Uncertainty (6 page)

As disoriented as I still felt, I didn't want him touching me. I tripped over my feet and almost went down again. His hands shot out to catch me but I twisted away, bumping into a girl with an oversized backpack who called me a bitch.

When I'd righted myself, I looked at him. His arms were still outstretched, like he wanted to embrace me. I spun and sprinted out the exit doors and into the parking lot, not looking back.

"Remind me again why we're at the playground?" I asked Theo wearily, leaning my head against the chain of the swing set I was resting on.

Theo had taken me for fast food, as she'd promised. Even though I still had no appetite, I'd forced down the greasy fare at Dante's, making my stomach feel bloated. Then we'd wound up back in the Toyota and driving up to the deserted community playground. Now we were sitting next to each other on the swing set.

"I come here to think sometimes," Theo said softly. "When I can't seem to find my thoughts anywhere else."

The humidity make my t-shirt stick to my back. Clouds kept rolling in and going back out again. The sun was still visible the whole time, in one half of the sky.

"Do you ever have a hard time living with your mom?" I asked, wanting reassurance that my parents weren't the only crazy ones. "Ever want to just pack your stuff and move in with your dad full time?" Ms. Vore seemed as normal and nice as could be, though.

Theo shrugged, pushing herself with her sneakers so she began to swing gently. "Not always. But sometimes there's just not enough space for the both of us, you know? And it has nothing to do with how big or small the house is."

I nodded. I knew.

"So just out of curiosity, what upset you so much earlier?" Theo asked.

I had torn out of the school, tears streaming down my cheeks, and flung myself into Theo's car without a word. It had taken ten minutes to catch my breath, and even then I didn't want to speak.

"Henry," was the first word out of my mouth. It was only partially true, but it was good enough.

She took her hand from the chain to push her glasses up her nose.

"That's not surprising," she said. "What did he do now?"

"It's hard to explain." I struggled to think of what to tell her. "I did something stupid yesterday. Well, I didn't think it was stupid at the time, but now I do."

My teeth worried my chapped bottom lip. I couldn't say anything about Jenna. Theo was a very accepting person, but even she might want to have me committed.

"Okay," Theo said after a minute of my silence. "If you stop talking there, I'll kick you. Start spilling."

"I stopped taking my medication."

"Why did you do that?" Theo asked.

"I couldn't stand the way it was making me feel anymore," I admitted. The swing squeaked as I swayed in the direction of the faint breeze. "It was zombie mode, constantly. I felt disconnected from everything. I still do, but I'm guessing that will eventually fade."

"You were a little fog brained for a while," Theo agreed. "But are you okay now? Is that safe?"

I shook my head, and looked up at the shapeless clouds. "I don't know. I think it's just withdrawal. I feel really anxious and everything is too intense, the sounds, the smells. I mean, I read about withdrawal, and you know me. I read one article and I think I'm an expert."

Theo chuckled under her breath, probably due to the truth of my statement. With the toe of her sneaker, she drew a heart shape in the sand.

"Now it's like someone pressed fast forward on my body," I concluded.

"Does your mom know?" Theo asked.

I looked at her sheepishly.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Theo said. "That still doesn't explain what Henry did."

"He didn't really do anything." I felt stupid for even bringing him into the conversation. "I just bumped into him in school, like literally bumped into him, touching-his-body wise..."

"Touching his body?" Theo repeated, both eyebrows reaching her fire-red hairline. "Did you stumble into sex ed?"

I swung sideways so my swing knocked hers with a clunk. "We got pushed together by the sheep rushing out. And it brought back all my old feelings. The ones I didn't think I had anymore. I couldn't even talk to him."

"You shouldn't talk to him," Theo said emphatically. Her shoe tip erased the heart with one swift, graceful swoop. "You should set him on fire." She accompanied her words with a toothy grin.

I snickered, despite the fact that it seemed like an alien thing to do. We both sat together, listening to the traffic on the road, and watching a couple of birds flit around on the grass.

"I wish Henry had never moved here," Theo said.

CHAPTER 5

AFTER THEO DROPPED
me off that afternoon, I stood outside the back door for several minutes, willing myself to go forward. I stomped playground sand from my shoes on the worn mat and went in.

I remembered Claire's list as soon as I opened the door, and groaned. Why did she have to torture me? Couldn't she give me one day without bossing me around?

I decided to ignore it for now. I had to; my eyelids were barely staying open, and my knees threatened to give out if I stood for much longer. Hugh must have been upstairs in his studio, since his keys were on the counter and there was fresh coffee in the pot.

Dragging myself and my heavy backpack towards the stairs, I went down. As I wandered back to my room, I tried to prepare myself for what I might see. I thrust the door open, expecting to see Jenna sitting on the bed, sticking her tongue out at me.

But the room was empty, smelling of dust and unused scented candles. Not seeing her was a strange, guilty relief, one I would have never expected. Frankly, I couldn't deal with Jenna now, either. My brain was in commercial mode — flitting from one image to another, with no purpose or reason.

Chucking my backpack under the desk, I collapsed on the bed. I passed out before I could think anymore.

The next conscious thought I was aware of was annoyance. Hugh was shaking my shoulder, trying to wake me up.

"I made spaghetti," he said. "All covered with cheese."

Somehow I'd ended up face down on my pillow, a little splotch of drool emanating from my mouth. I pushed my torso up a fraction, still mostly asleep.

"What?"

"I made spaghetti," Hugh repeated. "For dinner. Are you going to get up any time in this century?"

"Maybe another decade," I said, dropping my head back to the moist pillow.

"It's already after 7," Hugh persisted. "Do you want me to just save a plate in the microwave?"

I muttered my agreement, and listened as he rumbled out of the room, flicking the lights off as he went.

I didn't stir from sleep until later, when I finally dragged myself to heed my rumbling stomach. The food from Dante's had finally settled, leaving me hungry.

Claire was home. Her briefcase sat open on the table, full of meticulously organized piles of documents with a rainbow of Post-Its. I hoped she didn't notice that I hadn't even taken a peek at her to-do list, but I knew that was a pipe dream. Her shoes clicked on the floor above, back and forth across her room.

I heated the spaghetti under a paper towel, my bleary eyes watching the glowing tray turn. My appetite grew with every rotation and when it was heated up I scarfed down the entire plate. For the first time in a while, I could actually taste the flavors.

Going back downstairs after I finished the dishes, I only glanced for Jenna. I knew she wouldn't be there. I'd hallucinated that morning, plain and simple. Sleep had put a great deal of distance between where I'd been that morning and where I was now.

Even though I'd slept for hours, I still felt tired. I remade the bed, putting on fresh pillowcases and depositing my week's worth of laundry across the hall. Then I settled in for the night, content to no longer be kept awake by my thoughts.

The dog chased me across the field. I'd never seen a canine so large, its spiky, coal-colored fur jutting off of its powerful frame. I could hear it growling as foam spewed from its maw, rows of strong white teeth chomping together. Its large paws broke through fallen branches and thumped against the hard ground like hoof beats.

It was going to catch me soon, and when it did...

I tried to run faster, but my useless legs were ready to drop. The dog, snarling and snuffing, came closer, and I prepared myself to be bitten.

Then the rules changed. I was the one chasing the dog, as it ran towards the shadows, away from me. I sensed fear from the animal, and the fright was a new feeling the beast didn't recognize. I wanted to rip out its throat with my teeth. Feel the black fur split and tear beneath my mouth. Feel its blood run down my face, fresh and thick and hot.

I had to catch the dog, before it was too late for all of us.

When I awoke, I felt refreshed, despite my dream. The weird withdrawal symptoms weren't gone, but they had mellowed significantly. I stretched and got out of bed; it was only 6:30 AM.

I was up before Hugh. I finally checked Claire's whiteboard. A bunch of mundane chores, nothing too serious. At least there was no lectury note about yesterday; apparently I had been given a pass, after all.

"Make breakfast" was scribbled next to an ironic smiley face doodle near the bottom. I'm a terrible cook; it is the stuff of legends. I burn everything I touch. And she knew it. But I'd already shirked a day's worth of chores, and I didn't want to give her a reason to be mad.

Retrieving a mixing bowl, I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, cheese and milk. Cracking the eggs on the rim of the bowl, they sloshed inside, looking cheerful.

Carefully arranged recipes in cookbooks are as incomprehensible as Latin to me, but it didn't matter. Keeping my hands busy prevented my thoughts from going in the wrong direction, and there were so many wrong directions to go in.

I started humming a tuneless noise, and contemplated turning on the TV, then decided against it. I switched the milk for butter in the fridge. The dial on the stove went up another notch, and I scooped butter into a frying pan, making it sizzle.

"Are you trying to burn your house down?" Jenna asked from behind me.

I gasped. The butter tub tumbled from my hand, spoon clattering across the tile and leaving a greasy smear.

"Good job, messy," Jenna said, amused, as she sauntered into the kitchen. Her flip-flops smacked against the tile.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, so low I didn't think she would hear me. I could barely hear myself over the blood rushing behind my eardrums.

A look of hurt momentarily crossed her face. "I walked upstairs," Jenna said curtly. "I got bored waiting for you to come back, and then I couldn't find you. So here I am."

"You couldn't find me?" I repeated quizzically. I smudged the floor with paper towels. "I looked all over the place for you yesterday."

"Whatever," Jenna said, crossing her arms, but she seemed to relax. Now that I felt more natural, that I wasn't going through withdrawal as much anymore, it didn't seem as insane that she was there. But I still couldn't allow myself to get taken in by the unreality.

"You know you can't be trusted by an oven," Jenna said, more lightly. "You are standing too close. Step away."

"I'm making breakfast for Hugh," I said defensively. I could feel the thudding of my heart below my shirt. "Claire told me to. You said you walked upstairs. How?"

Jenna looked at me like I was an idiot. "Um, with these legs that I have." She slapped her tanned thighs beneath her shorts.

"That's not what I meant. Were you always such a snob?" I tossed the butter back in the fridge and swirled the frying pan. "Because I don't remember that part. Geez."

"I've always been me, if that's what you mean. Breaker of hearts, teller of truths."

I poured the egg mixture in the hot frying pan, trying to stay on task. I spilled some on the stovetop because my hands were trembling so badly. Making more chores for myself.

Jenna laughed again, a too high, clear sound, like jingling bells. It was an ethereal sound, that laugh. Like she was singing at the same time. And it was new; she hadn't laughed like that when she was alive. Her laughter had been deep and throaty, and I'd always made fun of it as being her truck driver guffaw.

"Will you quit laughing at me?"

"That's more like it," she said. "I'm glad you stopped the whole "you're dead" joke. Because that's about the unfunniest thing I've ever heard."

I sighed. How did somebody argue with a ghost?

"I wasn't joking," I said, looking at her again. With the shafts of light coming in through the windows, there was a glow to her that I hadn't detected in the dim basement. A luminosity that was definitely otherworldly. Her tan skin shimmered. I still didn't dare get closer than a yard apart.

"Your eggs are burning," she said with a smirk.

The pan was indeed smoking. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the panhandle and shook it. The eggs were rubbery on top and blackened on the bottom, emitting thick, acrid smoke.

I transferred it to the sink and threw on the faucet. Steam and smoke hissed out like snakes.