I turned and spotted Cole and Lexi maneuvering through the crowd toward me. Tears streaked Lexi’s swollen cheeks. Cole took hold of my elbow and turned me around, told me we had to get to class.

“What happened?” I asked.

“There was a car wreck. It’s bad. Don’t look. Teasley wants everyone inside. Let’s go.”

The ambulance sirens were louder; coming up the long straight road everyone called “The Strip.” As I turned toward the noise, I saw the wreck. Spiderwebbed glass bleeding red. Smoke steaming from folded metal hoods.

“Is that … ?” My words caught as Cole tugged me toward the school. I jerked free and turned back.

Parker Walsh stumbled out of his crunched blue Mazda; wet blood blackened his pant leg.

I started moving toward him, to get a closer look, but a pair of arms came around me. It was Anthony. “We need to go inside,” he said. But I held my ground. From the distance the scene before me didn’t make sense.

Parker struggled through the smoke, disoriented, his hands trying to push it aside like he was tangled in a large white bedsheet. He kept disappearing and reappearing with the breeze. I watched, trapped by Anthony’s arms, as Parker bent over, leaned inside the window of the mangled red Mustang like he was trying to talk to whoever was inside.

I closed my eyes, remembering Kori getting into Parker’s car the night before.

Anthony was speaking, but I couldn’t hear anything except the bass beat of my own blood—pounding like angry fists on my eardrums. I’m sure the car alarms were still bleating. The ambulances had their sirens on. But I couldn’t hear any of it.

Anthony’s grip tightened as I struggled against his arms. “No,” I whispered. Then I started screaming, “Let me go!”

“Teasley said we had to go inside,” he said softly, not releasing me.

“But, Kori’s in …”

Anthony softened with shock. His hold became more of an embrace than a restraint, and I broke free from it.

There is no shame in not knowing; the shame
lies in not finding out.
—Russian proverb

ten

I felt a hand on my shoulder but I didn’t look up or open my eyes. “Serena, it’s time to go.” My mother. The nurse at the desk had called her when I’d come into the emergency room. I remembered hearing her. Then I remembered the accident.

“Serena, we need to leave.” Her voice caught. I heard her swallow before she spoke again, this time with authority, urgency. “The family is coming and they’ll want some privacy.”