The Stillburrow Crush (19 page)

I stifled a scream and fled. The doorknob seemed slippery under my palm and I could almost feel how his hand would clamp around the back of my throat and squeeze if he caught me. But then I pulled hard and yanked the door open, flying into the secretary's domain. Egghead slammed the door shut behind me. Again, my body jerked. My hand came up to muffle a sob. Two secretaries sat at their desks watching me.

One gave me a sympathetic look while the other glared.

I swept by them and dashed out into the hallway. I sprinted all the way to my locker, not caring that I wasn't supposed to run in the halls. Egghead could give me another week's worth of suspensions for all it mattered. As I raced by opened doors of classrooms, I caught glimpses of students seated at their desks. I didn't care if they gawked after me either. I just had to get out of there.

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I reached my locker in record time and tore off the lock, throwing open my door. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I just started pulling things out, stuffing them into my bag. At that moment, I believed I'd never return to this blasted place.

I would drop out before I stepped one foot inside Egghead's school. There was another small town between Stillburrow and Paulbrook. It had a high school as well. I could enroll there, borrow one of Dad's cars off the lot and drive to school every morning.

I didn't realize I'd started to hyperventilate until I heard an alarmed voice call my name.

"Carrie? Carrie!"

I was grabbed by the shoulders from behind and spun around. Luke's worried gaze was all I saw. It was hard to distinguish anything else about him, because he looked blurred through all the tears.

"What are you doing out here?" I managed to ask. My breathing shuddered as I tried to regain some oxygen.

"I saw you pass my class and asked if I could go to the bathroom." His fingers bit down. "What's going on?"

My shoulders collapsed and I hiccupped. My head fell forward and my entire body trembled. I dived against his chest and fisted my hands around the cloth on the back of his shirt.

"I thought he was going to kill me," I rasped. "I was so scared, I thought..."

I couldn't talk. I can say now—since it's all over—I was acting completely irrational. But at the moment, I was petrified. I started blubbering all over Luke, not bothering to 177

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check my uncontrolled behavior. He kept saying, "Who," and

"What," but it didn't register.

He was warm and safe and his arms were wrapped around me, rocking me. That's all that mattered. I felt so secure in his embrace I almost passed out. My legs even started to give.

But then Luke shook me. "Stop it," he said. His voice was panicked. "Talk to me, Carrie."

I looked up at him through my tear-stained lashes.

"Egghead just suspended me."

"What?" His mouth dropped and he took a step back.

The step not only put distance between the two of us but it seemed to put a little distance between the situation and me.

My head cleared and I began to feel in control of my limbs again. I concentrated on settling my breathing.

Luke took a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Why?"

I sniffed and wiped at my wet cheeks. "Because Abby's not pregnant."

"Huh?" He moved closer and lowered his head. "I think you need to tell me what happened this weekend."

I wiped back hair that had fallen in my face, trying to gain a little decorum. Luke lifted a hand to help. He tucked a strand behind my right ear. Our fingers brushed.

"I've been hearing the rumor all morning about her being pregnant," he said. "So it's not true, then?"

I shook my head. "I, ah..." I looked down, trying to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach. "Marty told us she was 178

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pregnant on Thanksgiving Day. Right before you showed up, actually."

Luke nodded. "I could tell something big had just happened."

"But I guess she's not." I looked up to Luke and searched his eyes for a little faith. "I didn't tell anyone she was, though."

He snorted and gave a short laugh. "Of course you didn't.

Why would I think..." His words died away as my meaning seemed to sink in.

"Her dad thinks I did," I said, and bit my lip. "I'm being suspended a week for defamation."

Luke's look said he didn't believe me. He laughed. "Yeah, right." But when I didn't join in, he stopped and stared at me dumbfounded. "But that's crazy."

"Get back to class, Luke."

We both jumped at the commanding voice that boomed from behind us. I spun around and so did Luke. The principal loomed in front of us with his arms held stiffly at his sides. My ears started to buzz and I shrank back, bumping into Luke.

He took my arm and stepped in front of me, blocking me from the older man.

"Mr. Eggrow," he said, and his voice shocked me. It sounded so formal and rational. He was definitely the banker's son, his respectful courtesy layered over a thick air of authority. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. Carrie couldn't have started the gossip about—"

"Did you hear what I said?"

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Luke backed down. At least I thought he had. "Yes, sir," he said. "But I'm telling you it's not possible that she could've started any gossip. I've been trying to get a hold of her all weekend. I wasn't even allowed to talk to her on the phone because she's been grounded. And she arrived to school late this morning. You see, there wasn't any time for her to spread—"

"Return to your class...now," Mr. Eggrow commanded.

But Luke's shoulders were stiff. "Do you have any proof the rumor was started by her?"

"Mr. Carter—" Mr. Eggrow's voice rose and echoed down the hall. I caught sight of a few teachers glancing out of their classrooms. And what a sight they must've seen...Luke Carter squaring off with the principal and Carrie Paxton hovering behind her brave defender.

"This is none of your concern. Now go back to class before I give you an after-school detention."

The breath rushed out of Luke. He glanced at me and then back to the principal. He licked his bottom lip. "I think I'll see her safely to the door first," he said, and took my arm. He turned us toward the first available exit and started dragging me down the hall.

"What are you doing," I said. "Are you crazy? Go to class."

I glanced over my shoulder at Mr. Eggrow, whose silhouette was quickly becoming smaller and smaller.

"Shut up," Luke whispered back. "I wasn't about to leave you alone with him." At the door, he pulled me around to face him and tilted my chin up with his hand. "I'll take care of this.

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Don't worry about it." Then he pulled me onto the toes of my shoes for a quick yet hard kiss and pushed me out the door.

If I hadn't been so distraught about everything, I would've laughed. He'd acted like some knight in shining armor who'd just ridden up on his white stallion to rescue me and now was shooing me back into the castle (even though he'd actually sent me outside) while he set forth to save the day.

But at that moment, I couldn't think about it. I stopped at the top of the school steps and wondered what I was going to do next. I couldn't go home. I refused to go home. There was no telling what Mr. Eggrow had told Mom of my suspension.

She probably thought I'd been caught in the halls doing the nasty with Luke. If I went home and told her why I'd really been suspended, she and Dad would get upset and charge toward the school. And that would really stir things. The real problem was with Marty and Abby. If my parents stormed the building and confronted Egghead, they'd only bring a personal problem onto school grounds where it most certainly didn't belong. Nope, I definitely couldn't go home.

Over on the east side of the building, I could hear the grade school kids playing at recess. I glanced over and watched three children chase each other. Suddenly I wanted to be that age again, where I didn't understand so much, where I didn't have to be responsible for anything, and no one could blame me for such huge catastrophes.

A teacher blew her whistle and the children made one last frantic circle around the jungle gym before they reluctantly ran toward her and lined up into sloppy, uneven rows. As they filed inside, I started down the steps. The first place I 181

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usually went to be alone was the park. But that was too close to home and my parents would probably find me there, and then I'd have to explain the whole suspension thing.

But the library was right across the street. I crossed the empty road and jogged up the wide marble steps of the library. A cold breeze flapped against the collar of my coat. I shifted my heavy book bag to my other shoulder and opened the door.

Silence seemed to waft out and greet me. I knew the librarian was usually at her desk, which was directly to the right. I didn't want her to see me and ask why I wasn't in school, so I entered quietly and turned straight to the left. I found a deserted corner, which wasn't hard since the tiny library was empty of patrons, and there I started my camp-out.

Since I wasn't going to be in school for a week, I thought I could come here in the days and study each class for an hour, the hour I should've been in that class. That way I wouldn't be so far behind next week.

I was no longer thinking about dropping out of SEC. I'd settled down a lot since that irrational moment in the hallway with Luke. I wasn't looking forward to going back after losing five days of class work, no, but I was thankful I wouldn't be missing any tests. And I was worried about the newspaper. I was the only member on the journalism staff who really did anything with
The Central Record
. The teacher was going to be pulling her hair out by Friday when deadlines hit. I guess she'd just have to go to her friendly principal to complain if there were problems.

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I tried to concentrate on reading through all the different textbooks, but it was near to impossible. Who actually read those books, anyway? Talk about dry writing. But I eventually came up with a way to amuse myself as I scanned. Here's an example of what I did. My history book quoted, "John Wilkes Booth, an unknown actor and southern sympathizer, assassinated President Abraham Lincoln at Ford's Theatre on April 14, 1865."

So I just penciled in my own translation in my notebook, writing, "It was April 14th and spring was blooming. Only days before, the North had won their grueling war. Life was good for the president and his wife. And what better way could they celebrate than to attend the distinguished Ford's Theatre and watch a relaxing play. But the South had one last attack before they would admit defeat. One man, John Wilkes Booth, who was a Rebel at heart, slipped into Abraham Lincoln's box seat and shot him in the back of the head, killing not only the man but the leader of this united nation."

OK, so it wasn't that exciting but writing helped me keep my mind off things. So I wrote and I wrote. Finally, it was late enough in the afternoon I felt I should start venturing from the library. I knew I should go home, to save myself from even more punishment for staying away. But there was another stop I needed to make first.

I seriously needed to see Marty. I walked along Birch Street and then up Adams. I passed Georgia's and ducked a quick peek through the windows to make sure my mom wasn't inside before I crossed the street toward the grocery 183

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store. When I pulled opened the door to Getty's General, the bell jingled over my head.

I skidded to a stop when I saw the owner of the store, and not my brother, at the cash register. There were only a handful of customers cruising the four aisles and no one was checking out at that moment. John Getty turned toward me.

He had a ready smile on his face but it froze in place when he saw that it was a Paxton filling the entrance.

"Can I help you?" he said, through unmoving, stiff lips.

I shook my head and started to move in reverse. Where was Marty?

"I'm sorry," I said, right before I backed into the door. I groped behind me, pushed it open, and escaped.

What was going on? Why wasn't Marty at work? I started to breathe heavily, already suspecting the worst. I ran the whole way to his place. The small house he rented with Austin Fitz, owned by Austin's parents, was situated next door to the funeral home on Main Street. I pounded up their front steps and threw open the screen door. The regular door was already open and I charged in on Austin as he lay sprawled on the sofa in sweats, playing a video game on the television.

Austin, who looked nothing like his younger brother, E.T., worked nights at the gas station. He looked like he'd just awakened and gone straight to the television. His eyes were blurry and his hair was sticking up. An empty cereal bowl sat on the floor in front of him.

"Come on in," he called, even though I was already inside.

He sent me a sleepy smile. "What's up, little sister?"

"Where's Marty?"

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Austin's smile fell and he shook his head. "He ain't doing so well. The guy's bummed out, let me tell you."

"Where is he?" I repeated.

Austin shrugged. "Haven't seen him. I'd check his room if I were you."

I rolled my eyes and started toward Marty's room. I tried to open his door but it was locked. So I pounded.

"Marty! Open this door right now."

I continued to pound until the door cracked opened and my very mad-looking brother glared out at me. "Stop pounding," he said, wincing. "You're giving me a headache, stupid."

He looked about as bad as I'd ever seen him. Dark rings circled his sunken eyes and he hadn't shaved in a while.