into next week, when the housing freeze lifts.”
Everything goes mercifully black for a while—that must be my central nervous system depressing again. When I open my eyes again, I find myself looking up at Detective Canavan and Reggie.
“You,” I say to Reggie. “You lied to me.”
He smiles. I am heart-struck to note the gold teeth are gone.
“Sorry,” he says. “It was in the line of duty.”
“Brian’s a special agent with the Drug Enforcement Agency, Heather,” Detective Canavan explains. “He’s been working undercover for nearly a year in the park, trying to figure out where the influx of party drugs on campus was coming from. Thanks to your tip about the Winers, Brian was able to direct his people to send in a fellow agent disguised as a maid”—the maid I’d seen in the hallway at the Tau Phi House scrubbing the FAT CHICKS GO HOME sign—“and get all the evidence they needed to bust the Winers not just for drug trafficking, but eventually for murder and assault as well.”
I look at Reggie. “Brian?”
He shrugs. “Reggie sounds more street, you know?”
“Have you ever even been to Jamaica?” I ask him.
“Oh, God, no,” he says. “I get any vacation time, I head straight for the mountains. I’m a skier.”
I look back at Detective Canavan. “Do I get a medal or something?”
“Um,” Detective Canavan says. “No. But I got you this.” He holds up a dark chocolate Dove candy bar. “The ice-cream kind would have melted,” he explains.
I lift my hand—the one with all the IVs in it—and snatch the candy bar away from him.
“This city,” I say, “is getting pretty cheap with the rewards for valor.”
They go away, and I eat my candy bar. It’s delicious. So delicious that I fall back asleep. When I wake up again, Gavin McGoren is leering down at me.
“Well, well, well,” he says, with a grin. “Isn’t this a fine turn of events? For once you’re the one on the gurney, instead of me. I have to say, I like it a lot better like this.”
“Who let you in here?” I want to know.
Gavin shrugs. “I’m a fellow patient, not a visitor,” he says. He turns to show me his cheek where Steve hit him. “Seven stitches. What do you think? That’ll leave a pretty sweet scar, huh?”
I close my eyes. “Your mother is going tokill me.”
“What are you talkin’ about, woman?” Gavin scoffs. “You saved my life.”
“I caused you to be kidnapped and beaten,” I say, opening my eyes again. “Gavin, I–I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Really. I never should have involved you in any of this.”
The red marks are gone from around Gavin’s mouth. So is the goatee. He apparently took the time to shave before coming in to see me. Which I should have taken as a sign of what was about to come, but my faculties are still slightly befuddled from the drug.
“There’s a way you can make it up to me, if you want,” he says.
“Yeah? How?” I genuinely think he’s going to ask for a single with a view of the park.
Instead, he asks me out.
“You know,” he says. “Just sometime. We could kick it together. Play pool or something. When you’re feeling better. It doesn’t have to be a date,” he adds hastily. “I know you’re still all in love with Jordan Cartwright, and shit. But, you know. Just to try it out. Just to see.”
“Gavin.” I’m not positive, but I’m fairly sure I’m the first assistant director of a New York College residence hall to be asked out while lying on a gurney in the St. Vincent’s ER recovering from being roofied. “I can’t date you. You’re a resident. I’m not allowed to date residents.”
Gavin considers this. Then he shrugs. “I’ll get an apartment.”
I open my eyes wider. “Gavin. Do you have any idea how much rents are in Manhattan? Besides, you’re still a student. New York College administrators are forbidden from dating students.”
Gavin thinks about this for a minute. Then he says evenly, “Okay, well, then, after I graduate. Next year. Will you go out with me then?”
I’m too tired to resist. “Yes, Gavin,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Next year, after you graduate, I will go out with you.”
Gavin looks pleased. “Cool. You said you loved me, you know.”
My eyes fly open. “Gavin, I was under the influence.”
“I know,” he says, still looking pleased. “But that shit don’t come from nowhere. Nowhere except the heart.”
When I open my eyes next, I see Patty and Frank.
“Hi,” I croak.
“You could have just told me you aren’t ready to play in front of anyone yet,” Frank says, “instead of going to all this trouble to get out of doing the gig.”
“Frank!” Patty sounds exasperated. “Don’t listen to him, Heather. We just heard. How are you doing?”
“Oh,” I say. My voice still sounds awful. “Great.”
“Seriously,” Frank says. “We’ll be playing the pub all week. So if you aren’t feeling up to it tonight, there’s tomorrow night. And the night after that, too.”
“Frank,” Patty says, looking annoyed. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see that singing is the last thing she’s got on her mind?”
“No,” I surprise myself by saying.
Frank and Patty both look at me strangely. “No, what, honey?” Patty asks.
“No, I want to,” I say. It is only as the words are coming out of my mouth that I realize I mean it. “I want to play with you guys. Just one song, though.”
Patty shakes her head. “Oh, Heather. You’re still on drugs.”
“No, she’s not,” Frank says, grinning. “She means it. You mean it, Heather, don’t you?”
I nod. “Not tonight, though, okay? Because I’ve got a headache.”
Frank grins some more. “Totally fine,” he says. “So whatcha gonna sing? Something you wrote? Something new?”
“No,” I say. “Something Ella.”
Frank’s grin fades. “You’re right,” he murmurs to Patty. “She is still on drugs.”
“She means Ella Fitzgerald,” Patty hisses at him. “Just smile and nod.”
Frank smiles and nods. “Okay, Heather. Night-night, Heather.”
I close my eyes, and they go away. When I wake up, later, my dad is peering down at me.
“Honey?” He looks worried. “It’s me, Dad.”
“I know.” Every word is like a stab wound to my head. I close my eyes again. “How are you, Dad?”
“I’m good,” Dad says. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I called your mother, to let her know.”
This causes me to open one eye. “Dad. Why would you do that? She didn’t even know I was— whatever.”
“I think she has a right to know,” Dad says. “She’s still your mother. She loves you, you know. In her own way.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right. I guess. Well. Thanks for getting hold of Detective Canavan.”
“Well, that’s what family’s for, honey,” he says. “Listen, I was just talking to the doctor. They’re going to let you go home soon.”
“Are they going to give me anything for this headache first?” I ask. “I can barely see, my head’s pounding so hard.”
“Let me see if I can go find the doctor,” Dad says. “Heather… what you did. I’m really proud of you, honey.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say. And the tears in my eyes aren’t just from the pain in my temples. “Dad. Where’s Cooper?”
“Cooper?”
“Yeah. I mean, everybody else has been by to see me, except Cooper. Where is he?” He hates me. I know it. I said something to him—I can’t remember what it was. But I know I did. And he hates me for it.
“Well, he’s at Jordan’s wedding, honey. Remember? It’s Saturday. He was here for a long time while you
