Well, his eyes weren’t on me in the treehouse. I feel that if they were on me, he wouldn’t be so upset with me right now, judging by how bitter and afraid he seems about his employer.
A lump forms in my throat. I hate that Spade was made to do that. “I …”
A loud crash erupts from the eastern edge of the compound, and Spade draws his gun and aims it at me without taking his eyes off me. “Hands on the wall, honey. I’m sorry, but I gotta round you up the hard way.”
But I don’t turn around to put my hands on the wall. Instead, shocked by the noises and screaming coming from behind us, I turn around to see what’s happening.
Down the sloping lawn, past the deejay booth and the dance floor, the pool and the tennis courts and the garage, and down the winding driveway, I see what’s happened.
Someone has crashed their car through the main gate to the compound.
My stomach drops to my feet. It’s a beige Toyota Corolla. There are millions of beige Toyota Corollas on the streets of this country. Still, this party is populated by people in Land Rovers, Bentleys, Lexuses, Hummers, Ford F-350s, Porsches, a Lambo or two, and tricked-out muscle cars. Nobody is driving a 2010 Toyota.
Only one person in my world drives such a nondescript, unassuming, and small car.
Khaz.
No. No, no, no, no, no. He can’t do this. Is he having a fucking stroke?
Two seconds later, Spade answers a call on his phone.
His eyes still on me, he answers. “Yeah.”
I can hear the panic, the shouting, and the cursing through the phone.
“Get your ass the fuck down here now! This motherfucker is strapped to the teeth! He’s got a fucking rocket launcher!”
Oh my god. Khaz…is doing this for me. The realization hits me like a bomb. He came here to create a diversion. We didn’t plan this. Khaz has decided on his own to help me escape, and he’s going to get himself killed in the process.
Without a word, Spade reaches for my gun. He hesitates for one terrible second, and I think he’s going to take my bag from me. Please, god, no. Literally, my entire life is in this bag; you can’t. Please.
I am fighting tears, trying to keep a calm face.
By some miracle, he straightens up again. Then, points that finger at me one last time and says, “If you’re running away, then run. Don’t ever let me see your face again, you little punk. More trouble than you’re worth anyway.”
Spade turns and sprints toward the bigger crisis.
I can’t stay and watch this play out. I want to run toward the danger and save Khaz from his stupid decision, but I know it’s too late.
The shootout has already begun. PartygoersPartygoers are cowering, flat on the grass, behind rocks and landscaping. Everyone with a gun—which includes more than half of the guests—has Khaz surrounded.
My breath is fire in my lungs. I want to scream; I want to cry. But I have to go.
I can practically hear him in my head. “Run, Kendall.”
I flee my graduation party like a thief in the night. I don’t take my car; I don’t take anything that could link me to my family or anyone.
I simply disappear into the woods and begin the long hike to the bus station.
In the distance, I hear the gunshots. Just a few shots at first and then more. The staccato sound of automatic rifles echoes through the hills, and my knees give out. I stumble and vomit behind a boulder. They’re killing Khaz, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.
Was it worth it? Taking my revenge on one man when now there’s a shootout and the only person I love is probably dead, going down in a blaze of…not glory, but confusion and violence and panic. No one will ever know what a great man he was.
I stop and rest on the boulder and put my head between my knees until the sound of shooting ceases.
Once that finally happens, and my nausea has abated, I pull myself together.
I have to keep going.