Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [127]
“I was still outside the store and I heard the sirens. I walked back to Henry Street to see what was going on. I saw my brother in Max’s arms and I started screaming and running toward them. Truman was crying. When he saw me, he tried to break loose. He struggled with Max and the knife Max was holding cut him. Not badly, but enough to draw blood. A rookie officer freaked. He drew his gun. Max saw him. He panicked and bolted into the street with Truman. The guy in the delivery van was arguing with his dispatcher. He never saw them. He only knew he’d hit them when he heard the thump. When he saw what he’d done, he collapsed. My mother collapsed, too, when the detectives came to the house to tell her. I was there. The police brought me home afterward. My father was there, too. He hadn’t left for work yet. All he could do, at first, was shout ‘Where were you?’ at me. He apologized later, but I told him he didn’t have to. I mean, he was right. Where was I? Where the fuck was I?”
I stop talking and pound my palms against my forehead.
“Hey … stop,” Virgil says, pulling my hands away.
I shake my head. “I see him all the time, Virgil. I see him waving goodbye to me. Not wanting to but doing it anyway because I told him to. I see him in Max’s arms. He was so afraid. He was reaching for me. If only I’d gone with him. If I hadn’t seen Nick and cut class. If I’d—”
“All the ifs don’t matter. Max killed your brother.”
“If only I’d—”
“Andi, did you hear what I said? Max killed him. Not you. He killed your brother two years ago. Now he’s killing you. Don’t let him do it.”
“I don’t know how not to,” I say helplessly. “I keep trying to find an answer—with a shrink, with my drugs, but I never do. It used to be that my music kept me going, but I’m even past that now. I feel like it’s too late for me. Like stepping off the Eiffel Tower would only have been a formality. Like I’m already dead.”
He’s about to say something when somebody tosses a bone across the room. It nearly hits him in the head. He swears at the guy. “No wonder,” he says. “Pack your stuff, we’re getting out of here. I’ll tell the others. It might take me a minute to find them all, so sit tight. I’ll come back for you.”
He takes off and I put my guitar in its case. A call goes up for more music. Someone sparks up the iPod again. People start dancing. It’s turning into a rave. Pills are being passed around. A guy hands a joint to me but I decline. I’m already sorry I drank that wine. It’s fighting with the Qwell, making me feel really whacked out.
I wish Virgil would come back. Now. I look around for him, but don’t see him anywhere. I pack up his stuff, too, so we can get out of here faster. I put his guitar back into his case, fold up his map and stuff it into my bag. I look at my watch. The numbers blur, which freaks me out a bit. When they come back into focus, I see that it’s nearly midnight. Constantine walks by. I’m just about to ask him if he’s seen Virgil, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
66
It’s not Virgil.
It’s the goth, the hot one. He’s looking down at me and the feeling that I know him is so strong, it’s scary. He has dark eyes, high cheekbones, thick brown hair tied back in a ponytail. His face is powdered a ghostly white, his lips are rouged, and he has a black beauty mark pasted on his cheek. He’s wearing these funky pants that end at his knees, a ruffled shirt that’s open at the throat, a long silk vest, and a red ribbon tied around his neck. It’s too weird.
“What is that music?” he asks me, nodding at the iPod.
“I don’t know. Some house mix,” I say.
“But what is that which makes the music?” he asks.
“Um … an iPod?”
“I have never seen such a thing.”
“Yeah? Well … don’t know what to tell you. Maybe it’s a new