Hanging by a Thread (9 page)

But I knew she was covering for Lara, who chatted and turned her back on the shelves behind her, even as her hand reached behind and her fingers closed around the neck of a bottle of premium vodka. Her eyes were bright, but as she giggled I recognized the faint anxiety that seemed to be a permanent part of her. I’d heard rumors that her stepfather
was mean, that she was moving up to Oregon with her older sister as soon as she graduated.

I watched Lara slide the bottle into the big leather handbag she had slung over her shoulder, heard the clank of glass against glass, and knew that she’d already stolen another bottle. The vision had to be from a year ago; Lara must have picked out the red, white, and blue top for a holiday weekend beach party much like this one, then put it away in the bottom of a drawer until July came around again. Lara was a thief, along with her pretty friend, and as my hand rested on her back, the cotton fabric told me all about the guilt she carried with her.

A couple of stolen bottles of alcohol—that wasn’t so bad, was it? Nothing lots of other kids hadn’t done. Nothing I had to do anything about, anyway. It was no business of mine. As the vision faded, the pieces spinning and shattering, replaced by the salty breeze and the flickering light of the moon over the water, I breathed in deeply and let it out, trying to pretend I didn’t know this new thing about a girl who I’d hoped would be my friend.

There was something I was missing, something that nagged at the edges of my mind. There was more to what I’d seen than a couple of girls stealing liquor, but I couldn’t quite get hold of it. The pleasant mood from moments before had disappeared, replaced with a throbbing headache and faint nausea, the occasional aftereffects of a vision. At least it was nothing like the reaction I’d had earlier, the one that had left me facedown on my bedroom floor. I’d never had two visions in one day before, and it was exhausting.

“Come on,” Hopper was chanting. “Kiss her. With tongue. You know you’ll like it.”

I pulled away from Lara, who uttered a wobbly “Hey” and smiled uncertainly at me. I managed to get to my feet as Hopper muttered something I couldn’t understand and Luke lurched drunkenly to his feet, asking if I was okay.

“Yeah, just—I think I need to get some air. Maybe walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

A few days ago this was exactly what I’d been hoping would happen, that Luke would ask me to walk along the beach again, that we might end up making out on the sand this time, and maybe going somewhere in his car after. Down the road a few miles was a scenic lookout where kids went to park—but the smart ones drove an extra ten minutes, taking a dirt road up to
another
lookout, where the cops didn’t come by to make sure people weren’t having sex or getting high.

I had no intention of getting high. But in my purse, wrapped in tissue and stuffed in the bottom of my makeup bag, was one of the condoms my mother had insisted on keeping stocked in the linen closet since I turned thirteen. It was just in case—Mom had been preaching “just in case” forever—but I had been well on the way to convincing myself that Luke was the one, until I met Jack.

Now I wasn’t so sure. So much had happened today, and between the filthy torn jacket and the thing with Lara, I’d experienced two powerful visions. Every vision left me feeling tingly and light-headed, but these last two were
different. They seemed somehow more directed at me, more … urgent. Certainly, they were physically more painful and exhausting. And I couldn’t help thinking that they were linked, that they were leading to something that had happened in this town, something I was supposed to do something about. The trouble was, I had no idea what. I only knew that after this last vision I felt nauseated and weak and about to cry.

“I’m good,” I forced myself to say, with a grin that probably wasn’t very convincing. Between the moonlight and the streetlights high above, I could make out the confusion on Luke’s face. “Maybe in a while,” I added, “after I walk a little.”

“What do you mean, in a while? Let’s go now.” He threw an arm around my shoulders, and I could smell the liquor on his breath. It wasn’t hard to duck out of his grip, even as he tried to grab my arm. “Hey! C’mere!”

“Sorry, Luke, I think I want to be by myself right now.”

He muttered something that sounded a lot like “goddamn tease,” and as I started down the beach, I was glad I’d turned him down. I’d thought he was a pretty good guy when he wasn’t drinking, but any interest I’d had in him was gone.

I watched the moon glimmering far out over the ocean, a pale yellow globe whose reflection danced on the water. The ocean was so beautiful here. I’d taken it for granted in San Francisco. I took off my flip-flops and felt the sand on my feet, soft and damp and cool. The sounds of the party
grew fainter behind me, and seagulls hoping for a handout wheeled and screeched above, finally giving up and going wherever they go to sleep at night.

“Hey, Clare.”

I turned to see someone jogging toward me. For a moment I thought it was Luke, but then I saw the outline of his long hair: Jack.

“Hi,” I said, waiting for him. A wave came farther up the beach, covering my feet, making them sink into the sand.

“What’d you say to Luke?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t want to walk with him.” Jack stood close enough that I could see the moon reflected in his eyes. “He called me a tease.”

“Are you?”

I was so stunned by his question that I didn’t answer. I felt both offended and intrigued, because I didn’t think that was what he was really asking me.

“Whatever,” Jack said, when I didn’t answer. “But look. You should stay out of the water.”

I bristled at his tone. I didn’t like being told what to do. Mom had given me a lot of freedom—but I liked to think I’d earned it, keeping my grades up and following most of her rules. I’d never been in any trouble at school, but then again, you’d have to do something really spectacular at Blake to get in trouble, since they prided themselves on having such a creative—read
permissive
—atmosphere.

“I’m not
drunk
.”

“Didn’t say you were. Still, it’s not a great idea to be in
the water by yourself in the dark. People die on the coast every summer.”

“People died right here in Winston the last two summers.”

Jack laughed unexpectedly, a bitter, soulless sound. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

He started to walk away from me and I didn’t want him to go. “Wait. Jack.”

“Listen, I’m not your babysitter. Do whatever you want.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m sorry. Can we—can we start over?”

For a minute he paused, and I saw him in silhouette against the glow of the far-off bonfire. Broad shoulders. Those ridiculous shredded shorts. Hair blowing in the breeze. Hands clenched into fists … slowly relaxing.

He turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “My dad volunteered in the fire department. He pulled people out of the water, did search and rescue, all that. Know what he gave me on my tenth birthday?”

“What?”

“A bunch of pictures of motorcycle and bike accidents where the victims weren’t wearing their helmets. Not pretty, lots of brains on pavement.”

“Wow.” I swallowed; the image wasn’t doing much for my unsettled stomach. Still, I was feeling better otherwise; my head had stopped pounding and the dizziness had faded. “Bet you felt ripped off.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he saved my life.”

There was a gruffness to Jack’s voice that was hard to read.

“Well. He sounds … like a concerned dad.”

“He was.”

Was?

I knew I should say something, but in my wobbly state the moment passed while I was clumsily trying to find the words, and then I was just standing there feeling stupid, wondering if Jack’s dad had died or just left, like mine. Although fathers who took the time to worry about their kids’ safety didn’t strike me as the kind who left. My own father had barely paid any attention to me when he lived with us, and once he was gone, it was like he forgot about me. For my tenth birthday, my dad had sent me a princess costume that might have fit a five-year-old, and a card in which he wrote that he’d call soon. Which had kept me going for a while, because back then I still believed his promises.

“So, you want to walk some more?” He had already set out down the beach ahead of me, and I had to race to catch up.

“Um, sure.” I tried to think of what we could talk about; Jack didn’t exactly invite conversation. “Did you try those hard lemonades Ky brought?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh. You don’t?” I was barely managing two or three words at a time.

“Or smoke. Or anything.”

“Is it because of soccer?”

“No. I’m quitting the team.” He paused, then seemed to relent. “It’s no big deal. I partied a lot, for a while. After my dad died. I didn’t like what it did to me.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “How long ago was it … I mean, did it happen in a fire?”

“No. He was an electrician. There was an accident at a job site.” Jack spoke without any emotion, hands jammed in his pockets.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, feeling stupid. I shouldn’t have asked. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to my mom.”

“It’s okay. I was messed up for a while, but my uncle beat the shit out of me after I got in trouble a few times.”

“And that was … a good thing?”

“Kept me from getting worse. He went to school and talked to my guidance counselor and they worked something out. Suddenly I was working at the clinic after school.”

“Is that why you don’t hang out with everyone? Because you’re always working?”

“Who told you I don’t hang out with them?”

I could feel myself blush. I was going to kill Rachel. “I only meant … I haven’t seen you around. At the beach.”

“Your crowd parties a
lot
.”

I couldn’t tell if I detected judgment in his voice—or a warning. “They’re not my crowd,” I said defensively.

His laugh was the same as before—abrupt and bitter. “Yeah? Seems like you’re always around Rachel.”

“Rachel’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I think?”

I couldn’t help it—I was stung by his tone. “What about the rest of them? You hate everyone? Is that it?”

Jack rolled his eyes, and ticked off a list on his fingers.

“Rick and Ky are on the soccer team. Hopper’s been in my Spanish class since middle school. Luke lives a couple of blocks from me; we both got suspended from school in ninth grade for jumping the fence to chase a coyote at recess. I don’t have anything against any of them.”

I wanted to ask him how well he knew all the girls, too—I was thinking of the way Jenna had looked at him. Maybe that was it—maybe
Rachel
liked him. I’d never seen a guy turn her down, but maybe Jack had, and now she couldn’t stand him.

“Can I ask you something?” It seemed important to figure this one out, since it involved my best friend and the only guy in Winston I’d found myself attracted to. “What’s the real reason you don’t like Rachel?”

“Nothing, really. She’s … popular. I’m just surprised that you and she have anything in common. How do you know her, anyway? Didn’t you just move here?”

I wondered if I should be offended. “Our moms were in a playgroup together when we were little—Rachel and I were very close until I moved away. We kept in touch.”

“You used to live here?”

“Yeah, Rachel didn’t tell you that?”

“No. Makes me wonder what else I don’t know about you.”

Somehow, we had stopped walking. Jack put his hand on my arm, turning me toward him.

And then he kissed me.

I’d made out with a few boys. There was Dan Schwermer, a sculptor at Blake. Zack Sengupta, who went to a prep
school in the city but lived in our apartment building. A few others. I hadn’t dated any of them for long, but I liked almost everything about the kissing.

There on Black Rock Beach, in the summer before my junior year, in the town that had been my home once before and now would be again, I discovered that I didn’t know anything.

Kissing Jack was
nothing
like kissing any other boy I’d ever known. He put a hand against my neck, and his fingers were rough and warm, sending little earthquakes through my skin as they traced my ear and wound through my hair. His lips brushed against mine lightly at first, his lips barely parted. I heard myself make a sound, a faint moan, and Jack kissed me harder.

He twisted my hair between his fingers, kissing me along my chin and my jaw. I looked up to the moon and wondered what I was doing. After a few seconds, I gave up and let him hold me closer. But as I touched the soft worn fabric of his shirt, I involuntarily sucked in my breath. The electric response was immediate, the swirling, splintering flashes of a vision causing me to stumble. I tried to push him away before it went too far, before the visions claimed me, and I was thinking,
Not him, not him, please please just not him
.

But Jack pulled me back against him. He wrapped his strong arms around me and didn’t say a word, and even through the skittering, flashing memories in my mind, the memories that weren’t mine, the ones I didn’t want to know, I was not able to resist. The attraction was too powerful,
and I knew that if Jack released me I might fall, so I let the vision come while his chin bristled against my throat and made me tremble all the more.

Some sort of wall was lurching past, yelling, the sound of things breaking. No, wait, the wall was still, and I was running. I felt strong, I could run all night. Yes. Night. A parking lot, a brick building, pools of yellow light from tall streetlamps. Shouting. In my hand something heavy, something that felt right, all my anger coursing through my arm and into the thing I held as I smashed it against a window. The glass breaking, and for a moment I was—satisfied? No, not exactly, because the rage came back stronger. I needed to break something else, and fast, because my fury was like an itch in my skin, a burn in my veins, a scream lodged in my throat
.

If I could just destroy something. If I could just destroy enough … Then maybe it would back down. Even a little. In my hands, the bat—yes, it was a baseball bat—landed hard and shattered another window
.