yolo (18 page)

Emily couldn't believe what had just happened, but she also couldn't be more thankful. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Liz and Blanche. Neither woman was the
best
role model, but they were both strong and assertive and knew what they wanted, and Emily could see the good in that.

“Thank you,” Emily said. “Really. You didn't
have
to help us, but I'm glad you did.” She took a step back and looked down at the criminals tied up at her feet. “Now we just have to decide what to do with these three.”

“I got it,” Chris said, waving his phone. He quickly dialed, then turned away as he spoke to someone on the line.

Emily and Ana, who was still snuggling Pickles, stood to the side while the others wrangled the tied-up criminals to their feet and began directing them across the patio, and then through the house to the front.

“Okay, everyone!” Madison called out as she strolled around the pool. “I really hope you enjoyed the little show.
C était fantastique, non? Bravo!
” Then as everyone started to relax and talk again, and the music was turned back up, she rushed to Emily and Ana, her eyes wide. “What was
that
?”

“It's . . . complicated,” Emily said.

“That's an understatement,” Ana said with a laugh.

“We're so sorry, Madison. We'll totally make it up to you.”

“I just wish you'd told me,” Madison said. “I mean, I love a little
pièce de théâtre
as much as anyone, but I would've set the scene a little better. You know, an introduction. And I would've
volunteered
to be held captive instead of this
petit chien
.” She scratched Pickles's head and smiled. “We should get together to plan the next time. Anyway, enjoy the party!” She twirled away, calling out for another glass of champagne.

“She totally thinks we did all of that just to add some excitement to her party, doesn't she,” Ana said, incredulous.

Emily nodded slowly, wondering how much champagne Madison had consumed.

“Come on.”

Ana took Emily's hand and they walked through the house, fielding lots of questions, and some congratulations, about what had just occurred out by the pool. Emily couldn't believe so many people were taking it in stride. A lot of them seemed to be under the impression, like Madison, that it was all some kind of show she and the others had put together.
That strange setup was apparently easier to comprehend than the reality.

Out in front of the house in the driveway, Big Dog, Ruff, and Scrappy were still tied up, and the others were standing around.

“What's the plan, then?” Emily asked, looking at everyone. “Please tell me there's an actually plan this time. A good one.”

“Don't worry,” Chris said as he stepped forward. “I called my uncle, and he's sending some cruisers up here to take them away.”

“Police!” Chestnut looked around, ready to sprint. “You can't call the police here.”

“Wait,” Chris said quickly before everyone could explode. “It's okay. He's sending people for them,” he pointed to Big Dog and his cronies. “That's it.”

Emily wasn't sure whether to ask, but Liz beat her to it.

“What about the . . . money,” she asked. “Isn't that going to come up?”

Chris shrugged. “Who's going to believe a trio of drug dealers, and possible smugglers, who just showed up at a high-school party with a gun and threatened the life of some kids.”

“And knocked one out!”

Emily glanced back to see Kyle standing in the doorway, obviously fascinated by the scene unfolding, but opting to stay farther away this time.

“You can do whatever you want with that money,” Chris continued. “No one will know the difference.”

“You can start your cake shop,” Ana said.

Liz beamed, and Blanche and Buck looked at her with surprise.

As she crossed her arms, Emily grinned. She could see in Liz's face, and Chestnut's, that they really would be done with their life of crime now. They had enough for Chestnut's classes, Liz's shop, and could probably start a college fund for Artie, not that the kid would have any trouble getting scholarships. Their lives were going to be on track.

Emily just hoped her own life would follow suit.

Chris and Emily stood on the steps and watched as the taillights disappeared down the Steins' driveway. The police had taken Big Dog, Ruff, and Scrappy away in separate cars, and Buck, Blanche, Liz, and Chestnut drove off as well.

Back inside, Emily, Ana, and Brandon collapsed together on a couch. Smiling, Chris perched himself on the arm.

“That day was . . .” Brandon sighed, then grinned. “That day was fucking incredible.”

Emily let out a burst of laughter. It was insane, sure, but in retrospect . . . the day was kind of awesome. The definition of YOLO.

“We did get Pickles out of it,” Ana said, holding up her new dog.

“But can we make a deal?” Emily asked. “Next time we go on any kind of road trip, can we promise
not
to make any stops along the way. Who knows what kind of luck we'll have next time.”

“Deal,” Ana and Brandon said.

“Aren't you guys pumped for the party?” Chris asked. “That's what this whole thing was about, right?”

Emily nodded as she sank back into the extremely soft, extremely comfortable couch. “Yeah, I suppose . . .” The music thumping from the patio sounded more and more distant by the second. “I'm sure we'll party in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes,” Ana agreed with a yawn.

Brandon let out a snore in response.

Emily tried to let out a laugh, but at that point exhaustion had taken over. She felt herself slipping into a deep sleep. It'd be a long day. The party could wait.

The Party Has Just Begun:

wtf

fml

READ ON FOR

EVEN MORE INSANITY IN

The eyes were beautiful.

They were mad huge, anime-hero huge, staring out of the darkness.

Something brushed his cheek too, rhythmically. Like kisses.

Jimmy smiled.

Kisses happened all the time to guys like Cam, who expected them. Never to Jimmy.

So he would always remember that moment, how weirdly tender and exciting it was on that deserted road on that rainy October evening, before he blinked and realized his world had gone to shit.

It wasn't the taste of blood that brought him to reality. Or the rain pelting his face through the jagged shark-jaw where the windshield had been. Or the car engine, screaming like a vacuum cleaner on steroids. Or the glass in his teeth.

It was the sight of Cam's feet.

They were thick, forceful feet, Sasquatch feet whose size you knew because Cam bragged about it all the time (14EE), feet that seemed to be their own form of animal life. But right now, in a pool of dim light just below the passenger seat, they looked weightless and demure, curved like a ballerina's. One flip-flop had fallen off, but both legs were moving listlessly with the rhythm of the black mass that lay across the top half of Cam's body—the mass that was attached to the eyes that were staring up at Jimmy.

“Shit!”

Jimmy lurched away. The animal was twitching, smacking its nose against his right arm now, flinging something foamy and warm all over the car. It was half in and half out, its hindquarters resting on the frame of the busted windshield, its haunches reaching out over the hood. The broken remains of a mounted handheld GPS device hung from the dash like an incompletely yanked tooth.

For a moment he imagined he was home, head down on his desk, his mom nudging him awake with a cup of hot cocoa. It was Friday night. He was always home on Friday night. But this was real, and he remembered now—the deer springing out of the darkness, running across the road, legs pumping, neck strained. . . .

“CAAAAAM! BYRON!”

His voice sounded dull, muffled by the rain's ratatatting on the roof. No one answered. Not Byron in the backseat.

Not Cam.

Cam.

Was he alive? He wasn't crying out. Wasn't saying a thing.

Jimmy fumbled for the door handle. His fingers were cold and numb. With each movement the engine screamed, and he realized his right foot was stuck against the accelerator, trapped between it and a collapsed dashboard. He tried to pull it out and squeeze the door handle, but both were stuck. He gave up on his foot and looked for the lock.

There.

The door fell open with a metallic
grrrrrock.
Jimmy hung on to the armrest, swinging out with the door, as a red pickup sped by. It swerved to avoid him, and Jimmy tried to shout for help. His foot still stuck, he spilled out headfirst, twisting so his shoulders hit the pavement. As his teeth snapped shut, blood oozed over his bottom lip. He spat tiny glass particles.

The pickup was racing away, past a distant streetlight, which cast everything in a dim, smoky glow. From the car's windshield, the deer's hind legs kicked desperately in silhouette, like the arms of a skinny cheerleader pumping a victory gesture.

As Jimmy yanked his own leg, not caring if the fucking thing came off at the ankle, he felt the rain washing away the blood. Through the downpour he could see the long, furry face on the seat—nodding, nodding, as if in sympathy.
That's it, pal. Go. Go. Go.

His ankle pulled loose, and he tumbled backward onto the road, legs arcing over his head. As he lay still, catching his breath, he heard someone laugh, a desperate, high-pitched sound piercing the rain's din.

It took a moment before he realized it was his own voice.

“Jesus, it's still alive!”

Byron's voice. From the backseat.

Byron was okay.

Jimmy jumped up from the road. He struggled to keep upright, his leg numb. He spat his mouth clean as he made his way around the car. Through the side window he could see Byron's silhouette, peering over the front seat. Jimmy looked through the driver's side window. The deer's back was enormous, matted with blood and flecks of windshield. Under it he could make out only the right side of Cam's body from the shoulder down, but not his face.

Cam was completely smothered.

“Oh God, Jimmy, what did you do?” Byron said.

“I—I don't know. . . . It just, like,
appeared
!” Jimmy had to
grip the side of the car to keep from falling, or flying away, or completely disintegrating. He blinked, trying desperately to find the right angle, hoping to see a sign that Cam was alive. “Push it, Byron—push it off!”

“It's a monster—how the fuck am I supposed to push it?
Shit, Jimmy, how could you have not seen it?
”

“I did!”
Jimmy screamed. “I braked. I tried to get out of the way—”

“Dickwad! You tried to outmaneuver a
deer
? You don't
brake
! That makes the grill drop lower—lifts the animal right up into the car, like a fucking spoon! You just
drive
. That way you smack it right back into the woods.”

“If you know so much, why weren't you driving?”

“With what license?”

“I don't have one either!”

“You told me you did!”

“I never told you that! I just said I knew how to drive. I never took the test—”

“Oh, great—the only person in Manhattan our age who knows how to drive,
and you don't bother to get a license
.” Byron leaned closer, suddenly looking concerned. “Jesus Christ, what happened to your mouth?”

“It's what I get for applying lipstick without a mirror—”

“Awwww,
shit!
” Byron was looking at something in his hand. “My BlackBerry's totaled.”

“How can you think about your BlackBerry while Cam is under the deer?”

Byron looked up with a start, then immediately leaped out of the car. “Oh fuck, Cam. Is he dead?”

“ ‘
Oh fuck, Cam
'? You just noticed him? You're yelling at me, and you just thought of Cam?” Jimmy's hands trembled as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I'm calling nine-one-one.”

“No, don't!” Byron said, snatching the phone from Jimmy's hand.