Connected

Somehow I thought I would know when my life was in mortal danger. I’m not talking spidey sense or anything, just some kind of clue something bad is about to happen. I guess I got the idea from the movies. Real life, I found, is very different.

Here’s the thing: my hometown of Cannondale is as far from interesting as it comes. The picture of central Texas suburbia, it’s a quiet little city where nothing happens, apart from an occasional trampling at the outlet mall when the Coach store has a clearance sale. The kind of place that feels safe to walk around in at night, especially in the cookie cutter middle-class subdivision that was my neighborhood. My walk went undisturbed until I heard the sound of a thump, thump, thump, followed by a long buzz… It took me a second to figure out the noise was rap music, trying to escape out a car window. Another joyride, I thought.

Then the tires screeched. I whipped my head around out of instinct, but all I could see were two headlights headed straight for me. Frozen to the spot, my eyes snapped shut. As if that would in some way stop it. And in the three seconds before the car rammed into me, my only thought was whether or not it would hit me hard enough to get me out of school tomorrow.

A sick crunching noise sounded when my feet left the ground, and I caught some air before falling back down with a thud. The strange thing was the absence of any pain. What did register was the pounding of my heart, more from surprise than the impact of the car. As I lay on the ground, motionless, I heard a car door slam, followed by footsteps.

“I think you killed her. Dude, you are so screwed…”

I couldn’t get my eyes to open. God, am I really hurt?

“She’s fine, she’s not even bleeding,” a different voice said, right when the other guy heaved. The smell of beer mixed with half-digested chips filled my nose.

A barely discernible whisper repeated over and over, “Oh God, what am I going to do?”

“Who is she?”

The voices grew closer.

With all my might, I tried to lift my arm. Nothing. Why can’t I feel anything? My heart began to race.

“I don’t know her.” A shaking hand pushed the hair away from my face, but still my eyes refused to open.

“I thought you knew all the girls at school.”

“Wasn’t she a freshman last year? Amy…Em…uh, Emily.”

“Good. Now you know who you killed.”

“Don’t be stupid. She can’t be dead.” The voice was louder now—one of them had come closer. “Look, her chest, I saw it. She’s breathing.”

“Are you delusional? She’s not moving.”

It was then the pain set in. My thighs burned, a fire consuming my legs. I tried to scream, but my lips wouldn’t budge. Am I paralyzed?

“Wait a minute… Something’s wrong.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You killed a pedestrian.”

“No, I mean with me. I…I can’t feel―”

“You’re right, she is breathing.” One of them shook my shoulders. “Hello? You okay?”

And then it got really weird.

A wave of heat flashed through me like a current, awakening every little nerve ending. My body convulsed while it passed through, but it didn’t hurt—it was sorta like the prickly feeling of a foot falling asleep, before the tingling turns to pain. Then a glimmer of the richest purple I’d ever seen appeared, spiraling beneath my closed eyelids.

“If she’s breathing, she’s fine. Someone’ll find her.”

“We can’t leave her… What if she’s paralyzed? Or brain dead?” Footsteps paced back and forth in front of me.

The tingling concentrated in my legs, amplifying the warmth. What’s happening to me? Am I…dying?

“Uh…uh, 911. Let’s call 911.”

“And tell them what? You know we’re both screwed if the cops catch us. I’m not going to juvie for you. I’m outta here.”

What do I do now? I still couldn’t move or speak. My legs grew hotter while at the same time the pain started to subside. Is this what it feels like to die? No, it can’t be… I’m not ready. A lump formed in my throat as I waited for that ominous white light all those near-death survivors talk about. But it never came.

A car door opened, just as a dog barked in the distance. Then the engine fired to life: a throaty, guttural outburst. The dog barked even louder, as if to answer it.

“Someone’s coming. Dude, get in!”

The heat surged through my body a final time, and my temperature returned to normal. At first, only a couple of fingers moved, and then my control returned back all at once. My eyes slowly flickered open.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the boy who I assumed was the driver. It was all so hazy, his face was nothing but two black holes against a white mask.

Even after rubbing my eyes, everything still appeared blurry. Was that a red car? Definitely something sporty from the sound of the engine.

They peeled out, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber and a horrible screeching sound ringing in my ears again. My eyes finally adjusted, and I saw an older woman approach. Her beagle trotted up and licked my hand.

“Sweetie, are you all right? Did you fall down?”

“I’m fine,” I answered without thinking. But when I made it to my feet and brushed myself off, I discovered it wasn’t a lie.

The pain was completely gone.

* * * *

I ran home in record time and burst through the front door.

“Mom, you won’t believe what happened to me.”

No response. I found a note on the dining room table: “Girls, had to go in. Gonna be late.” The scribbling was so messy that it was difficult to make out the last two words. From what I could tell it read, “Love you.”

Yet another support call. Some critical database was down, no doubt.

I grabbed my cell and called my best friend Roz. Her voicemail answered, an onslaught of Beyoncé bellowing at full blast. I hung up, not having the patience to wait for the song to end. Four times I told her to change that stupid outgoing message, but she completely ignored me.

Instead, I texted her: “Call me when you get this. Major news.”

A car actually hit me. How did I walk away? I’ve always been a quick healer, I thought, but this is ridiculous. I heard sometimes it takes a while to feel the pain from an accident. That’s it, I’m in shock. Checking for tenderness, I squeezed my thighs, and then my calves. Nothing.

Maybe I’ll feel it tomorrow. I smiled. Perfect timing to miss the first day of the new school year. The cell phone dimmed from inactivity, and a feeling of exhaustion spread over me, as if I were shutting down, too. Within seconds of hitting the bed, I passed out.

* * * *

The next morning, I awoke with no bruises, no soreness, nothing. So much for “being in shock.” So what did happen to me? Was it some crazy dream, or did I really get hit by a car and walk away from it like nothing happened?

My brain turned on, and I groaned. Without an actual injury, there was no excuse to miss school.

I fumbled through my morning routine with the grace of a rhinoceros, eager to get to Roz’s before the bus came. My house was empty when I left, typical for a Monday. It didn’t bother me. In fact, the more I considered what happened, the less I wanted to tell my mother about it. She already thought me a little crazy. This would result in more “sessions,” or even worse. But Roz would understand.

The sweltering Texas sun greeted me outside. I had to pace myself to not get drenched in sweat, even just walking across the street.

I approached Roz’s house and eyed the ceramic gnomes on her lawn. After watching too many scary movies, it was hard not to have an overactive imagination, along with an inherent distrust of seemingly benevolent (and sometimes inanimate) things, like lawn gnomes. I’d joked to Roz about the little statues before, and I was sure she started moving them around a little, to mess with me. But today they were the same as yesterday, standing next to the shrubberies with their rosy little cheeks and permanent smiles. I passed them and said, “I’m on to you guys.”

Roz had barely opened the door before I blurted out, “Oh my God, the weirdest thing happened to me last night.”

“Good morning to you, too.” A playful yet sarcastic smile appeared on her flawless face. She adjusted a cascade of black curls behind her shoulder. “So what’s the major news?”

Inside, her father sat at the dining room table. He glanced up from his newspaper and smiled at me. It had been a while since his short afro was totally black, but all those grey hairs made his expression seem even warmer.

“Morning, Dad,” I said. He was always “Dad,” since we were little—he practically raised me.

“Hey, Em,” Dad responded. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t, but I―”

“You’re not going to seriously tell me you’re skipping breakfast on the first day of school?” He nudged his reading glasses down his nose, and I could tell by his wrinkled forehead there was no chance of me escaping without at least eating a bowl of cereal.

“Okay, okay,” I muttered in concession, and headed for the pantry. Their kitchen/dining area was one enormous room, custom built to Dad’s detailed drawings. While I rummaged through the cereal choices, I began, “I was out walking around the neighborhood last night, when a car peeled down the street from out of nowhere and hit me.”

“Sure it did,” Roz said with a giggle from the dining room table. She winked at Dad. “What movie was that from, Em… Zombie Car Revenge?”

I crunched down a bite of some generic rendition of Frosted Flakes on my way to the table. After swallowing, I responded, “No, it really happened, I swear.”

Dad cocked an eyebrow, but Roz chuckled.

I sat down across from them, tucking my right foot under my left thigh. Eyeing them both, I said, “Thanks so much for your concern.”

“You are kidding, right?” Roz asked. “I mean, you don’t look like you were run over.”

She caught me mid-bite. “I know,” I mumbled, then finished chewing. “It was weird. I felt fine like five minutes later.”

Dad looked me over. I could tell he was trying to figure out if it was some kind of prank. After a short while he reached out and gently turned my head, inspecting me. “Em, if you were hit by a car, you should get yourself checked out. Even if you feel okay now, there could be something wrong down the line.”

“But there’s not a scratch on me,” I said. “It’s crazy, right?”

He circled behind me, and then scratched his head. “Well, I don’t see anything out of whack, but―”

“The car actually hit you?” Roz’s eyes widened. “Who was it?”

“I didn’t get a good look at them. Two boys. They go to our school, I think.”

“You have to file a police report,” Dad said and frowned. “Lock away those animals.”

I laughed. “Yeah, like the police are gonna believe me.”

Dad massaged his temples, and as he leaned his head forward, I could see a small bald spot forming on the back of his head. I would’ve given him a hard time about it if he weren’t so serious.

“Okay,” Dad said. “But promise me you’ll at least see the nurse today at school.”

“What good will that do?” I protested. “She’s going to look me over, tell me I’m fine, and order me back to class.”

“He’s right, Em,” Roz said. “You should make sure.”

“If you don’t, I’ll take you to the doctor after work myself,” Dad threatened. His eyes narrowed a little, and his jaw locked into place. The last time I saw that look was a month back, when I had a couple of overdue library books. Not heeding his warning then ended up with me volunteering at the library for a whole week of my summer vacation.

I sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll go to the nurse.” At least it would get me out of class.

* * * *

Taking the bus blows, I thought as Roz and I walked to the bus stop down the block. I was so close—one more summer and I would’ve gotten my permit—but those evil politicians upped the driving age. Now it would be another year of riding the bus.

Thinking about the bus and school in general brought back an old familiar sense of dread. I pictured everything that could possibly go wrong: a flashback of everything that did go wrong freshman year, along with the worst scenes from all those coming-of-age flicks.

Deep breaths, I told myself. I’ll get through this.

“Are you nervous?” I asked Roz.

“Not really,” she said, smoothing out her retro flowing skirt with an ease that seemed otherworldly. “Gotta be better than freshman year, right?”

I half-smiled. Of course she wasn’t nervous. She didn’t even have to try to be beautiful. Her skin was a rich honey brown, a shade or two lighter than Dad’s mahogany complexion. She inherited her hair from her mother—bouncy, silky curls extended past her shoulders, jet black in color, but with a midnight blue sheen when the sun hit it right. If I looked like you, I thought, I wouldn’t be nervous, either.

I wasn’t quite so blessed in the looks department. My skin was pale (but not pale enough to be considered beautiful) and uneven. My long dirty blonde hair couldn’t decide if it wanted to be curly or straight, so it settled on frizzy most of the time. Yeah, my breasts were larger than average, but they were more of a curse than a blessing. I’d lost count of the number of times boys would stare at them and then shake their heads. I actually heard one say, “What a waste.” My discovery of the sports bra, coupled with oversized shirts, eliminated that problem. The one cool thing about me was the color of my eyes, changing from green to blue to gray on different days. Roz called them my “chameleon” eyes. But even they were dull, the colors merely faded shades of the full-blown originals.

“Afraid it’s going to be as bad as last year,” I said, brushing a few unruly strands of hair behind my ear. “Maybe worse.”

“You’ll be fine, Em,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

The bus pulled up and its doors folded open. I took in a deep breath while I climbed the steps to enter. At the top, I exhaled abruptly, seeing the same faces I did last year.

“Hey, it’s sweaty Emmy.”

The outburst got the attention of about everyone on the bus. Followed by the obligatory laughter, of course. I focused on the walkway, trying hard to ignore them. At the first empty row I nearly fell into the seat, tripping on the edge of the rubber runner lining the aisle. The laughter resurged before the bus became unusually silent. Without looking, I knew Roz had made it to the top of the stairs. She sat down next to me.

“No, I think you’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m a whole other story.”

The whispers began, a sort of hushed accompaniment to her entrance.

“They’re practically drooling,” I informed her.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s all in your head.”

A rather plain boy in the row in front of us peered behind to sneak a peek at Roz, and then immediately faced front again. Come on, I thought, you don’t really think you have a shot, do you? I smiled when he turned back around and addressed Roz.

He asked about her summer and engaged in meaningless, awkward chit-chat, speaking with a strange urgency, as if he worried she would end the conversation any minute. Finally he came to the point. “Oh hey, I was wondering, would you, uh…like to catch a movie with me this weekend?” His knuckles turned white in his death grip of the seat back, awaiting her response.

Her polite smile transformed to an expression that bordered on motherly concern, and I knew exactly what she would say next. I mouthed the words while she spoke them, “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

Part of me wanted to laugh. I did that once and she yelled at me. The other part of me felt bad for him. Roz was habitually nice to everyone, which was kind of cruel. It gave them false hope.

“Maybe some other time,” he said, trying to sound upbeat, but his scolded puppy dog eyes betrayed him.

“Got to be a new record,” I muttered, but Roz seemed somewhere else.

“I had another dream last night,” she said quietly.

“Dreams” was what we called them, for lack of a better term. We weren’t sure what they were, but we both knew they were more than simple dreams.

“Who was it this time?” I asked.

“I think it was your father.”

My face instantly flushed. “Wh—What?”

“Your father, he was at your house. He was older, though.” Her brow wrinkled. “At least, I think it was him. It was kinda cloudy.”

“Weird.” The only dreams I had of my father were nightmares—the nightmare, the one that kept coming back.

She tilted her head at me sideways. “Do you ever miss him?”

I cringed.

“Sorry,” she said, a guilty expression on her face. “It’s just, you were so young when he… I mean, when you were…” She wrapped the chain of her silver necklace around her finger and brought it to her mouth. Her somber eyes focused on the chain. “Em, I—”

“Let’s drop it, okay?” I turned away and stared out the grimy window. The streets were the same as last year, lined with gas stations and colorful Tex-Mex cantinas. “It’s all right.” I always found it hard to stay mad at her. Plus, it wasn’t her fault she had weird dreams.

She smiled. “This is going to be a good year for you, Em.”

“You think?” I asked, though it came out more like a laugh than a question.

“Yes,” she replied decidedly, as if she were totally certain of it. “I have a feeling.”

“I just don’t want to see The Look.” I shuddered at the thought, hunching over more than usual. It was more a matter of when than if.

Roz took my hand in hers and rubbed it. “You’ll see. It’ll be good.”

* * * *

In English class, I noticed an unfamiliar face in the back corner, undoubtedly a transfer. While Cannondale was small, it was growing. Every year it seemed we assimilated some other small town, at least in terms of school districts. This year we swallowed Manchez, a rural community on the east side.

The new boy looked back at me, and for a moment I froze. But his expression wasn’t critical and judgmental. In fact, a hint of smile appeared on his face. Must not have heard about me, I thought.

I stole a glance at him from my seat. His hair was longer than most boys, but not long enough to be a total outcast. A basic t-shirt and jeans made up his wardrobe, nothing flashy or trendy at all. And although his smile was brief, it was genuine. He’s kinda cute.

“Check out the delinquent from Manchez,” the girl behind me whispered to her friends. A few hushed giggles followed. “He stole something, didn’t he?”

“No, he burned down a building,” another girl said.

“I can hear you.”

I assumed it was the new boy, though he sat two seats back and two rows over.

The chatter ceased. I thought they were done until the girl behind me whispered even more quietly, “Wasn’t he in juvie?”

“Yeah, and you’re about to find out why,” the new boy threatened. “Go ahead. Keep talking.”

There was no way he heard that. I barely caught it myself.

I was about to glance back again when the teacher cleared his throat. I took out my notebook and nearly dropped it on the floor, my hands were so slick from sweat. They felt unusually hot, too, and the perspiration was so bad it was practically dripping off. I frantically wiped my hands on my jeans.

“My name is Mr. Dominic,” he began. “This class will probably be your most difficult one…”

Something about Shakespeare, sonnets, and writing, but it was hard to focus. My hands would not stop sweating; the heat radiating from them pulsated with every beat of my heart. I took a couple of deep breaths and listened, hoping the distraction would help.

“...Romeo and Juliet. Oh, and your first homework assignment is due tomorrow.” A unanimous groan filled the room while he distributed the handout.

The papers shuffled back towards me in slow motion—it was almost like watching an accident in progress. I wiped my hands on my jeans once more, but the moment they left the absorbent denim, they were wet again. Why won’t it stop?

I got the handouts, took one out, and passed the rest back. Then I noticed my hand was black, smeared with ink from the freshly printed pages. Great.

“Yuck, these are all wet.”

I winced at the sound; its whine more familiar to me now that she wasn’t whispering. Like an idiot, I turned around.

Behind me sat Angelica Lillian, my biggest fan. She preferred to be called Angel, which was funny because I suspected she was secretly a demon.

“Ew, Sweaty Emmy. God, you’re gross,” she exclaimed, in her irritating high-pitched voice.

And there it was: The Look, in all its horrible glory. Pure disgust. I covered my face with my hands, before I remembered the ink on them. The room broke out into laughter, the perfect soundtrack to the whole gruesome event. I quickly thought of an exit strategy as I wiped my face with my shirtsleeves.

“Could I go to the bathroom, please?” I asked Mr. Dominic, avoiding his eyes.

“Use the restrooms between classes,” he said.

Clearly he couldn’t see the small pool of water on my desk, or maybe he didn’t care. I slumped down in my chair, feeling smaller than an insect while the teacher presented useless trivia about Shakespeare in a futile attempt to engage interest.

The bell finally rang. I gathered my things and kept my eyes on the floor, hoping I could leave unnoticed.

“Are you okay?” A girl’s voice spoke.

I wondered if someone saw my hands and actually cared enough to ask. But then I realized the question was directed at Zoe, the girl who sat in front of me.

“My dog died yesterday. He was fourteen years old,” Zoe said before she broke out in tears.

Zoe’s friend hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”

I squeezed past them, my hands hotter than ever.

* * * *

The rest of my morning wasn’t much better than English class, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was exhausted. That familiar smell of the cafeteria assaulted me when I entered—a mixture of bitter marinara, mystery meat, and industrial cleaner. I rushed through the line, which was easy to do since most of the food looked pretty gross. Sandwiches seemed like a safe bet, so I grabbed one of those. Then I plopped down next to Roz at our table.

“That bad?” she said. I must have looked pretty horrible to be spared the sarcastic tone and suck-it-up look. She actually seemed concerned.

“You said I would be fine.”

“What happened?” Her tone turned defensive. In the history of our friendship, she’d been more than a little vocal to my tormentors, like Angel. Her social status afforded her that privilege, and I was grateful for it.

“My stupid hands again. Why did summer have to end?” I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite. The flavors of mediocre lunchmeat and cheap cheese on stale bread blended together. I washed it down with a sip of milk.

“Was it awful?” Roz asked, rubbing my back.

I relayed the whole bizarre incident to her.

She hugged me. “Try to relax, Em. It’s going to be all right.”

I managed to smile half-heartedly for her. Then I noticed the new boy from English class enter the lunchroom. He kept his head down while he walked, allowing me the opportunity to properly check him out. His chestnut brown hair was made of long layers, extending down an inch or two above his shoulders. His body was lean and muscular—not bodybuilder strong but defined in all the right places. I held my breath as he approached our table. To my utter horror, he dropped one of his books, and it fell right by my foot. Before I could stop myself, I picked it up.

“Oh, you…uh…” I stammered out.

He smiled at me and I saw his eyes up close. The color reminded me of that powerful green you see in the leaves after the first rain in a drought, as if the trees themselves were letting out a collective sigh of relief. I shifted my focus down and noticed his hands when he took the book from me. I almost did a double take—his calloused fingers had visible dirt underneath the nails. While they were undoubtedly strong hands, I had to wonder what he did in his spare time that made them look so worn.

“Thanks,” he said and made his way to a table in the far corner of the room.

The whole book transfer took less than a second but felt like an eternity. Roz didn’t even notice and just started back up like nothing happened.

“So, do you have any idea who hit you last night? Maybe remember something new?”

“No, I told you I didn’t see anything,” I said.

“But you said it was a red sports car, right?” Roz stowed away the remnants of her sandwich. “We should check out the parking lot sometime, try to find it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, a little distracted with the new boy’s table. An older boy had sat down across from him and had struck up a conversation. My heart raced when the new boy glanced in my direction. Even from across the room his eyes were unmistakably brilliant. Though I couldn’t be sure he saw me, I looked away just in case.

“Did you go to the nurse yet?” Roz asked.

“What?” The question caught me off guard, until I remembered the direct order I was given. “Oh, no. I forgot.”

“You better go. You heard what Dad said.”

“Fine, I’m going.” I gathered my stuff with a pseudo-dramatic sigh. “I am so going to the park after school…”

She flashed me a knowing grin. “Need some duck therapy, huh?”

Roz was the only person who knew I talked to ducks on a regular basis, though she rarely accompanied me to the park. She never got into the whole duck feeding thing.

“Catch you later,” I said. “Oh, and I’ll text you if the nurse tells me I’m dead.”

* * * *

I approached the nurse’s office but hadn’t entered when I heard, “Emily, is that you?”

The new nurse had given a presentation in gym class earlier, but I sat too far away in the bleachers to really see her. Viewing her up-close shocked me. All of the prior nurses I’d ever known were decrepit hags. And they were all so angry, as if your very existence pissed them off. She was the opposite—relatively young, attractive, and she actually appeared to be happy. Her long black hair was tied back, and from her warm complexion and slight accent, I guessed she was Hispanic.

She walked out from behind her desk to greet me. It was clear from the lines on her face she smiled and laughed often. But there was another layer to her warmth not so identifiable, more of a feeling than anything physical.

“My name is Judy,” she said. “You’re here for an examination, right? You had an accident?”

“How did you know?” I asked, confused.

“Don’t act surprised. There are a limited number of reasons students come here.” She smiled. “Oh, and I did get a call from Allen…I mean, uh, Mr. James.”

Dad called. I should’ve known. “Do you know him?”

“We went to school together. It was great catching up.” Her smile became warmer somehow. “So what happened?”

I wasn’t about to tell her I got hit by a car, thought I was dying, and then got up and walked away. I didn’t need someone in her position thinking I was crazy. “I was…sort of injured yesterday.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Injured? Could you be more specific?”

What do I say? I can’t possibly tell her…

“I’ll do a basic examination, to see if you have any possible internal injuries.” She grabbed a clipboard from her desk and wrote some notes.

Phew, thank God she didn’t ask me to explain.

She had me raise my arms, touch my toes, and bend my knees. She asked me if anything hurt, and I told her it didn’t. Then she did the strangest thing… Starting at my head, she held her hands about two inches from my body and moved them downwards. It was almost as if she were feeling some kind of invisible force field around my body. She never touched me, but it was weird just the same.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued on, doubling back upwards and finishing by my head. Her lips parted to let out a soft gasp. She coughed afterwards to try to cover it up, but she still seemed rattled. “You’re fine, no injuries.”

I was about to ask how she arrived at that conclusion, but then I stopped. Why should I argue? It was the truth, no matter what unusual methodology she used to determine it.

I wasn’t sure what to say next, so I mumbled, “Uh, thanks.”

“No problem. You’re always welcome here, Emily. Come back soon.”

I felt this strange sense of familiarity with her, as if we were already old friends. But then it was more, like an inner peace―my whole body felt perfectly calm.

I left her office bewildered, turning over what happened. What was she doing with her hands?

* * * *

I couldn’t get into my locker at the end of the day—the stupid thing refused to open. It took three attempts before it let me in.

I grabbed my stuff and was about to close the door when I noticed the new boy at his locker down the hall. So distracted with him, I didn’t notice Angel close her locker. Yep, the one right next to mine.

“Freak,” she said and then sauntered off, followed by a small herd of giggling girls.

Seriously? Her locker next to mine? God had to be laughing at me. I slammed my locker shut before hurrying off to catch the bus.

I collapsed next to Roz on the aging bench seat. “School sucks.” I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

Through the gaps between my fingers, I noticed my schedule sticking out from my backpack, taunting me. I yanked it out. “And why do we not have a single class together? Am I being punished or something?”

“I know, right?” Roz said. She pulled a knee into her chest and adjusted her other leg underneath in a configuration that looked wildly uncomfortable but was her preferred sitting style. “Last year it was like all of our classes were the same.”

“Show me your schedule. There’s got to be something I can switch.” She fished it out from her bag, nearly dropping it when the bus hit a pothole. “Study hall, then we’ll have gym together,” I noted.

“Cool.” Her smile faded when she got a good look at me. I wondered if my outward appearance could possibly be worse than what I felt inside. “Did something else happen?”

“Guess who has a locker right next to me?”

“Not…” she began.

“Yeah. The demon.” It was our code name for Angel, so we could talk about her openly without one of her little spies reporting. Her clique grew stronger every year, and I couldn’t be sure her followers weren’t listening in.

“That does suck,” Roz agreed. “Still, everything happens for a reason.”

“What?”

Roz folded her arms against her chest. “Well, maybe you’ll actually put her in her place this year.”

Me confronting Angel? I couldn’t even imagine it. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

“You never know. You could even be dating before me.”

I snickered. Her sixteenth birthday fast approached, the age at which Dad reluctantly agreed she could date. “What do you have left, a week?”

She glanced to the side, appearing to calculate the days. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And how many boys are lined up?”

“Very funny, Em,” she said, though I noticed she kept her eyes on me, as if she were afraid that looking around at the busload of drooling boys surrounding us would only drive home my point.

I wasn’t afraid to look. One black haired boy who appeared Italian gazed wistfully at Roz and then looked away, his hands balling into fists. In my mind I could see this poor tortured soul breaking out in a soliloquy, trying to determine whether a date with Roz was worth risking his fragile pride. “I wonder if they held some kind of a tournament, to see who gets to date you first.”

She laughed. “Don’t I have a say?”

“Okay, let me rephrase. The tournament was to see who would get rejected first. Officially, of course. All the offers before don’t count.”

The bus pulled up to our stop. The Italian boy looked determined yet torn, his hands still in tight fists. I could tell he wasn’t really up for it.

“Bye, Roz,” he called out as we left.

She smiled at him and waved.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m accompanying royalty. You only need to work on your wave.” I did my best impression of a Queen Elizabeth II wave.

She laughed. “Now you’re being silly.”

“Catch you later, Roz.”

She responded with a half-way decent royal wave.

I smiled. “That’s it.”

My smile faded when I turned to my house. I moved at a snail’s pace up the porch stairs, dreading the casual conversation awaiting me inside. My day was horrible enough without having to discuss it.

The earth tones of the décor inside appeared even more drab than usual. My house wasn’t exactly what you would call homey. Everything that could possibly personalize it was locked away in albums and closets. All that remained were strategic accents, carefully placed and color coordinated.

My mother was working on a Sudoku puzzle, lounging on the love seat. I wasn’t surprised to see her home so early, considering the time she put in last night. “How was your first day?”

I didn’t say a word. I dropped my stuff on the floor and collapsed face-first onto the adjacent couch. My body spilled half off the cushions, but I didn’t care.

“It’ll get better,” she said.

“Seems to be the popular consensus,” I mumbled into the couch. Eventually, I sat up, rubbed my face, and glanced over at my mother. I could usually gauge her day by the length of her hair. It was short today, which meant she had a good day. Her dark brown hair was naturally wavy, and if the waves were still there at the end of the day, the length was shorter. If, however, her hair came down past her shoulders, it meant she nearly strangled someone. She had a lot of off-days at her job.

“Oh, you’ll be fine.” Did she roll her eyes?

I was about to head out for the park when Lauren joined us from the kitchen, an energy drink in her hand.

Not fast enough, I thought.

“You look like crap,” Lauren greeted me. “First day was that good, huh?”

My mother glanced up from her puzzle, but then sighed and went right back to it.

Lauren didn’t look so hot herself. She inherited my mother’s hair color, though she wore it even shorter—the style was a cross between a pixie and the result of sticking your finger in a wall socket that I liked to call, “The Angry Pixie.” Today, it looked flat and lifeless, boyish even. She wore a scowl, which I’d come to believe was her natural expression. I remembered seeing her happy twice. The first time was when I was learning to ride my bike and took a bad fall. The second was when she first fell in love, the only time she ever felt that particular emotion.

Her scowl upturned into a sarcastic grin. “Yeah, well, high school sucked for me, too. Guess you’ll just have to deal,” she said. Her ice-blue eyes seemed to sparkle more the bitchier she acted. They were the kind of eyes that would be gorgeous, if they hadn’t belonged to the second most evil being on the planet.

“Doesn’t help, but thanks for playing,” I said.

Sometimes I couldn’t believe we were even related, let alone sisters. We were close once. Was that even real or a dream? It was so long ago I couldn’t remember for sure.

“Gotta work tonight. Later.” Lauren grabbed her purse and left.

Talking to Lauren made me wonder why I wasn’t already at the park. It was the one place I could always go to get away from people. Ducks never once laughed at me. I glanced at my mother, oblivious on the couch with her puzzle. Or rolled their eyes at me, for that matter.

“I’m going to the park,” I announced on my way out.

“Okay. Dinner’s at six,” my mother yelled after me.

I stopped by the corner store on the way to buy some bread. At the park, I grabbed my usual bench near the pond and waited for the ducks. They moved in at once, quacking and waddling up to me in a hurry. I loved that they’d figured out how to catch the bread before it hit the ground, snapping it right out of the air. After they finished chewing, they shook their tails, which I always thought was the duck equivalent of a smile. I exhaled, feeling the tension from the day start to melt.

The recollection of my day began, and I was getting into the gruesome details when the new boy appeared in the distance, running on a trail through the park. I gulped, knowing the path passed right in front of me.

He ran without a shirt on, and for the first time in my life I was grateful for the blistering Texas sunshine. Really grateful. His chest and arms were bigger than I imagined at lunch, more muscular. It was clear from his tan he spent a lot of time outdoors, and, from the perfect smile on his face, I guessed it was spent running.

When he approached, he glanced in my direction. Though I doubted he could recognize me, I still turned away. What happened in English was embarrassing enough. I didn’t want him to think of me as “Crazy Duck Girl,” too.

After he passed, I watched him, running off in the distance. I remembered that small smile of his when our eyes met in class. But after Angel got through with me…I had no chance with him. “It was a nice thought while it lasted,” I muttered under my breath, and then sighed. “Angel is such an uber bitch.”

I heard what sounded like a laugh. I was bad at judging distances, but I figured he had to be at least fifty yards away. There’s no way he could’ve heard me. Was there?

* * * *

Back home, my mother was at the table with dinner. We had leftovers again―the sporadic schedule of her job left little time during the week to cook.

“Don’t forget your doctor appointment tomorrow,” she said.

“I know.” I wasn’t looking forward to a new shrink, despite the fact that I hated the old shrink. The new one was still someone else to feel totally uncomfortable with.

“Don’t sound so excited,” she said.

I tried not to whine, but I’m not sure I succeeded. “I don’t get why I have to go.”

“Yes, you do.”

She was referring to my nightmare, a replay of the worst moment of my childhood. Ten years had passed since the incident, but the recurring nightmares made it feel more like ten days. Any reasonable person would see these dreams as normal, considering what had happened, but my mother didn’t agree. She decided something was wrong with me. Something that could somehow be fixed with therapy.

“It’s not going to help.” I hated talking to doctors, with the feigned sympathy, the arrogant presumptions, the stupid questions about how I’m feeling. The whole thing was a waste of time.

“Emily, you need to try. You do want to get better, don’t you?”

I bit my tongue, suppressing a sarcastic outburst. She continued to stare at me. I nodded in response.

A silence followed that would have been uncomfortable, if I weren’t so used to it.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if the whole interaction were exhausting her. “Your appointment is for six o’clock. We leave at five-thirty.”

“Okay.” I shoveled down my food, eager to leave. “I’m going to Roz’s.”

She didn’t look up from her meal. “Home by ten.”

Business as usual.

At school the next day, I headed straight for the office to switch my schedule so that I’d have at least one class with Roz.

“How can I help you?” the secretary said.

As I got closer to the counter, the scent of her perfume became stronger and stronger. I didn’t know perfumes—she could’ve been wearing the most expensive stuff out there and I wouldn’t have known the difference. I just knew I didn’t like this one. Its potent odor stopped me short of reaching the counter.

“I wonder if I could make a change to my schedule?” I asked from where I stood.

She frowned, and the foundation she used to hide her imperfections only highlighted the deep creases in her forehead. “Did you get permission?”

“I want to switch my study hall and gym class. It shouldn’t make a difference.”

“You were supposed to get any changes in yesterday,” she said, tilting her head back to deliberately look down on me, through her retro cat eye glasses.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a chance.” I wondered what her problem was. You don’t look that busy, I thought.

She sighed deeply, no doubt to illustrate how inconvenienced she felt. “What’s your name?”

“Emily Milford.”

Her fingers typed furiously on the keyboard of her computer, each keystroke making a hard clacking noise. My gaze wandered while I waited. It was then I noticed I was not alone in the office.

The new boy from English class sat in one of the chairs along the windowed wall behind me. He was covering his nose and mouth with his hands, but he released them to smile when we made eye contact. I immediately faced front again, totally embarrassed.

Why is he smiling at me? Is he being nice? God, he’s so cute. My breathing became erratic, and in my mind I cursed the secretary for taking so long.

“Fill out this paperwork and have both your study hall and gym teachers sign it.” She handed the form to me, her freshly manicured fingernails positioned like they were on display. Then she turned to the new boy. “Thomas?”

“Must you bathe in it?” he muttered quietly as he rose.

“Excuse me?” she said, glaring at him.

He appeared to be trying to hold his breath. His response came out more like a gasp than anything else. “Nothing, ma’am. Clearing my throat, is all.”

“The principal is expecting you.” Her glare turned into an unsettling smirk, like she delighted in his misfortune. She motioned the way to the office, and he disappeared behind the door.

What business did he have with the principal? Could he be in trouble already? Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize the secretary’s critical stare was upon me again.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” She tapped her beautiful fingernails on the counter.

“No. Thanks,” I said and left.

* * * *

I got to English class early. The room was empty, and I figured I’d make use of the time by reading ahead. I leaned to the side of my desk to dig into my backpack. As I sat back upright, the new boy walked past me. My face flushed. I hoped the nervous smile I flashed somehow made me appear less ridiculous. Why must I be such an idiot?

My eyes were drawn to a folded piece of paper on my desk that wasn’t there a second ago. I almost blurted out that he dropped something, but when I glanced back at him, he was already seated, wearing a huge grin. I opened the note cautiously, like I feared it might self-destruct in my hands. In barely legible printed letters, the message read:

What was a nice thought while it lasted?

My heart sank. It was what I mumbled to myself yesterday at the park. He did hear me. But how? I managed to flush worse, the heat actually radiating from my skin. I tried to take some deep breaths but couldn’t quite manage. I wanted to acknowledge him, but I was too anxious for even a hand gesture. And what would I say to him? It wasn’t like I could answer his question.

Come on, Em, pull yourself together, I thought. It took a solid minute, but I eventually calmed down enough to get some air into my lungs. When I was fairly certain my cheeks were a mild pink instead of beet red, I turned back towards him. He was still staring at me, and still he grinned. By that time, the classroom had filled, including the hell spawn who sat behind me.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for the delinquent from Manchez?” Angel said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “OMG!”

I faced back front, right when the annoying giggling began. Something else for her to torture me with. Like my hands weren’t enough.

* * * *

I got to lunch late and was surprised to find Roz alone at our table. Usually, if I left her alone for more than a couple of minutes, I’d find her getting accosted by at least one boy trying to ask her out. They seldom did it when I was around—I acted as a natural repellant. It was probably one of her favorite perks of our friendship.

“You seem happier today,” she said.

“I got my schedule switched. We’ll at least have gym together.”

She smiled. “Cool. See? It’s getting better already.”

“How can it get any worse?”

“That’s the spirit. Oh, how did it go with the nurse yesterday?” Roz asked.

“She said I was fine.”

“Did she actually examine you?” The question came out almost like an accusation. Roz pushed all of her hair back behind her shoulders, a move which usually meant she was about to start an argument.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “She did some weird thing with her hands. I don’t know, maybe she’s into New Age stuff.”

“Uh huh. Do I have to get Dad to bring you to the doctor?”

She reminded me of my appointment. “Ugh, I already have one.”

“Huh?” Her brow relaxed. She knew all about my nightmare and therapy sessions. “Shrinks don’t count.”

“I swear I’m fine,” I assured her. “Go ask the nurse. Her name is Judy.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe I will,” I mimicked.

She stuck her tongue out at me, but I turned my attention to the new boy entering the cafeteria. I watched him walk to his table.

“His name is Tommy,” Roz said. “I met him the other day.”

“Who?”

“The new boy you’re ogling,” she replied nonchalantly.

“I’m not ogling him,” I said. “I saw him at the park yesterday, after school.”

“You did? Well, did you talk to him?”

I stifled a laugh. “Uh, no. He was running on a trail.”

“Yesterday? It must’ve been a hundred and two.”

“It was. He didn’t have a shirt on.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, her voice taking on a suggestive tone.

I tried to muster a shocked expression, but she grinned knowingly at me. “You’re not fooling anyone, Em.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” I sighed. “It was nice.”

I glanced over at the new boy and noticed he was alone. Did he just smile?

“So, you want me to introduce you?” She raised an arm to motion to him, and I swatted it down.

“No, are you nuts? He probably thinks I’m a freak.”

“Don’t be stupid. Why would he look over here if he thinks you’re a freak?”

“To see you, of course. It’s why all of them look,” I said, wondering if she had already recruited him to be one of her minions. A hint of a smile was all it took for them to be instantly hooked.

“We made eye contact before, right when he sat down. He didn’t smile or wave,” she said. “It’s not me he’s checking out.”

My brow furrowed at the possibility. Yeah, like a boy would be interested in me instead of her. I wondered if she was lying outright to screw with me. But then I remembered English class and how his eyes locked onto me. I cautiously looked in his direction, and our eyes met. He smiled.

I smiled back. Guess Roz was right.

* * * *

On the way to my new gym class, I happened to notice Tommy walking ahead of me. He entered the boys’ locker room and I stopped, feeling my stomach drop. Why didn’t she tell me?

Once I made it inside the girls’ locker room, I cornered Roz. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he’s in this gym class!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked in a casual tone, one that clearly undermined my panicked state. She took off her skirt and replaced it with a pair of trendy yoga pants.

“Tommy,” I whispered.

“I told you I met him the other day,” she said, continuing to dress. “It was in this class. What’s the big deal anyway?”

“You know how I am at gym. I’ll be lucky to make it through the week intact.”

“Come on, you get to see him half-naked every day now,” she said, as she finished lacing up her gym sneakers. “You’ll thank me later.”

I changed slowly into my old sweatpants and t-shirt, dreading what lay ahead. I bit my nails without realizing it, and it was only when I tasted blood in my mouth that I stopped. Exiting the locker room, I groaned at the sight of kick balls lined in a row. Dodgeball never ended well for me.

Tommy walked out of the boys’ locker room. Though he was dressed in more clothes than at the park, I still caught a glimpse of his defined biceps poking out from his shirt while he adjusted his hair away from his face. Gotta hand it to Roz, I can’t argue with the view.

“Did you get those hands dry yet?” Angel blurted out when she passed me. A couple of her idiot followers giggled on cue.

Great. She’s in this class? I chalked it up to the universe maintaining its balance.

Roz narrowed her eyes at them, and the giggling stopped abruptly. I followed her to a small group of other non-athletic students milling around like a bunch of zombies.

The game started, and within five seconds a ball gently bounced off my thigh, tagging me out. Roz winked at me from the other side before she grabbed another ball and lobbed it hard at the boy next to me. I smiled back, grateful to be spared the humiliation of actually trying to play.

While I waited off to the side, I found where Tommy played and saw he fared better. He seemed surprised to see me. It distracted him, and a student on the other team took the opportunity to throw a ball at his head. His surprise changed to confusion, and then recognition, like he’d figured out something, at the exact moment the ball hit him.

I felt guilty my staring distracted him. It took another game before I mustered up the courage to look his way. From the sidelines he stared at me, a curious smile on his face.

* * * *

My mother dropped me off at the doctor’s office after supper. She couldn’t be bothered to come to the appointment with me. And why should she? I was the one with all the problems.

The receptionist greeted me with a fake smile. She signed me in and pointed the way to a room she mysteriously called, “the treatment room.” The description conjured some pretty gruesome images in my mind, and I half-expected to see some kind of torture device chair with straps or chains hanging from the ceiling. But in truth, there wasn’t much to it: a white leather couch sat across from a white leather chair with an end table next to it. The sole decoration consisted of a small waterfall sculpture built into one of the walls.

I sat down on the couch and waited. And waited. And then waited some more. I noticed a perfectly centered iPod on the end table and was tempted to check out the tunes on it. Of course I chickened out, afraid to get caught. The time on my cell phone read ten minutes past my appointment.

The doctor finally entered from an adjacent room through a door I hadn’t noticed, it blended in so perfectly with the wall.

There was nothing unusual about his appearance. Typical of any thirty-something doctor: glasses, short brown hair, and a salt-and-pepper colored beard. His gaze dissected me, and I got a feeling the therapy had already started.

“Emily?” He walked over to me, clearly intending to shake my hand.

My hands heated up, and the sweat began to pour once more. It wasn’t like I was nervous—I mean, he was yet another head shrink. But it didn’t matter, the sweat continued.

The doctor was smooth. If my sweaty palms bothered him, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled as we shook hands. “I’m Dr. Keith Hayes.”

“Hi.”

He sat on the chair opposite me and scribbled in his notebook. I was sure it had something to do with nervousness. Like this dude is so great and powerful, his very presence makes me anxious to the point of severe perspiration.

“How are you feeling today, Emily?”

God I hate this question. It’s so loaded, and there’s no possible way to answer it right. “I’m fine,” I voiced, my eyes fixed on the floor.

It wasn’t long before I felt him staring at me. I reluctantly met his gaze.

“I understand I’m not the first psychiatrist you’ve seen,” he said.

“Nope.”

He jotted down another note. “How do you feel about changing doctors?”

“It’s fine.”

“Yes, of course it’s fine. You’re here,” he said, in a rushed tone. “But how do you feel?” He leaned in, as if anxious to hear my response.

Damn, he’s pushy. I had hoped to merely get by again. Say the minimum required and leave. “I don’t care.”

“Because you don’t want to be here.”

My mouth gaped open, but only for a moment. It wasn’t a surprise he could read me so easily. I didn’t hide my emotions very well.

“You think I can’t help you, right? Maybe it’s because there’s nothing wrong with you.”

That I didn’t expect him to say. “What?”

“Emily, there is nothing wrong with you,” he said, with an easygoing smile that seemed unnatural on him. “If anything, your mind is simply confused. I can help you. But for that to happen, you have to be open. Are you willing to open up to me?”

“Yes.” Get it over with, I thought.

“Then let’s relax.” He reached over to the iPod and without moving it an inch, he turned on this new age hippie music—it sounded like running water with some flute-like instrument playing a melody. “Emily, I want you to lie back on the couch, close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my voice.”

No other doctor I’d ever been to did any kind of relaxation. Surprisingly, the music did have a calming effect. I settled into the couch and closed my eyes.

“Take a deep breath and exhale. Keep breathing, slowly breathe in, and then slowly breathe out.” His voice was steady, like a heartbeat. My heart rate slowed down in response. He continued to talk me through the relaxation, from my head to my toes. By the time he finished, I was totally relaxed.

He paused, before he spoke in a quiet but assertive voice. “How are you feeling today, Emily?”

“Exhausted.” The word slid off my tongue before I could stop it.

“Why do you feel exhausted?”

The relaxation put me into a kind of trance; I was unable to hold back my thoughts. “My mother wants me to come here, and I don’t see the point.”

“Why are you here, Emily?”

I was silent because I didn’t know the answer, or one that made sense anyway. I thought about why my mother wanted me to go. My eyes remained closed, my body still and relaxed. I expected the doctor to repeat the question. But he didn’t. It was then the pain first began to build in my head.

“Tell me about your father,” he said in a tone that bordered on gloating.

How did he know about him? “He left when I was a kid.”

“He did more than leave,” he said knowingly. “Tell me the whole story.”

I can’t believe she told him. “What difference does it make now? He’s dead. I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Emily, you must be open for me to help you.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then start from the beginning.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to talk about my father, but I felt a strange desire to answer. “He always treated me differently from my sister. Loved me more.”

“Why do you think he loved you more?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t go near my sister, but he was very close with me,” I said.

“How close?”

I opened my eyes. The sense of anticipation in the way he asked the question was entirely creepy. What is with this dude? “Nothing like that. Like a normal, loving father would be.”

He wrote a few more notes. “Why did he leave?”

“My mother kicked him out. She thought the same as you did. But he never did anything inappropriate with me.” The pain built steadily in my head.

“Are you reading my thoughts, Emily?” I swore he snickered when he said that.

“No.”

“Continue,” he said.

“He left.”

“What happened next?”

Why does he keep pressing me? I hated talking about my father, but the kidnapping was even worse. It always made me sick to think about it.

“Why do you hesitate, Emily? He can’t hurt you now.”

The words were meant to comfort me, and in a way they did. But it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to relive it all over again. The pain flared, and I instinctively placed a hand on my forehead. It was burning up.

The doctor sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, expecting something.

“I…I don’t feel well.”

He let out a sharp exhale. “That’s fine, we’re done. Take a few deep breaths, and slowly come back out of your relaxed state.”

While I breathed, he scribbled some more notes. I wondered what he was writing.

He smiled. “I’m noting how far we’ve come. No need to worry.”

The pain resurged in my head. I put both hands to my forehead and couldn’t believe how hot it felt.

“I think we’ve made some great progress here, Emily.”

The heat subsided shortly afterwards. When I took my hands down from my head, I was surprised to discover my headache was gone.

“Would you like some aspirin?”

“No, I’m fine.”

He tilted his head to the side, like he didn’t expect that answer. “Did you enjoy our session?”

“Yes, thank you.” I flashed a nervous smile.

He laughed. “You don’t have to lie. I know you don’t like doctors.”

This time I glanced at him curiously. I wasn’t sure what to think.

“I’m looking forward to our next visit. There is so much more for you to tell me.” His grin was almost sadistic, and his eyes… They were so deliberate, like he could see inside me. He opened the door for me, and a chill ran down the length of my body when he touched my shoulder.

My mother ran late in picking me up. The oppressive sun weighed heavy on me outside, and I had to keep perfectly still to avoid breaking out in a full body sweat.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“So do you like this doctor better?”

“He’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He’s just different,” I said. A silence followed while I built up the courage to confront her. “Why did you tell him about the kidnapping?”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

“What did you tell him then?”

“Nothing, I barely spoke to the man,” she said defensively. “I said you’d been seeing another doctor, and you have bad dreams. I didn’t mention him at all.”

I shuddered. Then how does he know so much about me?