Backwards (15 page)

I tore out of the zombie the moment he lost consciousness. All I could think about was getting as far from Dan as possible. Before long, I found myself near Cat’s place. TR sat on the curb in front of her apartment, waiting for me. I hid behind some bushes across the street, not sure what I’d say to him. That’s when I noticed Cat’s window.

Her curtains were pulled open, which surprised me. Usually she kept them closed. Unless she only started closing them
after
she discovered the Mad Hatter on her windowsill.

Oh, God,
I whispered, realizing what I’d done. Cat would think the figurines came from Dan. Each one would be a reminder of how he’d attacked her — a sign that she couldn’t escape him, no matter where she went. She wouldn’t feel safe in her room anymore or in the courtyard at school — not after discovering the White Rabbit there. That’s why Tricia accused Dan of harassing Cat. Only Dan wasn’t responsible for harassing her. I was.

There had to be a way to change what I’d done. But how? My past was set, even if it was her future.

I left before TR saw me and headed away from town. Most of the streets looked empty, but cars raced through the night on the highway. Their lights grew brighter, turning from white to red as they passed. I stepped into the far lane and watched a semi approach. Every instinct in me screamed to get out of the way. Closing my eyes, I waited for the impact.

The truck rushed through me, quick as a breeze. Then another. And another.

Nothing happened.

I stayed in the road for hours. At first, I wanted to punish myself for making things worse for Cat. But the more cars tore through me, the more I realized they wouldn’t hurt — not the way I wanted them to. It was like jumping from the top of the radio tower and
not
falling.

I cursed at the oncoming cars. I even ran toward the rushing metal, attempting to add the force of my will to the impact. It made little difference.

Finally, I gave up and lay in the road. I let the black tires pass through my head, wishing I could escape it all, but it was a child’s fantasy — simple as thinking that shutting your eyes will keep others from seeing you.

When the sky began to lighten, I walked away from town, putting as much distance between myself and Dan as I could. The sun rose, and I walked faster. Maybe if I got far enough away, I wouldn’t be called back.

No such luck. In some distant room, I heard Dan’s alarm go off. Then the reeling came, ripping me inside out until I slammed to a sickening halt in the body of the last person on earth I wanted to be.

My new mission was to keep Dan as far from Cat as possible. In fact, I needed to keep him away from Teagan and his mom and anyone else he might hurt, too. The less he was around, the better — that much seemed certain. And if I hadn’t already come to this conclusion on my own, the message I found carved into the wall that morning would have made it abundantly clear:

No duh,
I thought, wanting to punch the wall. Then again, that might only “make things worse.”

As far as clues went, the messages sucked. Instead of proclaiming
YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE
, why didn’t the last message just tell me that Dan was a rapist? Then I wouldn’t have been an idiot about trying to be with Cat. A fortune cookie would have been more helpful.

Once I took a shower and calmed down some, I thought about the new message again. Given that whatever I did, or Dan did, would make things worse, the best course of action seemed to not “do” anything.

Which is easier said than done.

After shaving, I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and swallowed several allergy pills with a “May Cause Drowsiness” warning on them. For good measure, I washed the pills down with a hearty swig of cold medicine. I worried a little about Dan taking over if I got sleepy, but it didn’t work like that. The drugs mostly affected the body, not me. With any luck, we’d pass out before school, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about Dan hurting anyone.

Unfortunately, the main thing the medicine did was give me a vicious case of heartburn. Then, on the drive to school, my vision began to blur. I considered swerving into a tree — that would take Dan out of the picture for a while. Too bad Teagan was in the car with me. I couldn’t risk injuring her. In her time zone, Dan was still the big brother she looked up to.

While I drove, Teagan talked up a storm, filling me in on trivial things that had happened recently. When we arrived at school, she hesitated before getting out.

“Good luck today,” she said, giving me a look like I was going off to war. “Don’t let the pricks get you down.”

“Welcome back,” said Mr. Walker, Dan’s homeroom teacher.

“Thanks,” I replied, wondering what the occasion might be. It was the first time Mr. Walker had ever greeted me like that. “Did I go somewhere fun?”

Mr. Walker’s expression darkened. “Let’s hope not,” he said. “Being suspended isn’t meant to be a vacation. Nor is it a legitimate excuse for turning in late work.”

Suspended,
I thought.
That’ll work.
At least being suspended would give me a way to avoid people for the next few days.

I grew dizzy as the morning progressed, but the drugs didn’t fully kick in until second period, when Mr. Shepherd started to sound like he was lecturing through the far end of a garden hose.

At the end of the period, Mr. Shepherd called me up to his desk. A thin stream of drool trickled down my chin. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and touched my cheeks to make sure Dan’s face was still there. For the last half hour, I’d felt like a wax sculpture standing too close to a fire. Fortunately, the dulled senses made it easy to keep Dan disconnected.

Mr. Shepherd scanned his grade book while I stood before his desk. He had a receding hairline that made his widow’s peak resemble a uvula, which, as I’d learned in biology, was the thing that dangles in the back of one’s throat. The image struck me as oddly humorous, and before I knew it, I snorted with laughter.

“Something funny?” asked Mr. Shepherd.

“No,” I said, not wanting to offend him.

Mr. Shepherd gave me a stern look. I realized I was still grinning.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked, attempting to compose a more appropriate expression. Maybe the drugs
had
affected me some.

“I’m not sure. Are you?” asked Mr. Shepherd.

The zombie’s eyes wavered in and out of focus. Was I in trouble? Definitely. But if I told Mr. Shepherd about my situation, he’d think I was crazy. “I don’t believe I did anything wrong in class,” I said.

“No. You didn’t,” agreed Mr. Shepherd. “In fact, you haven’t done anything in class in a while.” His forehead wrinkled as he scanned his grade book. “You haven’t participated in discussion lately, you ruined your perfect quiz score, and you missed the last four homework assignments.”

“I didn’t remember them,” I said, which was factually true. How could I remember what hadn’t happened yet?

“I’m worried about you, Dan,” said Mr. Shepherd. “What’s going on?”

I glanced at the door, wishing I could get out of there, but if I left now, it might, as the ever-so-helpful drywall oracle put it, “make things worse.” Besides, I felt bad for Mr. Shepherd. He was just trying to help. “Listen,” I said. “I really appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. There’s nothing you can do.”

Mr. Shepherd looked perturbed. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Some things went wrong, but I’m working on it. I’m going to fix it.”

“You used to be a model student, and now your grades are slipping. You got suspended. You’ve been fighting with your friends.”

“I have?” This was news to me. “Which friends?”

Mr. Shepherd breathed a frustrated sigh. “I may only be a teacher, but I still see things,” he said. “You don’t seem
fine
to me.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Is it a girl?”

“What?”

“The reason you’re upset. Is it a girl?”

I glanced at the door again. It didn’t help that my face felt like it was sliding off and my lips tingled. “You could say that.”

Mr. Shepherd nodded. “Things might seem serious now. You might think you’re in love and you’ll never love anyone again. But believe me, a lot is going to change in your life. Someday you’ll look back on all this high-school drama and laugh about it.”

No,
I thought.
I won’t laugh about it, and neither will Dan. He’ll slash his wrists and bleed to death in a tub.

“Just keep things in perspective,” continued Mr. Shepherd. “High school doesn’t last forever.”

That’s for sure,
I thought, only I couldn’t say this. “Thanks, Mr. Shepherd,” I told him, slurring the words slightly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lunch claimed it was sloppy joes, but the ice-cream scoop of meat on a bun that was plopped on my plate looked and smelled suspiciously like dog food. I wasn’t in much of a mood to eat anyway. My limbs wobbled from all the medicine, and my thoughts kept getting caught in the tar pit of Mr. Shepherd’s kindness. He wouldn’t have been so nice to me if he’d known what Dan had done.

“Danny!”

My senses reeled as Dan lunged to take control. I tried to force him back, but something about the guy’s voice put the zombie in a frenzy. Whispers swirled around me. I turned — whether by my own will or Dan’s I wasn’t sure.

“Wake up,” said Finn.

Trent Mercer stood beside him, looking twitchy.

I focused on maintaining control. Dan was furious, but there was no way I’d let him take over. For a moment we fought against each other, pushing on either side of a door. Then the door clicked shut, and I was able to reconnect. “What do you want?” I asked.

“Coach wants to see you,” said Finn.

“Now?” My voice wavered as Dan pounded the door.

“No,” joked Trent. “In ten years at the next reunion. Don’t be such a zombie.”

I froze. “What did you call me?”

“Relax, man,” said Trent. “I’m just saying you look like a zombie with that scab on your forehead, drooling and stumbling around like you’re asleep.” He stuck his arms out and made his face go slack, doing a crude imitation of me.

Dan filled my head with angry whispers. “Shut up!” I snapped.

Trent’s expression fell. So much for being nice to people. I had to get away before Dan took over.

“Better hurry,” said Finn. “Coach is waiting.” If he was mad at me, he didn’t sound it. Instead, he seemed concerned.

“Right.” I started for the door, forgetting that I still had a lunch tray in my hands. Milk tipped, spilling onto my plate and shirt. A few people chuckled.

“You all right?” Finn asked, moving closer. All around me, I could feel students watching us. Finn kept his voice low. “Be careful what you say, okay? I wouldn’t want you to get in any more trouble.”

I looked at Finn. He held my gaze, and his face broke into an easy, encouraging smile.

“Thanks,” I told him. I set the tray on top of a trash can and hurried out before Dan could mess things up.

Coach’s office occupied the back corner of the boys’ locker room. A large window took up most of one wall, revealing Coach, bent over his desk, writing in a binder. I paused outside his door to collect myself.

“Come in,” he said without looking up. He taught civics class as well, but everyone, even the other teachers, called him Coach. “Take a seat.”

I slumped in the chair across from him. Coach chewed his gum and studied me for several seconds. Maybe he was waiting for me to start the conversation, but I had no clue why I’d been called here.

Coach opened his desk drawer, took out his gum, and put it on a piece of tinfoil. “Damn nicotine gum tastes like cardboard,” he said.

My face must have reflected my confusion.

“You didn’t know I smoked?” Coach asked.

“No.”

“I’ve been trying to quit for twenty years. The gum helps me make it through the day.”

I nodded, sensing he was letting me in on something personal.

“So,” he said, “give me one reason why I should keep you on the team.”

“I don’t have a reason.”

“Are you quitting?”

I shrugged.

“Not good enough,” said Coach. “If you’re quitting, at least have the courtesy to tell me why.”