Snatching the cap from her head, she tosses it straight up. A second later, a hundred more join it, filling the air with green and black squares.
The crowd cheers. Their whistles and wolf howls are ear-shattering. In spite of everything, I find myself smiling just as wide as my fellow classmates. Soaking in the moment, before it slips away.
High school is over.
Welcome to real life.
All around me, parents are hugging their children, wiping tears of pride and joy. I walk down the steps of the stage, searching the crowd for signs of Flora and Miguel. Hoping they, at the very least, can offer some sort of explanation for Archer’s absence.
But they’re nowhere to be seen.
The anxiety inside me, momentarily subdued by the hat toss, returns with a vengeance. It multiplies when Blair and Vincent step into my path.
“Come, Josephine,” my mother says in a frigid voice. Her eyes are like knives. “We’re leaving now, before you can publicly humiliate us any further.”
“But—”
“Now. I’m not going to say it twice.” My father’s voice is shaking with anger. “And, for the record… you can consider yourself grounded.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
ARCHER
My right handgrips the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles turn white. My left holds my iPhone in a vise grip. Every few seconds, the truck’s GPA system drones orders at me, directing me toward the address Rico sent.
“At the lights, turn left at Lexington Avenue.”
The stoplight goes from green to yellow as I race toward it. I blast through the red without a thought, wincing as other cars swerve to avoid me with a racket of angry beeps. I’m usually the farthest thing from reckless behind the wheel. Today, I drive like a Formula 1 racer.
There’s no other choice.
I’m still wearing my prom clothes, the white button-down now a mess of wrinkles. There was no time to change before I hopped in my truck. No time to do anything except sprint to the cottage, calling out for my parents. Praying this was all some kind of sick joke.
“Ma! Pa! Where are you?”
My own voice echoed back at me, desperation in every syllable. Signs of struggle were apparent — a dining chair overturned, a floor rug askew, a water glass on its side. Cold fear gripped my heart as I raced to my bedroom and grabbed the aluminum bat from the floor.
I glance at it now, sitting on my passenger seat beside the graduation gown I’ll probably never get a chance to wear.
A boy with a baseball bat, against two gun-toting gang members.
The odds are not in my favor.
They never were. That doesn’t change a damn thing, though. My parents are held hostage in some dark basement. There’s no way I’m going to sit idly by while they’re in danger.
I eye the dashboard clock.
10:57
I have three minutes to make a ten minute trip. My foot presses harder against the pedal, accelerating to twice the legal limit on this quiet residential street. The truck engine roars in response.
50mph
60mph
70mph
“At the stop sign, continue straight.”