Jennifer Armentrout - Don’t Look Back

He was right beside me, dogged as ever. “People were talking in practice yesterday.”

I could only imagine about what. Pushing open the door, I took the pavilion steps two at a time. Scott would be waiting to take me home before heading back for practice.

“Don’t you even want to know?” he asked, anger sharpening his words.

“Not really.”

He shot in front of me, blocking my path between two cars. “What is with you? You’re acting like we weren’t together for almost four years, Sammy. Four years and you can’t even give me the time of day?”

There was a good chance that the pills might be kicking in ahead of schedule, because I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even sad. Looking up at him, I felt nothing but general disappointment. Maybe it wasn’t the pills—just a sign that I was moving on from this.

Kind of like how everyone seemed to be moving on from Cassie.

I shouldered my backpack and squinted. “I’m sorry. I know we spent a long time together—”

“But since you can’t remember it, you don’t care? Well, I do. I remember it and I care.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” I sighed, glancing over his shoulder. If Scott caught Del blocking me like this, he’d end up with another black eye. “I know you care about that time, and believe it or not, so do I.”

“Good.” He sounded hopeful. “At least that’s a common ground.”

“Not in that way. I care about you, and maybe one day I’ll forgive you for those pictures, but even if I did, we aren’t getting back together.”

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. Hurt flickered across his face, but behind that was stubbornness and something darker and stronger than I cared to see. At least I knew the pills didn’t totally squash my emotional compass.

“Can’t we just go somewhere and talk?”

My mouth dried. “You have practice.”

“Screw practice. Our relationship is more important than a damn practice.”

“I’m not more important. Baseball means a lot to you.”

“That’s not true.” He looked as if I’d hit him upside the head with a concrete block, as if he couldn’t believe I’d disagree. “We need to talk this out.”

Apprehension was growing rapidly, and it made me impatient to get away from him. “I need you to understand this, Del. We aren’t getting back together. Not now. Not a week from—”

“It’s true, then? What I heard in practice yesterday? That you’re going to prom with Carson?”

I wasn’t answering that question, because I knew it would be like opening Pandora’s box and letting out a slew of angry problems. So I stepped around him and picked up my pace. Just a few more rows of cars, and I’d be free of Del. Just a few more steps …

“Damn it, Sammy!”

The anger in his voice caused me to jump, but I didn’t look back. He’d turn my going to the dance with Carson into my choosing someone else over him. And Carson had nothing to do with Del. They weren’t even in the same league.

Why was Del so determined to patch things? Another mystery I couldn’t solve or even begin to understand. During lunch this past week, Veronica had been all but sitting in his lap. It was obvious she liked him and was more than willing to take their friendship to the next level. A much better choice than me for several reasons.

I jogged down a row, passing a dusty red Jeep, when something darted along my peripheral vision. My heart stuttered unevenly, and chills skittered up and down my spine. A loud buzzing filled my ears.

No. It’s not real.

Again, on the other side of me, the figure moved, matching my steps. Air froze in my throat. Stress-induced hallucinations—panic attacks. That was what Dr. O’Connell had called them. If I got too upset, I’d start seeing things.

That was all it was. Not real. Not there.

Keeping my eyes trained on the sleek black sedan Scott had rented, I dug around in my bag for the bottle of emergency pills. I didn’t have anything to swallow the pill down with, but I had to make do. My heart was pounding way too fast, my vision now darkening at the corners.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

A hand clamped down on my arm, spinning me around. My scream got stuck in my throat, and the bottle of pills hit the gravel. Raising my arm, I prepared to strike.

“Hey!” Scott blocked my arm. “Calm down there, ninja.”

I pressed my hand over my thumping heart. “Jeez, you scared the crap out of me.”

“I can see.” He frowned, dropping down and grabbing my bottle. He handed it to me. “I called your name a couple of times. Didn’t you hear me?”

“No.” Shaken, I unscrewed the lid and dug out one tiny pill. “I didn’t hear you, but I thought …”

“Here.” He offered me his water. “You thought what?”

I downed the pill, wincing at the burn as it slid down my throat. “I thought I saw the shadow guy.”

Scott placed his arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the car. “I think that may have been me, Sam. I was walking a few cars down, alongside you.”

Great. Even with the pills I still couldn’t figure out the difference between fact and fake.

“I was worried,” he continued, digging the keys out of his pocket. “I saw Del down at the entrance. He looked pissed.”

Not wanting to get into that, I didn’t respond and waited for Scott to unlock the door. Still struggling to control my breathing, I dropped into the front seat and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blissful stupor to do its job, to make me feel normal again.

To help me forget that not everything was perfect, that Cassie was still dead and I was still a suspect, and that growing feeling that something bad—something terrible—was waiting around the corner.

On Saturday, Julie arrived at my house. Not to hang out with Scott—although there was a lot of tongue action the first three minutes of her visit—but to go dress shopping with me.

A mass of knots had formed in my stomach, and I seriously considered taking one of the panic-attack pills, but I managed to convince myself I didn’t need it. I was tongue-tied and unsure of how to act around Julie, so a whole lot of awkwardness ensued.

Julie drove a rusty sedan that should have been laid to rest about a hundred thousand miles ago. Fumbling with the seat belt, I inhaled the scent of freesia and stale fast food.

It was kind of a homey combination.

“Okay,” she said, easing the car around Carson’s father’s work truck. “We have two options. We can shop in town or head into the city.”

“It’s up to you. I’m fine either way.” Dad had given me his credit card, but I doubted he would have eagerly handed it over if he knew who my date was. Right now, they thought I was going stag. I was going to have to ease them into the truth.

Her lips pursed. “Well, the city is going to give us more options, but most likely be out of my price range. So we can do both if you want?” She glanced at me. “Or I can window-shop with you.”

“No. We can stay in town. I’m sure I’ll find something here.”

Julie stared at me as if I’d just admitted to being abducted by aliens. “Are … you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m totally okay with that.” I started to chew on my pinkie nail on my left hand. “Is that bad?”

“No.” She blinked and then fiddled with the radio station. “It’s just that you could splurge on a dress and get a really nice one.”

But she couldn’t, and that didn’t seem fair. I shrugged. “A dress is a dress, right?”

She slammed on the brakes at the end of our road, pitching me forward. My eyes widened, expecting to see an animal or something in the middle of the road, but there was nothing. She slowly turned to me. “You are seriously freaking me out.”