Chapter Seventy-One
Sky
I spent ten agonizing nights going through Cade’s journal and trying to tell myself what I saw wasn’t real. I wasted time when time is a luxury for people who aren’t attending a graduation rigged with explosives. But now, as I stand in front of the administration building, it feels painfully real.
Tucked into my bag is his journal and the note that ‘Bobby’ wrote to Callie. I stole it out of her room two days ago, and the handwriting is definitely Cade’s. I held it and held it again, against his journal, in disbelief. The flourish on certain letters is uncanny, and even the pen might be the same—where sometimes the ink is smudged from not drying.
It’s late afternoon and I idle on the steps, imagining Cade’s mother having a calm day at her desk. Does she have any idea? Am I about to blow up her world? But graduation is in four days, and I can’t put this off any longer. I climb a step, gripping the rail with white knuckles, and try to take a breath. I tried to do this days before, but I ended up never making it out of my room. And now that I’ve made it this far, my reluctance has only doubled.
I picture SWAT swarming the school. I imagine they would cordon me off under some tent while I try to help them locate the shack. The tent would probably be somewhere in town because the campus would have to be evacuated.
But Cade wouldn’t be notified. He would be in the dark, oblivious, as they descended into his woods and tracked him down like an animal. They would point their laser sights on him, shout at him, slam him into the ground and dig their knee into his back. He would be cuffed, thrown into the back of a police car, and taken for the rest of his life. His days would consist of prison bars or sterile white rooms. And I would never see him again.
Or would he resist? Try to run? Would they shoot him in the back and speak into their little microphones? Suspect down. I repeat, suspect down. Would his blood pool out of his body and slowly seep into the soil while the officers took cautioned steps towards him? They wouldn’t try to save him. They wouldn’t call for an ambulance. They would be happy to have taken him down, only seeing a monster they saved the world from. They wouldn’t see his smile or his intellect. They wouldn’t care about his past kindness or hesitate for the people his death would obliterate. Like his mother. Like me .
Tears have filled my eyes and they roll down my cheeks as I blink, coming back to the moment. There’s three more steps ahead of me, but I can’t move. I know I have to do this but… Cade. He obviously feels remorse, and if there’s even a chance I can save him… He was talking to a dead person. Bobby or not, he can’t be in a good place. He said he didn’t want to hurt me. He asked me all these questions about Japan. Why would he do that if he didn’t think we were going to live past graduation? He doesn’t want to do this or it wouldn’t be driving him insane.
“Hey.” A hand lands on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I jump at the sound of Callie’s voice. She’s standing on the bottom step, and I have to turn to look down at her. Her brows are bunched together in concern.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Just turning in my graduation forms.”
I’m surprised by how easily the lie slips from my mouth. I’ve been avoiding her in fear that I wouldn’t be able to keep my discovery to myself. And also because I feel guilty. Lana says that she’s caught Callie crying more than once, and here I am, with the knowledge to quell her broken heart but too enamored by Cade to tell the truth. Every day that I’ve delayed has been another day Bobby’s body rots. He didn’t break up with her, he died , and she deserves to know that.
But Cade does not deserve what will happen to him if his body is resumed. As awful as it is, it had to be an accident. Some sort of mistake. No one would want to kill Bobby. He’s too sweet, too innocent. I’ve watched Bobby annoy Cade to the high heavens and never once had he lashed out at him. Sure, he grunts at him, grits his teeth at him, and otherwise tried to resist the friendship, but none of that showed the darkness that I know Cade capable of.
If it was Bentley in that grave, it would make more sense. But not Bobby. It had to be an accident.
“Oh, me too. I’ll come with you.” Callie smiles and clasps my hand.
I feel sick with myself as the warmth of her palm clutches mine, as if I’m the one that stuck her first love in a hole in the ground. My hands feel just as dirty. My chest is just as heavy.
“Uh,” I grapple with a way to get out of my lie. I haven’t even signed the form yet, and it’s currently lying, neglected and forgotten, somewhere under my bed. But I can’t think of a thing. My mind has gone blank at the guilt clawing its way through me, at the panic clenching my stomach as she pulls me up the last three steps and into the building. My heart hammers as Dorothy comes into view, and my eyes dart behind her, at the headmistress’s door.
I’m so close. Just ten or so steps. And I wouldn’t even have to say anything. I could just hand her the journal and the note. She’s a smart woman, she would figure it out. But would she report her son? Would she struggle between doing the right thing and protecting someone she loves? Like I am? Or would her maternal feelings dissolve the second she learns of the heinous thing he’s done, the heinous thing he plans to do?
“You girls excited for the big day?”
I pull my stare away from the door, and find Dorothy, eyes twinkling up at us.
“Nervous.” Callie sighs and hands her the form.
“Well, that’s to be expected.” Dorothy’s eyes flick to mine. “And you, dear? Ready to finally walk across that stage?”
Will I even get to walk across the stage? Are the bombs supposed to go off before or after we collect our diplomas? Cade’s journal didn’t mention anything about timing. The most I got from it was the placements. Spread under four-hundred seats, the explosives will be taped and puttied, ready for remote detonation at any moment. There was a sketch of the little device. It only has one button—one outcome . I can’t help but think the only reason he tried so hard for Valedictorian is to be up there when he presses it.
“Dear?”
“Hm?” I grasp my neck to hide the hard swallow of bile and then remember to fake a smile. “Yes. Very. I’m very excited for graduation.”