I sighed and held my tablet tighter against my chest. “I…don’t know.”
Aimee turned to Gary. “Oh, get off her back about it, Gary. Nobody knows what really happened except for Hayden. But she has a good point. Too many people died that night. If Hayden was responsible, all the money and political pull in the world couldn't have covered it up."
She took a deep breath, then reached down to take her boyfriend's hand. "Look, what if everyone else died that night because they were experimenting like us and they made one mistake too many? We could end up just like them. Dead. Maybe Hayden didn’t die because he was watching from a safe distance. Or maybe he knew something that protected him. Either way, we owe it to ourselves and each other to at least see if he could help us stop the same thing from happening to us.” She swallowed hard, her pale white throat working with the effort. “I know you don't like it. But we need him. Please give her a chance to try and talk him into coming. It'll only be for one meeting.”
Seconds ticked by as Gary stared at me, his jaw muscles repeatedly knotting then relaxing. Finally he shrugged one shoulder. “Whatever. I've got to get to class.”
Aimee shot me a quick smile. “Good luck! Call me later and tell me what he said, okay?” Without waiting for my reply, she took off at a jog down the hall to catch up with Gary and his buddies, her thick boots’ rubber soles clomping against the shiny, overly waxed linoleum.
Blowing out a long breath, I ducked into history class just as the tardy bell rang.
Hayden was already in his desk directly behind mine, his long, normally stretched out legs cramped up beneath his own desk for a change. As if he didn’t want to risk coming into contact with me as I walked past him. He didn’t look up as I hurried into my seat then got ready for class, waking up my school-assigned tablet and detaching its metal stylus from its side edge. Several clicks added to the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead as everyone turned on their tablets then tapped the screens with their styluses to start their audio recordings of the upcoming lecture.
If only we had known what was about to happen in a few short minutes, we would have held up our tablets, aimed the built-in cameras at the front of the room, and started video recordings instead so that we could capture every single visual detail along with the sounds of history in the making for later generations to try and understand what that earth-shaking moment was like.
But we thought it was just another school day like all the others that had come before it. And having to listen to Mr. Sherman's boring lectures again was bad enough without also having to see just how boring his delivery style was. So we started audio recordings, unknowingly adding to that day's countless other audio recordings and videos shot from cell phone cameras, security cameras, and home television DVRs set to record daytime soap opera shows—ensuring that this infamous day would become the most widely captured day ever in human history.
In those final minutes of peace, Mr. Sherman’s voice began its usual droning lecture from where he’d perched on a stool at the front of the room. And with my tablet recording the lecture for me to reference later at home, I thought I was free to zone out.
I needed a way to bring up what would surely be the world's most awkward conversation ever with the guy sitting in the desk behind me.
Or maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe it wouldn't be awkward at all. Heck, maybe Hayden actually didn't even care about the past anymore, and it was only me and my stupid guilt that was blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe he'd be happy to come to a meeting and help out.
I closed my eyes and rubbed at the pounding that had begun in my temples. Yeah right. Even if Hayden didn't remember or care about how our friendship had ended, there was no way he was going to happily agree to come to a meeting with a bunch of Goths in the woods at night. Especially after losing his only brother in another area of those same woods.
Unable to help myself, I risked a look back over my shoulder.
Hunched over his desk, Hayden’s piercing blue eyes looked up at me from beneath their heavy fringe of brown lashes and the thick, sun-streaked brown hair that flopped across his forehead and eyebrows. As usual, he was in serious need of a haircut. Some things never changed.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw muscles knotting up at the sides of his face, as he returned my stare.
Then again, some things definitely had changed. And not for the better.
I turned to face the front of the room again, swallowing hard. Either he'd heard us talking about him before class today, or he was still holding a grudge against me for messing up everything we'd once shared together.
A knot formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. Once, I would have been able to know at a glance exactly what Hayden was thinking, even to the point of being able to finish his sentences. But too much time and distance had made his mind a complete mystery to me. He was no longer the guy I'd once known.
Maybe the rumors about him and all those deaths were true, and he was capable of the unthinkable. People changed, and not always for the better.
But in my heart, I just couldn't accept the rumors. People couldn't change that much.
Could they?
A quick, loud double rap at our classroom's door made me jump. My stylus clattered to the floor.
The door opened, and Principal Thomas stepped inside.
Frowning, Mr. Sherman stood up and circled around the rows of desks, his loafers making tiny squeaks against the linoleum floor, until he joined the principal. They stood there together for several minutes, their murmurs too low for me to hear clearly two rows away.
Hayden's desk creaked behind me, all but begging me to turn and sneak another glance at him. But this time I was able to resist the urge, because even though I couldn't hear exactly what the teacher and principal were saying, I could at least tell that it was about something major. Just the fact that the principal had come to deliver a message personally instead of using the intercom system was a big clue. And then there was the way they were acting, both of them pale and frowning, the rhythm of their low mutters fast and clipped. Principal Thomas' hands made quick, stabbing gestures every time it was his turn to say something. At one point, Mr. Sherman froze for a few seconds before jamming a hand through his thinning hair. When his hand dropped to his side again, his hair stuck up in little rows of tufts like dead brown grass pushed over by a flash flood.
What was going on?