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  The taller of the two very large policemen spoke very calmly, too calmly. "Just stay where you are, we'll come get you." There was something weird about these guys. "It's okay, Jeremy, just stay there." They walked slowly and with very little movement. "Everyone just stay still."

  Litsey grabbed onto my arm, and I could almost feel everyone holding their breath as the cops got closer and closer to Jeremy. When they reached his side, each one grabbing onto his arm, he threw them off and into opposing walls before shoving his way past Ms. Jones and out the door.

  I wasn't too far from a window, so I rushed to it to see where he went. Outside, there were six other policemen dressed in similar black fatigues. As Jeremy tried to push past them, one of the cops shot at Jeremy's feet, slowing him down, but he kept charging at them in an attempt to get away. When the cop shot several more bullets into his feet, he finally stopped and the cops were able to gain control of him, handcuffing him with some kind of cuffs I had never seen before. They surrounded him, and we couldn't see anything more.

  Alex helped Ms. Jones stand back up, and a few of the guys moved the heavy tables back into place.

  The two cops still in the room—the ones that had been thrown into the walls—spoke in voices that seemed to be intended to reassure us but failed. "Don't worry kids, we have everything under control."

  Alex stood eye-to-eye with the more muscular cop, challenging him. "Why couldn't you stop him without shooting at him?" Alex and Jeremy had always joked around with each other in class. If I had to guess, I'd say they were pretty good friends.

  "It was necessary." They were already walking toward the door, trying to get away from us "kids."

  Amy pushed out of the crowd. "Why was it necessary?"

  Daniel stepped forward too. "There were eight of you and one of him, and exactly which police department are you from?"

  "We apologize for the disruption." That was all they said before leaving the room.

  We tried to go on with the lesson, but after a few minutes, Ms. Jones gave up and let us all discuss what had happened. More questions of the same variety flew about with possible reasons speculated upon. None of us were happy with the way the cops handled the situation, but clearly Jeremy was resisting. Seeing the faces of those around me, they all seemed to be satisfied with the fact that they only shot his feet. They talked about Jeremy resisting arrest and agreed he needed to be detained one way or another.

  The rest of the day I was bothered by something, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Something about the entire thing was off. When I told Sonya about the incident, she was really upset, but she was happy to find out that he had been located. Even before I told her what I saw, she knew bits and pieces. One of the larger pieces she knew was that Jeremy was strung out on drugs, and the cops were going to take him to a rehab facility, which is why he resisted.

  I didn't say anything to her, but it really didn't fit. You don't send eight guys heavily armed to pick up a teenage kid on drugs for the purpose of taking him to rehab. But my exhaustion over hobbling around on under-arm killing crutches the rest of the day made it pretty easy for me to forget everything.

  When Friday rolled around a few days later, I had my first moments of true happiness all week. Excited over what I had started calling "Furry Fridays" with my boy, Butcher, and "Sonya Saturdays" with my best friend and sometimes Jay and Gary, I was practically skipping—well hobble-skipping. My ankle wasn't causing me massive, ridiculous pain like it had been earlier in the week, and thanks to Sonya's help, I got an A- on my chemistry project. The sun was shining, and we were heading to the grocery store right after school courtesy of Gary's taxi service to pick up massive amounts of junk food to accompany our stupid-movie marathon via Netflix.

  Hobbling through the grocery store, we'd met the needs of all the major food groups: vegetable in the form of frozen pizza with tomato sauce and mushrooms, protein from the pepperoni and sausage on the pizza, dairy found in the ice cream and chocolate candies, fruit in the Starburst fruit candies, and grains inside the cookies. Yep, that covered it all. When Gary insisted he at least eat an orange, Sonya and I rolled our eyes and groaned about him being a nerd. Since he had the cart with our munchies in it, we had no choice but to follow.

  "So where's Jay?" Sonya asked as we waited for orange boy. "Aren't you two usually attached at the hip?"

  "Usually, but he got busted for getting an 'F' on his American Government test. I tried to get him to study, but he was too interested in watching the Bourne movie marathon on TV."

  "Well I can't blame him—Matt Damon is hot in those movies." She wiggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

  I laughed, imagining Jay checking out Matt Damon. "I think his reasons might be just a teensy bit different from yours."

  "Maybe… Hey isn't that—that's… Jeremy's mom." Sonya pulled on my arm before walking over to a woman who was quickly putting potatoes in a bag. "Ms. Standford?"

  Maybe I was imagining things, but I could have sworn she lowered he head and moved even more quickly.

  "Ms. Standford?" Sonya touched her arm making her jump away from Sonya's touch. "It's me, Sonya. I was just wondering how Jeremy is doing?"

  Finally, she glanced up at Sonya, but only briefly before moving her eyes all around the store. "Oh, yes, hello. He's doing just fine. He's staying with his aunt and uncle."

  Sonya tilted her head, but didn't say anything. Ms. Standford's eyes darted everywhere, not resting on a single thing for more than a few seconds. If I didn't know better, I would say she was on some kind of drug.

  "He should be back in another month or two. I really need to be going. Take care, dear." She finished her short one-sided conversation and darted toward the checkout lines.

  Sonya was shaking her head, clearly confused by the conversation. "That was weird. It was like she was afraid or something. I don't get it."

  Gary convinced her not to think anymore about it and gave her the first pick for our movie, which gave her a reason to think about something else. When we were in-between movies later that night, I stopped by to talk to Gabriel who was working in the den at his computer. After trying to evade the question about my reason for wanting to borrow the computer, I finally broke down and told Gabriel everything I knew on the topic of Jeremy.

  I half expected him to tell me I was just being silly but, instead, he started searching on the computer. Several minutes later, he pulled up an article talking about the murders of Amy and Jim Standford—Jeremy's aunt and uncle.

  I could feel my forehead crease in confusion. "But if they were murdered—"

  "Then why did she say he was with them?" Gabriel was in one of those office chairs with rollers on the bottom that lean back. He had worn it out so much so that it bounced. He was bouncing now as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was thinking the same thing myself. She's clearly hiding something. You said Jeremy behaved oddly? What did you mean by oddly?"

  "I didn't think it was him at first." I walked away from Gabriel's computer and found myself pacing in front of his desk. "He was super-thin and quiet. Jeremy was never quiet. He kept his eyes on the front of the room like he was trying not to draw attention to himself. He was really like another person."

  "Hmm. And you just noticed how thin he was? Nothing else?"

  I paced several steps trying to remember what he looked like. "He had dirt on his sleeves, and his veins were all popped out and dark." I watched Gabriel as he closed the windows on the computer and prepared to shut it down. "And his eyes. You should have seen his weird dark eyes."

  Gabriel's motions stopped mid-movement. "His eyes?"

  "Uh, yeah, they were weird."

  He turned to me, and the look on his face frightened me. He looked angry and scared with his eyes so wide you could see a large amount of white around his brown pupils. "Green?"

  "Well, not really green, I mean I have green eyes, and they weren't close to my shade. This was… I don't know—"

  "Unnatural?"

  Okay
, it was starting to freak me out the way he kept finishing my sentences. He typed furiously on the keyboard for a moment, bringing up another article. When the picture loaded, the face that had been haunting me for months stared back at me—Raymond Acacia. I nearly looked away because of the uncomfortable feeling his face burned into the pit of my stomach, but seeing the image in color drew my eyes back to the screen. His skin was the color of ice. It almost looked like someone had altered the image to take all the color out of his face except that his eyes were so vibrant and bright, and oh my god—green. I could feel my mouth drop open, but I didn't seem to have control over my expression. I just couldn't stop staring at his eyes.

  Gabriel's voice was tired and a little sad. "Did his eyes look like this?"

  I looked at Gabriel, and all I could do was nod. What did this mean? Why did their eyes match? Was this the drugs? I'd heard of marijuana causing glassy or bloodshot eyes, but changing their eye color wasn't possible, was it?

  "What—do you know what this means?" I asked.

  He scrubbed his face with his hand and bounced in his chair again. "It could mean that the effects of this drug are much more long-term than anything we've seen before. But it's all a bit odd. I'm not even sure what to make of it."

  "Could a drug like this cause some sort of sickness or something? I mean he looks like he hasn't eaten and Jeremy was so thin."

  He bobbed his head up and down. "It's certainly possible. Heroin-addicts get really thin as well. Drugs can really do a number on your body."

  "True, but why did Jeremy's mom lie to Sonya?"

  He pointed to the air with his index finger. "Now, that's a good question."

  "Should I tell Sonya she lied? I don't know if it would upset her more or not."

  "Let's keep it between us. I really want to protect you girls, but I also really feel that she's too close to this situation to give her these details. Until I know more or until I find out something useful, I think it's best to keep our research from her."

  I nodded my agreement just as Gary yelled from the living room that they were starting the next movie.

  Gabriel got up from his chair and put his hand on the middle of my back, ushering me out to the hallway. "Go eat some ice cream, and let me worry about all this, huh? You've had far too much to deal with over the years, I'd much rather see you enjoying yourself than thinking about drug-related conspiracies."

  We stepped into the hallway, and his words sunk into my brain. "So you do think there's a conspiracy?"

  He put his hand on the top of my head and let out a groan, smiling. "Between Harm and your father, you're way too smart for your own good." He shook his head, but I could tell he wasn't disapproving of me and my questions, and that made me feel good. "If I promise to talk about this again with you when we know more, will you promise to let it go for now and go be young? Go watch something stupid and eat a ton of sugar."

  Smiling back at him, I hobbled my way down the hallway. "I guess I can live with that, but I'm only going to eat the ice cream because you asked me to."

  He placed his hand over his heart dramatically. "I'm honored that you're willing to make that supreme sacrifice for me."

  "I'm a giving person, I just can't help it."

  Gabriel laughed at me as I flopped down in the oversized armchair, tossing my injured ankle over the arm so that it was elevated. I was really getting sick of being an invalid.

  It surprised me how quickly my brain zoned out of the Jeremy issue and latched on to the stupidity of the movie we had chosen to watch. I managed to get through the rest of the weekend without thinking of Jeremy once. Devlin, on the other hand, kept running through my mind like a track star training for the Olympics, despite my attempts to shove him out of there by force.

  Who’s Tutoring Who Here?

  By Monday, the Jeremy gossip died away when the much more interesting gossip started about how Spencer got caught making out with Alex's cousin at his little brother's birthday party. Monday was the first day I was allowed to ditch my fabulous pals the crutches—sarcasm strongly intended there. I still had to walk carefully, but it was nice to be able to feel the skin underneath my arms again.

  In English, Ms. Jones mentioned that she had a few seniors that could use some help making their way through Hamlet. I hadn’t had any trouble with Shakespeare, so she asked if I would tutor one of them for extra credit points. I spent time with Jay and Samantha, but when it came down to it, I had no life and no reason to say no.

  It wasn’t until I walked into the library, taking in the smell of dusty, well-used books that my eyes fell upon my tutor-ee. The familiar inability to breathe kicked in, and I wanted to turn tail and run as I was watched intently by captivating blue eyes.

  "Crap!" I said too loudly, earning me a scolding look from the white-haired librarian. Quickly slapping my hand to my mouth, I peeked over at her apologetically.

  I had been successfully avoiding Devlin for over a week now. It just wasn't right, the feelings I had for him. I had a boyfriend. I couldn't be running around getting all gooey eyed for another guy, especially not the captain of the football team. After some very slow steps, I finally turned to face the music.

  "Haven’t seen you in a while," Devlin said quietly.

  "Yeah." The table became so intriguing that I couldn’t pull my eyes from it. "So, you’re having trouble with the Shakespeare essay?"

  "Is that what you’re here to help me with?"

  "Yeah." I sat down taking out my book and binder. "So have you started it yet?"

  He was quiet. My attention was drawn to his hand thrumming his fingers on the table. He had such large hands, very masculine with well-defined bones and strong thick veins. He seemed nervous, but not in an obvious way, more like he was trying to hide it. "Uh, no I haven’t."

  "Okay, well, here’s a piece of paper, let’s get started." I opened my binder to the notes I had taken regarding the essay. "First, you need to choose an argument. You—"

  "Right down to business, huh? No, hello how have you been, or it’s nice to see you?"

  I let myself fall back in the chair. "We have work to do. That’s what I’m here to help you with."

  "I thought maybe you signed up for this knowing it was me." He leaned forward on his elbows, dangerously close to me. The light blue T-shirt he wore made his blue eyes sparkle all the more. "I thought maybe you wanted to help me specifically."

  I looked up at him, drawn again by the magnetic pull of his voice, but as my heart started beating wildly, he pulled away, scooting back in his seat.

  "I mean 'cuz we’re friends," he finished.

  Jay, Jay, Jay, I repeated in my head. "I didn’t even know it was you I was supposed to help until I saw you here." Perhaps I imagined it, but I swear he flinched when I said that.

  "Oh, well, in that case…" He stared over at a group of girls studying at another table. "Help away." He smiled and waved at them as they blushed, fawning I’m sure, all over the fact that he had given them attention.

  I couldn’t keep from rolling my eyes. "As I was saying, you need to choose a topic. Do you have any ideas?"

  "That’s what you’re here for, right?" He sounded so cold that I couldn’t help but feel as if I had made a mistake.

  I had a boyfriend. I was doing exactly what I should be doing. I shouldn’t be encouraging any kind of bond between us. Still, I felt lonely for the first time sitting next to him. I spent the next ten minutes trying to get him to pay attention to what I was saying instead of flirting with those girls or chatting with anyone who came in. Finally, I gave up and started putting away my things.

  "What are you doing?" He had the nerve to sound surprised.

  "I don’t need this, Devlin! I don’t have to be here. I thought I was helping someone who needed it, not fighting to get someone to even try. I’ve got enough to deal with without this." I shoved everything in my backpack and pushed my chair back before he reached out and put his hand on top of mine. I was stunned into stillness. His h
and was warm and heavy, and it was so much larger than mine. I stared down at our hands together.

  "I’m sorry."

  His apology made me huff.

  "No, really, Evie." He squeezed my hand, making my eyes launch up to meet his. "I’m sorry. Can we just call my behavior another bad choice and try again?"

  Staring into his eyes was exactly how I imagined staring into the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean would be—mesmerizing. I found myself nodding and pulled my hand from underneath his to scoot my chair back up to the table.

  "Does this mean you’ll finally choose a topic?" I sounded a little too tired for my liking, but my anger and his sudden warmth had drained my energy entirely.

  "Well." He was back to drumming his fingers on the table. He leaned forward on his elbows putting the Caribbean Sea only a foot away from me. "Do you want the truth?"

  That got my attention, forcing me to meet his gaze and draw in a quick breath as a result. I told myself it meant nothing. I told myself I didn’t have a queasy stomach. I told myself his eyes were ugly. In other words, I lied and lied and lied.

  He lowered his voice. "I don’t have time to get good grades, but it doesn’t mean I can’t do the work."

  That was a confusing statement. "What do you mean you don’t have time?"

  "Between football practice everyday and lifting weights and running what I missed during track practice, I don’t have time for homework." He shrugged. "Besides, colleges don’t care what my grades are like as long as I maintain a high 'C' average."

  It just didn't add up in my mind. "So, if you’re not stupid, then why get a tutor?"

  "I like Ms. Jones. She’s cool. She thinks I’m having trouble with Shakespeare because she’s seen me do better off-season—I had her freshman year. I don’t want to tell her I just don’t have time for her class, so I came to tutoring."

  "But you really don’t need help?" I was skeptical. Maybe he was just saying these things to make himself look better. "Then where’s you essay?"