Page 37 of Wham Line
Was I Bobby’s emergency contact?Probably not, but I had no idea.
I didn’t have phone numbers for his dad or his brother.
I thought about texting Keme and Millie, but then I didn’t; Keme was already freaked out to the max by what was happening with Indira.I didn’t want to add to that.Fox wasn’t an option either; they were at the sheriff’s station right now, doing their best to help Indira.This childlike part of me wanted to call my parents, but that would have been worse than doing nothing—I had a powerful vision of having to discuss every potential poison that might have been used, with pros and cons.
Actually.
My mom answered on the second ring.“Did you hear back from an agent?Don’t give them more than fifteen percent.”
“Mom, I need your help.”It took me a moment to be able to say it again.“I think someone poisoned Bobby.”
Normal parents would have cried out in shock, or asked how I was doing, or heck, asked howBobbywas doing.
My mom said, “Your dad knows some that I don’t; give me a moment.”Sure enough, a moment later, the sound of the call changed, and my mom said, “We’re here on speaker.”
I gave them a brief version of what had happened at the restaurant.
“It might be cyanide,” my dad said.“The rapid breathing.”
“Were his lips unusually red?”my mom asked.
“No,” I said, “and I didn’t smell almonds.”
“What about ricin?”my mom said.“That can affect breathing.”
“Unh-uh,” my dad said.“Not unless he inhaled it, and it takes too long.Are you sure it was the food, son?It seems like a stretch that there would be enough of it still on her lips—”
“Tetrodotoxin,” my mom said.“It has to be.The sweating.And his face was numb.”
It happened all at once, like someone had cut the signal from my body.Because I knew what tetrodotoxin did—I mean, look who my parents were.Of course I knew.And I knew there wasn’t a cure.
“Oh God,” I said.“I’ve got to talk to the doctor.”
“He’s going to be all right, Dash,” my mom said.
“That’s right,” my dad said.“It’s going to be okay.”
I disconnected.
It’s a strange feeling when one of the kindest things your parents have ever done is lie to you.
I found a nurse.And I asked and insisted and demanded until I got a doctor.He was older, with a haircut like George Washington, but he listened.Then he hurried away, his curls flapping against the side of his head.
And then there was nothing to do but wait.Fifteen minutes stretched out into an hour.And then that hour ballooned into two.It was still, somehow, the same day.Mid-afternoon.I stood at one of the windows, the light dazzling, and closed my eyes.
I was shambling past a nurses’ station when it all became overwhelming: the antiseptic smell; the beeping; the cool, impersonal air.I had to get outside.I spun around.
Jethro stood behind me.
He was slouching along the hallway, shoulders down, dark hair hanging in his eyes.Instead of the white shirt and slacks I’d seen him in the other night, he was wearing a striped pullover and jeans—it was actually pretty cute, and it made him look less like Dracula’s special little guy and more like, well, a normal twentysomething who still needed to find the right skincare product.When he realized I’d spotted him, he froze.
He’d been following me.
He’d been watching me at Mizzenmast.
“Hey,” I said.“You!”A petite Black nurse looked up from her paperwork.“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh no you don’t!”
The last bit slipped out of me as Jethro scurried away down the hall.
