Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye (20 page)

Even when she’s wearing an apron and heels.

Like a streak of red lightning, she drove Casey, Heather, and a white-knuckled Holly to the hospital in her little sports car, while Warren pulled up in his sedan a good two minutes behind her with Billy, Cricket, and Dot. As fast as Candi had driven, though, she hadn’t caught Sergeant Borsch. His squad car was already parked (albeit in a red zone), and he was nowhere in sight.

“Should we wait?” Warren called over to Casey as the teens bailed out of his car and raced for the hospital entrance.

“No!” Casey called back. “I’ll text you!”

So as the teens disappeared inside, the Acosta adults drove away, pulling out of the hospital parking lot just as a certain bright green panel truck was pulling in.

On the drive from Sisquane, Jan DeVries had concluded that he’d been nuts to give Lucinda Huntley and her pig a lift. The last time he’d done it, a simple funeral-flower delivery had nearly become a Wild West shootout. The woman might
look
old and frail, but she was trouble.

Pig-packin’ trouble.

And now that he’d picked her up (
again
) he felt responsible (
again
).

What was he going to do with her?

Or the pig?

Why hadn’t he just swerved around them and kept going?

So (having given himself a stern talking-to) the burdened Dutchman parked the truck and, reminding himself that neither the pig nor the old woman was his actual responsibility, and that he was not (N-O-T) going to be persuaded to have anything to do with her quest to get a pig (a PIG!) inside a hospital, he marched around back and rolled up the door.

Lucinda was already standing.

The pig was asleep on its side.

“Thank you, young man,” Lucinda said, then gave the pig a little poke with her foot. “Come along, Penny.”

“Hold on a minute,” Jan DeVries said. “I’m going to show you how to operate the lift gate. That way you can be in charge of your pig and your own coming and going,
ja
?”

The old woman studied him. “Still sore about the funeral? Is that it?”

“The—No! I have things here I need to do, and they do not include a pig. If you want to leave her in the truck and come with me, that’s fine,
ja
? If you insist on trying to get her into the hospital, you’re on your own.”

“Penny’s not the reason we got in trouble that day,” Lucinda said carefully. She nudged the pig again. “But if that’s how it’s got to be, show me how to work this rig.”

So the Dutchman demonstrated how to lower and raise
the lift, then tried one last time to dissuade Lucinda from bringing her pig. “If you want a ride back home, I’ll be leaving in maybe half an hour.”

“Don’t concern yourself with me, young man. I’ll be fine.” Then she turned her attention to Penny, who (with some rather loud snorting) had finally gotten to her feet.

“Ma’am,” Jan DeVries said (clearly exasperated), “it’s going to be completely dark in a couple of hours. There’s no way you can walk home.”

Lucinda Huntley aimed a look at him, her eyes like the double barrels of a shotgun. “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, and I will afford you the same courtesy.” She pulled the lever, raising the lift. “Now, weren’t you in some sort of hurry?”

So with a shake of his head Jan DeVries gave up. And after retrieving his sack of Dutch goodies, he locked the cab of his truck and left Lucinda Huntley and her pig to their own devices.

Whatever those might turn out to be.

Having seen the KSMY broadcast on the Cheezers big screen, someone in the mob of teens who had not gone to Billy’s house made a suggestion that got passed around and unanimously agreed upon.

It would be a tribute to Sammy!

A sign of solidarity!

And they might even get on the news.

So in flash-mob fashion, they hit the mall stores, rummaging through boxes of shoes to find their size (in fashion-forward patterns or colors, of course). Those who couldn’t pay outright called their parents, pled their case, then handed their phones to the store clerks, who happily took down credit-card information. Like locusts buzzing through crops, the teens wiped out stacks of high-tops and low-cuts.

Then, with happy tummies and stylin’ feet, the group (now thirty-seven in number) made its way over to the hospital with renewed energy and purpose.

Unfortunately, they were blocked at the reception desk.

“No!” one of the senior volunteers snapped, rising to his feet.

It was a new fella.

Old, and clearly ornery.

With the nametag
FIG
.

(That’s right,
FIG.
)

Next to him a woman wearing the nametag
BUNNY
(yes,
BUNNY
) and sporting gray curls (which had the faint pink hue of a recent beauty-parlor treatment) rose alongside her compatriot. “No more visitors for Samantha Keyes,” she said (decoding the thirty-seven-pairs-of-shoes clue). “The ICU is expelling people due to the chaos up there.”

As if on cue, nearly a dozen women (all with heavy makeup, many with cheap extensions, most with Spanxwrapped muffin tops) came from the elevator area and moved toward the exit, sniping at each other about whose fault it was that they’d been evicted (and without getting so much as a glimpse of Darren Cole).

“Barflies,” Bunny grumbled as the women went past.

“They call ’em cougars these days,” Fig informed her.

“Wait,” one of the teens said. “You’re keeping us out because of
them
?”

Fig frowned. “We’re keeping you out because ICU requested it. They’re overwhelmed with visitors.”

“That’s right.” Bunny sniffed. “This is a hospital, not a zoo.”

And then came a loud chorus of squawking and shrieking, followed by a distinct
snort, snort, oiiiiiiiink
.

“What
is
this?” Bunny cried as Penny and Lucinda came in, parting the sea of cougars.

“No!” Fig yelled (in a warbly, old-guy way). “There are no
pigs
allowed in here!”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Lucinda said.

Fig’s face flushed. “What?”

Lucinda ignored his indignation and clicked open her purse. “Penny has papers.”

“There’s no such thing as a pedigree pig!” Bunny cried. “Get that disgusting swine out of here!”

“She’s a
therapy
pet,” Lucinda said, unfolding a fancy certificate with blue scrolled lettering and a gold seal. “A class-A therapy pet.”

“I’m warning you, ma’am,” Fig said, coming out from behind the reception desk. “Remove that pig immediately.”

“Let me talk to your supervisor,” Lucinda said.

“First,”
Bunny said (also coming forward), “you take that pig and you go outside.
Then
we’ll get our supervisor.”

Now, while the pig situation was unfolding, the teens (who’d been standing to the side) recognized an unforeseen opportunity.

Sure, the pig standoff was funny (and tempting to watch), but the hallway to the elevator was now wide open. And the minute one of them said, “Pssst!” thirty-seven teens put their stealth moves in action, going past the reception desk, down the hallway, and into the elevator.

It was tight, but the doors did close (and giggles did erupt).

Then up, up, up they went.

Unfortunately, they were cut off at the pass by a sternlooking security guard, who wouldn’t let them off the
elevator. “This is not a joke,” he snarled. “Go down, get out, go home.”

“Yes, sir,” they murmured.

But as the big steel box descended, one of them (a boy, of course) jabbed the Floor 2 button and, with a mischievous grin, asked, “Stairs, anyone?”

Now, while thirty-seven teens in high-tops were either getting cold feet or stepping out to hit the stairs, Officer Borsch was coming to grips with the reality that he’d dropped everything for a false alarm. Sammy’s would-be killer was not trapped in the hallway after all.

It was just Dusty Mike.

Darren and Lana and Marko had already beat a speedy exit (courtesy of the double-shiftin’ Six-strings, who showed them a back way out, down another hallway and via a different elevator, and suggested a quiet restaurant where cougars weren’t known to roam). This left Hudson and Rita with Sammy-sitting duties in Room 411 (where Rita had at last relayed to Sammy—in great, excited detail—the trap and capture of the nefarious Nightie-Napper) while the rest of Sammy’s friends (who’d come in just before the ICU visitor embargo was put in place) convened in the waiting room. Jan DeVries had successfully delivered his bag of Dutch treats to his daughter and was now conversing with Yolanda McKenze, while Sergeant Borsch spoke with Janet Keltner and Dusty Mike, asking questions, then answering theirs the best he could.

And while all this oh-so-serious adult stuff was going
on, something completely unrelated (and blissfully oblivious) was also taking place.

From the safety of his mother’s side, Mikey McKenze was falling in love.

Likewise (from the safety of
her
mother’s side), Elyssa Keltner was doing the same.

Holly was the first to notice. “Marissa!” she whispered. “Look at your brother!”

This caused the whole group to turn its attention to Mikey and Elyssa. “That is just adorable!” Dot whispered.

“Dude, she is workin’ him!” Billy said.

Casey grinned. “Batty lashes.”

Billy laughed, “Totally!”

“Maybe it’s true love,” Cricket sighed. “Maybe they’ll grow up together, be best friends, fall in real love, and live happily ever after.”

Which, for some reason, made the whole group go really quiet.

A sad sort of really quiet.

They were old enough to recognize when something was just a fairy tale.

Figments of love-struck imaginations.

Or … were they?

Marissa was the first one to have the thought, and when it came to her, her eyes popped wide open and she gasped.

She didn’t
say
anything.

She just gasped.

And stared at Casey.

“What’s wrong?” Dot asked.

“Yeah,” Holly whispered, “why are you staring at him like that?”

“Yeah,” Casey said, “why are you staring at me like that?”

And so Marissa just let it out. “You need to kiss her.”

“What?” Casey asked.

Dot and Cricket caught on right away. “Oh my gosh!” they cried, then grabbed Casey’s arm. “You need to kiss her!”

“Kiss her … 
What
?”

“Kiss Sammy!” everyone (even Heather) cried.

Casey edged back. “Oh, that’s … that’s crazy!”

“No, it isn’t!” Marissa said. “It’s perfect! Go in there and kiss her!”

Casey shook his head. “It’s not going to wake her up! She’s not under some magic spell! She hit her head.”

Holly frowned at him. “Well, we’re going to hit
you
upside the head if you don’t go in there and kiss her.”

Casey stared at her, stunned.

Even
Holly
wanted him to?

“You’ve got to at least try!” Cricket said. “What’s there to lose?”

Which
was
a compelling argument, and one Casey had no real answer to.

But what pressure!

This wasn’t
Snow White
or
Cinderella
or
Sleeping Beauty
or … or whatever!

He wasn’t some storybook prince!

A kiss wouldn’t wake Sammy up!

And if he tried (and, of course, failed) everyone would be all … all … weird!

“Dude,” Billy said gently, “you have to do it.”

“You should
want
to do it,” Marissa said.

Casey gave his friends a round of dumbfounded stares.

“Oh, just go in there and kiss her,” Heather snapped. “It’s not like it’s gonna kill you.”

So Casey let them drag him down to Room 411.

He let them convince Rita and Hudson to take a break and get a bite to eat in the cafeteria.

He let them position him at Sammy’s bedside.

And then he just stood there, staring at Sammy while his friends all hovered around, holding their breath.

Waiting
.

“You know what?” Heather said. “He doesn’t need us staring at him. We should go.”

Billy’s eyes grew large. “Don’t you want to see magic happen?”

“Go!” Casey snapped at him. “She’s not going to wake up from me kissing her, and I don’t need the pressure of you expecting magic!”

“Sorry, dude, sorry,” Billy said, and Heather grabbed him by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s go.”

Then they all filed out, leaving Casey to make magic happen.

If he could.

I wish I could tell you that when Casey kissed Sammy, her eyes fluttered open, her heart leaped at the sight of him, and the two of them lived happily ever after.

Unfortunately, that’s not what happened.

What happened was, Casey kissed Sammy (sweetly, and tenderly, and yes, on the lips), and Sammy just lay there (in the same position, eyes closed, breathing steadily).

And then Casey (poor Casey) sat down and cried.

Inside him, the sliver of hope—that fairy-tale fantasy that fights for survival in all of us—was dashed.

Banished from the Kingdom of Dreams Come True.

Maybe others saw a gauze-wrapped girl, but to him Sammy—even in this condition—was beautiful.

Much more so than Snow White or Sleeping Beauty.

Besides, he didn’t want some perfect storybook character. He wanted his real-life kick-ass princess.

“Please,” he begged her, “wake up.”

And then (when she still didn’t) he started explaining. “There is nobody like you. I know you don’t think so, but it’s true. Remember how we met? Well, how we
met
officially
. It’s not like I hadn’t noticed you at school. Or heard about you from Heather.” He shook his head. “Man,
nobody
stood up to Heather back then. Not even me. But you were like,
Back off, sister
, and she didn’t know what to do about you.

“And you were just like that the time we had that big collision in the intersection. You had a bloody knee and a banged-up arm, and you got up and
jumped
Snake ’cause he had your skateboard. Just flew through the air,
whoosh
, and latched on to him like a cape.