Blood on My Hands

go!”
    Zelda and I both ducked under the surface. Unlike the town pool’s, this water didn’t burn your eyes. We stayed down, holding the chrome bars to keep from floating up, our lips pressed together and our hair swirling around us. I could feel my heart thumping and my lungs beginning to hurt. At almost the same moment, Zelda and I let some air out of our mouths and grinned at each other as the silver bubbles raced to the surface.
    My lungs began to burn. I imaged Zelda’s did, too. I fought the urge to let go and shoot to the surface. If Zelda could stay down that long, so could I. But the discomfort continued to increase, until finally I had to pull myself to the surface for air.
    “A minute and twelve seconds,” Dakota announced. Meanwhile, in the lounge beside her, Katherine had her phone pressed to her ear.
    And Zelda was still beneath the surface.
    “A minute and twenty seconds,” Dakota said.
    Ten seconds later, she said, “Thirty.”
    “Hold on,” Katherine said to whomever she was speaking to. She leaned forward curiously on her lounge to look down at Zelda.
    “A minute forty,” Dakota announced.
    Several seconds later, Zelda splashed to the surface.
    “A minute and forty-seven seconds,” Dakota said.
    Zelda grinned triumphantly.
    “That’s amazing,” I said.
    “My dad and I have contests all the time,” Zelda said breathlessly, her wet hair plastered to her head. “I always beat him, too.”
    “I’ll call you back,” Katherine said into her phone, and snapped it shut.
    “What’s the longest you’ve stayed under?”
    “A little over two minutes,” Zelda answered.
    Katherine pointed at her phone. “Know who that was? Mia. She wanted to know what we were doing.”
    “What did you tell her?” Dakota asked.
    Katherine smiled and flipped open the phone. “I think I’m going to invite her over.”

Chapter 19
    Sunday 8:32 P.M.
    IN THE EMS building the seconds are ticking past. Get out of here! I tell myself, then go through the door and dash away into the dark. As I head into the woods beyond the parking lot, my first thought is to run as far and as fast as I can, but maybe that’s a mistake. Maybe I should crouch down behind a tree and wait and watch.
    There’s just enough moonlight for me to make out the two police cruisers that roll quietly into the parking lot with their lights off. A police officer from each unit gets out, and they silently gesture to each other in the dark. One goes around behind the building, as if to catch anyone who may try to escape out the back. The other tiptoes quietly toward the front door. In the dark I can tell that each is carrying things in his hands, but I can’t tell what. Flashlights?
    Guns?
    The thought sends a shiver through me. How can it be that the police believe I’m so dangerous that they need to have their weapons out? It seems unreal. I’m just a teenager … and a girl, for God’s sake. But they think I’m a killer. And if I’ve killed once, there’s nothing to stop me from killing again, right?
    One of the police officers is at the door now. His flashlight goes on and he looks through the window as he reaches for the doorknob. The door doesn’t open. I must have locked it accidentally when I ran out. He goes back to the cruiser, opens the trunk, and returns with a crowbar.
    But before he gets back to the door, the whole scene is suddenly illuminated by headlights. It’s another car. The officer with the crowbar shields his eyes from the glare as the car stops and someone jumps out. I can’t tell for certain, but I think it’s a woman.
    “You are interfering with an ongoing police investigation!” the officer announces loudly. “Get out of here! Now!”
    The woman hesitates and takes a step back toward her car, but now another car pulls in. The officer with the crowbar curses as a person gets out of the second car and raises something to his face. A flash goes off.
    The police officer repeats what he told the woman. “You’re interfering with a police investigation!” By now I’ve realized what’s happening. I’m not the only person who’s been listening to a police scanner. News reporters have them, too.
    As if the officer with the crowbar has just realized the same thing, he turns back to the building and begins prying open the door before more unwanted visitors arrive. The photographer quickly moves in, snapping flash after flash.
    For a moment I can’t help feeling amazed that they’re doing all this