“Back up!” Cal thundered, standing and pushing curious onlookers out of the way. “Give him some air! Give us some room. . . . Jesus, Doug.”
Micah arrived and helped Lara pull the boy to his feet. The boy didn’t fight them, going limp as a rag doll in their hands. They dragged him toward the door, Cal herding prospies out of the way as they went. The other hosts tried as best they could to keep order, but as soon as the door shut, the room exploded with noise.
“What the hell?” Jordan trotted up to them, pale and staring. “Did he just try to hurl himself out a window?”
“I—I think so.” Shaking, Dan blinked and passed a hand over his face, feeling a cold sweat along his forehead and nose. “He just kept saying my name. I don’t get it. I’ve never seen him before, I don’t know how he knew who I was. . . .”
“Are you all right?” Abby knelt, touching his knee gently. “Guys, this is bad. We’ve been here all of ten minutes and—”
“It’s not like Dan
did
anything,” Jordan interrupted. “But you’re right. This was probably a mistake, coming back here. Dan, what do you think? Should we just pack it in now? I can call my folks. It would take some explaining but they’d probably let you stay if Abby came, too.”
“No.” Even now, even when he kind of wanted to go, Dan knew it wasn’t an option. He didn’t really believe it himself, but he said, “Maybe it was a prank?”
“A prank?” Abby stood up suddenly, throwing her hands in the air. “Dan, get real.”
“What? I don’t know what to tell you, Abby. Let’s just . . . Let’s just all stay calm. We only just got here. Our hosts helped take him away, right? I’ll ask Micah what happened later and we can get some answers.” Dan stared up into her eyes, silently pleading. He couldn’t do this alone, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He wanted them here.
“People are staring,” Dan told them, inhaling deeply. “We have to decide now—stay or go.”
Abby chewed her lower lip furiously, twining a piece of dark hair around one finger. She glanced at Jordan, who was still worrying the puzzle paper in his hand.
“I at least want to see Lucy,” Abby said. “I want to do that much. I’m not sure when I’ll be back here from New York again.”
“And I actually do want to see what those addresses are about,” Jordan added. “Not exactly dying to get back to Richmond and the parental lockdown, so we stay, I guess.”
Dan breathed a sigh of relief and got to his feet—shakily, but he got there. The remaining hosts gathered up the prospies, preparing to take them down to the Commons for lunch. Dan wondered when he would see Micah again.
“Let’s stick with the others,” Dan said. He kept wanting to stare at the still-open window, but forced himself not to. “We can discuss how we’re going to start over lunch.”
“We’ll have to find some way to sneak off,” Abby whispered as they fell in with the other prospies. “Lucy doesn’t live far from campus, but I have a feeling our hosts are supposed to keep tabs on us constantly.”
“Maybe if we can get to her place she can tell us about some of the addresses from Felix,” Jordan suggested. That was a big ask, Dan thought, considering how fragile Lucy had been the last time they’d seen her. They shuffled out of the lounge and into the hall, following the trail of kids and hosts to the stairwell at the far end of the corridor.
“I think that’s up to Abby,” he said, giving her a quick glance. “She can judge better if Lucy is in any condition to talk about that kind of thing.”
“Thanks, Dan, I . . . I think that’s a good call. Give me some time to consider it.”
When they stepped outside, Dan pulled up his coat around his neck, shivering.
“I’m just saying, she’s been here for like ever, right?” Jordan said. He tried to smooth out the sudoku puzzle in his palms, then gave up and shoved it in his jeans pocket. “She might have heard rumors, or, I don’t know. She just seems like the best authority on Brookline we have right now.”
“And she also just lost her husband and had her whole traumatic childhood shoved in her face, so she probably won’t want to talk about Brookline at all,” Abby shot back hotly. “Jeez, Jordan, I want to figure this out as much as you two do, but not at the expense of my aunt’s peace of mind.”
Even if he was eager to question Lucy, Dan sided with Abby on that one; after all, the woman had been checked into Brookline as a child against her will, suffered a lobotomy under Warden Crawford, and then escaped that place only to lose her husband, Sal, at the hands of Felix. Or the Sculptor. Both, Dan decided.
“All right, all right,” Jordan muttered, putting up his hands. “Forget I even mentioned it.”
“Jordan and I could check the first addresses while you go visit her,” Dan suggested, with what he hoped was a calm, diplomatic tone. “Or maybe we can ask around to see what’s going on with Brookline’s excavation.”
“Excuse me.”
Their conversation trailed off as Abby’s host, Lara, ran up to them, slightly out of breath, her blunt haircut wild and stringy around her face. Dan felt immediately suspicious, and then tried to curb that impulse—she was probably just checking to see if he was okay, given that a kid had screamed and screamed and then tried to jump right in front of him.
“You said your name was Daniel, yes?” she asked, pushing the hair out of her face.
“No, Dan. It’s Dan.”
The other hosts and prospies continued on without them, trekking across the muddy open field in front of the dorm on their way to the Commons. Some of them looked back at Dan curiously, but most of them seemed to want to get as far away from him as they could, and that was fine by him. “I was told to make sure you were okay. Do you need to call your parents? Will you be staying?”
Dan shrugged coolly. “I’m okay, I guess. That student . . . Is he . . . Is
he
okay?”
“Doug?” Lara frowned, shaking her head slightly. “He’s a first year. I don’t see him around much, kind of a loner. Students get stressed this time of year, with midterms and everything. His parents will be here soon to see that he is taken care of.”
“I’d never met him before,” Dan said. He didn’t
mean
to sound defensive, but how could he not feel a little on trial? “I don’t even know how he knew my name.”
Abby coughed theatrically, and Dan decided not to say much more to Lara unless she really pressed.
But Lara surprised him. “That’s simple enough,” she said. “Not exactly rocket surgery, mm?” She pointed to the orange orientation folder tucked under his arm. A white sticker practically glowed on the front. “DANIEL CRAWFORD.” “Your name is right there for anyone to see.”
“So it is,” Dan said with a nervous laugh. That was fine if it was explanation enough for Lara, but it didn’t nearly satisfy Dan. Doug had been staring at him well before they had their folders. And how did he know to say “You’re not finished,” just like it said on the backs of their photos?
“I hope he feels better soon.”
“He’s not the first student to lose it a little over exams,” Lara added, starting toward the Commons and the rest of the group. “I remember my first year like it was yesterday—many lost hours of sleep, moments of panic, even delirium from the lack of rest. I even lost clumps of hair over my first final. My parents were dead set on me being a pre-med, and the pressure was significant. Then I changed my major from bio to studio art. I’m sure you can imagine how that conversation went. But that’s enough of that—I’m supposed to be convincing you that NHC is awesome all the time!” She clenched her teeth in something that resembled a smile, brushing the stray hair out of her face. “Anyway, lunch. We’d love it if you joined us.”
“We?” Abby asked.
“Micah and me. Cal may come, too, but I think he’s still assisting Doug and contacting his parents. He can be quite a talker, so I’m sure he’ll be reassuring them for the next hour or so.” The light drizzle from before began to pick up in a steady rain, and all four of them quickened their pace. Damp, cold to the bone, Dan was only too happy to make it to the white overhang outside the Commons.
He huddled under it, hugging himself. Brookline was to their immediate right. He looked up at the empty windows, rows and rows of them staring out like dozens of vacant eyes. Maintenance had only halfheartedly trimmed the weeds sprouting up along the edge of the entrance, leaving Brookline to look like it had been abandoned in decay all over again. So much for the excavation effort.
The moody clouds overhead shifted, until a stray beam of light illuminated Brookline’s top floor—the floor on which Dan had fended off a man with a crowbar, sure that he was going to die. The way the light hit the windows, it almost looked like a pale face with ragged holes for eyes was watching him from inside.
Just a trick of the light, Dan, you know better.
“Hey,” Abby said, touching him on the back. “Let’s go inside. Don’t think about that place. It’s harmless now.”
She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as she said it. Dan knew she didn’t for a minute believe that. Neither did he.
Chapter 10
D
an pushed a triangular piece of deep-fried macaroni and cheese around on his plate. Across from him, Lara demolished a heaping bowl of salad. In between bites, she elaborated on her art installation for Abby.
“It’s dedicated to my parents,” she explained, “and centered around my Korean-American heritage, but like I said, it’s a critique too. My parents were obsessed with being just like the other white suburban families. They needed the next big SUV, the next fancy television—”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a nice TV,” Cal said. He stretched, yawned, and then straddled the bench of the long table where they sat. With a casual flick of his fingers he pointed at one of the prospies walking by with a lunch tray.
“Seven,” he said. He pointed again, not even subtly, to the next person going by. “Sixish. Never mind, didn’t see the nose. Five.
That
one’s a three on a good day.”
Abby brooded over her untouched pork chop while eyeing the slice of pie she had saved for dessert. “Is he
rating
girls?” she asked, aghast.
“Not girls,” Micah said as he cut apart his own pork chop.
“Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” But Dan’s whispered jest didn’t amuse Jordan at all.
“Don’t make me gag,” he whispered back.
Cal, it appeared, had a sharp ear. He swiveled to face Jordan and chuckled. “Relax. It’s a joke. Besides, don’t whine, you’re a solid eight.”
Dan reached up to tug Jordan down to the bench, holding him tight by the elbow. “Don’t. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Yeah?” Jordan scoffed. “Well, it’s working. An eight? Ha!”
“If they’re going to be this boring, I don’t want them coming to the party tonight,” Cal said, inspecting his nails. Down the bench, a short volunteer Dan didn’t recognize perked up, waving at Cal.
“Is there a house party tonight?” The boy practically gurgled with excitement. He was the polar opposite of Cal, thickset and stumpy, with frizzy blond hair and Coke-bottle glasses.
“Yes, Henderson, and you are not even the slightest bit invited.” Cal sneered. Dan had never seen anyone with teeth so white, and Cal’s evenly golden-brown tan only made them more blinding. He looked the way Dan pictured the archetypal Californian.
“
Must
you, Cal?” Lara snapped, taking her bowl and retreating to the salad bar.
“I thought college kids were supposed to be hip,” Jordan told Dan in a bitter undertone. “Are we supposed to look up to these weirdos?”
Micah had turned to swat at Cal, persuading him at least to stop rating the passing students.
“Look on the bright side,” Abby said, leaning in close to Dan so they could both hear. “They’re just our hosts. Soon they’ll forget about us and we can sneak away.”
“I thought you liked Lara,” Dan pointed out.
“I do, but not if it means hanging around with Cal, too. Do you think they’ll miss us if we don’t go to the party?”
“No way,” Jordan whispered. The three of them sat in a row, Lara’s temporarily abandoned tray sitting across from them on the long, white table. “This isn’t a middle school field trip. This is supposed to give us a taste of college, right? I’m sure we can go off on our own if we really want to.”
“Jordan’s right,” Dan decided, “but we have to be careful not to draw too much attention. I think we should at least go to the party, then see if there’s a chance for us to leave without being spotted.”
“And just what are we whispering about?”
Ridiculously, all three of them snapped to attention at once, likely giving off the complete opposite of the innocence they were going for. Dan forced a smile as Micah leaned his elbows on the table, fingers busy combing through his dark brown goatee.
“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Micah added good-naturedly. “Y’all just look as thick as thieves.”
Not entirely untrue.
“We were discussing the party Cal mentioned,” Abby blurted. “It sounds like a blast.”
“Ugh.” Micah pulled off his glasses and ran both hands over his face. “I’m sorry about all this. It’s not very, uh, academic. We weren’t going to say anything. . . . It’s not really a, well, prospie-friendly event. There might be adult beverages being served, if you take my meaning.”
“We do,” Jordan said flatly. Dan remembered how Jordan had been sneaking booze in his room all summer, and had to suppress the urge to laugh.
Lara returned, and she and Micah shared a weird look as she sat down. Maybe Jordan had been right. . . . It really did seem like there was some kind of unhappy history there. So why even sit at the same table?
“Well, just saying, if you don’t want to come to the party, there’s other stuff planned, too,” Micah said. “And then tomorrow there’s the carnival. You folks are gonna be busy bees this weekend.”
“What is it with this carnival?” Dan didn’t really think before he said it, and his question came out sounding a little harsh. He tried a lighter tone. “I mean, it looked unusual—especially for a college. Is it for Halloween, or just for the prospies?”
“Well, all of the above, I suppose,” Micah said, cleaning his glasses on his button-down shirt. “It’s an old college tradition that hasn’t happened since . . . since . . . shoot, I don’t actually know. I think sometime in the twenties, maybe? Could have been longer. An old wagon used to come through the town and set up. Fortune-tellers, freak shows, that sort of thing. Here, look.” Micah ducked under the table and dug around in his bag. He resurfaced with two photographs that he smoothed out on the table in front of them. One was of a man on a horse—a horse whose tail was being tugged by a clown. The other photo depicted a man who could have been the circus ringleader, happily sitting on the lap of a woman who was twice his size.