Bang (8 page)

I hit the computers after Trey and Sawyer are

gone so I can do my tree research, and my best guess is

that the bush-tree in Sawyer’s vision is a redbud. I pay to

print a few pages of examples and take off. I make it home

before five and get to the restaurant early to help set up

for dinner.

“How was your tree research?” Dad booms when I

glide through the kitchen. He looks good today. Clean

shaven, a smile on his face. At school a few hours ago I

thought he might have killed himself, but staring at him

now, it’s hard to imagine he’s ever depressed.

“Good. Successfully identified a redbud tree. But

teachers are hitting hard with assignments. I’m going

to have to spend more time at school and at the library,

where I can use decent computers.” I cringe, hoping he

doesn’t see that as a slam, because it’s just a fact. Our computer sucks. And I need to establish that I’m going to be gone more. But bringing up chess club again is a bad idea.

He lets it go. Even makes a joke about typewriters.

Today he is my favorite kind of dad. I realize just how

seldom this dad comes out these days, and I wonder what

triggers it. When I catch a glimpse of Rowan, I know my

dad’s up days are numbered. As soon as he realizes what

she’s doing, it’s going to be shitty again.

Part of me wants to tell them what she’s up to. But I

can’t. I owe her. I owe her big, and she is well aware of

that. In fact, she probably planned it that way. I shake my

head and watch Rowan with new respect. She arrives on

time every day. She kisses Mom and Dad on the cheek

when she sees them, and greets Tony the cook like he’s

family. She tells them just enough about her day that they

never say, “You never tell us anything,” to her. She treats

everyone with respect and she’s the one who gets the most

customer love on the restaurant comment cards.

And it’s all a big screen. A ruse. Well, that’s not really

fair to say, because she truly is a thoughtful, respectful, punctual person. But she also knows how to use her strengths to her advantage, and when she goes to New

York, Mom and Dad are going to be absolutely gobsmacked—they’ll never see it coming. Because if anything, Mom and Dad are looking at me to be the one to disappoint them again.

She’s a freaking genius.

With Dad working at 100 percent tonight, Mom sends all

three of us upstairs early. I grab Trey and drag him into

his room, which is mildly messy. He has posters of famous

people on his walls and weird gadget-like stuff between

the books in his bookshelves.

I close the door. “Well?”
“Nothing. We got to three of the schools on your

list before dark, and I thought of another one on the way

home, but none of them looked right.”
I flop down on his unmade bed. “Crap.”
“He’s picking me up at dark thirty and we’re going to

try to get out to Lake View and Lincoln Park and back

before school starts.”
“Ugh, that’s going to be horrible at that hour.”
He shrugs and sits next to me. “We don’t have a

choice. He thinks we’re running out of time.”
We both lie back on the bed and stare at his ceiling.

“Anything new?”
“Still no. I asked him some questions that he thought

he could find answers to in the vision.” He sighs.
“Thanks for doing that.”
“No, it’s cool. He’s a great guy.”
I smile and look over at his face. “You sure you’re not

in love with him?”
That gets a laugh. “I’m in love with something, I

guess, but not Sawyer, though I still think he’s a total hottie. I guess I’m in love with this cute little relationship thing you guys have.” His lingering smile is wistful. “And,

like, you know, Rowan and . . . what’s his name?”
“Charlie.”
“Yeah, Charlie. I heard more about him the other day

when I drove Rowan home. Seems like they’ve got something good too.”
My throat catches a little. “You’ll have it too. You will.

I mean, maybe just not in high school. Maybe college. For

sure college—things will be better.”
He folds his hands behind his head. “I hope so, Jules.

I really do.”
There’s a soft knock at his door.
“Come in,” he hollers.
Rowan peeks her head in. “Hi. I heard my name and

came running.” She comes in and closes the door. She

wrinkles up her nose and sniffs tentatively as she surveys

Trey’s mild clutter, and then she approaches the bed.
I sit up and shove Trey over so Rowan can sit too.

“The only way you could have heard your name is if you

were standing with your ear pressed against the door.”
“It was a short run,” she says agreeably.
My eyes grow wide and meet Trey’s alarmed look.

What else did she hear?
She sits down and lies back on the bed next to me. “So,

guys,” she says. “Isn’t it about time you fill me in on this

whole vision thing?”

“Nice try.” She sits up and scoots back so that she can
lean against the wall between Trey’s posters of Johnny
Depp and Adele.
I tilt my head back so I’m looking at Rowan upside
down. “What exactly do you think you know?”
“Well, I know you have a phone, I know you talk to
Sawyer at night when you think I’m sleeping, I know somebody’s having a vision of some kind of . . . shooting, and you
all seem to think you have to do something about it.”

Trey snorts and sits up. “Well, that about sums it up,
Ro.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Thank you and good
night, everyone—I’ve got an early morning, so, uh, Jules?
You wanna take this one in your office?”
I just stare dumbfounded at Rowan.
“Oh!” Trey adds, standing and fishing inside the
pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a familiar key chain.
“Just remembered. Great news. Dad says it’s time to start
advertising at school again.” He gives me a patronizing
smile and hands the keys to the new meatball truck to me.
“Don’t crash it. Have a ball.”
“Har har. Don’t forget my ten bucks,” I mutter, taking
the keys, and then I get up and shuffle toward the door,
dragging Rowan by her pajama collar. “Come on, you
little weasel,” I say. “Girls quarters. Immediately.”

Mom and Dad are still in the restaurant. Ro and I go
into our room and close the door. Rowan pulls her terry
cloth robe from the closet, rolls it up, and presses it against
the crack under the door as a sound barrier. I stand at the
closet, take off my clothes, and put on some booty shorts and
my “Peace, Love, Books” shirt, which I got from this dope
bookshop called Anderson’s. Ever since the visions, I started
wearing it to bed because it made me feel calm, and bed plus
calm equals sleep. Which I can always use more of.

Rowan turns out the light so when our parents come
upstairs there’s no chance of them seeing any light through
the door cracks and barging in, and we climb into her bed.
I lay on my side and sling my arm over her waist like I used
to do when we were younger, and we talk about what the
hell she’s about to do.
“I guess I want to meet him,” I say. I feel like the mom.

She’s quiet for a moment. “Well, come to the library
during second hour, then. Tomorrow. I’m always in that
little study room with the door shut.”
“I have class.”
Rowan sighs. “Honestly, Jules. You’re supposed to be
the bad child.”
“What, you want me to skip class? They’ll call home.”

“Not if you have a note from Mom.”
“Right, and that’ll be easy.”
“Oh, Jules. Tsk.”
“What, you forge her signature too? Do you even go
to class at all?”
“I’m pretty good at it, actually.”
I shake my head in Rowan’s pillow and almost laugh.
“One day you are going to get so busted.”
“Nope,” she says. “Because I have you taking the focus
away.”
“At least you admit it.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m nothing if not grateful.”

I pinch her upper inner arm in the soft spot that hurts
about fifty times more than it should, and she stifles a yelp
and jabs her elbow into my boob.
“Ow, loser,” I mutter.
We nurse our injuries. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Write me a
note and I’ll find you.”
“In my mind it’s already written,” she says.
“Okay, Gandhi.”
“That was Yoda.”
“Not even close.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a little young for
Star Wars
.”

“You’re a little young for having a long-distance boyfriend.”
“
You’re
a little young for stalking a serial killer.”

“It—he—they’re not serial killers,” I say. “It’s a school
shooting.” I spend the next ten minutes giving her the
whole explanation of the past months, including my crash
vision and how everything happened with that, and everything that’s now happening with Sawyer.
And she just listens and doesn’t seem surprised or
incredulous or anything. All she says is “I wonder what the
shooters’ motivation is?”
“So you believe it?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I? You, Trey, and Sawyer can’t all be
nuts.”
What a relief.
Later, when I’m in my own bed, falling asleep while
waiting for Sawyer to call me, Rowan whispers, “Jules?”

“Hey,” Sawyer says, his voice a husky whisper

that slides down my spine. “Sorry it’s so late. Did I wake you?”

“No, Rowan and I were just talking.”
“Hi from me.”
I look up and see Rowan propped up on one elbow in

the dim light. “He says hi.”
She grins, and then falls back on her bed and puts her

pillow over her face and says, muffled, “Go ahead and do

your oogy talk, I can’t hear you.”
I breathe out a laugh and put my mouth against the

phone again. “Rowan knows,” I say.
He hesitates. “Um, okay . . . ?”
“She was on to us for a while. Don’t worry, she’s good

with it. And she just discovered something big for us.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, cool. What?”
“If this thing happens early next week, or anytime next

week, it won’t happen at a public school because we’re all

on spring break at the same time.”
He’s silent, and for a minute I think I lost the connection. And then, “Well. Damn. How did we not think of that?”
“Fresh ears and eyes are good,” I say, remembering.

“And don’t worry about her. She keeps more secrets than

a tomb.”
“I’m not worried,” he says, and his voice totally has me

convinced that he’s got this whole thing under control. But

I know better.
“So that leaves private schools?” he asks.
“That seems to be the logical conclusion, though I

imagine some of them have the same spring break as us.”
“How many private schools are there?”
“I’m not sure. But instead of wasting time in the morning going to check out the two public schools you were planning to look at, maybe we three can meet somewhere

to do research?”
“Four,” Rowan says, still muffled.
“I thought you couldn’t hear me,” I whisper.
“What?” Sawyer says.
“Nothing. I mean, Rowan wants to help, if it’s cool

with you.”
“Hell yes. I’ll take all the help I can get. Meet me at

the coffee shop, North and Twenty-Fifth. Five thirty?”
“Sure.” I turn to Rowan. “You’re in. We’re leaving

here at five fifteen in the morning. Don’t be late.”
She lifts her arm from the blankets and gives a

thumbs-up.
I turn away from her and face my wall. “We’re going

to figure this out,” I say, softer.
He’s quiet. I picture him in his bed, nodding.
“Jules,” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I smile. “Sure.”
“Jules?”
“Yeah?”
“I wish you were here with me so I could hold you.”
My eyes close and a wave of longing rises through me.

I remember middle school and my Sawyer pillow. “Hold

your pillow. Pretend it’s me. I’m here. Right here with you.”
I hear a muffled sound like he’s actually doing what I

suggested, which almost brings tears to my eyes, because

what guy does that?
“Jules,” he says once more.
“Yeah?” I say again.
He’s quiet for a long time. And then he says, “I’m

really very insanely much in love with you.”
And I can’t speak, because this big ball of tears and air

is blocking my words, and finally I sniffle and I manage to

squeak out, “That is the best thing anybody has ever said

to me, ever. And I am insanely really very much in love

with you, too.”
We sit on the phone all quiet for a minute.
And then, from below Rowan’s pillow, a snicker.
I freeze. And she snorts.
I twist around. “Oh my God, Rowan, shut
up
, I hate

you!” I grab my pillow and chuck it at her head, but her

bed doesn’t stop shaking until after Sawyer and I hang up.

In the morning I stumble out of bed at four thirty and

kick Rowan in the butt to wake her up. Trey is just emerging from the steamy bathroom when I get there, and he looks at me with surprise.

“What’s up?” he whispers. “You going with us?”

I tell him Rowan’s discovery and our latest plan. He gets

out of my way so I can take a quick shower. Forty-eight

minutes later we three are headed out into the darkness.

When we get to the coffee shop, Sawyer’s got a table

staked out and is leaning over his laptop. We join him.
I look at Rowan. “Spinach-and-feta wrap and a tall

coffee, blacker than black,” I say.
Rowan nods primly and turns to Sawyer. “May I take

your order?”
He gets a cute puzzled grin on his face. “Iced coffee and

a sausage-and-egg sandwich.” He reaches for his wallet.
Rowan puts her hand out to stop him. “That won’t

be necessary,” she says. She looks at Trey. “Well? What

would you like?” Her tone is annoyed.
“What’s going on?” Trey asks.
Rowan looks at me.
I shrug. “Tell him.”
She clears her throat, clearly not wanting to tell. “I’m

buying everyone breakfast today on account of how I disrespected Jules’s love.”
Sawyer chokes and Trey laughs out loud. “I see. Well,

in that case, I’ll have a hot vanilla chai tea, yogurt, and

granola. With whipped cream. On everything. And a

brownie. And—okay, I guess that’s enough.”
Rowan gives me a condescending sneer and I respond

with my superior smile. She goes up to the counter.
Sawyer recovers and starts typing again. I pull my

chair closer so I can see, and Trey looks around the other

side of him. “There’s a ton of private schools,” he says

under his breath.
“The oldest schools might be mostly Catholic around

old Chicago,” I say.
“Here’s one, Saint Patrick. Over a hundred fifty years

old,” Trey says.
Sawyer pulls up the map and zooms in until he has

a street view. “Nope. The building is wrong.” He looks

up at me. “You know, you might be on to something.

The scene of the building in the vision has a tall section.

Reminded me of a church.” He digs further, and Trey and

I keep track of the schools he rules out. Then he finds a

list of private schools by neighborhood all within the city

limits. There are dozens of them.
It’s frustrating. “We need a better computer at home,”

I say. “This is crazy. I think we’re the only kids in the

entire city who don’t have laptops.” I drum my fingers on

the table.
Sawyer gently places his hand over mine, stilling my

fingers, but his eyes never leave the screen and his other

hand moves swiftly around the keyboard. “We can go to

school at seven when the doors open and try—” He shakes

his head. “Oh, that’s right. We’re not breathing, typing, or

speaking a word of this there.”
Rowan finally comes back with a tray of food, then

retraces her steps and returns with the coffees.
She joins us as we work and eat, and sits quietly,

respecting our love, listening as we talk through the various options and why they don’t fit the puzzle in front of us. When seven o’clock rolls around and it’s time to head

over to school, we have nothing.
Nobody talks as the four of us walk into school,

dejected shoulder to dejected shoulder: Trey, Rowan, me,

Sawyer. As we reach the freshman hallway, Rowan peels

away from our sad little group, but not before shoving a

folded note into my hand.
“Second hour,” she says. And then she frowns. “Put

some makeup on or something, sheesh.”