The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (10 best books of all time TXT) 📗

back there, whether consciously or not, the Flood showed me how they felt: cornered, agitated, even scared. And when I comforted them, they listened.

Twenty-Two THE DANGEROUS GIRL

THERE’S ONLY ONE place in Lotus Valley big enough to hold the town hall. So within the hour, we’re on our way to Lotus Valley High School.

Alex and I split off from the group and walk to the far classroom hall. They closed it earlier this year, he explains—ever since Cassie’s prophecy, there’s always a new wave of people leaving town during the summer break. They need fewer classrooms than they used to.

All around us, among the darkened doorways and lockers, I see little glimpses of Cassie’s, Alex’s, and Felix’s lives. A cabinet of trophies: football, debate, Academic Decathlon. A small section of art projects. Class pictures from each year. The class sizes are dramatically smaller than my own back in San Diego. It doesn’t take me long to find the shot from the end of last year. Felix with his arm slung around a stiff, uncomfortable-looking Alex. Cassie, standing a little off to the side, leaving an awkward gap between her and the group. And among the group, a few familiar faces from earlier today.

Next to me, Alex shifts his weight.

“This must be eerie for you,” I say.

“A little.” Alex attempts a smile. “But it’s quiet.”

“Can you try first?” I ask. Alex has more practice than I do. I want to see if it’ll be any different.

He nods. And though his expression doesn’t change, his face gets a little paler. “Is there anything you’d like to tell Rose?” he calls out quietly.

A stack of papers slips from the top of one of the lockers, and they slap against the tile hard enough that I flinch. They fan out, gently fluttering in the air-conditioning. At length, they shiver themselves still.

I think the living embodiment of human memory just left us on read.

“You should go to the gym,” I whisper. “Maybe it will help if I’m alone.”

Alex has this look like he doubts that very much. But as usual, he’s too polite to say.

He steps back slowly, as if to give me time to reconsider. I won’t, much as I want to. But I do finally get the courage to ask.

“Alex . . .” I chew on my lower lip. “What you can do . . . Do you ever wish it would . . . stop?”

The second the words are out, I wish I’d left it alone. But he doesn’t shrink back, or ask why, or do anything else I’d do. He’s quiet for a moment. Thoughtful.

“It’s like part of my body now,” he says. “I’d always feel where it used to be. And I—I don’t just want it to go away. If I don’t make anything of it, it’s just something that happened to me.”

I watch his face, shrouded in the dim light of the hall. I’m not sure what’s helpful to say. But he’s told me, more than once, what I need to hear. The least I can do is try.

“You’re doing great, you know,” I say.

His face, as always, stays closed, neutral. But something in it softens as he smiles.

“I’m not always good at hearing that,” he says. “But . . . it does help.”

I smile back. “Go on, I’ll meet you in there.”

He starts to turn and then pauses. He’s silent for long enough, I think he might have reconsidered what he wants to say. But he gets there, eventually.

“I know it’s a scary thing to think, Rose,” he says. “But there’s something that you and the Flood have in common. And if you find that . . . well. If nothing else, you can work from there.”

He slips down the hall and out of sight. And I turn back to the hallway. Both feet planted frustratingly in the present.

“Is he right, do you think?” I whisper. It carries much farther than I meant it to. But still, nothing stirs. “Is there something we have in common?”

There’s a click in the distance. Several someones just walked through the front doors of the school. I can hear low, furtive voices.

“I know you want to tell me something,” I say. “But if tonight doesn’t go our way, you won’t have the chance. Show me something that will help. Buy us some time. Anything.”

There’s a sharp sound. Rubber, squealing across pavement. My head whips to the side, but there’s no street there beyond the window. Just a playground, still and quiet in the desert night.

There’s a sharp, wet chill at my feet, and my head jerks down. There’s droplets of water blanketing the tile, sliding down the lockers. In the dark, they look thick and black.

Then seconds later, somewhere out in the street, I hear the crunch of metal and glass.

Out of the corner of my vision, the scenery shifts. And I shut my eyes tight.

“I don’t need to see that,” I whisper. They know that, don’t they? I’m not Gaby. I didn’t need to see the car. I didn’t need to see the body. And I don’t need to see what happens next.

“My.” The voice that answers instead is one I’ve only heard in person once. But it’s been following me around all day.

I open my eyes. Lotus Valley High has solidified, once again, before my eyes. The hallway is clean and dry. And Mayor Williams is walking toward me.

“Something wrong?” she says.

I take that tightness in my chest and exhale it out. “Communication issues.”

“There’s that wit,” she says, almost warm. “Ace Martin said you were funny.”

I can tell by the light, deliberate way she says the name: she’s trying to trip me up. “I liked Mr. Martin,” I say, just as deliberately. “I liked everyone.”

Her face doesn’t change. “I see,” she hums. “You liked them so much you’ll continue to put them at risk.”

I hold myself straighter. “I like them,” I say again, “so I’m going to do what I can to help.”

“And you know for sure that you’re helping,” she says.

My legs still feel wobbly, like all that