Page 73 of Dead Man's Hollow
She grins broadly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Get your hands off her,” an angry voice shouts from across the clearing.
Heather jumps, and they both turn toward the sound.
“Oh, great,” Heather says under her breath. “It’s Rich and his merry band of bootlickers.”
“What the hell are you doing, Heather? Get out of here. The cops are on their way. Go.” Rich gestures wildly at the woods behind him.
She hears people calling out their friends’ names, the pounding of feet, and the rumble of engines starting. Amy’ll be freaking out if the police are here. Little Miss Perfect is not gonna want to get caught. But knowing her sister, she won’t leave without her. Amy’ll end up getting arrested and it’ll all be Heather’s fault.
She turns to Andre. “Hey, I’m sorry. If the cops are here, I really gotta go. My sister?—”
“I get it. I’m not looking to get hauled in tonight either. Give me your digits?”
Rich glowers. “No, she’s not gonna give you her digits. Get out of here.”
“Yeah,” Heather says with a grin, studiously avoiding Rich’s gaze. “You got a pen?”
“No, but I got a memory.”
She rattles off her pager number. “You gonna page me?”
In answer, he reaches up and takes out one of the diamond studs glittering in his ear, turns over her palm, drops it in, and then closes her fist around it with his hand. “I’m gonna have to. You have my earring. Go ahead. Get out of here, girl.”
She gives him one last kiss before running back toward the bonfire to find Amy. The noise behind her stops her, and she turns to see Rich squaring up chest to chest with Andre. Andre’s outnumbered but not cowed.
He pushes Rich back and calls for his boys. As the guys from the Allderdice stream up the hill, Heather presses herself against a tree. She should go. She needs to find Amy. But she’s excited by the thought of the fight. She wants to watch.
She creeps back toward the group and listens as they trade insults back and forth, jawing. Then someone throws the first punch. She doesn’t see who, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. There’s a flurry of fists and grunts and boys’ bodies slamming into each other. In the faint light, it looks like they’re dancing, not fighting.
Then someone—it sounds like Brett—shouts for people to break it up and get out of there before the cops come. To her surprise, they do. Arms fall to sides. Guys spit blood on the ground and shuffle away from each other, still mouthing off. Rich turns to go back to the bonfire, and Heather presses herself deeper into the woods.
Andre’s white Air Force Ones have come untied in the commotion, and he sits down heavily to retie his shoes while his friends take off. Everyone’s cleared out, only Andre’s left in the clearing. She thinks it would be romantic to run back to him for one last impulsive kiss. She’s just coming out of the trees when Frankie circles back to loom over Andre. He kicks dirt toward Andre, who raises his arms to cover his face.
“Hey, man. What’s your problem?” Andre gets up cautiously, keeping his eyes on Frankie.
Frankie jabs a finger in his chest. Hard. “Stay away from Heather.”
“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?”
“Stay away from her,” he repeats, jabbing again.
Andre bats his finger away. “Don’t touch me.”
“She’s Rich’s girl.”
“Yeah? Somebody should have told her that.” Andre laughs.
The derisive laughter must enrage Frankie. He hauls off and punches Andre in the chest. Andre staggers back a step. Then his face goes slack, and he leans forward, reaching for Frankie.
But Frankie’s already turned his back and is halfway down the hill. He doesn’t see Andre collapse into the dirt, but Heather does. She runs toward his prone body, calling his name.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Maisy and Bastianmake no effort at stealth as they crash through the woods, calling Chloe’s and Rich’s names. After several fruitless minutes, they pause to rest and catch their breath.
“How big is this conservation area?” Bastian asks.
