Hit Page 2

My fingers curl around the damp folded paper. I shove it into my other back pocket, the one with the closure, and quickly fiddle the snap closed. Why didn’t I put it in this one to begin with?

  Cydni suddenly shouts, “Sares, the car!”

  I straighten, tugging my eyes from her to the rumbling Mustang; my sopping shoes suction the wet street inches from the brilliant headlight. I lurch, flailing my arms and screaming from my gut, “No!”

  Bash! Ooooof!

  The impact scoops me onto the sizzling hood. I’m sprawled like a broken loose-leaf binder, then shot off the side of the car. I’m flung through the air.

  In the dark, through the tiny, stinging raindrops, I jangle apart. The Mustang’s red taillights squint smaller and smaller. The wet fir trees’ uplifted arms stretch toward me, their pungent needles pricking the air, but I fall, fall, fall. The black asphalt bites my scalp and cracks against my skull.

  CHAPTER 4

  Haddings

  7:20 am

  Thump.

  My phone slips from my fingers and bounces to the floorboard before I can finish unzipping my jacket pocket. I flit my eyes up and slam the brakes, fishtailing to a stop on the roadside. My cup lid pops off, and hot coffee splashes across my jeans. When I curse and jerk, the cup tips completely.

  Over the song “Another Brick in the Wall,” I hear someone screaming. I swipe at my wet pants. “What did I hit?” I whisper. “Not a person …” Looking over my shoulder, I see what could be a body on the edge of the road, maybe twenty-five yards back, and my stomach floats. It’s too dark to be sure.

  My foot hovers above the accelerator, while the engine growls to fly. Go! Stay! Go!

  The screaming’s louder. “My friend’s been hit! Help! Someone help!”

  Turning off the car and killing the music, I mumble, “The, the street was dark, and there was rain. I couldn’t see through the rain.” My chest tightens.

  Unbuckling my seat belt, I throw open the door and run back, feeling for my phone in my pocket, but it isn’t there; it’s back in the car. There’s a girl farther up the road screaming into her cell, “911, is this 911?” She braces herself against a tree. “My friend’s been hit! She’s been hit!”

  My shoes punch the wet road. I skid to a stop beside the sprawled body.

  “Oh no. No! No! No!” I swear into my fist pressed to my mouth. It’s a girl! One shoe is off. Her legs are jumbled, and her pink hoodie is muddy and torn at the sleeve. Perfect white teeth are still behind her open lips. Blond hair is splayed across her eyes, nose, and the shimmering black street, while road rash is burned into her jaw. Blood bubbles from the gouge in her forehead.

  “Oh, please, no! It can’t be!” I squat, and my quivering fingers sweep the hair from her face. “Sarah?” My own blood rushes in a swoop to my feet, and I teeter. How? How is this possible?

  Laying my fingers against her soft neck, I find her pulse. She’s breathing. At least she’s breathing.

  The streetlights pop off as dawn breaks the morning free. Cawing and screeching, a murder of crows fills the evergreens looming above us.

  “What, what have I done?” I cry.

  “Yes, I’ll stay on the line!” The girl on the phone edges closer. It’s Cydni, I realize while I’m stripping off my leather jacket and gently covering Sarah.

  Nightmarish recognition swoops Cydni’s face. “Wait!” She scowls, hunching her shoulders. “Mr. Haddings? You? You ran over my friend? My best friend? What is wrong with you? Get away from her!”

  I stand, pitch forward, but then get my feet back under me.

  Cydni shrieks and kicks dirt and pebbles at me. “You hit her with your car, you idiot!” In a rage, she swears and stomps in a circle. “What is wrong with you? She was in the crosswalk!” Her eyes dart to Sarah, but she doesn’t get closer. “And now she’s not moving! My friend’s not moving!” she says into the phone.

  I cover my ears. The girl’s crazy dark eyes burn above the spittle spraying out of her mouth. Her wild black bun bobs around her head like a boxer’s fist as her words mix and mush.

  When her knees give out, she flops down in the patchy grass. “Yes, yes, I’m still here,” she bawls. “I can’t tell.” She looks over. “Yes, she’s breathing. Okay. Okay. I won’t move her.”

  “Let me talk.” I reach for her phone.

  “Back off,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “Say we need help right now.”

  “I — ​did.”

  I step away from her. Why has no one else driven by? I run into the empty street and turn around and around, waving my arms at no one. “Why aren’t the police here yet? Someone, please! Someone, help us!” Only crows shrilly answer.

  Cydni’s crouched, sniveling and repeating, “Uh huh, Uh huh,” over and over again.

  I rush back to Sarah and kneel in the rain.

  “Don’t touch her,” Cydni yells.

  “I’m helping!” I narrow my eyes, and she does the same, but she doesn’t try to stop me from tucking my jacket closer around Sarah’s neck. I sit on my haunches and rock over her. “How could I have hit her? How? What kind of cosmic dark humor is this?” My breath breaks in and out. “Not Sarah!” I beg.

  “It is her, you spaz,” Cydni interjects.

  Pressing my sleeve to Sarah’s head, my wrist moistens as she bleeds quickly through the material. I float above the scene in a stupor while my joints solidify in the dampness and my muscles cramp.

  “I hear them!” Cydni says into the phone. She jumps up, waving at the ambulance and police coming down the road.

  “Quick, over here. Here!” I call out.

  In only a few moments, medics swoop in, and I’m pulled away by a cop who escorts me to his car. Hands grip my arms, keeping me upright. Slack-jawed, I can’t make sense of his questions or even see Sarah anymore.

  Across the street, police interview Cydni. She’s flapping her arms around, pointing at me. A block away, another cop diverts a school bus down a side road, along with the gathering morning traffic.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sarah

  7:41 am

  My eyelids are leaden. Pain scoops at my skull. So much … pain. Think … think of something else. Something good. Think of good … ness. It’s like I can almost hear Haddings’ voice right now. Haddings …

  I drift in the memory of poetry class. Flipping through Haddings’ collections. Copying favorites … reading aloud Shel Silverstein … and William Shakespeare.

  Shiki’s haiku swirls up:

  Nightlong in the cold

  that monkey sits conjecturing

  how to catch the moon.

  Haddings’ hand lingers on the edge of my journal. He reads over my shoulder, his heat hovering around me.

  Reality slashes the dream, and the cold street burns my cheek. My head throbs like it’s pumpkin-sized. I open my eyes to small wheels rolling toward me. Feet.

  “She’s regained consciousness,” a woman says on my right.

  A man slips a cuff off my arm. My fingertips tingle. “Bypass Valley. She needs an airlift to Harborview in Seattle.”

  Wait. Stop! Stop everything! What is going on? I, I need to get to school. I need to go — ​but this woman tosses a jacket aside and unzips my hoodie. Scissors slice my shirt. What — ​is — ​going — ​on?

  Now she’s cutting my jeans! I try to reach for the poem in my pocket, but my arms lie still at my sides.

  “No, don’t,” I shout, but it’s only a gargled whisper. “Stop! Stop it — ” Someone’s going to see! I need to cover myself, but I can’t. Why? Why can’t I move? And who are these people? Someone, help me!

  A blanket covers my underwear and bra. “Why did you cut off my clothes? What are you doing to me?” I whimper. One medic checks a monitor while the other steps away.

  Suddenly, I can lift my head, but pain smashes my skull like a Cyclops with a bludgeon. I look to the side and vomit. Munched Cheerios swirl against the curb.

  Ugh. Please, don’t look! Nobo
dy look at it!

  “You were hit by a car,” the female answers and wipes my lips with gauze.

  What? What did she say?

  “We’re checking you over.” She shines a little flashlight into my eyes. “Concussion.” A board is set beside me.

  Thump, thump, thump thrums my skull. A giant collar gets strapped around my neck. “Please! Don’t move my head,” I beg. “Please,” I say through tears.

  “Ready. Now.” The man and woman lift me onto the board.

  I retch again. The puke splatters onto the road, covering the blood.

  The paramedics tightly strap my legs and chest. Lights laser my eyes and zing off the pale sunshine cutting through the trees. My stomach creeps, and I vomit one more time.

  CHAPTER 6

  Haddings

  7:46 am

  At some point, someone retrieved my jacket from the roadside, where a medic had tossed it. With it now balled in my hands, I shiver beside the police car. The rain’s only misting as the sun streams more strongly through the firs, and my wet clothes cling like plastic wrap over microwaved pizza. Vapor steams up from the road, the white tendrils magnifying the red flares and blue police car lights. All the vehicles jammed into this space are either helping Sarah or waiting for answers from me. Everything pulses, including the blood swelling the vein in my temple.

  Still not able to see Sarah, I grab the moment when the cop turns and talks to the investigator. I weave my way to the ambulance. My fingers touch the hood. “Hemorrhaging,” one medic says to the other inside the unit. “Airlift request to Harborview accepted.”

  Before I can catch a glimpse of her, the policeman catches up to me. “Mr. Haddings?” He turns me around.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say as he leads me all the way back to my car, still sitting in the road, right where I stopped after I hit Sarah.

  “At the point of impact, were you wearing your seat belt?” he asks, walking around the side and peering inside my Mustang.

  “Yes. Yes, I was.” I lean against the car trunk to steady my legs.

  He straightens and tugs his hat lower on his brow. “And your estimated speed?”

  As the ambulance drives past, I irrationally lunge to follow it on foot, but the cop grabs my arm. “Mr. Haddings, your speed at the impact?”

  “Um. Maybe thirty?” I glance at the 25 mph sign over his shoulder.

  “And you had your eyes on the road but didn’t see the pedestrian?”

  “Yes, well, I looked down for only a second, but I didn’t see her afterward. It was dark and raining, you know?”

  His pen scratches across his paper. “You weren’t on your phone or texting?”

  “No, I was not texting. One came in, but I didn’t answer it.” I rest my palm on the cold trunk. Everything is careening off center.

  An investigator photographs my car and the street as my legs buckle. I stay squatting, leaning against the bumper. Tears burst up, and suddenly I’m bawling. I’m a teacher, someone in charge of protecting his students, not hitting them with his car. What is wrong with me?

  The cop opens my door, helps me up, and walks me over to sit.

  “Thank you,” I blurt, collapsing on the damp coffee-drenched seat. I toss my bloody, dirty jacket into the back and grab the towel from my gym bag. After drying my face, I lift up and squirm the cloth over my seat, trying to smooth it flat beneath me. “Will you be taking me in now?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You ready?”

  “No, no,” I say, even though jail is what I deserve. They’ve got to be afraid I’ll run after what I just did. Will I? Or hit someone else?

  The policeman slips his pen into his pocket. “No, we won’t be taking you anywhere. Not now. Criminal charges may be filed by the prosecutor, or there could be a civil suit from the parents, but you’d be notified.” He adjusts his hat again against the morning glare. “We can let you go after the investigator finishes her work. Sit tight for a bit, Mr. Haddings.”

  “All right.” I lean the side of my face against the steering wheel and watch as he returns to his cruiser. He stops and talks to another couple of officers. Dazed, I’m motionless while all of these people document the scene of my crime. I just don’t understand why, why they aren’t taking me in.

  As the coffee stench nauseates me even more, I fish out my water bottle from my bag. I take a swig hoping to settle my stomach. Leaning out of my car, I tip the bottle and douse Sarah’s blood from my sleeve, rubbing the material until finally, there’s only a faint pink swatch left. It refuses to completely disappear, holding me to what I’ve done.

  I find my phone near the brake pedal. It’s vibrating nearly nonstop as texts shoot in from my friends: Warren, Charline, Larry. I toss it onto the other seat, knowing the story has spread over social media already. Sarah is my focus right now. I just need to get to Sarah to make sure she is all right.

  Overhead, a red-and-white helicopter thumps past. It’s got to be meeting her at the emergency airlift. The rotor blades slice my guts.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sarah

  8:02 am

  There’s an incredible noise and strong pulse. With a colossal effort, I lift my eyelids and whimper.

  A medic smiles down at me and adjusts his big headset. “You’re going to get help!” he shouts. He checks an IV bag hanging next to me. I struggle to sit up, but straps press against my arms and legs. “Lie still now. You’re in a helicopter!” he says. Clouds shimmy past the little window.

  A helicopter? Wasn’t I getting put into an ambulance? The Cyclops in my head crunches my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut and break into a total body sweat.

  Get me out of here! How can I be in a helicopter when I’m afraid to fly in a regular plane?

  My mind rides the ripping pain on spin cycle. Am I … losing consciousness? Remembering? I’m chatting with Cydni about Haddings.

  “It’s not a crush, Cydni,” I told her at our sleepover during holiday break.

  “Yeah, right. That’s what you say.”

  “It’s not.” I beaned her with my stuffed panda.

  She deflected him with her elbow and laughed. “Whatever it is, you need to be super careful, or people are going to start talking. Just imagine what they’d be saying about you behind your back.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” I pulled the covers to my chin and looked down at her as she got into her old Hello Kitty sleeping bag on my bedroom floor. After I clicked off the light, I whispered into the darkness, “I know it sounds stupid, but Haddings is, like, opening up the world to me or something.” I waited for her to answer, but she didn’t. “You know, through the poetry, how he explains the symbols and meanings. It’s amazing to hear what all those poets have had to say. It’s the same stuff I think about and more.”

  “Uh huh, and …”

  “And there is no ‘and.’ ” I paused, then admitted my secret into the silence. “And Haddings makes me feel beautiful when he looks at me.”

  She sighed. “Sarah, you are beautiful and always have been. I don’t even know why you’d say that.”

  “No, I mean seriously beautiful — ​to a man. Not some high school guy just interested in what he can get from me, like Seth or Dwayne.”

  “Okay, they were jerks. And I have to say, right here, that Luke would never treat me like those guys treated you. Never.”

  “We were talking about Haddings, Cydni.”

  “I know that. I was just saying — ”

  “And Haddings is brilliant. He could teach me so much.”

  “Sure he could,” she jibed. “He could teach you so much.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Cydni.”

  She snickered, and her sleeping bag rustled.

  “I’ve never had a class like his before.”

  “Yeah, I get that. And I hear you saying it’s not a crush, but then I see you going all crazy, talking about switching from Mills to UW. What is that about?”

  “That has nothing to do with him
,” I lied to us both.

  “Sure, Sarah.” She zipped her bag. “Just know, if anything did happen between you and Haddings and anyone found out, there’d be serious fallout. Do you know what I mean?”

  I rolled away from her.

  “You know I’ve never liked him, for a bazillion reasons, but it’s not a game. You could get him fired, so think about it. This isn’t a little fun with some guy, Sarah.”

  I fluffed my pillow. “It’s just so stupid when I’m turning eighteen next month, you know?”

  “It still wouldn’t matter as long as he’s our teacher.”

  “But wasn’t it amazing when he recited Plato?”

  “Plato?”

  I said the sweet words.

  “My child — ​Star — ​you gaze at the stars,

  and I wish I were the firmament

  that I might watch you with many eyes.”

  8:10 am

  The helicopter drops, crashing my memory. As the door slides open, the Cyclops rolls. The sun sizzles my eyes, and the gurney jerks and bounces. While I groan and cry, my bound chest thrums under the pressure of the thumping blades whirling above us.

  Double doors whoosh open. Antiseptic fries my nose, and my jaw quivers. “I have to get to school,” I spew to the person running next to me.

  “Now, now.” The woman smiles. Her gray curls clasp her lined face. “I’m sure your teachers will all be very concerned and understanding. How could they not for a beautiful young lady like you?”

  From the darkest bend of my brain, words twist and turn, rushing from me. “I, I need my mom!”

  “She’ll be here soon, sweetie,” the woman says softly. “You rest now.”

  My lips blubber. “But my head hurts so bad. I really need my mother.”

  “Of course you do.” We stop, and an elevator dings. “You’ve had a very hard morning.”

  8:24 am

  “Sarah. Sarah, stay with me. Focus.”

  Who is this woman? Where’s the other, nice one?

  “Sarah, the CAT scan makes it feel like you’re wetting yourself,” she says, “and that’s normal.”