“Holden, wait.”
But he was already slipping into the night. I thought about following him, but then what? Lock him up in the shack until he listened to reason?
“Shit.” I tossed my beer bottle into the fire and pulled out my phone.
Just saw H. Doesn’t look good.
Miller’s reply was almost instant.What do we do?
I had no clue, hating how hopeless I felt.
But doing nothing wasn’t an option.
***
On the last Wednesday of school, I hunted the quad for River Whitmore. I found Frankie Dowd first. Or he found me.
He stepped in front of my path—at a safe distance—looking like shit. Unwashed, stained clothes, eyes red-rimmed, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“You happy, fucker? My dad lost his job thanks to you. He’sgoing to jailthanks to you.”
I crossed my arms. “Good.”
“Good?” Frankie cried, drawing looks from students passing by, most with yearbooks tucked under their arms. “They gave him a year. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Not my problem,” I said.
A year wasn’t forever, but it was long enough. I pushed past Frankie.
“We’re not done with you yet,” he screeched after me. “You hear me, Wentz? You’ll pay. In the way that hurts you the most.”
I spun around and gripped Frankie by the front of his dirty T-shirt. We had onlookers now. A ring of students, some with cell phones out.
“I’m done fucking with you, Dowd,” I said, my gaze boring into Frankie’s pale-blue eyes. “You come near me or anyone I care about, and I willfuck your shit up. You get me?”
He nodded frantically, his eyes wide.
I let him go with a shove. “Now fuck off. You stink.”
He stumbled and slunk away, muttering to himself, and I spied Whitmore walking with Violet across the quad. His left arm was in a sling, and he had a bandage on his temple but otherwise looked okay. I strode to them, leaving a trail of whispers behind me.
“Hey,” I said to Violet. “I need to talk to Whitmore. Alone.”
“Sure.” She pecked his cheek. “See you soon, River. And tell your mom I’m thinking of her. Always.”
“I will,” he said. She left, and he jerked his chin at me. “What’s happening?”
“It’s Holden.”
“I figured. What about him? Is he okay?”
“He’s a mess. He’d already be in Paris or fucking who knows where, except he’s waiting on some cash. Then he’s gone.”
Whitmore’s jaw clenched, his eyes flooding with pain. “Just like that? No saying goodbye?”
“He told me he said goodbye to you at the hospital.”
“That doesn’t fucking count.”