The One Without Words

❀ chapter twenty-two | teenage sociopaths ❀

I found myself staring at a white ceiling. Grimy walls. A jail cell reeking of piss and misery.

The night's memories replayed in my head. Round two. White car, windows down. Wind whipping past my face, destroying my neatly-braided updo. Her: I missed you, bitch. Me, screaming over the noise: You have a really twisted way of showing it. Her: I wish Anika was here. She'd love this so much.

Cars zooming past us. Frat boys laughing as they sped.

And then crash. Car flipped over on the field of grass. Pizza tattoo guy with a busted-open head. Douchebag coughing blood. Mophead spared, lucky to not have been in the car with them.

I sat on the cold, metal bed. On the other side of the cell, Penelope stood with her eyes shut, hands pressed together, and one of her long legs balancing in the air.

"Getting a head start on your morning yoga?" I asked, my voice flat.

Her eyes flew open. "I can't believe our luck."

"Luck? We're in jail right now, if you haven't noticed."

The small cell gave us no view of the outside. What the officers were doing. Whether our parents were with them, filling out the paper work to pick us up.

Penelope stretched her arms over her head. "I'm just mad we didn't get to race each other."

And here I was glad we hadn't crashed. But the fine I'd have to pay for being Penelope's passenger in an illegal street race wouldn't be cute, either.

"Racing me is your priority when someone could've died?" I asked.

"I'm sad no one did," she said, sitting cross-legged on her metal bed, a gesture so reminiscent of our juvie days I swore I was sixteen again. "Last week I called upon the forces of darkness to help me win my beauty pageant. This is them telling me they've listened. It's like... a sacrifice. Someone has to pay."

Douchebag and Pizza tattoo guy, currently in the hospital. Should I have felt bad? They crashed their car all on their own, making Penelope seem like the good driver. Had the universe really manifested their stupidity so she could win her beauty pageant? 

Someone could've died tonight. And still, I couldn't help but think about Jack. He'd had some sort of melt down. Had Eli taken him home? What if Jack had been in the car that crashed instead? What if he'd been Penelope's "sacrifice"? Nausea filled me as I thought about it. The jail cell closed me in, the sense of being caged amplified by an immense urge to break out and talk to Jack.

I shook those thoughts away. Pressed my fingers into my eyes until I saw stars, forcing myself to focus on the present. White ceiling. Grimy walls. 

"Your beauty pageant won't matter if you're going to juvie," I said. "Maybe that's the sacrifice. Or how about my ruined shop?"

Penelope chewed on the end of her nail. She still hadn't lost that habit. Her fingertips were always pink, peeling, and raw. A compulsive biter.

"If you were so mad you wouldn't have come with me," she said. "Which means you missed me! Or... no. You were upset. You were upset because that boy you brought with you left." She laid back, observing me. "He really is your Anika."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's your partner in crime. Your dual opposite. Like me and Anika."

"Well, you'll sure be keeping her company once you're in juvie again."

"Do you think she misses me?"

"For her sake, I would hope not."

Penelope slumped against the wall, chewing on her nails.

I felt myself smile a little. "Do you care about her?"