Crescendo

CHAPTER 12

TUESDAY AFTER CLASS, I WAS ON MY WAY OUT OF the building to meet Vee, who’d skipped class to hang out with Rixon but promised to swing back by school at noon to chauffeur me home, when my cell phone chirped. I opened the text message just as Vee hollered my name from the street.

“Yo, babe! Over here!”

I walked to where she was parallel parked at the curb and folded my arms on the open window frame. “Well? Was it worth it?”

“Skipping class? Heck, yeah. Rixon and I spent the morning playing Xbox at his place. Halo Two.” She reached over and unlatched the passenger door.

“Sounds romantic,” I said, climbing in.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Violence really puts guys in the mood.”

“In the mood? Is there something I should know about?”

Vee flashed a hundred-watt grin. “We kissed. Oh man, it was good. It started out all slow and gentle, and then Rixon really started getting into it—”

“Okay!” I cut in loudly. Had I been this sappy when Patch and I were together and Vee was odd man out? I prayed not. “Where to now?”

She scooted back into traffic. “I’m tired of studying. I need to inject a little excitement into my life, and that ain’t gonna happen with my nose in a book.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Old Orchard Beach. I’m in the mood for some sun and sand. Plus, my tan could use a base coat.”

Old Orchard Beach sounded perfect. It had a long pier that stretched out over the water, an on-the-beach amusement park, and fireworks and dancing after dark. Unfortunately, the beach would have to wait.

I jiggled my cell phone. “We already have plans tonight.”

Vee leaned sideways to read the text message and grimaced. “Marcie’s party reminder? For real? I didn’t realize you guys were new BFFs.”

“I was told that missing her party is the surest way to sabotage my social life.”

“She’s such a ho. Missing her party is the surest way to make my life complete.”

“Might want to rethink your attitude, because I’m going—and you’re coming with me.”

Vee pressed back against her seat, her arms going rigid on the steering wheel. “What’s her angle, anyway? Why’d she invite you?”

“We’re chemistry partners.”

“Seems to me like you’re forgiving her for that black eye awfully fast.”

“I owe it to her to at least show up for an hour. As her chemistry partner,” I added.

“So you’re saying the reason we’re dragging ourselves to Marcie’s party tonight is because you sit beside her every morning in chemistry.” Vee gave me the look of someone who knows better.

I knew it was a lame excuse, but not as lame as the truth. I needed to make absolutely certain Patch had moved on to Marcie. When I’d touched his scars two nights ago and been transported into his memory, he’d seemed reserved with Marcie. Up until their kiss, he’d even been short with her. I hadn’t made up my mind how he felt about her. But if he’d moved on, it would make it that much easier for me to do likewise. A confirmed relationship between Patch and Marcie would make it easy to hate him. And I wanted to hate him. For both our sakes.

“Your breath smells like liar, liar pants on fire,” Vee said. “This isn’t about you and Marcie. This is about Patch and Marcie. You want to find out what’s going on between them.”

I tossed my hands in the air. “Fine! Is that so wrong?”

“Man,” she said, wagging her head, “you really are a glutton for punishment.”

“I thought maybe we could look in her bedroom. See if we find anything that proves they’re together.”

“Like used condoms?”

Suddenly my breakfast was rising up my esophagus. I hadn’t thought of that. Were they sleeping together? No. I didn’t believe it. Patch wouldn’t do that to me. Not with Marcie.

“I know!” Vee said. “We could steal her diary!”

“The one she’s been carrying around since freshman year?”

“The one she swears would make the National Enquirer look tame,” she said, sounding strangely gleeful. “If something is going on between her and Patch, it’ll be in the diary.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on. We’ll give it back after we’re done. No harm, no foul.”

“How? Toss it on her porch and run? She’ll kill us if she finds out we took it.”

“Sure. Toss it on her porch, or take it during the party, read it somewhere, and put it back before we leave.”

“It just seems wrong.”

“We won’t tell anyone what we read. It’ll be our secret. It’s not wrong if nobody gets hurt.”

I wasn’t sold on stealing Marcie’s diary, but I could tell Vee wasn’t going to let it drop. The most important thing was getting her to agree to come to the party with me. I wasn’t sure I was courageous enough to go on my own. Especially since I couldn’t count on having a single friend there. So I said, “You’ll pick me up tonight, then?”

“Count on it. Hey, can we light her bedroom on fire before we leave?”

“No. She can’t know we were snooping in it.”

“Yeah, but subtle really isn’t my style.”

I looked sideways, eyebrows peaked. “No kidding?”

It was just after nine when Vee and I climbed the hill leading up to Marcie’s neighborhood. Coldwater’s socioeconomic map is easily determined by a simple test: Drop a marble on any street in town. If the marble rolls downhill, you’re upper class. If the marble doesn’t roll at all, you’re middle class. And if you lose the marble in a vapor of fog before you have a chance to find out if it rolls, you’re … well, you live in my neighborhood. The backwoods.

Vee pushed the Neon uphill. Marcie’s neighborhood was older, with mature trees that spilled above the street, blocking all moonlight. The homes had professionally landscaped yards and half circles for driveways. The architecture was Georgian colonial; every house was white with black trim. Vee had the Neon’s windows rolled down, and in the distance, we heard the steady pulse of blaring hip-hop.

“What’s her address again?” Vee asked, squinting through the windshield. “These houses are so far off the road I can’t read the numbers over the garages.”

“Twelve-twenty Brenchley Street.”

We came to an intersection and Vee turned onto Brenchley. The music intensified as we cruised down the block, and I assumed it meant we were headed in the right direction. Cars were parked bumper-to-bumper down both sides of the street. As we passed an elegantly remodeled carriage house, the music reached an all-time high, vibrating the car. Flocks of people were cutting across the lawn, streaming inside the house. Marcie’s house. One look at it, and I had to wonder why she shoplifted. For the thrill of it? To escape her parents’ carefully and perfectly crafted image?

I didn’t dwell on it longer. A deep ache swirled in my stomach. Parked in the driveway was Patch’s black Jeep Commander. Obviously he’d been one of the first to arrive. He’d probably been inside alone with Marcie hours before the party started. Doing what, I didn’t want to know. I sucked in a deep breath and I told myself I could handle this. And wasn’t this the evidence I’d come looking for?

“What are you thinking?” Vee asked, her gaze also glued to the Commander as we rolled past.

“That I want to throw up.”

“All over Marcie’s foyer would be nice. But seriously. Are you okay with Patch being here?”

I set my jaw, tilting my chin up slightly. “Marcie invited me tonight. I have the same right to be here as Patch. I’m not going to let him dictate where I go and what I do.” Funny, because that’s exactly what I was doing.

Marcie’s front door was open, leading into a dark marble hall crammed with bodies gyrating to Jay-Z. The foyer merged into a large sitting room with a high ceiling and dark Victorian furniture. All of the furniture, including the coffee table, was being used for seating. Vee hesitated in the doorway.

“Just taking a moment to mentally prepare for this,” she called to me over the music. “I mean, the place is going to be infested with Marcie. Marcie portraits, Marcie furniture, Marcie odors. Speaking of portraits, we should try to find some old family pictures. I’d like to see what Marcie’s dad looked like ten years ago. When his dealership commercials come on TV, I can’t decide if it’s plastic surgery that makes him look so young, or just massive amounts of makeup.”

I gripped her elbow and yanked her flush against me. “You are not ditching me now.”

Vee peered inside, frowning. “All right, but I’m warning you, if I see a single pair of panties, I’m out of here. Same goes for used condoms.”

I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut. The chances of seeing both were fairly high, and it was in my best interest not to officially accept her terms.

I was saved from further discussion by Marcie, who sashayed out of the darkness holding a punch bowl. She divided a critical glance between us. “I invited you,” she told me, “but I didn’t invite her.”

“Good to see you, too,” Vee said.

Marcie scrutinized Vee slowly, head to toe. “Didn’t you used to be on some stupid color diet? Looks to me like you gave up before you even started.” She turned her attention to me. “And you. Nice black eye.”

“Did you hear something, Nora?” Vee asked. “I thought I heard something.”

“You definitely heard something,” I agreed.

“Could that be … a dog fart I heard?” Vee asked me.

I nodded. “I think so.”

Marcie’s eyes thinned to slits. “Ha, ha.”

“There it went again,” Vee said. “Apparently this dog has real bad gas. Maybe we should feed it Tums.”

Marcie thrust the punch bowl at us. “Donation. Nobody gets inside without one.”

“What?” Vee and I said at the same time.

“Do-nay-shun. You didn’t really think I invited you here without an agenda, did you? I need your cash. Pure and simple.”

Vee and I eyed the bowl, which was swimming with dollar bills.

“What’s the money for?” I asked.

“New cheerleading uniforms. The squad wants ones with bare midriffs, but the school’s too cheap to spring for new ones, so I’m fund-raising.”

“This should be interesting,” Vee said. “The term Slut Squad will take on a whole new meaning.”

“That does it!” said Marcie, her face darkening with blood. “You want in? You’d better have a twenty. If you make another comment, I’ll boost the cover charge to forty.”

Vee poked me in the arm. “I didn’t sign up for this. You pay.”

“Ten each?” I offered.

“No way. This was your idea. You pick up the tab.”

I faced Marcie and pulled on a smile. “Twenty dollars is a lot,” I reasoned.

“Yeah, but think how amazing I’ll look in that uniform,” she said. “I have to do five hundred crunches every night so I can trim my waist from twenty-five to twenty-four inches before school starts. I can’t have an inch of fat if I’m going to wear a bare midriff.”

I didn’t dare pollute my mind with a mental image of Marcie in a promiscuous cheerleading uniform, and instead said, “How about fifteen?”

Marcie cupped a hand on her hip and looked ready to slam the door.

“Okay, calm down, we’ll pay,” said Vee, reaching into her back pocket. She stuffed a wad of cash into the bowl, but it was dark and I couldn’t tell how much. “You owe me big-time,” she told me.

“You’re supposed to let me count the money first,” Marcie said, digging through the bowl, trying to recapture Vee’s donation.

“I just assumed twenty was too high for you to count,” Vee said. “My apologies.”

Marcie’s eyes went slitty again, then she turned on her heel and carted the bowl back into the house.

“How much did you give her?” I asked Vee.

“I didn’t. I tossed in a condom.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Since when do you carry condoms?”

“I picked one up off the lawn on our way up the walk. Who knows, maybe Marcie’ll use it. Then I’ll have done my part to keep her genetic material out of the gene pool.”

Vee and I stepped all the way inside and put our backs to the wall. On a velvet chaise in the sitting room, several couples were tangled together like a pile of paper clips. The center of the room was filled with dancing bodies. Off the sitting room, an arched entryway led to the kitchen, where people were drinking and laughing. Nobody paid Vee or me any attention, and I tried to rally my spirits at the realization that getting inside Marcie’s bedroom unnoticed wasn’t going to be as hard as I’d thought. Trouble was, I was beginning to think I hadn’t come here tonight to snoop through Marcie’s bedroom and find evidence that she was with Patch. In fact, I was dangerously close to thinking I’d come because I knew Patch would be here. And I wanted to see him.

It looked like I was going to get my chance. Patch appeared in the entrance to Marcie’s kitchen, dressed in a black polo shirt and dark jeans. I wasn’t used to studying him from a distance. His eyes were the color of night and his hair curling under his ears looked like it was six weeks past needing a cut. He had a body that instantly attracted the opposite sex, but his stance said I’m not open to conversation. His hat was still missing, which meant it was probably in Marcie’s possession. No big deal, I reminded myself. It was no longer my business. Patch could give his ball cap to whoever he wanted. Just because he’d never loaned it to me didn’t hurt my feelings.

Jenn Martin, a girl I’d had math with freshman year, was talking to Patch, but he looked distracted. His eyes circled the sitting room, watchful, as if he wasn’t about to trust a single soul there. His posture was relaxed but attentive, almost like he expected something to happen at any moment.

Before his eyes made it around to me, I shifted my gaze. Best not to be caught staring with regret and longing.

Anthony Amowitz smiled and waved at me from across the room. I automatically smiled back. We’d had PE together this year, and while I’d hardly said more than ten words to him, it was nice to think somebody was excited to see me and Vee here.

“Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” Vee asked.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.”

“Being nice? He’s being horny.”

Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music.

“What?” I called back.

“You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

“Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.”

“So maybe he’s a little drunk.”

“Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.

Five minutes later, we were still holding our position just inside the front door. I’d had half a can of beer accidentally sloshed on my shoes, but luckily, there’d been no vomit. I was about to suggest to Vee that we move away from the open door—the direction everyone seemed to run moments before spilling the contents of their stomach—when Brenna Dubois came up and held a red plastic cup out to me.

“This is for you, compliments of the guy across the room.”

“Told you,” Vee whispered sideways.

I stole a quick glance at Anthony, who winked.

“Uh, thanks, but I’m not interested,” I told Brenna. I wasn’t very experienced when it came to parties, but I knew not to accept drinks of questionable origin. For all I knew, it was tainted with GHB. “Tell Anthony I don’t drink from anything but a sealed can.” Wow. I sounded even dumber than I felt.

“Anthony?” Her face twisted with confusion.

“Yeah, Anthony Pimp-o-witz,” Vee said. “The guy who’s making you play delivery girl.”

“You thought Anthony gave me the cup?” She shook her head. “Try the guy on the other side of the room.” She turned to where Patch had been standing only minutes ago. “Well, he was over there. I guess he left. He was hot and wearing a black shirt, if that helps.”

“Oh boy,” Vee said again, this time under her breath.

“Thanks,” I told Brenna, seeing no choice but to take the cup. She faded back into the crowd, and I set the cup of what smelled like cherry Coke on the entry table behind me. Was Patch trying to send a message? Reminding me of my flop of a fight at the Devil’s Handbag when Marcie had doused me with cherry Coke?

Vee pushed something into my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A walkie-talkie. I borrowed them from my brother. I’ll sit on the stairs and keep watch. If anybody comes up, I’ll radio.”

“You want me to snoop in Marcie’s bedroom now?”

“I want you to steal the diary.”

“Yeah, about that. I’m sort of having a change of heart.”

“Are you kidding me?” Vee said. “You can’t chicken out now. Imagine what’s in that diary. This is your one big chance to find out what’s going on with Marcie and Patch. You can’t pass that up.”

“But it’s wrong.”

“It won’t feel wrong if you steal it so fast that the guilt doesn’t have time to soak in.”

I gave her a pointed look.

“Self-talk helps too,” Vee added. “Tell yourself this isn’t wrong enough times, and you’ll start to believe it.”

“I’m not taking the diary. I just want to … look around. And steal Patch’s hat back.”

“I’ll pay you the eZine’s entire annual budget if you deliver the diary to me in the next thirty minutes,” Vee said, beginning to sound desperate.

“That’s why you want the diary? To publish it in the eZine?”

“Think about it. It could make my career.”

“No,” I said firmly. “And what’s more, bad Vee.”

She heaved a sigh. “Well, it was worth a try.”

I looked at the walkie-talkie in my hand. “Why can’t we just text?”

“Spies don’t text.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you know they do?”

Figuring it wasn’t worth an argument, I tucked the walkie-talkie into the waistband of my jeans. “Are you sure Marcie’s bedroom is on the second floor?”

“One of her ex-boyfriends sits behind me in Spanish. He told me every night at ten sharp Marcie undresses with the lights on. Sometimes when he and his friends are bored, they drive over to watch the show. He said Marcie never rushes, and by the time she finishes, he has a cramp in his neck from staring up. He also said there was this one time—”

I clapped my hands over my ears. “Stop!”

“Hey, if my brain has to be polluted with these kind of details, I figure yours should too. The whole reason I know all this vomit-inducing information is because I was trying to help you.”

I flicked my eyes toward the stairs. My stomach seemed to weigh twice as much as it had three minutes ago. I hadn’t done anything, and I was already sick with guilt. When had I become low enough to snoop in Marcie’s bedroom? When had I let Patch twist and tangle me up this way? “I guess I’m going up,” I said unconvincingly. “You’ve got my back?”

“Roger that.”

I climbed the stairs. There was a bathroom with tile floors and crown molding at the top. I moved down the hall to my left, passing what looked to be a guest bedroom, and an exercise room equipped with a treadmill and elliptical. I backtracked, this time taking the hall to the right. The first door was cracked, and I peeked inside. The room’s color scheme was a frothy pink—pink walls, pink drapes, and a pink duvet with pink throw pillows. The closet had spewed itself onto the bed, floor, and other furniture surfaces. Several photographs, blown to poster size, were tacked to the walls, and all were of Marcie posing seductively in her Razorbills cheerleading uniform. I experienced a mild rush of nausea, then saw Patch’s ball cap on the dresser. Shutting myself in the room, I rolled the bill of the cap into a narrow cone and crammed it into my back pocket. Beneath the ball cap, lying on the dresser, was a single car key. It was a spare, but it had a Jeep tag. Patch had given Marcie a spare to his Jeep.

Swiping the key off the dresser, I shoved it deep into my other back pocket. While I was at it, I figured I might as well look for anything else belonging to him.

I opened and closed a few dresser drawers. I looked under the bed, in the hope chest, and on the top shelf of Marcie’s closet. Finally I slipped my hand between the mattress and box spring. I pulled out the diary. Marcie’s small blue diary, rumored to contain more scandal than a tabloid. Holding it between my hands, I felt the overwhelming temptation to open it. What had she written about Patch? What secret things were hiding in the pages?

My walkie-talkie crackled.

“Oh, crap,” Vee said through it.

I fumbled it out of my waistband and pushed the talk button. “What’s the matter?”

“Dog. Big dog. It just lumbered into the living room, or whatever you call this humongous open space. It’s staring at me. Like, staring right at me.”

“What kind of dog?”

“I’m not up-to-date on my dog species, but I think it’s a Doberman pinscher. Pointed, snarling face. It resembles Marcie a little too much, if that helps. Uh-oh. Its ears just went up. It’s coming toward me. I think it’s one of those psychic dogs. It knows I’m not just sitting here minding my own business.”

“Stay calm—”

“Shoo, dog, I said shoo!”

The unmistakable growl of a big dog came through the walkie-talkie.

“Um, Nora? We have a problem,” Vee said a moment later.

“The dog didn’t leave?”

“Worse. It just bounded upstairs.”

Just then there was a snapping bark at the door. The barking didn’t stop—it grew louder and more snarling.

“Vee!” I hissed into the walkie-talkie. “Get rid of the dog!”

She said something in response, but I couldn’t hear over the dog’s growls. I flattened my hand to my ear. “What?”

“Marcie’s coming! Get out of there!”

I started to shove the diary back under the mattress, but fumbled it. Handfuls of notes and pictures spilled from the pages. In a panic, I raked the notes and pictures into a pile and tossed them back inside the diary. Then I rammed the diary, which was quite small considering how many secrets it was rumored to hold, and my walkie-talkie into the waistband of my pants and flipped the light switch off. I’d deal with putting the diary back later. Right now, I had to get out.

I raised the window, expecting to have to remove the screen, but it was already done for me. Probably Marcie had removed it long ago to avoid the nuisance when she was sneaking out. That thought gave me a small measure of hope. If Marcie had climbed out before, I could too. It wasn’t like I was going to fall and kill myself. Of course, Marcie was a cheerleader and a lot more flexible and coordinated.

Poking my head out the open window, I looked down. The front door was directly below, under a portico supported by four pillars. Swinging one leg out, I found traction on the shingles. After I was sure I wasn’t going to slide off the sloped portico, I brought my other leg out. Balancing my weight, I lowered the window back in place. I’d just ducked below the window line when the glass filled with light. The dog’s nails clicked against the glass, and it uttered a round of furious barks. Dropping to my stomach, I squeezed as close to the house as I could and prayed Marcie didn’t open the window and look down.

“What is it?” Marcie’s muffled voice carried through the window-pane. “What’s the matter, Boomer?”

A trickle of sweat fell down my spine. Marcie was going to look down, and she was going to see me. I shut my eyes and tried to forget that her house was filled with people I had to attend school with for the next two years. How was I going to explain snooping in Marcie’s bedroom? How was I going to explain holding her diary? The thought was too humiliating to bear.

“Shut up, Boomer!” Marcie shouted. “Would somebody hold my dog while I open the window? If you don’t hold him, he’s stupid enough to jump out. You—in the hall. Yes, you. Grab my dog’s collar and don’t let go. Just do it.”

Hoping the dog’s barking would mask any sounds I made, I rolled over and planted my back against the shingles. I swallowed the knot of fright in my throat. I had kind of a phobia about heights, and the thought of all that air between me and the ground had sweat leaking from my skin.

Digging my heels into the roof to push my weight as far away from the ledge as possible, I wrestled the walkie-talkie out of my pants. “Vee?” I whispered.

“Where are you?” she said through the music blaring in the background.

“Think you could get rid of the dog any day now?”

“How?”

“Be creative.”

“Like feed it poison?”

I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I was thinking more like lock it in a closet.”

“You mean touch it?”

“Vee!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll think of something.”

Thirty seconds ticked by before I heard Vee’s voice float through Marcie’s bedroom window.

“Hey, Marcie?” she called over the barking. “Not to interfere, but the police are at the front door. They said they’re responding to a noise complaint. Do you want me to invite them in?”

“What?” Marcie shrilled directly above me. “I don’t see any police cars.”

“They probably had to park a couple blocks over. Anyway, as I was saying, I noticed illegal substances in the hands of a few guests.”

“So?” she snapped. “It’s a party.”

“Alcohol is illegal under the age of twenty-one.”

“Great!” Marcie shouted. “What am I going to do?” She paused, then raised her voice again. “You probably called them!”

“Who, me?” Vee said. “And lose the free food? No way.”

A moment later, Boomer’s frantic barking faded into the house, and the bedroom light blinked out.

I held perfectly still a moment longer, listening. When I was positive Marcie’s bedroom was empty, I flipped to my stomach and belly-crawled up to the window. The dog was gone, Marcie was gone, and if I could just—

I pressed my palms to the window to force it up, but it didn’t budge. Leveraging my hands lower on the pane, I put all my strength into it. Nothing happened.

Okay, I thought. No big deal. Marcie must have locked the window. All I had to do was hang out here another five hours until the party ended, then get Vee to come back with a ladder.

I heard footsteps on the walk below and craned my neck to see if by some stroke of luck Vee had come to my rescue. To my horror, Patch had his back to me, walking toward the Jeep. He punched a number into his cell and raised it to his ear. Two seconds later, my cell phone sang out in my pocket. Before I could hurl the cell into the bushes at the edge of the property, Patch came to a stop.

He looked over his shoulder, his eyes traveling up. His gaze fell on me, and I thought it would have been better if Boomer had shredded me alive.

“And here I thought they were called Peeping Toms.” I didn’t need to see him to know he wore a smile.

“Stop laughing,” I said, my cheeks hot with humiliation. “Get me down.”

“Jump.”

“What?”

“I’ll catch you.”

“Are you crazy? Go inside and open the window. Or get a ladder.”

“I don’t need a ladder. Jump. I’m not going to drop you.”

“Oh, sure! Like I believe that!”

“You want my help or not?”

“You call this help?” I hissed furiously. “This isn’t help!”

He spun his key chain around his finger, then started to walk away.

“You are such a jerk! Get back here!”

“Jerk?” he repeated. “You’re the one spying in windows.”

“I wasn’t spying. I was—I was—” Think of something!

Patch’s eyes flicked to the window above me, and I watched as understanding dawned on his face. He tilted his head back and gave a bark of laughter. “You were searching Marcie’s bedroom.”

“No.” I rolled my eyes like it was the most absurd suggestion.

“What were you looking for?”

“Nothing.” I yanked Patch’s ball cap out of my back pocket and flung it at him. “And here’s your stupid hat back, by the way!”

“You went in for my hat?”

“A big waste, obviously!”

He fit the hat to his head. “Are you going to jump?”

I took an uneasy look over the edge of the portico, and the ground seemed to drop another twenty feet out of reach. Sidestepping an answer, I asked, “Why did you call?”

“I lost sight of you inside. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He sounded sincere, but he was a smooth liar. “And the cherry Coke?”

“Peace offering. You going to jump or what?”

Seeing no alternative, I scooted cautiously to the edge of the portico. My stomach flipped circles. “If you drop me …,” I warned.

Patch had his arms raised. Squeezing my eyes shut, I slid off the ledge. I felt air break around my body and then I was in Patch’s arms, anchored against him. I stayed there a moment, heart hammering from both the adrenaline of falling and from standing so close to Patch. He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. I wanted to cling to his shirt, bury my face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go.

Patch tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “Do you want to go back to the party?” he murmured.

I shook my head no.

“I’ll drive you home.” He used his chin to gesture at the Jeep, because he still hadn’t unfolded his arms from around me.

“I came with Vee,” I said. “I should catch a ride with her.”

“Vee’s not going to pick up Chinese takeout on the way home.”

Chinese takeout. That would involve Patch coming inside the farmhouse to eat. My mom wasn’t home, which meant we would be all alone….

I let my guard slide a little further. Probably we were safe. Probably the archangels were nowhere close. Patch didn’t seem worried, so neither should I. And it was just dinner. I’d had a long, unsatisfying day at school, and I was famished from an hour at the gym. Takeout with Patch sounded perfect. How was a casual dinner together going to hurt? People ate dinner together all the time and never carried it further. “Just dinner,” I said, more to convince myself than Patch.

He gave the Boy Scout salute, but his smile was up to no good. A bad boy’s smile. The wicked, charming smile of a guy who’d kissed Marcie a mere two nights ago … and was offering to have dinner with me tonight, most likely with the hope that dinner would lead to something else entirely. He thought one heart-melting smile was all it would take to erase my hurt. To make me forget he’d kissed Marcie.

All my inner turmoil scattered as I was jerked to the present. My speculations died, replaced by a sudden, strong feeling of unease that had nothing to do with Patch, or Sunday night. Goose bumps prickled my skin. I studied the shadows ringing the lawn.

“Mmm?” Patch murmured, detecting my concern, tightening his arms protectively around me.

And then I felt it again. A change in the air. An invisible fog, strangely warm, hanging low, pressing all around, zigzagging closer like a hundred stealthy snakes in the air. The sensation was so disruptive, I had a hard time believing Patch hadn’t at least noticed something was off, even if he couldn’t feel it directly.

“What is it, Angel?” His voice was low, questioning.

“Are we safe?”

“Does it matter?”

I shifted my eyes around the yard. I wasn’t sure why, but I kept thinking, The archangels. They’re here. “I mean … the archangels,” I said, so quietly I barely heard my own voice. “Aren’t they watching?”

“Yes.”

I tried to step back, but Patch refused to let me. “I don’t care what they see. I’m tired of the charade.” He’d stopped nuzzling my neck, and I saw a certain tormented defiance in his eyes.

I struggled harder to pull away. “Let go.”

“You don’t want me?” His smile was all fox.

“That’s not the issue. I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you. Let go.” How could he be so casual about this? They were hunting for an excuse to get rid of him. He couldn’t be seen holding me.

He caressed the sides of my arms, but as I tried to take the opportunity to break away, he caught my hands. His voice broke into my mind. I could go rogue. I could walk away right now, and we could stop playing by the archangels’ rules. He said it so decidedly, so easily, I knew this wasn’t the first time he’d thought it. This was a plan he’d secretly fantasized about many, many times.

My heart was beating wildly. Walk away? Stop playing by the rules? “What are you talking about?”

I’d live on the move, constantly hiding, hoping the archangels don’t find me.

“If they did?”

I’d go to trial. I’d be found guilty, but it would give us a few weeks alone, while they deliberated.

I could feel the stricken look on my face. “And then?”

They’d send me to hell. He paused, then added with quiet conviction, I’m not afraid of hell. I deserve what’s coming. I’ve lied, cheated, deceived. I’ve hurt innocent people. I’ve made more mistakes than I can remember. One way or another, I’ve been paying for them most of my existence. Hell won’t be any different. His mouth quirked into a brief, wry smile. But I’m sure the archangels have a few cards up their sleeves. His smile faded, and he looked at me with stripped honesty. Being with you never felt wrong. It’s the one thing I did right. You’re the one thing I did right. I don’t care about the archangels. Tell me what you want me to do. Say the word. I’ll do whatever you want. We can leave right now.

It took a moment for his words to settle in. I looked to the Jeep. The wall of ice between us fell away. The wall was only there because of the archangels. Without them, everything Patch and I had been fighting over meant nothing. They were the problem. I wanted to leave them, and everything else, behind and race off with Patch. I wanted to be reckless; thinking only of right here, right now. We could make each other forget about consequences. We’d laugh at rules, boundaries, and most of all, tomorrow. There would only be me and Patch, and nothing else would matter.

Nothing but the promise of what would happen when those weeks drew to a close.

I had two choices, but the answer was clear. The only way I could keep Patch was by letting him go. By having nothing to do with him.

I didn’t realize I was crying until Patch ran his thumbs under my eyes. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay. I want you. I can’t keep doing what I’m doing now, living halfway.”

“But they’ll send you to hell,” I stammered, unable to control the quiver in my lower lip.

“I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it.”

I was determined not to show Patch how hard this was for me, but I choked on the tears running down my throat. My eyes were damp and swollen, and my chest ached. This was all my fault. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be a guardian angel. If it weren’t for me, the archangels wouldn’t be bent on destroying him. I was responsible for driving him to this point.

“I need one favor,” I finally said in a small voice that sounded more like a stranger’s than my own. “Tell Vee I walked home. I need to be alone.”

“Angel?” Patch reached for my hand, but I pulled free. I felt my feet walking away, one step in front of the other. Farther and farther from Patch they took me, as if my mind had gone numb and turned all action over to my body.