Josie shrugged. “Sure.”
“Good.” Her mom paused as if she was going to add something, then shook her head again in that odd, distracted way. “Get some rest, Josephine. You look tired.”
2:37 A.M.
Time abandoned her.
Josie had been lying on her bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling for what felt like days, yet the alarm clock on her nightstand mocked her. It had only been four hours.
Stupid clock.
Her mom said she looked tired, but that was an understatement. She was exhausted, plain and simple. Hours of crying would do that. Her temples throbbed from the headache that ravaged the very depths of her brain, and her raw, bloodshot eyes ached beneath swollen lids. Her limbs were heavy, a mix of fatigue and despair, and her entire existence felt futile.
Her body and mind were completely worn down, yet she couldn’t sleep. Not for half a second had she slipped into blissful unconsciousness. She’d been aware of every moment that passed, even the sound of her mom quietly opening the front door when she got home, and dragging something heavy down the hall and into the basement. The stupid mirror, no doubt. Josie had been wide awake for all of it.
She’d tried to fall asleep, of course, for hours. All her usual tricks: counting sheep, pretending she was on a tropical island with Nick—she even looked for comfort in her favorite childhood stuffed animal, Mr. Fugly Bear. Whenever there was a thunder-and-lightning storm, her dad would bring her Mr. Fugly Bear (so named because he was missing an ear and the “thumb” off his right paw due to a washing-machine incident), who was the bravest, most rugged bear in town and would protect her from any and all danger. He’d prop Mr. Fugly Bear up against Josie’s pillow, facing the window in case any monsters tried to crawl in that way.
Whether or not Mr. Fugly Bear could protect Josie from a trampled heart was never put to the test. He always sat on one of her bookshelves, but suddenly he was gone. There was another teddy bear on the shelf that looked vaguely familiar, but no Mr. Fugly. She must have moved him when cleaning up her room, accidentally shoved him to the back of a shelf or something.
Even he knew when to jump off a sinking ship, apparently.
And so she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t erase the last view of Nick from her mind: shirtless, standing in the middle of the street in front of Madison’s house.
Eyes open or closed, she couldn’t get that image out of her mind. And it stayed with her, mocking her pain, it seemed, until sleep finally overtook her.
3:59 A.M.
The car shudders in protest as she steps on the accelerator.
But only for an instant. The BMW’s precision engine kicks in immediately and she relaxes into the leather seat as the speedometer jumps five miles per hour.
She strokes the calfskin-wrapped steering wheel. “I love you,” she says out loud. “Just so you know.”
She glances at the digital clock on the dashboard. Two minutes to four. She should only be a few minutes late, as long as she doesn’t get caught at the train tracks.
Of course it’s her own fault she’s running late, but whatever. Totally worth it to watch Nick at track practice after school.
She speeds around a corner, tapping the brakes as lightly as possible so as not to lose momentum, and veers onto Leeland Road. Up ahead, she can hear the peal of bells even before she sees the flashing lights at the bend in the road. Train coming.
There’s only a split second to decide, but it’s a no-brainer. She slams on the accelerator. The engine revs and the car careens forward as the arm of the railroad crossing descends. She holds her breath in anticipation and she grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ache. She can feel the tension in her fingers, the strain of her muscles as she wills the car onward. Will I make it? Too close to call. Her heart races and her breath comes in short gasps; the anticipation is palpable. Will she die in a glorious explosion as the train hits her car at full speed? She smiles. At least then all her problems would vanish.
The car shoots under the descending arm with inches to spare. For an instant she’s blinded by the lights of the speeding train, then her car flies down the far side of Leeland Road.
She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed that she’s still alive.
Josie sat bolt upright.
Her heart raced, and she was sweating so badly her light cotton pajamas clung to her damp flesh like plastic wrap.
Darkness surrounded her. She was in her bedroom. In bed. Safe. It was just a dream.
Was it? Josie held her hands up in front of her face. Her fingers curled inward, stiff and sore, as if they’d held something in a death grip.
Like a steering wheel.
SIX
1:15 P.M.