Dying to Forget (15 page)

“Good luck,” I say softly.

Mallory leans in to hug me before she walks down the hall with a new ink-colored glass Assignment card. I watch as she picks the door that leads into the Depot room and turn to see Niles grinning at me.

“What?”

“It’s wonderful to see the two of you getting on this well. I was a bit worried, dear, after that initial meeting.” He smiles. Gentle, as always.

“She’s a nice girl. I can see why she was chosen as my Volunteer. But don’t get too excited, we aren’t BFF’s just yet,” I reply with a wink.

“BFF’s? What is that?”

It’s my turn to giggle. “Best Friends Forever.”

“Ah, the young…always so eager to shorten the English language.”

“Yep.”

I smile at him as I search for my name on the giant volunteer billboard. Nothing yet. I finger the glass disk that is hanging around my neck, remembering the first time it went off, how I thought my chest was on fire. The memory seems so long ago, but it’s impossible to tell time in the Station; there are no days, no nights and no clocks. I can’t tell if I’ve been here for five minutes or five years.

If I had died with a watch on, would it work here?

“Piper.” Niles distracts me from my mental wandering. “They’re ready for you.”

I look down to see the glass light up inside my palm.

It’s time again.

I try to remain calm this time as the pinching starts at my feet and slowly works its way up my body but it feels too much like crawling ants that I attempt to rub the sensation off my skin anyway. Niles told me that this part of the transition feels a little different for each Volunteer. Some have described it as a tickle, others as hot pokers being jammed into their skin. I guess I’m somewhere in between and should feel relieved but I can’t
not
imagine thousands of tiny bugs scampering up my body and pinching me. The thought sends me near the edge of panic once again.

Just when I’m ready to scream, it stops. I am expecting darkness, like when I first arrived on Sloan’s case. But my new Assignment isn’t asleep; she’s awake and walking somewhere. The light that floods in around me is at first disorienting and I struggle to focus on the images that pass by us in a flash. A door with a window that takes up the top half flies by on our right. A row of metal lockers fly by on our left. And there are people…kids - everywhere. We are in some sort of hallway. Doors, lockers, teenagers.
Great. This is a school.

Unlike Sloan, this Assignment does not guard her emotions (and I know it’s a girl, because her mental female imprint is so strong and
nothing
like Sloan) and they flood through me in a frenzied, unbalanced way that at first I can’t process one single thought. It’s like picking through a pile of hay for a needle…except in
this
mind, the pile of hay is more like the size of a football field and I’m looking for one particular blade of grass.

I imagine I’m in a car and that I am slamming my foot down on the brake.

Stop!
I scream loudly.

And she does, long enough to lean against a wall and pick at the edge of her math textbook. She looks around the hallway hesitantly and I’m overwhelmed with a feeling I haven’t experienced so fiercely since Bree went flying through my windshield.
Fear. She’s afraid.
So much so that her body is trembling and her mind is scattered like dried up maple leaves on a windy autumn day being blown along an empty street.

Okay. Let’s calm down.
I speak to her gently, knowing if I yell again, I might very well send her fragile mental state running to the hills.

Take a deep breath, inhale…exhale.

She immediately complies, surprisingly, and I feel oxygen rush through her body, lowering her heart rate just a tad. Based on the height of the others that pass by us, I’m assuming she’s small. The kids are definitely high-school aged and not one stops to smile or say hi.

I pick through her mind trying to find the source of her fear, but instead of locating it in the tangled, manic mess of her memories, it’s suddenly staring us in the face. I feel my Assignment shrink against the wall like a trapped rabbit as her heart-rate skyrockets. A click of wannabe Kardashian sisters has strolled up to us, intentionally surrounding my poor Assignment, trapping her against the cold plaster wall. I know this is the source of her fear and I hate these girls
instantly
.

“Hey, Goggles,” the tallest girl says. “When’d you get the new hardware?” She reaches toward my Assignment and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, painfully smashing them into her face.

What the hell!

“Um.” My Assignment is pressing herself hard into the wall, with nowhere to run.

“Ivy, let’s go,” says one of the girls with a flip of her long, dark hair over her shoulder, “Mr. Fyne is coming.” Her large, brown eyes remind me of a giant sink-hole.

“In a minute,” the first brunette with legs that seem to start just below the neck snaps as she glances briefly down the hall. “Where’s your new boyfriend at?” She turns her attention back to my Assignment.

“Huh?” I feel my Assignment’s panic rising around me.

Calm down. It will be okay.
I try to comfort her.

A little too sweetly, Ivy repeats her question. “Where’s your
boyfriend
at?”

When my Assignment doesn’t answer, Ivy leans forward and hisses into her ear. “He’s only hanging out with you because he feels sorry for your ass.”

“Ivy,” The empty-eyed girl hisses nervously.

“Shut up Lauren. I
know
.”

Lauren’s bottomless eyes dart back down the hallway, out of my Assignment’s view. I really wish she would look so I could see how close this Mr. Fyne is but she keeps her gaze firmly on the leggy Ivy. If her face wasn’t full of pure evil, she’d be a beautiful girl. Her round eyes shine the color of dark coffee and even though her lips are pressed into a tight line, they are perfectly shaped and thickly coated with a light pink lip gloss that matches the blush she's colored her high cheekbones with.

Say something…anything. You have to defend yourself.

“He’s not my…
boyfriend
.” My Assignment speaks so quietly that only two of the three dark haired girls actually hear her.

“What?” Ivy stares at her like a wolf cornering a lamb.

You can do this. Defend yourself.

Even though I have no idea which boy they are referring to, I know that if my Assignment doesn’t defend herself against girls like this, the torture will be relentless.

Ivy glowers at us. Just as she opens her mouth to talk, a male voice speaks harshly over my Assignment’s left shoulder and the three girls quickly step back.

“What’s going on girls?” The man is still out of my view…but by the sound of his voice I know he’s close, very close.

“Nothing, Mr. Fyne, we were just checking to see if Abby here got her notes from yesterday’s English class.” Ivy smiles innocently over my Assignment’s shoulder.
Ohhh, I want to smack her a good one.

“Right. Well, let’s move along to your next class, okay?”

The girls nod at Mr. Fyne and all three toss their long, brown hair over their shoulders in unison as they walk away, quickly becoming lost in the full hallway of high-schooler's. My Assignment watches as they disappear before turning to face her savior.

Mr. Fyne is
fine
. A tall, dark-haired Greek God stands before us. I haven't looked at a man quite like I am looking at this one. His clothes are stretched out to accommodate every inch of his chiseled body. My lower jaw has detached itself from my head back at the Station and hit the floor with a solid ‘clunk’.
This man is way too good-looking to be a teacher!
I guess it's good to know that even after everything I've been through, I can still find an attractive man…well,
attractive
.

“Everything okay, Abiline?” His ruby lips break apart slightly as he smiles and everywhere angels break out into chorus.

“Yeah,” Abby, or
Abiline
says. “Just on my way to History.”

I notice that she seems completely immune to Mr. Fyne’s gorgeousness. I can’t imagine a sixteen year old being able to form a full sentence around him. I know I couldn't. I’m surprised and a bit intrigued by her lack of interest. Not that it's a bad thing, he's her
teacher
…and she's still very much a kid. But I'm not. So I stare when given the chance.

“I’ll walk with you.” He smiles, and there go the angels again.

She shrugs but manages a small smile in return, and Mr. Fyne walks just beside her down the hall. Of course, every other girl stops to bat her eyes or say hi to him. He’s polite to them all but not overly so. I imagine he’s one of the most popular teachers in the school. I wonder what his subject is. I hope that Abby doesn't actually have him for one of her classes, he's simply too distracting. My job does not include drooling over teachers.

“Well, this is it, right?” We’ve stopped in front of one of the classrooms and Abby nods shyly.

“Thanks,” she says.

His bright blue eyes shine down at her when he smiles and I find myself getting lost in them. His pupil is encircled by a dark green color, making the blue almost glow. My skin is flushing with those stupid raging hormones again…somewhere. I immediately feel guilty and mentally slap myself across the face.
Focus, Piper. Keep your focus.

“Any time, Abiline.”

She turns to walk through the door when Mr. Fyne puts a hand on her arm, gently. “Abiline, ignore those girls, okay? They aren’t worth your time.” His beautifully sculpted face sets into a serious expression.

“Sure,” Abby says, her voice thick with emotion.

Oh no, don’t cry. Not at school, or they’ll never let you forget it…you can do this
. Whatever
this
is.

We leave Mr. Fyne standing outside in the hall with a concerned look on his face. When we walk into the room, Abby hurries to a desk in the back and is followed by the stares of everyone in the class. Something big has obviously happened. I know that she is in danger, which is why I’m here of course. But I won’t be able to get a handle on her emotions until she’s in a much calmer, quieter place. Right now my biggest concern is getting
both
of us through this school day without swooning over the school staff or decking a fellow student.

I finally get a good look at Abby when she hides in the bathroom during lunch time. I already knew she wore glasses so that wasn’t a surprise and I was certain she was small but I’m still taken aback slightly by exactly
how
tiny she is. She’s less than five feet for sure, with a thick head of dull-brown frizzy hair.

Honey, you are in desperate need of a good conditioner and a flat-iron.
We’ll work on that later.

Even behind her glasses, her eyes are lovely. The amber color of her irises remind me of hot coals from a fire. The features of her face, like her body, are all small. Thin, heart-shaped lips, button-like nose, small and pointy chin, and narrow eyebrows that she’ll be happy to not have to pluck when she gets older. She’s cute, almost elf-like. But I can see why she is teased at school. She’s different. I like her.

Are you going to eat your lunch in here?

In silent answer, she walks away from the bathroom mirror to the last toilet stall and goes inside, closing and latching the door behind her. She sets her backpack between her feet and pulls out a small brown bag with a smashed PB&J sandwich and a bruised apple inside. Poor kid, it seems she doesn’t have a home-maker parent to send her off with awesome bagged lunches. I remember all the times I wished my own mother was around to send me to school with packed meals and I want to cry for Abby. Despite who she lives with, I can tell she is alone. I remember this feeling all too well.

She nibbles at the sandwich and takes two bites of the apple before carefully wrapping the food up in a napkin and placing it back in the wrinkled bag. She’s still working on swallowing her food when the bathroom door opens, banging into the wall. Several girls enter, laughing and talking loudly. Abby sits motionless on the toilet rim, with partially chewed food tucked into one of her cheeks. She tilts her head to the side and listens nervously to the clamoring group of girls that must be fawning over themselves at the mirrors. I hear at least four different voices, all begin to talk over each other.

“I heard that the whole family is full of crazies.”

“Yeah, and did you know that he lost it a few years ago and tried to kill her and her mom?”

“Are you serious?!”

“Well, it explains why she’s so weird, you know?”

“I would leave too, if I was her mom.”

“Why’s she even here still? The school should totally kick her out. I mean, isn’t she like dangerous or something?”

“For sure. I don’t trust her. I bet she walks around with one of her daddy’s guns in that ugly bag of hers.”

They all laugh. Abby sits so still that I’m not sure if she’s listening aptly, or in a state of shock. When the stall door next to us opens with a bang, Abby jumps and pulls her backpack up her legs where she cradles it to her chest. She’s struggling to not cry.

Sshh. It’s okay. It’s okay.

After a brief conversation about the cute boys on the football team, the girls eventually leave the bathroom and Abby finally lets out a few quiet sobs. I really wish I could hug her. The poor girl needs some comforting. But all I have are words; words that she may or may not be able to hear.

After school today, let’s go to your favorite quiet place, okay?

I
really
need to figure out what’s going on. I keep getting flash memories that don’t make sense. Her head is too jumbled up for me to wade through it while she’s in this environment. I do know one thing though: she’s much closer to the end then Sloan
ever
was.