I nodded, putting on my bravest face.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” Mom said, hugging me again.
Okay, so my bravest wasn’t all that brave at the moment.
I sniffled, getting myself under control as the uniformed officer gave Mom a quick rundown of what had happened. When he was done, Mom looked about as aneurysm-close as Raley had.
“God, Hartley, the park after dark? What were you thinking?”
Which was totally unfair. I mean, it’s not like I knew I was going to witness a near murder. But, instead of arguing, I opted for the answer that would get me upstairs, in bed, and most important, out of these heels, the fastest.
“Sorry.”
“A deserted park?”
“Sorry.”
“You could have been killed!”
“Sorry.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
I shrugged. “Super-duper sorry?”
Mom rolled her eyes. “It’s late. Go upstairs. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
I nodded, gladly making my escape.
The next morning, true to her word, Mom cornered me before school, giving me a lecture on leaving the house after dark as she virtually force-fed me a plate of vegan bacon and I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Egg-Whites.
And, as if the SMother wasn’t enough, by the time the first-period bell rang, I’d gotten two dozen texts asking if it was true that (A) Nicky was attacked in front of me (yes!), (B) I’d gotten Nicky attacked (no!), and (C) there would be a Sydney tribute before the homecoming game (which I’m pretty sure was sent to me by mistake, since Ashley was on the homecoming beat).
By lunch, everyone had heard the news about Nicky, but there was one person who I knew would have the real deets. The instant I reached the cafeteria, I zeroed in on Drea, who was taking her tray of Tuesday Tacos to a table near the back.
“Drea,” I called, hailing her as I approached.
She looked up. Then shot me a death look. “You!” she yelled, pointing one finger my way.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
“Uh, me?”
“Because of you and your nosiness, Nicky’s in the hospital.”
Honestly? It was more because of Nicky’s cheating-ness, but I decided this was not the time to point that out.
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked instead.
She sat down and popped the top on her chocolate milk. “Maybe. He has a skull fracture. And a concussion.”
I cringed. “That sounds bad.”
She nodded, her eyes turning red with the effort not to cry and ruin her mascara. “It is. He was unconscious for a long time, and now they’re keeping him in the hospital for a couple days for observation. And I can’t even see him,” she said, a sob escaping.
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting a hand on her arm. “Listen, Nicky was at the park last night because he had something to tell me. Something about the test answers. I think he was going to tell me where he got them. Did he say anything to you about it?”
Drea shrugged. “He said he was going to meet you, but he didn’t say why.”
“Did he tell you where he got the answers?”
She shook her head. “No. He said he couldn’t. He didn’t want to get me in trouble in case he ever got caught. He was protecting me,” she said, breaking down in a sob again.
“Have you talked to Nicky since the attack?”
She nodded. “Once. But he’s not supposed to be on the phone very long. He needs to rest.”
“What did he say? Who attacked him?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t tell me.”
I pursed my lips together. “Look, Drea, this is a matter of life and death,” I told her, not being entirely overdramatic. “I need to talk to Nicky and find out what he knows.”
Drea pulled out her cell and scrolled through menus. “They’re only letting family in to see him, but I can give you the number I have to call his room.”
“Perfect.” I grabbed my own cell, typing in the number as Drea recited it.
I thanked her and stepped outside before hitting Send.
Four rings in, a woman answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hi. I wanted to speak to Nicky?”
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Hartley. We’re friends from school,” I said, stretching the truth just a little.
“I see. Well, this is Nicky’s mom, and I’m sorry, Hartley, but Nicky isn’t taking any calls right now. He’s been through quite an ordeal and needs his rest. I’ll tell him you called and that you’re thinking of him.”
“It’s important!” I protested.
“Thank you for calling,” she said. Then hung up.
But I wasn’t giving up that easily.
I slipped back into the cafeteria, scanning the rows of tables for Sam. I finally spotted her near the center of the room, seated next to Kyle. They were feeding each other bites of taco shell from Sam’s plate. Which in itself was cute enough to be slightly nauseating, but they had taken it over the top with their outfits today. Sam was wearing a pink T-shirt that said, “I like Boys,” and Kyle was wearing a baby-blue one with the word “Boy” in the center.
I tried to ignore the oozing cuteness and made a beeline toward their table.
“Hey. I need your help,” I said, plopping down next to Sam.
“Dude!” Kyle said. “Everyone’s been tweeting about Nicky. Sucks.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I need help with.” I quickly filled Sam and Kyle in on what had happened the night before.
“Someone clearly didn’t want Nicky to talk to me,” I finished.
“Just like they didn’t want Sydney to talk to you,” Sam pointed out.
“Whoa. Deja vu, dude,” Kyle said.
“Which is why we need to get to Nicky and fast,” I agreed. “If he really was hit by the person behind stealing the test answers, chances are the guy-”
“Or girl,” Sam put in.
“-will come back for him.”
“So how are we going to do that?” Kyle asked. “Didn’t you say his mom isn’t letting him on the phone?”
I nodded. “We need to talk to him in person.”
“How?” Sam asked.
I pursed my lips together. “We go to the hospital.”
Sam shook her head. “But if his mom won’t let Drea see Nicky, what makes you think she’ll let us?”
“She won’t,” I agreed. “Which is why we need to sneak in. And that’s where you come in.”
It took a series of texts to Sam that spanned sixth and seventh periods to convince her that sneaking into a hospital room was not an offense that would go on her permanent record and ruin her chances at Stanford. By the time school got out, she was 90 percent on board with my plan, which was just enough to get her on the bus that ran down Los Gatos Boulevard to the hospital.
Fifteen minutes later, we were hiking our book bags onto our shoulders as we pushed into the lobby. Immediately we were assaulted with the smells of disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, and latex gloves. I swallowed down the unpleasant memories of booster shots and penicillin the scents conjured up and made my way toward the room number Drea had supplied.
