua’s intense gaze.

I’ve been expecting this.

“Not now,” I say, stepping past him. “We have to get to class.”

There’s no trace of the shy, uncertain boy when he sticks his arm out to block my path. “You owe me this,” he says sharply.

Two girls rush by, hardly noticing Joshua and me as they skirt around. It’s as if neither of us is actually here.

I yield, stepping away from the doors. “How do I owe you anything?” I question.

“Because I believe in you,” Joshua tells me simply. The bizarre statement causes my nothingness to twinge.

After a moment of consideration, I nod. “Okay. I’m listening.”

This boy I’ve known most of my life takes my arm gently, leading me away from the doors so no teacher sees us. He pulls me around the side of the building, under the shade of some oak trees.

“We both know what happened the night of the party,” he starts. He folds his arms across his chest in a resolute stance, and once again I notice the rubber band around his wrist.

“Why do you wear that?” I ask abruptly, motioning at it.

Joshua blinks. “What?”

“The rubber band,” I clarify. “Why do you wear it?”

Suddenly self-conscious, he looks down at the band, toying with it. He allows me to change the subject. “It’s kind of dumb,” he admits. “But it’s a therapy thing. Well, more of a habit, now. A couple months after my mom died, Sally gave it to me. You know Sally, right?”

When I nod, he goes on. “Anyway, I was ten and I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was depressed, I guess; I started getting into fights with other kids. No one could get anything from me, not even the therapists my dad forced me to go to. So one day Sally comes up to me in the grocery store, squats down so she’s looking me right in the eye, and gives me this rubber band. ‘Every time you think about hurting yourself or someone else, snap this on your wrist,’ she tells me. ‘A rubber band has got to be better than a fist, right?’” He smiles faintly at the memory.