All In My Head (First Tracks Book 1) (8 page)

He almost fell backwards on his ass.
Ha! Who’s a piece of
crap now?
  I started to turn away when I heard him spit.

When I came back at him, it was fist first. My arm swung up
and my knuckles plowed into his face. The impact jarred my arm and knocked his
head back.

“Fuck! You crazy bitch!” Spit sprayed as he screamed, a hand
on one eye while the other gave me the death glare.

I didn’t move as he walked away backwards, yelling more
obscenities at me. Three or four other people stared but I made a point of not
looking at them. I waited until he’d gone around the corner before going to my
car, breathing fast through my nose.
Marcus, I can’t believe you just put me
in danger like that! What if he fought back? What if …

I would have handled him. 

Don’t you get it? You are NOT here. I am here. You are
just talking in my head.

I threw the car in reverse and ripped out of the parking
space.

The shaking started once I busted in my front door and
slammed it shut. Thankfully no one was sitting in the living room to see me
fall apart.

That wasn’t me.

First the drawing and now that … what was that? I totally
charged that guy, ready to fight, and made him back down.
He
had been
scared of
me.
But it didn’t feel bad.

Because you want to act like that.

Was there any truth to that? I wanted to have control of my
life. I should have been livid at Marcus for taking control of my mind and even
my body at times, but it felt better than how I’d been doing. I felt empowered
but confused.

My knuckles started to throb. What had I done? What had I been
thinking? What if that guy called the police or campus security on me?

Babe, you’re going to hyperventilate again. Take it easy.

With my eyes pressed shut, I practiced breathing the way
Marcus had shown me. Even without someone watching, I needed to hold it
together. I retreated to my room and shut that door too, sadly knowing I
couldn’t shut out my problems. My lungs started convulsing again, yanking in
quick breaths in rapid succession, acting on their own.

Lay down.

Without arguing, I lay back on my pillow, eyes shut,
focusing on breathing slowly as if it were some world cup competition.

Know what I imagine when I’m stressed? Fresh snow. White and
pure. And I get first tracks. Picture we’re shredding the fresh pow. Cutting
left. Imagine you’re cruising, just taking in the ride.

As he talked, I could actually see the trees flying by, feel
the rise and fall of the snow. It was quiet except the sound of the board on
the snow, cutting a track into the pristine perfectness. The crispy air—it was
energizing, not cold. My body stayed flexible, absorbing the ups, then
twisting.

Let’s hit some jumps.

Jumps?

Okay, fine. Just a fifty, fifty. Here comes some rails.
We’re jumping … up … got it! Now the fifty, fifty.

He turned the board out and then back straight again as we
lifted off the other end of the rail, sailing for five seconds and landing on
the snow.

I’ll show you a halfpipe ride.

He envisioned a halfpipe just like skaters use but this one
was icy. We went up and up one side, almost to the top, before sliding down and
up the other side. The second time, he kicked the board up above his head and
grabbed the rim with his hand.

Whoa! It was cool, and actually not scary, because he knew
what he was doing. He made it look so easy. We headed up the other side.

We’re switching—it’s for this jump. Check it!

Switching meant turning the board around, getting ready as
we sailed up. I knew because Marcus did. I could see things the way he saw
them, and I even saw what he planned to do with this one. We were both on the
board. I experienced it like I was doing it all, like I was in control.

At the top, I turned my head and did something with my
shoulders, flipping horizontally in the air.

180, baby!

I landed on the downhill smoothly.
Whoa!  I did it!

Wait—the board wobbled on the bottom.

Don’t worry. Just some chatter. We can take that out, right?
It’s our daydream. Okay, that was a small turn. Let’s hit a 360 on this next
one.

We’ll fall!

No, you won’t. I got you.

My body dipped down as I flew up the side again. Marcus knew
exactly what to do. It was instinct. I lifted off and spun around in a full 360
before landing, both Marcus and I whooping.

I heard my rapid breathing and blinked, surprised to find my
bed under me, my room around me. That felt so real …
How did you do that?

Just picturing it. Seems like my daydreams are more
realistic without a real life. Like blind people hearing more, ya know?

“Don’t you ever fall?”

Every boarder wipes out. We just get back up again. Hey—we should
hit the slopes sometimes. Shred some gnar.

Maybe.           

Marcus took me through more jumps, and I knew I couldn’t
have fabricated all twenty jumps and the technical names. I didn’t draw that
picture of me, and I didn’t run up to that guy and tell him off. That was all
Marcus.

But even though it was Marcus telling that guy off, I didn’t
flinch. I marched right up in that guy’s face.
I
wasn’t afraid. Not in
that moment. Now I felt empowered by it, even while wondering if that was an
inappropriate response.

And how’s that?

“I should have worried about my safety. You know, I’m
supposed to be smart, not start things, walk away, yadda, yadda.”

Except we found the rebel in you, remember?

I sat up, reached down to my backpack and pulled my notebook
out to look at the drawing again. But I couldn’t look at it for very long
because I thought about how Marcus saw me. I carefully tore the paper out of my
notebook and put it in my dresser drawer, my spot for personal stuff and odds
and ends.

Then I couldn’t stop myself from pulling out an old photograph
of my mom from when she was about twenty. It was in color, but faded, and I’d
been worried for several years that her face and expression would fade away as
the photograph aged. There had always been a slight resemblance between us, but
I saw it much more clearly in the picture Marcus drew today. If only I could
tell my mom about all of this.

“I’m not sure which is scarier,” I told Marcus. “That I’m
crazy and imagining you, or that you’re real and in my head.”

I don’t have any choice in what I believe. Of course I’m real.
I can’t just make myself up.

“So how do we fix this?”

Make me disappear?

“Get you back where you belong.” We both ruminated on that
for a while. Then I told him, “Thanks for distracting me.”

My pleasure …

He sounded sincere instead of flirty for a change.

I woulda tore that jerkwad apart for you.

“Except we’re in my body, remember?”

I’m not sure it matters. Seriously. You could have taken him,
with me running the show.

That didn’t comfort me. He
could
have taken over and
run the show. I spent a few minutes trying to picture his life: where he came
from, what he did for a living, why he knew how to do the things he did. We
didn’t have many clues. A last name or information about his job would help me
track him down, if there was a real person out there, past or present.

Warm sunlight soaked into the room, making me sleepy. A nap
sounded great, but I needed to catch up on homework for this week. I turned to
my notes and opened my laptop so I could work. As I typed, I remembered I still
hadn’t texted Nash back. I grabbed my phone, seeing more texts from him,
Kristina and Jasmine. I answered while Marcus paced in my head.

I want to get out of here for a while.

“Out of my head?” I asked him, a bit distracted.

What’s around campus? 

“Ashland is small, but it’s pretty. Lots of little shops and
Lithia Park. The park’s huge. You can walk along a creek for a long ways.”  I
rambled for a while about the area until Marcus asked about Medford.

“It’s bigger. We could go, just goof around. At least I’m
less likely to run into classmates who will think I’m acting weird.”

No one has thought you were acting weird anyway.  

I hopped up and got ready, leaving the green sweater on, and
feeling excited about getting out too. It was technically by myself, but it’s
hard to feel like I’m alone with Marcus here and ever present. I walked into
the garage to my Toyota Corolla.   

By the way, is that your bike over there?

“Yeah, but we’re not pedaling to Medford, because that’d
actually be me pedaling.”

We should go sometime.

Oddly enough, I actually got the urge to go out for a ride
and told him,
Okay, maybe sometime.

For now, I got in the car and backed out. The sky was dotted
with giant puffy clouds, like drops of biscuit batter, and they blocked the sun
here and there as they cruised across the blue sky on a high wind. It was
another blustery-sunny-rainy Oregon spring day. On the ten-minute drive up the
freeway, he asked about Nash.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, and I feel funny talking
to you about it.”

But it kind of involves me, since I’m here and all.

“Can’t you go out boarding by yourself, like you did in my
head? Pretend you’re doing something?”

He didn’t answer, which I think meant yes. I found it funny
how he said “and all” with a lot of stuff, but he pronounced it “an all.”

I laughed as another car passed me—an older gentleman was
talking away, one hand in the hair gesturing. “I’m talking to invisible people
and it’s perfectly normal.” I laughed until something occurred to me. What if
this was my new normal? I felt Marcus react with a jolt, but we didn’t talk
about it. The first Medford exit came up and I took it.

“How about the mall?”

Let’s explore instead. Take that road.

I drove around awhile, ending up in an area that wasn’t a
McDonald’s and Mc-stores kind of place, and then parked in a lot. There were
small local businesses to check out. I wandered through several, just getting
lost looking at things.  A secondhand store. A pet store. A used and new
bookstore. I looked through books until Marcus started pulling his hair—like
literally, in a figurative kind of way. I could picture him raking his fingers
through his hair and making fists.

What is your problem with books? Or with me looking at
them for a while?

Just all this standing around. Looking. Hoping for a clue.

Oh. Looking for meaning. It was probably frustrating.

I bought a couple books, even though I had a long to-read
pile at home and more on my Kindle, and then we walked back to the sidewalk and
looked down the street. About half a block down, there was a music store.

There.

He was really itching to get inside. I hesitated.

I waited around during the bookstore.

Yeah, yeah, but not very patiently. All right.

Instead of a big, open area, the store was in an older
building with smaller rooms, the walls filled with instruments and accessories,
so I meandered through. Two twenty-something guys were looking at basses, both
in T-shirts and baggy shorts that showed their underwear and hung below their
knees.

I didn’t do band back in middle school, and I’ve never been
much of a music person, meaning I’m not fanatical about any band or anything.
But this was interesting, all the different instruments I’ve never thought
about.

Marcus was looking for something specific.

I picked up a guitar and strummed. Holy crap. I froze, my
right hand at the top, holding down different strings, my left mid strum.

That’s an F sharp. Move your hand up a fret.

What’s a fret?

My hand moved anyway, and a song played on the guitar. I
played the guitar! I wanted to laugh, hysterically, but I just listened in
wonder as Marcus played and sang “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz.

I know he was just playing a song, but it felt a little like
he was playing it for me. My heart melted, and I hoped Marcus was too lost in
his music to notice. Wasn’t it sad? The first guy to draw me and play music for
me and he was invisible.

Marcus started a song I didn’t recognize. He hummed instead
of singing, then sang some of the notes.

I’m working on that one still.

Then he played part of an old song called “More Than Words,”
making me almost tear up. My dad sang that song to my mom when he twirled her
around the kitchen. Marcus sensed my mood, or just wanted to play something
different, because mid-song he switched to that happy song by Pharrel Williams.
It wasn’t as put together.

Marcus laughed.

Yeah, I know. Haven’t heard it as much or figured out all the
chords yet.

But, wait, you remembered something! That has to help.
Maybe … maybe you’re famous. That would make it easy to find you.

Don’t I wish. But I doubt it.

Someone cleared their throat to my right. “We’re running a
sale today.”

I turned to a middle-aged short man, balding and wearing
glasses. He looked like a high school band teacher, when I’d been expecting
some cool rocker dude in a place like this.

“That one’s a steal, if you’re interested. It’s older, and
the price is even better because it’s half off today.”

I nodded and lifted the little white tag. $300.

“Just one fifty today.” He smiled, his hands behind his back
as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

Buy it! Get it, baby. Come on, Avery. This one thing for me.

Not wanting the sales guy to see my face, I stared at the
tag and told Marcus,
You will owe me big time.

Done.

“Okay, I’ll take it.”

The salesman flashed a big smile. “Come on up and pay if
you’re ready, or browse some more. Music books and picks are up front. Stands,
cases, tuners and whammy bars are on special today too.”

Whammy bars?

Naw, we don’t need any of that for now. Maybe just a few picks.

I felt giddy as I went to pay. It had to be Marcus’s
emotion, or buyer’s remorse. I had no idea what I was doing, blowing a hundred
and fifty on a guitar when I couldn’t play.

Can too!

Outside, I told Marcus, “I’m not made of money, you know. I
usually think about it and plan out big purchases.”

That’s a big purchase for you?

“Hello, I’m a college student … and hungry. We’re going to
lock this in the trunk and get some lunch.”

Sweet. Thank you, Avery.

Warmth washed over me, almost stopping me right there on the
side walk.

But I’m a bit confused … you’re paying for your education. You
have money from somewhere.