His locker.
Or should he run and get the nurse?
He didn’t even know where the nurse’s office was!
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I’m gonna try to find the nurse, and I’ve got something in my locker that might help you breathe.”
“Not the nurse,” Josh gasped. “I don’t want—” But it was too late; Michael was already gone.
Struggling to catch his breath, Josh scrambled back to his feet, steadying himself with the knob of the closet door he’d been leaning against only a moment earlier. He took a tentative step, started to lose his balance, and jerked on the doorknob.
The door came open, revealing a jumble of boxes, cans, and bottles — the cleansers and disinfectants the janitor stored in the closet.
Instinctively moving back a step, Josh stared at the array of bottles and containers spread out in front of him. Then, reacting to an impulse that had suddenly seized him, he reached out, picked up a bottle of ammonia, opened it, and tentatively held it to his nose.
Sucking the fumes deep into his lungs, he felt an instant rush of energy, as if a shot of adrenaline had been injected into his bloodstream.
He breathed in again; an almost electric tingle ran through his body.
A moment later, when Michael Sundquist reappeared, his inhaler clutched in his hand, Josh Malani’s entire demeanor had changed again.
His complexion looked healthy, his eyes were bright, and he seemed to be breathing perfectly normally.
As Michael looked on in astonishment, Josh once again raised the ammonia bottle to his nose and inhaled its fumes into his lungs. “Jeez, Josh, what are you doing?” Michael cried, grabbing the bottle from Josh’s hand. “What’s all this mess?”
“Give it back!” Josh demanded. “I was just sniffing it.”
“Are you crazy? That stuff’s poisonous! It can kill you.”
Josh reached for the bottle once again. “Just give it to me!”
Shoving Josh away from the closet, Michael slammed the door shut, then leaned against it, the bottle of ammonia clutched in his hands. Josh glowered at him, and for a moment Michael was afraid he might be about to slug him. But then Josh shook his head. “The hell with you,” he muttered. Turning his back on Michael, he barged out of the rest room. By the time Michael had put the ammonia away and gone after him, Josh was almost dressed again.
“Come on, Josh,” Michael pleaded. “I’m just trying to help you.”
Josh barely looked at him. “I don’t need you helping me. I don’t need anyone helping me.” Then he was gone, shoving Michael aside as he left the locker room and headed for the parking lot. Michael caught up with him just as he was getting into his truck.
“I’m going with you,” Michael said, heading toward the passenger’s side.
“The hell you are.” Starting the engine, Josh slammed the truck into gear and screeched out of the parking lot.
Michael stood in the cloud of dust the truck had kicked up, staring after his friend. Tears were welling up in his eyes, and in his stomach he felt a hard knot of anger and pain, all twisted together so tightly he couldn’t even begin to unravel it. He’ll get over it, he told himself as he finally turned away and started back toward the locker room. By the time school’s out, he’ll get over it. It’ll be okay.
But even as he silently uttered the words to himself, he knew he didn’t believe them.
CHAPTER 20
Josh Malani had no idea where he was going as he roared out of the school parking lot. All he knew was that he had to get away.
Already the tingling he’d felt in his body when he breathed in the ammonia was fading away, but so was the fury that had boiled up in him when Michael had torn the bottle from his hands.
What the hell was he doing, getting pissed off at Michael? Michael was his best friend.
Michael had saved his life.
Michael had only been trying to help him.
And what had he done? Blown his stack and taken off.
Terrific!
So now what?
Home was out — no way was he going to go there until at least five, when his mom would be home from work and he wouldn’t have to be alone with his dad.
Maybe he’d just go to the beach for a couple of hours. He always felt a lot better after going for a swim, and then he’d come back just before school let out and find Mike.
He’d apologize, and then they’d figure out what to do about Jeff Kina. Maybe Mike was right — maybe they really should go tell the police where they’d been the night Kioki died.
By the time Josh came to the floor of the valley between Haleakala and the West Maui mountains, the strange discomfort in his chest had started up again, and as he headed out toward a park on the windward side where few people ever went during the week, another fit of coughing gripped him. Then, with the same frightening breathlessness that had come over him at the school once again descending on him, he pressed hard on the accelerator, determined to get to the beach, where he could take in the trade winds blowing in from the ocean. So focused was he on his struggle to overcome the choking airlessness, that Josh never noticed that the car behind him sped up, too, keeping perfect pace with his truck.
The ammonia, he thought. Michael was right. His chest was aching painfully now, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. As he pulled the truck to a stop in the empty parking lot behind the beach, he was gripping the wheel hard with both hands, partly against the terrible fiery pain spreading through him, but even more to keep himself steady.
His knuckles, already white with tension, were starting to turn blue, and now, when he looked out to sea, he could barely even see the horizon.
Everything seemed to be getting blurry, and the brightness of the afternoon was fading, even though a moment ago there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky.
Out.
He had to get out of the truck and down onto the beach. If he could just get that far, he’d be able to breathe again, and lie down and rest for a while, and then this strange attack would pass. He’d be okay again. He fumbled for the door handle, found it, and slid out of the driver’s seat. But instead of landing on his feet, his knees buckled beneath him and he crumbled to the ground, sprawling out in the dust.
He was panting, gasping for breath, but with every movement of his diaphragm, it felt as if his lungs were being seared from inside with a blowtorch.
Dying!
He knew it now, knew it with a terrible certainty.
The darkness was closing around him, and the pain was growing worse, and he couldn’t breathe at all.
He reached out, flailing, searching for something — anything — to hang on to, to cling to, as if the act of clutching something in his hands could stave off the horrible suffocation that was claiming him.
He tried to cry out, tried to scream for help, but all that emerged from his throat was a whispered moan.
Then, as the darkness closed around him and the last of his strength deserted him, he felt a new sensation.
It was as if he was being lifted.
Lifted up, and carried away.
