Inquest (9 page)

The redhead
cocks her head to the side as she considers that. “So when you do
turn eighteen…”

“Lock me up,
kill me, do whatever you want,” I say, shocking everyone, even
Milo, “if…if you still think I’m going to hurt anyone.”

“If?” she
asks. “What makes you think anyone will be willing to take that
risk?”

Forcing every
bit of confidence and strength into my voice that I can manage, I
say, “Because by the time I turn eighteen, I’ll have proved to
everyone that I’m not the Destroyer.”

Chapter
7

Hero

I watch the
horde of retreating news vans in relief. I don’t think they ever
would have left if Principal Andrews hadn’t come out and banished
them from the premises. She stormed back to her office right after
looking angrier at me than them. My knees are shaking, and all I
want to do is flop down on the pavement and bang my head against
it. I might have if Milo hadn’t been staring at me. Despite the
fact that he sat in that same irritating, slouchy position during
the entire attack with an expression of detached curiosity, I
stagger over to his car and plop down next to him. Jen would have
hugged me. Lance would have kissed me and rubbed my shoulders until
he felt the tension dissolve. Milo just sits there.

“Thanks for
the help,” I say, my annoyance blatantly obvious.

“I thought you
did great. Especially when you clocked that guy in the mouth. You
can bet that bit makes it on the evening news,” Milo says
casually.

A frustrated
groan slips through my teeth. I was so focused on keeping them off
me and trying to make them believe I wasn’t some mutant, terrorist
freak hell-bent of annihilating the world that I had barely even
thought about how everything was being taped before I hit that guy.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I moan.

“It’s not like
it’s going to make people have a worse opinion of you,” Milo
says.

“How so?”

“Because they
already hate you. What’s stronger than hate?” he says.

My head feels
like it’s going to explode. I hope the fragments of my skull bash
right into Milo’s face when it does. “You suck at cheering people
up, do you know that?”

“That’s only
because I wasn’t trying to cheer you up.”

I sigh and
laugh weakly. “Well, then let me say, you’re fantastic at making
people feel even worse than they already did.”

“Yeah, well,
it’s just one more thing to love about me, I guess,” he says, “but
I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse, either.”

“Too bad,
because it worked.” With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, my
hands start shaking. I stuff them under my legs to hide them.

“I was merely
stating the obvious. People are going to hate you when they find
out who you are no matter what you say. Words don’t matter when it
comes to people protecting their lives or their family’s lives,” he
says seriously. Very seriously.

“So what do
you want me to do? Admit I’m going to kill everyone?” I demand.

“Are you?” He
asks it with all the concern of a bug for the blade of grass it’s
crawling over.

My eyes narrow
at him. “No.”

“Then you
probably shouldn’t admit you are,” he says.

“Has anyone
ever told you how incredibly irritating you are?” I ask.

“Often. But my
point is, if you want people to believe you aren’t going to hurt
them you have show them you aren’t. Those vans are going to be
back. They’ll follow everything you do for the next two years. Do
whatever you have to in order to make sure the world knows who you
really are. And by that I don’t mean the Destroyer, I mean Libby
Sparks.”

The length of
his speech is surprising enough, but the honest, thoughtful tenor
of his words is even more shocking. Plus, he’s looking right at me
for once, rather that peering at me from behind his mop of wild
hair. His eyes aren’t red from smoking too much pot. He isn’t
covered in acne or tattoos or piercings like I thought he might be
at first. He’s actually kind of…attractive. Milo notices me
watching him and looks at his feet.

“Or you can
just keep punching people if you want,” Milo says. “That’s cool
too. You've actually got a pretty mean right hook.”

Stress, or
maybe embarrassment at being caught staring at him, makes me burst
into a fit of little girl giggles. I can’t make myself stop,
either. Tears are rolling down my cheeks before I finally get
control of myself again. Milo tilts his head to the side enough to
see me and smiles. It’s a nice smile. But it disappears
quickly.

“Sorry,” I say
as I wipe away the last of my hysteria-induced tears. “It’s been a
rough day. I’m not usually so unstable.”

“That’s too
bad. You’re pretty interesting when you’re unstable,” Milo
says.

I laugh again,
and say, “Thanks.”

Neither of us
says anything for a few moments. The quiet of the empty parking lot
is comforting in its own way. My eyes start to drift closed and I
have the fleeting thought that I should get up and find my car. I’m
just so tired.

“Hey,” Milo
says, waking me back up, “do you need a ride home?”

“No, I’m fine.
I’ve got my car here somewhere.” I look out at the sprawling
asphalt in confusion. There’s nothing there. Milo’s car is the only
one left in the lot.

“Um, did you
maybe park in the south lot today?” he asks.

I glance
around one more time just to be sure I’m not missing something,
“No,” I say, “I parked right over there, under the third light
post. I always park under a light post.”

“Why?”

“Because I
forget where I park a lot,” I say absently. Milo snorts. “I know I
parked in the north parking lot,” I argue. “It has to be here
somewhere. It didn’t just disappear.”

“Maybe it got
towed.”

The keys in my
hand start trembling as Milo’s comment reminds me of how my cell
phone suddenly stopped working halfway through the day. She
wouldn’t need to tow my car. She has the spare set of keys. My
phone dying should have prepared me, I guess, but I’m still
shocked.

“I can’t
believe she did it,” I say. “She actually took my car.”

“Who took your
car?” Milo asks.

I shake my
head as my weariness deepens. “My mom.”

“Your mom
stole your car? Why would she do that?”

“Because I
didn’t die last night like she thought I should have.” Even
emotionally challenged Milo looks a little taken aback by that. But
whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t give it voice.

“Is that offer
for a ride home still on the table?” I ask.

“Sure. Hop
in,” he says. “It’s no Audi, but it’s clean, mostly.”

Mostly. Ha. If
it’s anything like his general appearance, mostly might be the best
I can hope for. “It can be a pigsty for all I care at this point.
As long as it runs and can get me away from this school it will
feel like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage to me.”

“Climb in and
tell me where to go then, princess.”

I hold my
breath and halfway close my eyes before opening the door and
dropping into the passenger’s seat. One eye at a time, I open my
eyes and glance around. Incredibly, the only trash I see is a few
burger wrappers and an empty plastic soda bottle in the door.
Releasing my breath slowly, I take another one in and am greeted by
the scent of fabric freshener. Who would have thought? Clean and
fresh paired with Milo. Something about books and covers pops into
my mind and scatters immediately as Milo slides into the driver’s
seat.

“It’s nice,” I
say.

He shrugs and
starts the car. I point south and we’re driving out of the parking
lot before he responds. “It’s alright.”

My skin
ripples with goose bumps like it usually does when I catch a
glimpse of someone else’s emotions. Skepticism. He doesn’t think I
really like it. He assumes I’m being polite, but not honest.
Irrational as it is, it bothers me that Milo thinks I would lie to
him.

“I tried to
convince my mom to buy me a Ford Bronco. A red, nineteen-ninety
Ford Bronco. It had some rust on the undercarriage, but other than
that it was perfect. Plus it had a winch on the front,” I say with
a wistful smile. “I could have climbed some monster cliffs with
that Bronco.”

Approval
washes over me.

“I didn’t know
you like rock crawling,” Milo says.

“I love it,
but I don’t get to go very often. Or at least I didn’t used to.” My
mom disowning me might change that significantly.

Milo nods. “I
take my Jeep out most weekends. It’s a total piece, but that just
means I can be rough with it and it won’t matter. There’s more
scratches than paint on the thing.”

“That’s why I
wanted the Bronco, so if I dinged it up a bit no one would be able
to notice,” I say. “Oh, get on I-40 and go until you reach the exit
for Rio Grande.”

“Downtown?”
Milo asks. “I would have pegged you for a Sandia Heights girl. I
don’t think Rio Grande is even in our school boundaries.”

“It’s not. And
you would have been right about Sandia Heights, if we’d met
yesterday. My mom kicked me out after my Inquest.”

“Huh, you must
have quite the mom.”

“You have no
idea,” I say as I close my eyes.

“And your dad
went along with it?”

My whole body
tenses instinctively. Releasing my muscles one by one eases the
hurt from my mind. “My dad’s dead.”

Uncomfortable
silence fills the car. I shut myself down to any external
influences. I don’t want to feel Milo’s pity, or whatever he might
feel after that announcement. Quiet and still, it only takes me a
few seconds to drop into a coma-like sleep. Dreams of my dad and
how different the past two days might have gone if he were still
alive plague me relentlessly. When Milo shakes my shoulder to wake
me up I blink at the afternoon light in relief.

“Forget
Cinderella, you’re more like Sleeping Beauty. I’ve been shaking you
for a good two minutes,” Milo says.

“Sorry,” I
mutter.

“We’re coming
up on Rio Grande. I don’t know where to go after that.”

“Oh, right.” I
rub my eyes, probably smearing mascara, and try to dredge up the
rest of the directions to the hotel. “Um, take two lefts and then a
right.”

Milo nods and
signals a left turn after we leave the interstate. I’m still trying
to wake up when he makes the last turn, but I’m at least awake
enough to point to where I need to go. “It’s right there on the
left. I’m all the way at the end.”

The car stops
and Milo throws it into park. He turns to me with another flash of
seriousness that seems wholly out of place on him. “You live here?
At a motel? That doesn’t seem like a very good idea, Libby. It
could be dangerous.”

“It’s fine,” I
argue.

“Libby,” he
says, sounding very much like my dad used to when he was trying to
talk me out of something foolish, “this isn’t the best part of
town. Maybe you should stay somewhere else.”

My smile comes
out more as a sneer. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

He opens his
mouth to say something else, but I cut him off quickly.

“And just in
case you’re having a sudden urge to play my knight in shining
armor, not that that seems very likely, don’t bother offering me a
place to stay. I barely know you, Milo. Not even my own best friend
could swing it with her parents. And I’ve known them my whole life.
Nobody wants me near them anymore.”

Milo laughs, a
mirthless, grating sound. “Believe me, I wasn’t going to suggest
you crash at my place. My parents barely let me live there. There’s
no chance they’d take in a stray out of the kindness of their
hearts.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel to the point of
turning his knuckles an angry white. “What I was going to suggest
was that you choose a different motel.”

“No thanks,” I
say quickly. “I like it here just fine. Nobody knows me, nobody
bothers me, and it’s free. Besides, why do you even care? You've
known me for all of a couple hours.”

Concern
vanishes and Milo goes back to his normal, barely conscious state
of being. “I don’t know,” he mutters, “I just do, okay? Maybe I
don’t want to see your dead body on the news and feel responsible
for leaving you here.”

Some hero, he
just doesn’t want to be plagued by guilt if I die. How can he go
from strikingly genuine to an irritating slug so quickly, and so
often? All I want to do is throw myself on my bed and scream.
“Well, let me soothe your conscience right now,” I say. “I hold you
in no way responsible for my safety, Milo. If I get murdered in my
sleep, feel free to gloat and tell everyone that you told me
so.”

I grab my bag
and push the car door open. The walk to my door barely takes four
steps, but Milo’s own door slams before I can get my key out and
unlock the door. I’m so exhausted and irritated that I fumble the
key twice and completely fail to unlock the door before Milo yanks
them out of my hand and shoves them into the lock. He pushes the
door open and drops the keys back in my frozen fingers. Despite
having closed myself off from him earlier, I can feel his anger and
concern roiling all around him.

“Doesn’t it
bother you at all?” I ask. “Who I am, I mean?”

His stance
softens, very slightly. The hard set of his shoulders fills out his
tired sweatshirt for the first time all day. The baggy, worn
quality of his jeans doesn’t match the firm stance of his feet.
“No, it doesn’t,” he says simply.

“Why not?”

His grimace
deepens, and I feel a sharp spike of blazing pain and anger.
“Because maybe I wouldn’t mind if you did destroy everything.” And
then he gets back in his car and drives away.

Chapter 8

Lurking