Crush Control (34 page)

“I have something for you.” I smiled demurely at Quinton.

“Oh yeah?”

“I made it.” I pulled out the tissue-wrapped love charm and handed it to him.

He pulled open the ends of the white tissue wrap. “You made this charm for me? That's so nice.”

“Here, let me help you put it on,” I said, unhooking the silver clasp. As I reached the ends of the necklace toward his neck, Quinton's forehead wrinkled up.

“Wait,” he said, pulling the charm closer to his eyes. “Why is there an X through the heart?”

“Um . . .” I suddenly felt hot and a little dizzy. What if it was too obvious? “It's um, because . . .”

Georgia leaned in between us. “X marks the spot,” she said quickly. “Like,
there he is—that's my man. That's the heart that belongs to me.
”

“Right, right.” I nodded furiously. “X marks the spot!”

“It almost looks like it's cutting the heart in half,” Quinton observed. Quite rightly.

“Because half of your heart belongs to Willow now, right?” Georgia said, grabbing the chain. “Here, let me help you get it on. It'll be easier for me back here.”

“Wait, I want to look at it some more,” Quinton said.

Just then a fit woman with a swingy ponytail positioned high on her head took center stage, tapping the microphone and welcoming our high school squad and supportive fans. The crowd erupted into applause, and all around us students stood up and clapped. Quinton stood up and I reluctantly folded the necklace back into my hand. I turned around and gave Georgia a desperate look. When the crowd returned to their seats, Georgia reached over and took the necklace from me.

“Here,” Georgia said. “Let me help you clasp this.”

The cheerleading squad took their positions on the mat below. Music pulsated from the ceiling and thumped through the wooden bleachers beneath us.

Georgia placed the necklace around Quinton's neck, but he swatted at her hand. “Hold on,” he said. “I can't get a good look at it.”

Georgia shot me a look that screamed,
Distract him so I can get this thing around his neck!

“Oh, Quinton,” I said, leaning toward him. “I just wanted to make you something that um . . . physically represented my feelings.” On the mats below, the cheerleaders did running round-offs followed by back tucks. I grabbed Quinton by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Georgia strung the silver chain around him and clasped the hook. The love charm plopped against his T-shirt with a plink.

As I pulled away I saw Mia, standing on the mat, looking up in my direction with panic etched across her face. She was waiting for my signal to rub her fingers together. I tried to stand but Quinton pulled me toward him, going in for a second round of kisses. I tried to give him a quick, closed-lip smooch, but then he was angling me to sit on his lap. I yanked away, tried to stand again, tried to turn to catch Mia's eye, but it was too late.

She was springing up into the air, doing her triple flip backward in a tucked position. As she spun around for the third time in the air, people jumped up off their seats, applauding with fury.

But then the crowd gasped collectively. Mia hadn't released fast enough, and she crashed down onto the mat, still partially tucked. There was a deafening thud.

The crowd went silent.

The team froze.

The music stopped.

The stadium was bone-chillingly quiet as Coach Graham ran over toward Mia. Mia's mother and father flung themselves off the bleachers and onto the mat. Mia's mother bent down to embrace her but Dr. Palmer put his hand up to stop her. He said something inaudible but he gestured to the awkward position Mia was sprawled on the mat.

Mia's mom burst into tears, causing the mascara to run down her face.

Her dad turned to Coach Graham and it was easy to see from his lips that he said emphatically,
Call 911.

The drive to Worthington Medical Center was torture. I kept telling Quinton to go faster, follow the other students' cars that kept cruising past us.

“I know you're worried,” he said. “But it's not worth risking a speeding ticket or an accident just to arrive there five minutes faster.”

I slumped back into the passenger seat as I saw Max's black Ford pickup speed past us in the left lane. I sighed with worry.

Quinton reached over and grazed his hand along my cheek. “It'll be okay,” he said in an artificial voice.

Quinton's craziness was my fault, too. My tally was climbing—the number of people whose lives I'd damaged was growing.
Please,
I silently prayed.
Please do not let Mia be seriously hurt. Do not let her be immobile or paralyzed because of me. Please.

The guilt pummeled down on me until I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my mom. To confess? I wanted to, desperately. Like maybe if I admitted my awful mistakes it could somehow make them disappear. But when she answered with her perky, “Hey kiddo,” I just started to cry. Quinton grazed his hand on my face again which made me weep louder.

“What's wrong?” Mom asked.

Everything.
Instead, I told her that Mia had fallen and was being rushed to the hospital.

“I'm getting in the car right now,” Mom said. “I'll meet you in the lobby.”

I felt myself relax a little, just knowing she'd be there. By the time we found a parking spot in the jam-packed visitors' lot and ran into the waiting room, most of the senior class was milling around, eating candy from the vending machine and talking in hushed tones. Mom weaved her way across the crowd and took me in her arms.

Georgia came over to us. She was uncharacteristically quiet, just smiling a small, tight smile of concern for a friend. To the right of us, Coach Graham was consoling the squad members. “She's going to be all right,” she said, although there had been no word from the doctor yet.

“I told Mia the triple flip was too risky,” one of the cheerleaders said, tears welling in her eyes.

“I know,” Coach Graham agreed. “She kept pushing the limit. I warned her that she could injure herself but”—she shook her head slightly—“it was like she had something to prove.”

I thought back to our hypnosis sessions, all the times she said these difficult moves were expected of her.
Could that have been all in her head? Could all of that pressure to overachieve come from some insecure part of her own mind?

“It was like—” one of the cheerleaders began. “I don't know, it was sort of like she was hypnotized when she would get ready to do those dangerous stunts.”

My heart froze in my chest.

“What do you mean?” Coach Graham asked.

“It was like she had no fear,” Sadie agreed. “She'd be nervous a few days before, but then as soon as it came time to do the stunt, she'd be strangely detached—like her mind was somewhere else.” Sadie lowered her voice to an insinuating tone. “And she'd always want to know if Willow was in the stands.”

Boom, boom, boom.
My heart went into overdrive.

“Willow?” Coach Graham. “The new girl?”

“Yeah,” Sadie said. “The one from Vegas. The one who had a hypnosis show.”

I felt Mom stare down at me.
I had told people about our show
.

Georgia began to squirm. “Um, I could use a drink,” she said. “Want to come?” She reached for my arm.

“We all saw Willow do hypnosis at a party,” a different cheerleader said.

There was a general mumbling of agreement. I began to panic. My hands started to feel sweaty.

“Do you think Willow was hypnotizing Mia to do more dangerous stunts?” Coach Graham asked Sadie. Her voice thundered across the hospital lobby. “Where's Willow?”

Suddenly, a thousand sets of eyes turned toward me. Students, parents, teachers—they all looked at me with both confusion and accusation written across their faces. Then I saw Max's denim-blue eyes looking at me with an unfamiliar expression—one I thought was a mixture of incredulity and disappointment.
Boom, boom, boom.
My heart banged uncontrollably. The stares were smothering me. I couldn't breathe.

Quinton placed a consoling hand on my arm, but I brushed it aside. Then I saw my mom. I couldn't stand the pained expression on her face. I needed to escape. I scanned around frantically for an exit. This was it—all the chaos of my life for the past few months was boiling over. I tore through the packed waiting room, squeezing between the crowds, ignoring the calls of my name, and raced through the electronic sliding glass doors out of the hospital. I bent over, hands on my knees, and tried to catch my breath. My chest squeezed in tiny bursts of air. My head was spinning. My heart was pounding.

The sliding doors of the hospital opened and Quinton emerged, shielding his eyes from the sun and scanning around for me. I dropped to my knees and hid behind a white ambulance. I took another deep breath, trying to calm my drumming heart. Suddenly I saw a pair of black heels stop beside me. I looked up and saw my mother.

“Please tell me it's not true about Mia.
Please
tell me you're not that stupid.” She sounded desperate.

I burst into a fresh swell of tears. “I'm so sorry.”

“What were you thinking?” she gasped.

“I don't know!” I sobbed. “I'm so sorry.” I leaned back against the ambulance, the weight of all my mistakes crashing onto me.

“Do you have any idea how much damage you may have caused? That girl is lying in a hospital bed!”

I covered my face with my hands, sobbing and shamed.

“I told you to leave hypnosis behind!” Mom cried. “I'm trying so hard to earn back Grandma's respect and,” she blinked her eyes. “It's not an easy thing to do. If she hears about this, she's going to think”—her voice caught—“I corrupted you—her perfect granddaughter.”

“I'm
not
perfect,” I garbled. “I'm terrible. I've been lying to everybody—trying to do things I didn't know how to do, trying to be someone I'm not.”

“Why?” Mom asked with tears in her eyes.

I shook my head. “I don't even know,” I admitted. “It was a new place. I thought maybe I could be a new person.” I sniffed. “Someone . . . fascinating. But I'm not.” I covered my eyes and started to cry again. “I'm just selfish and awful and I hurt innocent people. Oh my God, what if Grandma
does
find out?” I crumbled at the thought.

Mom wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. “It'll be okay,” she whispered soothingly, changing her demeanor entirely. She gently ran her hands through my hair. “Everything's going to be okay.”

I inhaled sharply. “She wanted a relationship with me. She bought tickets to the Nutcracker. But now, if she hears this . . .”

Mom sighed heavily and pulled my hands down from my face. “Grandma knows that you're a good person. You're smart and sensible.”

“But . . .”

“Look,” Mom bit her lip slightly. “Hopefully you two can learn from our mistakes and not let one wrong decision alter your entire relationship.”

“But it doesn't seem that easy,” I whispered.

“Willow!” Georgia's shrill cry interrupted my protest.

We looked up and saw her standing by the sliding doors.

“The doctor just came out,” she yelled, running toward us. She came up beside us, breathy and eager. “Mia's going to be okay,” she panted. “She broke a leg and dislocated her elbow, but the doctor said she's going to be fine.”

A fresh burst of tears sprouted, but this time from relief.

Mom squeezed me. “She's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine,” she repeated, comforting me and, I think, herself.

Inside the hospital waiting room everyone chirped excitedly at the news of Mia's prognosis. Everyone stopped talking when they saw me enter but Mom and I just nestled ourselves next to the admissions desk. Mia's mother appeared, looking haggard and worn. As she scanned the crowd, Jake walked over to her. Mrs. Palmer smiled weakly at him. He asked her something and she nodded. “Yes,” she said. “She does want to see you, but first she's asked to see Willow.” She craned her neck around. “Willow?”

Everyone within earshot turned and looked at me again.

“Mia would like to see you.” The look Mrs. Palmer gave me was slightly accusatory, and I knew she had heard the circulating rumors. I wanted to blurt out that I was sorry, that I didn't mean any harm, I'd do anything to help, to make it up to all of them, but before I could say a word, Mrs. Palmer turned and walked out of the waiting area and down a long sterile corridor.

I followed her quickly, feeling the same queasy feeling I had at the principal's office. I clasped Mom's hand like she was my security blanket and dragged her along. “Wait,” I said as we passed by the gift shop. “Can I . . . can I grab something quickly?”

Mrs. Palmer looked at me then nodded curtly.

Five minutes later I emerged holding a big bouquet of fresh white roses. Mrs. Palmer was talking politely to Mom about hayrides at some pumpkin patch, and I smiled at Mia's mom gratefully. She didn't smile back. My insides tightened.

We walked down the hallway and opened the hospital room door. Mia was propped up on the narrow bed, one leg wrapped in a thick white cast. Her left arm hung from a sling and was pressed to her chest. Her father sat in a plastic chair beside her, drinking steaming coffee from a small Styrofoam cup. Coach Graham stood at the foot of the bed, nervously drumming her hand against the metal rails. All three of them turned and saw us enter. We walked closer to the bed, leaving the door open behind us.