“What happened?” I asked.
“I went into the locker room to change,” he said. “They ambushed me. Took my glasses. Threw me in the pool. They were gone by the time I got out, but it was slippery and I fell back in. Now you’re here. The end.”
He scratched at his legs, his arms, picked at his skin like there was something there. I remembered all the bandages. The smell of pond scum and algae. Animalia Annelida Hirudinea.
Leeches.
“You can’t let them do things like this to you,” I said.
“It won’t be much longer.”
He said it softly, his voice like every part of him I’d ever met—the jerk, the seven-year-old, the genius—and none of them, all at the same time. This was something new, something unknown. Something that scared me. Maybe he meant it wouldn’t be much longer until the end of the school year, that when we were out of high school he’d have more freedom to do what he needed to do.
Are you sure, idiot?
You’re so stupid.
He never talks about college, or anything after this.
Are you really so naïve?
All he wanted—all he knew to do—was to get his mother out of that hospital. But he had to get rid of Cleveland first. He had a plan. I knew that.
I hadn’t realized how far he was willing to go.
Some deep instinct made me reach out and grab his arm, hold it tightly as if I could keep him right where he was, alive and sound.
I could not lose him again.
No—I could not let him get lost.
I was suddenly more afraid than I had ever been my entire life, more afraid than when Bloody Miles had shown up at Celia’s bonfire, more afraid than when my mother said she would send me away. This was worse than the idea of McCoy trying to hurt Miles. I could stop McCoy. I could yell and scream and even if they didn’t believe me, they would stop and look.
I had no sway over Miles himself. Not when it came to this.
Evan and Ian returned laden with towels and Miles’s school clothes, and Miles dried himself off. Neither of them said anything about the bruises as Miles pulled his pants and shirt on.
We followed him out of the natatorium. As we passed the main gym, I heard voices and glanced inside, but only McCoy was there. He paced below the scoreboard, talking aloud like he was gearing up for a big speech. No Celia, no Celia’s mother. Fear spiked through me that he was so close, that the only thing separating him from Miles was a closed door.
Then the fear was gone again, and McCoy was just a lonely man in a lonely room, talking to himself.
“What’s wrong?” Miles asked.
Even if I told him, I wasn’t sure he’d understand.
“Nothing,” I said.
Will he be okay?
Outlook not so good
Can I do something to make him okay?
Very doubtful
. . . can I do anything?
Don’t count on it
Chapter Forty-three
I saw what Miles had meant when he’d said people would start paying him to do ridiculous things. In chemistry, someone gave him thirty dollars to call Ms. Dalton a Coke-sucking whore in German, which of course she didn’t understand. He got twenty dollars to put tape on the bridge of his glasses, wear too-short pants, and don argyle socks for three days. Cliff, the asshole, paid Miles fifty dollars to be able to deck him in the jaw, and one punch turned into several punches and a kick to the gut. The triplets speculated that Cliff had been aiming for the genitals, but Miles’s incessant stare had thrown him radically off target.
Every day he threw away another piece of his pride and dignity for a few dollars, but I couldn’t stop him.
I don’t think anyone could have.
Chapter Forty-four
“RIDGEMONT.” Mr. Gunthrie slapped his newspaper down on his desk.
“Yessir?”
“I AM TIRED OF THAT DAMN LIGHT FLICKERING.”
The light over my desk flickered as he said it, mocking him.
“Do you want me to do something about it, sir?” I asked. I could hardly keep my eyes open. My dreams had been less than restful lately.
“I DAMN SURE DO. THE MAINTENANCE MEN HAVE REPLACED THE LIGHT THREE TIMES. GET UP THERE AND TELL ME WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.”
I wasn’t about to ask him why he didn’t just ask the maintenance guys to check. While the rest of the class turned back to their work, I climbed onto my desk and lifted away the ceiling tile next to the light. Putting my hands on either side of the opening and standing on tiptoes, I looked up into the darkness.
“Something’s gnawed on the wiring.” I squinted into the dim space, trying to focus on the frayed wire. It hadn’t just been gnawed on—it had been completely ripped in two.
Something near my head hissed.
I turned and saw the python there, its tongue flicking out at me. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have time for this. Damn delusions needed to leave me the hell alone.
I ducked my head back down but kept my hands up for balance. Something touched my arm, but I ignored it. “Hey, Miles, you wanna give me a boost? I think there are mice or something up here. I might be able to see it better.”
Miles turned, rose halfway out of his seat, and looked up at me.
The snake hissed again.
I looked at the snake. I looked at Miles.
The snake. Miles.
The snake.
Miles.
“Alex.” He held up a hand. “Don’t. Move.”
Several kids screamed; desks shifted and scraped against the floor as they jumped up and ran from the room. Mr. Gunthrie shot out of his seat, cursing loudly and yelling about snakes and Vietnam.
The python coiled down my arm, passed behind my head, and wrapped over my left shoulder and across my chest. It looped itself once around my waist, then down my left leg. Its body spilled out of the ceiling like scaly water, lighter than it looked.
“Holy shit.” Miles stood fully now. “Holy shit, Alex, it’s the snake.”
“You can see it?” I hissed the words out through my teeth.
“Yeah, I can see it.”
“What do I do?”
“Uh—let me think—” He pressed his palms to his forehead and spoke rapidly. “They can live over twenty years—feed on large rodents or other mammals—average about twelve feet but can reach nineteen—” He groaned loudly and spoke even faster. “Trinomial name is python molorus bivittatus, can be domesticated, nonvenomous, can kill a child when they’re young and crush a full-grown man when they’re older—”
“Miles! Shut up!” My voice rose an octave, my heart pounding against my ribs. The snake shifted against me. I fought the urge to scream.