Skye’s eyes widened as she saw him more clearly. This had taken place decades ago—his hair and clothes told her that much—but he looked so familiar. Though there was no relation, no connection, the boy about to commit suicide reminded her of Dakota.

He jumps. The noose tightens, tighter than he’d known anything could feel, and it hurts worse than he’d thought anything could hurt. His body, ignorant of bullies or cruelty or sadness, struggles to live—bursting blood vessels, tensing muscles, contorting in every direction. His neck is a vise of pain that wants nothing more than to open up enough to breathe, but it can’t. It can’t.

She put her hands to her own throat. Though nothing prevented her from breathing, her body wasn’t doing it. Something in her begged her to surrender to the feeling, but she fought against it with every ounce of her will. Once again the boy’s face appeared before her, and once again she thought, Dakota.

“Skye?” Balthazar’s voice was distant. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see anything.

I take it back, the boy thinks. I take it back. His legs kick out wildly, seeking a place to stand, so he can get his life again; however broken or sad it is, it’s better than this. But his feet can’t find purchase, and everything in his brain is turning black—

Skye couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. She wasn’t even sure how she knew she was falling.

Chapter Eleven

BALTHAZAR REACHED SKYE JUST AS SHE FELL, catching her in his arms in the moment before she would have hit the ground. A few people shouted and pointed—his calling out to her had drawn too much attention—but so far as anybody knew, this was nothing more than a student fainting during a ball game.

It might be far worse than that.

As he lifted Skye into his arms and began working his way back out of the bleachers—with faces from above peering down to get a look at what was going on—his fellow teacher on duty, Nola, shouted, “Everybody back up! Give her some air!”

“Skye? Can you hear me?” Balthazar glanced down at her; she wasn’t entirely unconscious, but definitely dazed. One of her hands pawed feebly at her neck. “I’m getting you out of here. You’ll be all right.”

“Oh, my God. What’s going on?” Madison Findley showed up, seemingly thrilled by the sudden drama. “Coach Haladki, what happened to Skye?”

“She fainted,” Nola said, her voice then climbing to a shout, “which is what happens to kids who break the rules! Everybody get back to the game! Show’s over!”

“It was like I couldn’t breathe,” Skye whispered. “That one was bad.”

As they finally emerged from underneath the bleachers, Balthazar lowered her so that she could stand, but she still wavered on her feet. Nola shook her head. “Better get her to the nurse’s station. No nurse on game duty anymore, thanks to the damn budget cuts, but this one probably only needs a box of juice and some quiet time. No more sneaking off under the bleachers again, all right, Tierney?”

“All right,” Skye answered, her voice sincere. “I can swear I’ll never walk under there again.”

Madison appeared at their side. “Should I go with you? Keep you company?” Though obviously she was talking to Skye, Balthazar couldn’t help noticing that Madison was looking only at him.

“She’s fine,” he insisted. “Skye will be back out soon. You can keep watching the game.” Disappointed, Madison shrugged and stepped away from them.

Neither of them spoke again until he had her out of the gymnasium and they were in the silent, deserted halls of the school. “What happened under the bleachers?”

“Some guy from the seventies committed suicide down there.” Her voice shook. “He wanted to take back what he’d done so bad, but he couldn’t.”

“Hey.” Balthazar already had his arm firmly around her, but he squeezed more tightly. “It’s okay. You’re past it.”

“I felt everything he felt.”

“What?” He used his key to the nurse’s station, then edged her inside. A flip of the light switch revealed plain white cinder block walls and a simple cot, onto which Skye sank down gratefully. In the corner, a mini-fridge held a few boxes of orange and apple drink; Balthazar thrust the apple stuff at her. “Drink this. What do you mean, you felt everything he felt?”

“When he couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t either.” Skye’s fingers went to her neck again, and he realized that she was seeking the noose. “That hasn’t happened before. Oh, my God. And the worst part—” She shook her head, denying the words. Then she started working on her juice box, her attention clearly turning within from shock.

“Stay with me.” Balthazar brushed his hand along her arm, and her pale blue eyes turned back toward him. “If not being able to breathe wasn’t the worst part, what was?”

Her voice small, she said, “He looked like my brother. Dakota.”

“You mean—the one who died last summer.”

Skye nodded. “It wasn’t him. That’s not how Dakota died, and—it just wasn’t him. But it reminded me of him. That was bad enough.”

Balthazar had always thought that if Charity had died in another way, he might have been done grieving for her by now. That eventually he could have accepted her death and moved on. Looking at Skye’s devastated face, he wasn’t as sure about that any longer.