Fury (11 page)

But at least she had stopped crying.

“Do you—do you want me to talk to her for you?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Definitely not. I don’t know what I want. Just advice, I guess. I want to know how to get through to her.”

Em sat up a little straighter. “Well, what does she like? What does she do for fun? Is she girly or a tomboy? What kind of stuff does she wear?”

Chase almost laughed. He was pretty certain, now, that Em Winters was entirely useless to him. “I have no idea what she likes to do for fun. She flits around with these crazy cousins—Ali and Meg, we all went out together one time—and she dates college guys. Like, dudes who read fricking e. e. cummings.”

“e. e. cummings is a good poet,” Em said reproachfully. “JD and I drove to see his grave in Boston once.” She turned away, tracing a pattern on the window with her finger.

e. e. cummings is buried in Boston,
Chase thought. He would have to remember that tidbit. He could mention it in front of Ty and impress her.

And then, suddenly, he had an idea.

“You’re into poetry, aren’t you, Winters? What was that poem you won a prize for? ‘Inevitable’?”

“‘Impossible,’” Em replied cautiously.

Chase pulled into Em’s driveway and shifted toward her impulsively. “Can I have it?” Chase suddenly said.

“Have what?” Em asked, brushing her long, dark hair out of her eyes. “My poem?”

Chase nodded. Maybe this little car ride was going to turn out to be more helpful than he’d thought. “Yeah. That would be perfect. She would love it. It wasn’t about a guy, right? It could be about anyone?”

“I—”

He could see Em hesitating.

“Give me the poem and I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise,” Chase said. He hadn’t meant it to sound so, well, threatening. But it was only fair. An eye for an eye, or whatever. “Deal?”

Em cleared her throat. Finally, she said, “Sure. Yeah. I’ll email it to you.”

Chase felt a surge of triumph. At last, something might go his way.

“Great. I’ll be in touch,” he said as she opened the car door. “And, hey—Winters,” he said, right before she slammed it shut. “It’s okay. Everybody makes mistakes.”

Later that night, Chase drove straight to the bench where Ty would be waiting. It was just outside the candy store where Ascension’s middle school students congregated after school on Friday afternoons. As he pulled up, Chase shoved aside a memory of himself and Sasha, fourth-grade science lab partners, going to pick out gummy worms and root-beer barrels to see how they would react to being immersed in first vinegar, then soda, and finally milk.

When he arrived, Ty was sitting there smiling, surrounded by the glow of a streetlight, with a book in her lap. The street was otherwise deserted. As he got out of his car, the silence and stillness of the night made him a little uneasy.

“Hey there,” she said, not getting up. She looked like a bohemian princess, with her red hair piled high on top of her head and a velvet cloak wrapped around her shoulders. For someone who used to live in Ascension, she didn’t seem to have a great grasp of the New England town’s climate—beneath the cloak, which was falling off one shoulder, Ty wore a short dress and ankle boots. “Want to sit here for a minute
with me?” She tapped the bench next to her. Chase looked up at the starless sky. Snow was predicted and the night was cold. He’d been envisioning a shared cup of hot chocolate at the twenty-four-hour diner one town over, then—finally—a steamy kiss in his car. But he didn’t want to disappoint Ty, who looked at him expectantly, as though sitting on a bench at ten o’clock at night in 20-degree weather was just, you know, normal.

“Have a sip of this,” she said, pulling an ornate glass bottle from her purse. “It’s this crazy Eastern European stuff I got from a friend. It’ll keep you warm.”

Chase grabbed the bottle as he sat down beside her, and raised it to his mouth. The alcohol tasted like Ty smelled—earthy, sweet, thick, foreign. She watched him take a sip.

“It kind of makes everything glow,” she said gleefully. “From the inside out.”

He had to agree. He didn’t know if it was the booze or Ty’s influence or the first symptoms of hypothermia, but everything he looked at—the black fringe of trees by McKeane Park, coated with frost; the snow-spotted street; the dark windowpanes—all seemed to be somehow fluid, boundaries blurring, buildings pouring into one another.

“I’ve never just
sat
here at this time of night,” he said. “It seems so much . . . older. Calmer. Does that make sense?”

Ty smiled. “The buildings, the streets, the town speak for
themselves at night, don’t they?” she said. “You can really
feel
the place.”

“It’s not, like, clogged up with people’s bullshit.” Chase hoped he didn’t sound dumb.

“So true.” Ty was looking at him with big eyes and a gentle smile. Then she stood up.

“Let’s explore,” she said. “It’s been
so
long since I’ve been back!” Chase tried to remember what she’d said about living in Ascension—that she’d moved away ages ago. He wondered what she was doing back here, of all places, but something about her carefree attitude made him keep his questions to himself.

Instead, he tried to take charge. Like he was used to.

“Hey, if you’re into exploring, wanna see something cool?” He grabbed her hand and led her down the street, toward the park. The traffic lights were all on late-night, blinking mode. There were no cars on the road.

“It’s like a ghost town!” Ty shouted into the night air.

He stopped in front of Ascension Town Hall, where all the windows were darkened.

“Are we getting married?” Ty giggled as she asked the question. “I think it’s after business hours.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed open a gate at the side of the building. “This way.” There was a brick path that led around a corner, opening up into a small courtyard behind
Town Hall. “This is public property,” he said, “but no one knows about it. I found it once, just wandering. Sometimes I come here—to think.”

“Whoa,” she breathed, taking in the silent, snow-covered patio. It wasn’t much, but he had to admit that in this light, it looked magical.

“I bet there are even people who work at Town Hall who never hang out in this spot,” he scoffed, proud to show her something new.

She twirled around, giving a loud whoop that echoed between the walls. “A secret garden!”

He whooped too, as much for the sound as to release the strange giddiness he felt.

“Where does this path go?” Ty pointed toward another gated walkway backing the far corner of the courtyard.

“Back out toward the middle school,” Chase answered. “Over near Rambling Brook.”

“Oooh—let’s go see if the water’s frozen,” she said. It was hard to deny her excitement.

She skipped ahead of him, turning around to beckon him every few steps, until they reached the Rambling Brook Bridge, which crossed over the small river that bisected downtown. Ty stopped and peered over the edge. Her hair fell out of its loose bun, and now its long, silky, shock-red strands were blowing all around her face.

“Doesn’t the breeze feel amazing?” she shouted. Chase shivered, trying to see what she saw, feel what she felt. But it was a freezing winter night—and the “breeze” had a piercing chill to it.

“Hey, be careful there,” he said, trying not to sound tense as he lightly touched her bare, pale arm. As always, when he touched her, a zing of electricity went through his fingers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, still staring down at the dark, thin stream below them. “The drop isn’t bad.” It was true. The river was only about fifteen feet below them. But Chase felt a pang in his stomach. It was a different bridge, a different night, a different girl, but he found himself imagining Sasha’s fall. Sasha climbing the overpass railing. Sasha looking down below her. Sasha thinking about the drop. Not just the physical fall, but the end of things—how everything you have can disappear in a moment.

Chase felt a spasm in his chest. He had been happy when she was miserable. He had felt vindicated. He had thought,
People get what they deserve.

Now, thinking of Sasha’s last moments, he just felt sick.

“Let’s keep going,” Chase said, giving Ty a gentle nudge with his hip. In front of them, a streetlight illuminated the first few flakes of snow. They were falling fast.

Instead of moving forward, though, Ty gripped the railing tighter. And then, like a cat, she maneuvered herself from the
ground onto the bridge’s low, wide railing, her long legs looking graceful as she balanced on the rail, slowly letting go and standing up.

“Hey! Seriously!” Chase shouted, not bothering to control his voice anymore. He didn’t want to grab her and cause her to lose her balance, but he couldn’t just stand there and watch her get hurt.

She smiled and lifted her arms like a dancer. “I bet I could do a dance up here,” she said, pointing her right toe.

“Ty, please get down,” Chase said, his urgency increasing. “It’s not safe. It’s slippery.”

Ty twirled to face the river—a quick, tight motion, with her little cape flaring out around her—and then turned to face him again. She looked beautiful, crazy, almost translucent. She pointed her other foot. He blinked snow out of his eyes.

“Ty, please,” Chase said again. “You really should get down. A girl almost died like this last week. On a bridge, I mean. Off a bridge.”

He couldn’t tell if Ty could hear him.

“I’m fine, silly,” she said, sticking her right leg out behind her and balancing ballerina-style. “Why don’t you get up here with me?”

“Ty, really, please . . .” Chase stretched his hands toward her, as though he could pluck her off the railing.

“Aw. You are such a scaredy-cat,” she said, jumping like a
gazelle so that she was just out of his reach but still standing on the railing.

“Okay, you’re right, I am. I’m freaking scared. Now will you
please
just get down from there?” Chase could hear the pleading in his voice, on the verge of panic.

“Will you ask me nicely?” She lifted her arms above her head and pirouetted. Her boots clanged against the metal railing, and he felt his heart stutter with terror.

“What—? I
am
asking you nicely. I’m begging you to—”

She cut him off. “Beg me for real,” she said. Her smile looked wild.

“Please, Ty.” He could barely breathe.

She just shook her head and tossed her hair mischievously. “Uh-uh,” she singsonged. “On your knees.”

Without thinking about it, he did as she asked, his hands clasped in front of his face. “I’m begging you to get down.”
Please don’t start crying.
He would
not
cry in front of her. His eyes stung. He saw a flash of light in his peripheral vision, as though a car had passed, but the street behind them was empty.

And then, with a soft leap, she was beside him, pulling him off the ground. His knees were wet from the snow.

Chase let out a huge breath, making a cloud in the frigid air in front of his face. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded.

Ty wrinkled her eyebrows. “Don’t be mad! I was just having fun,” she said, smiling.

“I’m serious, Ty. I told you a girl practically died that way, and it’s like you didn’t even hear me or you didn’t care.” Chase couldn’t help it—he was furious still. He didn’t want to be out here with her anymore. He was getting a creepy feeling about the whole thing.

“Chase, Chase,” she said, more softly now. “Don’t you know we all die sometime?”

“What?” He stood there stiffly, staring at her, feeling like the entire evening had been ruined.

“Never mind,” she said. Then she grabbed his face with both hands and leaned in close. “I’m so sorry I scared you,” she whispered. There was something in her shining eyes that made him believe her. And when she took his hand in her own small palm, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. More than relief, really; it was like he’d had another gulp of that European liquor she carried around—he felt warm and numb. It was all going to be okay.

As they continued their walk, they rounded a corner and found themselves looking at the middle school athletic fields, covered in clean, unbroken snow that unrolled before them like a sheet of blank paper. As they walked into the expanse, they looked behind them to see their footprints, lonely and stark, creating patterns in
the crystalline whiteness. Ty’s footprints seemed to disappear into the snow much faster, melting away almost entirely.

“Let’s make snow angels,” Chase said. He hadn’t done that since he was a kid.

“Snow what?”

“Snow angels. You know.”

Ty shook her head.

“You’ve never made a snow angel?” Chase laughed. “Maybe there
is
something I can teach you!” He turned and fell into the white fluff, flapping his arms and feet and not caring what he looked like. Not even caring—well, not
too
much—that the new navy peacoat his mother had bought him for Christmas was getting damp from the snow. He gingerly stood up and stepped out of his imprint.

“See? There’s the head, and there are the wings,” he said, taking Ty’s hand and pointing at his creation. She smiled wider than Chase had ever seen, showing off those mind-bendingly perfect teeth, then turned, dropped, and made an angel of her own. She stood up, giggling.

“I did it!” She pointed. Then they peppered the field with angels until they were soaked. As Chase watched Ty run around the field, catching snowflakes and rolling in the snow, he remembered what it was like to be a kid, before things like money and popularity and sports stats and girlfriends mattered. Then he spread his arms wide and let himself sink backward in
the snow. The stars winked and flashed above him.

Then she appeared in his vision, standing over his feet, blotting out a piece of the sky. He put out his hands for her to help him up. And as he stood, they were half embracing. He was shivering so badly, he had trouble keeping his teeth from chattering. She had to be freezing. Her cloak was matted with snow.

“Want my coat?” He started to take it off.

“It won’t help much,” she said, pointing to its dripping collar.