to Nick Berkley calmly call hospitals until he found Micahâs location.
It was a blur. A haze. The only constant was the steady sound of his dadâs soothing voice and Sabrinaâs clammy hand curled up in his. He watched the back of his dadâs head as they jogged through the hospital halls, searching, searching. . . . How could his dad be this collected? Would he ever get that way? Did adults just wake up one day with that skill to keep a level head when everything else was going to hell?
He hated the stark, white neon of the hospital and the sickly smell. He wanted to laugh, thinking of Micah clutching his hand when he had to get stitches, both of them telling jokes to try to keep Micah from freaking out at the sight of so much blood.
There were no jokes this time.
They found Micah in an empty waiting room, oddly calm as a whirlwind of activity went on down the hall in surgery. The doors were closed and nobody was let in, but from the way Micah stared intently, too intently, at the corridor, Oliver knew that something bad had happened. Sabrina broke away, racing to Micahâs side, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking.
âWhere is she?â she hissed, searching his face. âWhereâs Dee?â
âI couldnât do anything,â Micah murmured, his eyes hollow. A bandage was taped across his forehead, big enough to conceal a large gash. Bruises had already begun forming along his cheekbones. The faint smell of whiskey hung around Micah, growing stronger whenever he gave another deep breath. âThe driver . . . They came out of nowhere. I couldnât stop. I wasnât even going that fast, he just . . . He just came out of nowhere.â
âWhere. Is. She.â
Sabrina slapped him, not hard, but enough to make both Oliver and his dad reach for her, coaxing her away from Micah. But the blow stirred something in him. Light danced back into his eyes, focusing quickly and pinpointing on Sabrina.
âSheâs hurt,â Micah murmured, scrunching up his face. It looked like he was going to cry again any second. âSheâs hurt real bad.â
Real bad was obviously not the whole story. They got it out of him in bits and pieces, nurses running back and forth behind them in the background. Oliver didnât want to think about what that meant. Micahâs face was ashen. He had seen something, something terrible.
And the alcohol on his breath . . . Oliver glanced toward the hall leading back toward the elevators, convinced the police would be showing up any second to question Micah.
The story came together slowly. They were driving back to Dianeâs house, maybe a little faster than normal. They had broken curfew, and Micah was worried about upsetting her family. Diane didnât care, she was having a good time. They were crossing the Causeway into the city and the driver came out of nowhere, gaining on him and then swerving, slamming into the driverâs side door before Micah could react. The car veered and hit the right-side safety rail. They skidded and skidded but didnât go over into the water. A miracle, that. By the time the car stopped, Micah could hardly move. Airbag in his face. Car horns. Rubberneckers slowing down to see what had happened. To help. He was too dazed to get the carâs license plate. To even remember a color.
And the worst part was, Diane was just silent. She had screamed, once, on impact, and then nothing.
At that, Sabrina dropped to the floor. Oliver knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it, too. He scooped her into his arms, holding her, letting her hot, constant tears wet the shoulder of his T-shirt. The linoleum bit into his tailbone but he let it go, just holding. Just sitting.
Then Sabrinaâs family began to arrive and one by one they started to guide her away, question her, and one by one they began to look at Micah like he was a cockroach. Like it was all his fault.
Oliver stood next to his