Page 104 of The Secret Girl (Adamson All-Boys Academy 1)
“I don't fucking know!” Church screams back at him. “They shoved me in, those assholes …” His voice trails off, and the two boys wait side by side, one on either side of the drain, looking up at the big round mouth of the fountain. It’s just a decorative circle, about as tall as I am, spewing out is own never-ending waterfall.
It feels like forever before Tobias emerges and Micah lets out this sound of pure joy that makes me want to cry. Later, I will. Later. Right now, there's too much at stake.
“Ranger?” Church asks, but Tobias is still coughing, and can't answer yet. When he does, it isn't good.
“We agreed since he was bigger, it made more sense for him to follow after. That way, if I slipped he'd catch me, and …” He pauses and we all look up at the fountain; if possible the strength of the water pouring from it seems to be increasing. There's no air pocket left in there, I bet.
“Fuck, Ranger, fuck,” Church whispers, and then before the twins can stop him, he's climbing up and trying to peer into the opening. Tobias tries to go after him, but Micah holds him back.
“No! You're not getting yourself killed. It's not happening, bro.” Tobias yanks himself away from his brother, but he doesn't go anywhere. Instead, they both just stand there, muscles tense.
When Church comes back down, alone, I feel something shatter inside of me.
“No.” The word's just a whisper at first, but when Church punches the rocky wall next to the fountain, I fall apart. Tears pour from my face, and I start to shake, collapsing to my knees in the wet grass.
It's not fair.
Ranger just wanted the truth about the big sister he loved. He can't die like this, not here. No fucking way. I stand up and slide into the pool, swimming across it to … to … shit, I don't know, but the twins won't let me pass.
“You're not going up there, Chuck,” Micah says, tears pouring down his face. “You're just not. We need to go find help.”
“Go get the headmaster,” Church says, and his voice is so sharp it's like a garrote. “I'll stay here in case he …” He trails off. We all know Ranger is not coming back.
Ranger drowned in the dark tunnels beneath Adamson Academy.
Ranger is now dead.
Ranger is dead.
I try to let that sink in, but the words refuse to penetrate my oxygen-starved brain. Go get Dad. Maybe it's not too late? Even though I know that's just a bullshit fairytale meant to make me feel better, I grab hold of it and run with it.
The twins escort me to the edge and we all climb out, shaking, our teeth chattering like crazy. Micah looks around, but I'm pretty sure he's confused as to where, exactly, we are.
“Fuck, we need Spencer,” he whispers, and I feel this sick, guilty sensation wash over me. If Spencer were here, maybe he'd have known what to do in the tunnels, maybe he'd have known where to go? Maybe he'd know where to go now?
Tears pour down my face as I move through the trees, desperate for some sort of landmark. Something, anything that will tell me where we are.
“Ranger's dead, isn't he?” Micah whispers, leaning his back against a tree. He closes his eyes, his body shaking from the cold, and the adrenaline. I glance back and find Church waiting in the water. It's up to his chest now, but he doesn't move. He stands there and stares at that spot, like a dog waiting for his best friend. I mean that in the best way possible, like his loyalty is unwavering.
“He might not be! Snap the fuck out of it, Micah, and let's just go. Let's just start running until we figure out where we are.” He reaches out to grab his brother's arm, and Micah pushes off the tree like his body's made of lead. He looks like he wants to collapse to the ground and just give up. “Stay with Church, Chuck. Don't let him do anything stupid.”
I nod and reach into my bag for my phone. Of course, it's supposed to be waterproof, but when I try to turn it on, I get nothing. It's either dead, or totally fucked.
The twins don't wait for me to answer; they take off through the woods at a pace I could never match. With nothing else to do, I head back to the pond and move over to the side closest to Church.
For a brief moment, the rain stops, so I don't have to shout so loud to be heard.
“Is your phone working?” I ask him, but he shakes his head.
“It somehow got swept out of my pocket on the way up.” He sounds so clinical, impassive, like he's discussing the weather. It's a defense mechanism, I'm sure of it, but it's still hard to hear.
