Page 58 of Dumbstruck
One of the speckled tiles tilts, slipping from the ceiling, but a hand grasps it and pulls it upward, leaving a gap in the ceiling. A second later, a pair of pristine Nikes appear, followed by two skinny legs that dangle from the hole.
Panicking, I pull Jonah into the closet and grab the door, shutting it as quickly and quietly as I can. “Oh my gosh, are they seriously coming in from the ceiling?” Wishing I had left the door ajar, I press my ear to the door, trying to hear what’s happening outside as the lights of the classroom go dark.
“Katie, you go write the message, then watch the door,” a young man says, too loudly for someone who’s supposed to be sneaking around. I roll my eyes but keep listening. “Herman, you and Nick move all the desks so they’re in a circle or something. I’ll get the windows.”
The sounds of desks and chairs shifting cover up any other conversation that might be happening, but now I know for sure I was right. Katie is Glen’s daughter, and I’m pretty sure Nick is Phil’s nephew. Disappointment sinks like a rock in my stomach. I’m glad to get to the end of this, but I wish the kids wouldn’t have gotten themselves into trouble like this. I sort of understand their logic—in their eyes, the movie has brought the town nothing but frustration—but there’s no way they could have ever gotten the production crew to leave with this half-formed plan of theirs. And what if someone had gotten hurt?
It only takes a few minutes before the room goes silent again, though I still wait a bit in case they come back. When I’m positive the room is empty and the kids have gone, hopefully to be caught by the security guards before they get very far, I grab the door handle.
It doesn’t budge.
“Uh oh,” I mutter, trying a little harder.
“June,” Jonah says. He’s been quiet up until now.
“Maybe it’s just stuck.”
“June, please don’t tell me we’re locked in here.” Jonah’s voice sounds almost strangled, and it’s only now that I remember he’s claustrophobic. “June.”
“We might be locked in,” I admit, as much as I don’t want to.
Jonah groans. Then he swears. “Why do you never charge your phone, Richie?” he growls. “June, do you have—”
“I left my phone out in the classroom.”
He swears again, and it sounds like he collides with one of the shelves, though it’s too dark to see him. In the next second, he’s at my side and banging on the door. “Help!” he shouts, sounding truly terrified.
“Jonah.”
“We’re stuck!Help!”
“Jonah!” Finding his shoulder, I run my hand up until I can press my palm to his cheek. “Jonah, everyone’s going to be gone for at least another fifteen minutes.”
He groans, pulling away from my touch and disappearing into the darkness. “Fifteen minutes,” he says breathlessly. “Do you have any idea howlongthat is?”
“You’re okay, Jonah.”
He swears again, and then there’s abangand it sounds like several books and various objects tumble to the floor. He’s going to hurt himself if he’s not careful, but I don’t know how to help him. Turning back to the door, I feel along the wall to the right of it, hoping to find a light switch. There’s nothing, so I try the other side, growing more desperate the longer I hear Jonah struggling to breathe. Therehasto be a light in here, right?
When my search comes up empty, I take a chance and move toward the middle of the tiny space, my hands above my head in the hopes that the school is simply outdated and there’s a chain I can pull. My toes collide with something, stopping my forward movement, but I keep waving my hands around until—finally—something cold brushes my fingers. I grasp hold and tug, and a dim orange glow washes over the room.
Jonah is sitting on the floor, elbows on his knees and his arms over his head. Notebooks and binders litter the floor around him, but my focus is on him and the way he seems to be fighting for air. If he panicked after getting stuck in the props trailer, I can only imagine how he’s feeling right now with only a few feet of space around him.
“Hey,” I say gently, kneeling in front of him.
He doesn’t move.
I tuck my hands behind his elbows and pull his arms from his head so I can at least see a part of his face. “Jonah, focus on me, okay? Don’t worry about the room. Just look at me.”
He peeks up, and though his eyes dart to the door behind me, at least he is in control enough to return his attention to my face. “You make that easy,” he mutters, his breathing still erratic. “But I need to get out of here, June.”
“I know. And you will.” Now that he’s looking at me, I grab his ankles next, stretching his long legs out. He barely fits. “But until then, maybe I can distract you.” Though he doesn’t respond to that, he does seem more focused as he watches me shift forward, putting one leg on either side of his so I can settle myself on his lap.
This isn’t how I imagined finally getting a moment alone with Jonah James, but I’ll take what I can get.
“You’re already doing a great job,” he murmurs, moving his hands so one rests on my waist and the other brushes my cheek. His lips twitch up in a smile. “But I could use something a little more…diverting.”
Now I’m the one who’s nervous. I might have shared a couple of quick kisses with this man, but the way he’s looking at me right now is not going to lead to anything quick and simple. Am I ready to fully let go of my fears and open my heart to Jonah? Because if I kiss him—really kiss him—that will open a door I won’t be able to close. Reaching up, I brush shaky fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and shifts his hand from my face to join the other at my back, like he’s giving me all the power in this moment. Despite his anxiety, he’s still willing to let me go at my own pace.
