This conversation isn’t about the fact that Parrish is missing; it’s more than that.
He leaves me alone for the rest of the lunch period, so I can talk with my friends.
Just that act alone shows me that he’s just as much of one as they are.
The next message comes as I’m walking out of my last class of the day (one that’s being taught by a substitute as half the teachers have bailed to join the search party). As soon as I feel my phone buzzing, I tear it from my pocket and slip into the theater for some privacy. Danyella’s got a family thing today, so she’s given the entire production crew the day off.
Find a safe space to talk.
I stand there staring at the text for so long that my vision gets blurry, and I have to blink a half-dozen times to clear it.
I’m in a safe space, I reply, feeling a rush of adrenaline take over me. I keep telling myself over and over again that this is a game, that there’s a boss battle waiting for me at the end of it. Parrish is the prince; I’m the knight.
I exhale sharply, squeezing the phone tight in my hand and leaning back against the wall to wait. This I can do. A game. It’s a game. I can beat any game. Any fucking game.
An incoming video call appears on the screen, and I swear, I cannot answer it fast enough.
“Parrish,” I breathe, taking a step forward, as if that’ll somehow get me deeper into the screen to be with him. “I’m coming for you. I promise. I won’t ever stop. I won’t. Even if it kills me.”
“Dakota, don’t,” he chokes out, letting his head fall forward. He seems so tired today, so goddamn tired. “I’m not worth it.” But even as he says that, he lifts his eyes up to mine and they blaze. He wants to live, even if he won’t admit it. There’s no shame in that.
“What do I have to do now?” I ask, dreading the next command but knowing that I’ll do it. I’ll do it, and he knows that. My father. But I can’t think about that right now. Whether the kidnapper is my dad or not is irrelevant at this point.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Parrish is murmuring, closing his eyes. I wonder if he’s being fed? Given water? Allowed to sleep? The man—let’s just call him the Justin for now—says that he’ll keep Parrish alive, not that he’ll keep him comfortable or even sane. I don’t have a huge window of time here. “Gamer Girl, just let it go. Let me go.”
I meet his eyes, and I hope that I convey how serious I am when I talk.
“I will never give up, Parrish. Do you understand that? You might be an asshole, and a lazy sloth, and totally and completely annoying but … as much as I hated you, I care about you just as much now. So tell me. What do I need to do?”
He swallows hard, wetting his dry and scabbed lips with his tongue.
“You have to set the theater on fire.”
It takes me a good thirty seconds for that to sink in. Parrish just sits there, looking at me, watching me. Maybe he doesn’t think I can handle it? Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to do it? There’s a chance someone could get hurt. There’s a chance I could get caught. Mostly, I’m thinking about Danyella.
“Go into the prop room, douse it with a five gallon can of gasoline, and light it up.” Parrish sniffles, the dried blood beneath his nose a concerning sight. How badly was he beaten before he was tied up? How deep are those cuts on his chest? How much blood has he lost?
The video cuts out and I grit my teeth, that panicky feeling taking over me again. Every time I see him, I can’t help but wonder if it’s the last. I end up putting my back to the wall and sliding down until I’m sitting. That’s where I remain until Chasm finds me a few minutes later.
“You got another message, didn’t you?” he asks me, but I don’t have to answer that question. He knows. I look up to find him watching me, his back to the door to make sure that nobody else comes in unannounced.
“He wants me to set the prop room on fire.” It sounds absurd when I say it. It won’t be the worst thing I do before the end of the school year though. I don’t know that in the moment which is probably a good thing. A great thing, actually. If I’d known all the shit I was about to get myself into, I might not have had the strength to push through. “We need a gas can and a lighter.”
Chasm moves over to crouch beside me, taking the phone from my hand and reading the text before looking back up at me. I never get a call when he’s in the room with me. That’s got to be intentional. The question isn’t ‘am I being watched?’, it’s how am I being watched?
“You’re serious about this?” he asks me, and I nod, looking up and into his amber eyes. The first time I met him, I was convinced he was one of the prettiest human beings I’d ever seen. I stand by that, even now. The only difference is that I’m starting to realize he’s just as pretty—prettier—on the inside than he is on the outside.
Chasm hasn’t seen the video calls; I didn’t even show him the one I recorded. He’s just taking my word for it. It’s a huge leap of faith for someone I’ve only known for three months.
“I’m serious.”
Chasm hesitates for a moment and then nods, standing up suddenly and offering me a hand.
“I know the girls who run the computer science club; they can access the school’s security cameras.” I give Chas a look, and he quirks a cocky smile. “And when I say I know the girls who run the computer science club …”
I slap his arm and he gives a smoky chuckle, handing me the phone back. For a second there, it’s like nothing is different, like nothing has changed, like Parrish is going to be waiting for us when we come out of the theater.
But that’s not reality.
Reality is that I’m going to set fire to the theater, to the props that I help painted. I’m going to ruin Danyella’s production of Wicked that she’s been working on for an entire fucking year.
This freaking blows.
“Let’s start with the gas issue,” Chas begins, reaching into his pocket and sliding out a lighter. He offers it up to me, and we both pretend nothing happens when his fingers trace across my palm. “The janitor keeps a gas can in the shed out back. I only know that because I’ve taken girls—”
“Kwang-seon,” I warn, and he stops. He seems cocky and self-assured, but that’s the truest sign that he’s nervous as fuck right now. The more nervous he is, the more he talks about girls and plays up his slut persona. “Where is the shed?”
Chas gives me instructions on how to find the storage shed while he disappears to the computer science room. How he’s going to get the girls to … do something with the footage and keep their mouths shut after the fire is discovered is beyond me. But somehow, I trust that he’s got my back.
The shed is easy enough to find, situated at the back of the building and behind the student greenhouses. We had greenhouses back at my old high school, too, but we grew vegetables in ours for the school lunch program. Here at Whitehall, they grow exotic plants and do strange experiments with interbreeding and cultivation. It’s never appealed to me.
I pause in front of the shed, checking around to make sure that I’m alone. For the moment, at least, it appears that I am. Unfortunately, there’s a padlock on the door and I’m seriously lacking in bolt cutters here. With a curse, I circle the shed, peeping in the windows and spotting the red gas can sitting beside a riding lawn mower. There’s a professional crew that takes care of the landscape normally, but just in case a tuft of dandelions or daisies sprouts here or there, they’ve got an emergency fix on hand.