Chapter 17
Piper
Eighteen years old
The clock ticks on, the only sound in the room apart from the rustling of paper and the scratching of pencils.
I finished my test fifteen minutes ago, and since then I’ve been leaning back on my chair, arms folded, staring at the hands on the clock.
I know I’m not helping my popularity by finishing tests so easily and fast. The old bookworm label has morphed into a nerd one.
Even though I’m not exactly acing my math or science tests.
Just English. And History, sometimes, but only when I can turn the historical events we’re learning about into stories in my head.
English is the only thing I really have no trouble with.
Spelling, essays, text analysis. I’m great at it.
Freaking great. I wish I could boast about it to someone, like other kids do after class when they feel rightfully proud for studying and acing a test. But if I showed even an ounce of pride, I’d get absolutely destroyed.
The bullies are out for blood, and they’ll pounce on any sign of weakness.
Well, not bullies. Not anymore.
Just bully.
Maybe I should be thankful that the army of assholes has been replaced by a single one. Maybe I should be thankful that my bully hasn’t dunked my head in the toilet since freshman year. But we’re only two months into senior year. There’ll be time yet.
I’m sure that everyone else is desperate to finish this English test so they can go out and celebrate Halloween.
But I’m only looking forward to finishing so I can get the hell out of here, go home and hide from the world.
I think I’ll finish the rest of The Long Goodbye while eating cereal in my room. Kind of a sad way to spend your eighteenth birthday. It’s a good thing Dad’s working late and Mom probably forgot all about it. I’ll be left alone and can spend a quiet evening indoors.
Thank God. The bell’s just rung. Now, if I can just get home without crossing paths with my bully, the day will officially have been a success.
__
Fifty minutes later and I have to admit to myself that the day has been a success, after all.
Not even a single sighting of Quill, of his furrowed brow or of his eyes throwing murderous glares my way.
Was he even in school? I haven’t seen him all day.
I guess it could be possible that I just didn’t run into him, since the school building is big, and Fridays are the one day we don’t share any classes, but it often feels like he’s actively trying to run into me.
Which is ridiculous, since he hates me.
I don’t even know why he does. I mean, I guess it’s for the reason the others do—I’m an easy target, sticking out like a sore thumb with my ridiculous glasses and Goodwill clothes—but I don’t understand what’s changed since elementary school, when he seemed to be on my side.
Then again, he barely ever spoke back then. Maybe I’m the one who dreamed it all up.
No.
I can’t lose those memories. I won’t let them be deformed. They’re all I have.
I hurry home, bending my head and wrapping my thin coat to me to shield myself from the chilly October wind.
__
I’ve nearly finished The Long Goodbye when a sudden loud noise makes me jump.
It’s dark outside and I put the book down, rubbing my eyes while standing up slowly. What the hell was that? Did I just imagine it?
Another loud noise and I let out a stifled gasp. Did someone shoot?
I hurry out into the living room, where Mom has fallen asleep over her mountain of papers. Dad’s still not home, or he’d have made dinner. Maybe I should have cooked pasta or something, but does it make me sound like a spoiled brat to say that should be my parents’ job?
Why the hell couldn’t Mom take a break from her stupid papers to cook something super basic? Why does Dad always have to make dinner even though he works twelve hour days and he’s exhausted? Why didn’t anyone do anything special for my birthday?
Another loud report makes me forget all about dinner, birthdays and Mom. I glance out of the window and see a spark of light.
Oh.
Firecrackers.
Of course, it’s Halloween, and some kids have decided to fuck with the Days by throwing firecrackers on our lawn.
I’m about to head back to my room when Mom startles awake.
“Piper,” she gasps. “Please… please tell those kids to stop. I have such a headache, Piper.”
“Then go to bed, Mom,” I say through gritted teeth.
Sometimes I feel like the worst daughter ever, being so mean to Mom. But it’s infuriating to have such a helpless person for a mother. Aren’t mothers supposed to take care of their children? Why does it have to be the other way around?
The kids all make fun of nutty Laura Day, who stays in bed with one made-up ailment after another. When I’m not fending off their jabs at Dad, or at myself, I’m defending Mom. But it’s out of loyalty. The truth is, I secretly agree with them.
Mom! Just get up and stop being so helpless! Go outside yourself and tell those kids to get off your lawn! You have a voice and legs, Mom, don’t you? Use them!
I’d never say a single one of those words to her, though. Dad’s absolute devotion to her has worn off on me just enough that I do what she says, though I can’t help the string of unuttered cursewords that form in my mind.
I open the door, ready to tell the assholes to stop, when a hand suddenly fists my hair and drags me outside.
“What… what the hell?” I wheeze.
I don’t even have time to understand who or what is dragging me out before I find myself thrown onto the floor of a car. My hair is let go for just a second as I hear the sound of seatbelts buckling, then the revving of an engine, and the car flies away from the Guest House.
I do my best to sit up.
“What the hell?” I gasp. “You’re kidnapping me!”
At once, two hands beat down on my back and push me toward the ground again. But not so quickly that I don’t see my captor.
He’s wearing a creepy mask with a leering expression, the blood-red smile far too wide and pitch black holes for eyes.
Two slits for a nose. The mask was clearly made out of a paper plate and it’s held to him with an elastic.
Other than that, he’s not wearing any costume.
Just a hoodie that’s drawn over his head.
I don’t have to see the face behind the mask. I know who it is.
I recognize that hoodie, and even if I didn’t, I’d recognize the spicy warm smell that comes from whatever soap he uses, mingled with the natural intoxicating scent of him.
Quill Nelson. My bully. Of course.
“Quill!” I yell. “Stop the car now! Let me out! What are you even do–”
He stops the words spewing out of me with a hand clapped to my mouth, then drags me over his lap. I’m lying across his thighs in the most humiliating position as he keeps a firm hand over my face, his other hand landing… somewhere on my lower back, just a little too close to my ass for comfort.
My face flames red as in the front of the car, my bully’s two friends guffaw loudly.
Dane and Liam. They’re disguised too, in devil attire, but I know it’s them.
They’re always with Quill, and anyway, they didn’t cover up the greasy mop of blond hair or the buzz cut that shows just a hint of red.
Goddamnit. I hate them almost as much as Quill. But not quite as much.
“You should spank her,” chortles the blond chubby guy. Liam. “That’ll teach her a lesson.”
“Mmmppphh!!!” I protest loudly, writhing around, trying desperately to get free.
But Quill’s hand is still pressed against my mouth.
His other hand edges toward my butt and I close my eyes in utter humiliation, expecting him to follow through on Liam’s laughing suggestion.
Instead, he grips it possessively, so hard I nearly cry.
I glance up and see that Quill is looking at Liam through his paper mask.
I can barely see his expression, only his blue eyes through the slits, so why do I shiver?
How can a paper plate look so… murderous?
And yet, there’s no doubt about it. I assume that the murderous expression is directed at me, even though he’s staring at his friend.
And it’s a far more powerful expression than he’s ever given me before.
He’s definitely got it in him to end a life.
Maybe he’s going to kill me. The realization suddenly terrifies me.
I gulp nervously and stop thrashing around. I don’t want to die. Especially not at Quill’s hands.
I don’t know why that makes a difference, but it does.
Some tiny little part of me still clings to that desperate, sad little memory of my silent protector. I stay very still, willing the paper plate to… calm down.
It does, after a while. Just as we reach Astley Lake.
It’s deserted now, because I guess the little kids are trick-or-treating and the older ones are busy acting like hoodlums on Main Street.
But some people took it upon themselves to decorate the place, and the spiderwebs hanging from the trees make me shiver.
It’s already a spooky enough place without the Halloween decorations.
The minute the car is parked, Quill grabs me and throws me over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I squeak out. “Put me down! You have no right to–”
This time, he does give me a hard smack to my bottom, and I’m back to squirming against him, trying desperately to land some kicks to his torso so he’ll let me go.
But he holds me to him, his arm a firm band of iron. The guy’s not much older than me, but he’s made of solid muscle. What the hell?
“What are you going to do?” I ask, nerves mounting and overtaking my anger and humiliation. “Where are you taking me?”
A moment later I figure it out as he lifts me from over his shoulder. He whips my glasses off my face, shoves them into his back pocket, and I just have time to notice he’s wading into the cold autumn water before he dunks me.
“What the–what the–!”
The word is drowned out by the water closing in around me. Crap, crap, crap. Is he trying to kill me?