by Carla Thorne
“The kitchen dream.”
“Yes. I was trying to look at those carts to see if there was a loose wheel or something I could tell someone about.”
“Those carts are sturdy. For uh…” He snapped his fingers as he searched for the word. “Industrial use. I don’t think they’d tip over easily.”
“I don’t know, Scout, that dream was horrible.” I took a few steps away from him and started biting at a fingernail—my go-to nervous tick. “I told you it was nuts.”
“I don’t think you’re nuts.”
“I sure feel nuts. I don’t even know if I’m awake or asleep half the night.” I checked the growing car line and the crowd of students who waited to go home after meetings, tutoring, and athletics. “I have to go. Don’t say a word about this, Scout, you hear me?”
He made the corny gesture of zipping his lip.
“Wait,” he said as I walked away.
“What?”
“Maybe it was only a dream. I saw a documentary about the brain and they said dreams are made up of stuff we’ve seen during the day that is stuck in our subconscious. The school lunch room and some scary movie you watched before bed could have been all crammed in there somewhere and came out in a nightmare.”
“That’s the problem. That dream of that kitchen with that lunch lady and that cart was as real as you standing there baking in this heat.”
“That’s what I’m saying. You saw the kitchen and then you went home and dreamed about it.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I had the dream six days before I came to this school and ever laid eyes on the Saints Café.”
Chapter 5
Mary
I pressed against the crush of students and opened my locker. Loud, bubbly chatter and crashing steel doors signaled the end of a long week. I grabbed a notebook and slammed my own creaky door shut to find Deacon’s goofy grin on the other side.
He seemed relaxed amidst the chaos as he scanned his phone and shot flirty smiles at unsuspecting girls in the hall. “What’s up?”
“I am truly thanking God it’s Friday.”
He fell in step with me. “Bad day?”
“Let’s see…” I turned sideways to slide between two people who didn’t bother to step out of anyone’s way. “I started the day by stepping in a glob of cat puke.”
“I didn’t need to hear that.”
“Yep. Sometime during the night, my cat decided to barf beside my bed. So yeah. That’s how my day started. And it ended with me tanking an algebra quiz.”
“You have Cartswell for math?”
“Yep.”
“Sucks to be you. I think I passed mine. Mrs. Rosales loves me.”
“You still have to do the work, Deac. Your charm will only take you so far.”
“You underestimate my powers.”
“Please.” Most days I wished I had half the self-confidence Deacon seemed to have. “Are you going to the game?”
“Yes. You?”
“Thinking about it.”
“Can I get a ride home if you do?”
“Sure.”
“And can I catch a ride with you now?”
“Ummm… Yes. Did you lose your carpool again?”
“No. Trent’s mom said she had to stop at the store. I do not want to go to the store with Trent’s mom on a Friday afternoon.”
I followed the crowd outside. Hot, steamy air slapped me in the face. “Gross. I didn’t know it was raining.”
“Something blew in about an hour ago.”
“How did I miss that?” I shifted my bag and pulled all my rapidly frizzing hair to one side. “I hate it when it rains at dismissal. It’s suffocating with all of us crammed on this porch.”
“Not raining much now. We can walk across the lot and find your mom. She’s always at the back of the line anyway.”
I punched his arm, but laughed because he was right. “Do you want a ride or not?”
“Your mom loves me.”
“All women do not love you, Deacon. But speaking of that, have you asked Claire Cannon to homecoming yet? Huh? Time is running out.”
“That would be… No. I uh…”
“I thought so. All talk, no action.”
“Hey now. I’m gettin’ to it.”
“You’ve been crushing on her for months How are you supposed to know what she thinks of you if you don’t man up and talk to her?”
“Mary! Wait up!”
Deacon seemed relieved as Gavin Bagliano rushed to my side and let him off the hook.
Tiny, misty raindrops gathered on Gavin’s black wavy hair and across the tops of his broad shoulders.
I stopped and looked up into his warm, light brown eyes. “Hey, Gavin.”
“I need your notes from speech class yesterday. I was at the dentist. Hey, Deacon.”
“’Sup?”
“Sure, I’ll send them. And go to Mr. Chapman’s web page. He assigned our next speech. Persuasive, I think. Info is on there.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“Later then.”
He took off across the lot, darting between parked cars and weaving in and out of slow-moving traffic. No wonder he was doing so well on JV football. He looked like a natural.
I moved again, hoping to out-walk Deacon’s questions.
It didn’t work.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Ohhh…” He slid into high-pitched falsetto until his voice cracked. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight… Later then…” He choked and cleared his throat.
“Stop gagging yourself. It’s nothing.”
“He’s into you. And there was some definite spark and sizzle comin’ from your way too.”
“I’ve got two words for you, Deac: Claire and homecoming.”
That shut him up.
We stopped on the path near the tree line separating the school grounds from the main entrance road.
“Does it bother you what Ivy said about Gavin?”
I tapped the toe of my shoe in a shallow puddle. “I don’t know. She seemed so down on him and was so certain about it. But she doesn’t know him.”
“How well do you know him?
I shrugged. “Let’s put it this way. I barely know Ivy, but I’ve known Gavin since elementary school. Our parents do stuff together.”
Deacon nudged me. “Hold up. She’s coming this way. You can ask her.”
I stretched to see over the crowd. “Aw, look. Scout’s with her. That’s two days in a row they’ve been together at dismissal.”
Deacon smirked. “Maybe they bonded over herper business.”
“Don’t even mention that snake,” I warned him. “You haven’t heard anything else, have you?”
“No. But hey… What’s wrong with Ivy?”
“What?” I looked across the crowd again. “They’re just walking and talking.”
“Yeah, but look at Ivy. She looks sick or something. All agitated and buggin’ out like she did over the snake.”
A cool puff of air landed on my neck. I cringed. Not again. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kick something. I wanted to know what it was and why it happened to me.
Most of all, I wanted to fight. Get ready, brace yourself, take control.
Win at all cost.
The cool air blew up under my hair and against my hot neck. I twitched and then shuddered as the chill swept across me. I took a step forward like I did every time it happened. It never made sense. Never. The coldest puffs of air on the hottest days, the oddest gusts when the wind didn’t blow, the weirdest sensation when no one was there.
But always when something bad was about to happen.
“Let’s get over there, Deacon.”
“Why? Your mom’s right—”
“Now!”
And then the terrible screech.
Chapter 6
Ivy
&nb
sp; I stumbled when I saw Mr. Berry on the parking lot.
Scout grabbed at my sleeve, even though I clearly wasn’t going to fall. “You OK?”
“Yes.” I brushed him away, not feeling one bit OK.
My heart rate soared at the sight of my science teacher in the same place, the same clothes, and in the same goofy old-man loafers he had on in my dream. Or was that a vision, since I saw it while I was wide awake in the garden that afternoon?
Or did I see anything at all?
Scout babbled nonsense about a football game while I blinked and squeezed my eyes shut to try and either remember the scene or shake off what I thought I saw.
I stumbled again. Fear dried my mouth and made my lips unusable.
Why can’t I move? I screamed inside my head.
I glanced at my legs. The snake from the garden wrapped itself around my left ankle and pulled.
I shook my leg violently. Let go!
The weight of my backpack caused me to tip to one side. I almost fell again.
Get away! Let me gooooooo!
Scout’s hand landed firmly on my forearm. “Ivy, stop! What’s wrong with you?”
“The snake. It grabbed my…”
Eerie silence settled around me and the sight and sensation of the curling snake evaporated as quickly as it’d come.
Scout dragged me off the path. “There’s no snake, Ivy.” Students glanced our way. “Do you need—”
“I swear to God if you offer to take me to the nurse again, I will stab you with a pencil.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “But are you OK?”
“And stop asking me if I’m OK.” I stomped away and stumbled again. I decided to stop walking. It clearly wasn’t working for me.
I turned to Scout. I’d scared him into not saying a word, but the helpful, dimpled geek didn’t look like he was going anywhere.
All the dreams, all the visions, all the voices… My head could not contain the parade of scenes. I tried to sweep it all away, but nagging pictures popped up like internet ads across the screen of my mind.
I took a deep breath and stepped back to Scout. “I’m fine physically. Mentally? Maybe not so much.” I blew out a long, shaky breath. “I’ve got to get home and put this whole stupid week behind me. Then next week I’ll see a psychiatrist and get some pills so I can be half zombie like my mom.”
I took off again, this time with my feet steadier on the ground.
“Wait.” Scout huffed and puffed one step behind me as I stomped across the crosswalk. “Man, you’re fast. You should run track. Is it the dream? Are you still upset about that dream?”
I turned on him when we reached the other side. “Keep your voice down. And I’m way past upset. I’m plain old looney-toons whack-a-doo like the rest of my family. That’s the whole truth, Scout. It’s mental illness like my mom. It has to be. You should find a friend to follow who isn’t completely nutso-beans.”
“C’mon, Ivy, I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s not a big deal.”
“No.”
“No what?”
I’d caught a glimpse of Mr. Berry over Scout’s left shoulder. “Oh no.”
Scout twisted to see what I was looking at. “What?”
“It’s the dark blue car. The one that hit Mr. Berry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem, don’t you see?” I choked out the words as I frantically wiggled out of my backpack and let it drop to the ground. “I don’t know anything, but I’m going over there. I have to do something.”
Things looked normal as I approached. Mr. Berry paced between parked cars. He occasionally smiled and waved, but mostly he hurried students along. He stepped into the crosswalk to help a spaced-out kid who’d dropped papers behind her as she walked. He held out his hand to pause slow-moving dismissal traffic while he and the student scurried across the road to gather her things.
That’s when it happened.
And I couldn’t move any farther.
Or scream.
Or think.
Or even call out a warning as the dark blue car lurched into the walkway—not once, but twice—and then Mr. Berry was on the ground.
Scout blew past me. “C’mon, Ivy, help me!”
I remained stuck to the path. I looked for the snake. Was it holding me back? I couldn’t see it.
Scout made a hard stop. “Move!” He shoved his phone into my hand. “Here. Talk to 911. Tell them where we are.”
Shocked students stopped with open mouths and either rushed toward the scene or rushed away. Parents made slow movements and stood beside their cars to look ahead in line and see what the commotion was. I heard nothing in my own ears, but was sure the noise of thundering feet and screams of concern were deafening.
The sensation of a cool hand grazed my hot cheek. No one was there, but it reminded me of the times my mother thought I was sick and pressed the back of her hand onto my forehead and face.
Move, child…You are called to be part of the calm. Not part of the chaos. Move…
The low male voice stopped time. I jerked. No one was at my shoulder.
I bent and covered my ears. Stop! I can’t hear you…
Move, child…
Mary and Deacon raced by. My feet came loose from the ground. I darted ahead and dropped to my knees near my teacher. The car hadn’t totally run over him with its tires, but he was still laid out on his side, under the front bumper.
“What happened?” Deacon shouted above me.
“Deacon!” Scout yelled. “Check on the driver and kill the engine.”
“Should I back it up?”
“I don’t know if he’s stuck or something. Hang on.”
Scout knelt on the ground and felt all around the teacher’s body. “Mary! Tell Deacon he’s clear.”
“Got it. I’ll watch the back.”
“Ivy’s got 911 on the line. Send someone to the road to flag down the ambulance.”
Noise buzzed in my ear as the operator took the initial information. I answered each question though my lips seemed sealed shut and the words were not easy to form. My heart maintained its fast, steady rhythm.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “He was bent over. The car hit his side and knocked him down. Then it kinda jumped forward one more time.”
“Is he awake?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The car crept backward several inches. Scout reached up and smacked the hood a couple of times. “Far enough! That’ll give him more room.”
But I doubted anyone could hear anything over the rumble of footsteps and the growing noise as parents caught on something terrible had happened and left their cars to check it out. Other teachers fought through the crowd as news spread.
“Are you still with me, Ivy?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t hang up. Help is on the way.”
Mr. Berry tried to move. “I think I’m OK.”
“Thank God he’s conscious,” Scout said. “Don’t move, Mr. Berry. You don’t know what injuries you have. The ambulance is coming.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. “I think it’s my shoulder. I’ve dislocated it before.”
He attempted to get up again. Scout reminded him to stay down.
Deacon slid around the car. “It’s not going anywhere. I took the keys. Mary’s sticking with the driver. She’s a mess.”
“My head,” Mr. Berry said as though straining to talk. He moved again.
“Don’t move,” Scout commanded.
Deacon hit the ground and scooted close enough for the teacher to rest his head in his hands. “Is that better?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Berry’s eyes fluttered open. I gazed into them and grabbed his moving hand with my free one.
You are part of the calm…
I flinched. Not now! Concentrate. Listen for the operator’s voice…
You are part of the calm…
I fought the
insanity of the voice, but grasped the message. “You’ll be OK, Mr. Berry,” I assured him. “Help is on the way.”
“The back of my head is on fire.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at Scout. “What’s he talking about? Is he OK?”
Scout checked his body again. “There’s no fire. The car is out of the way. The pavement is hot and you have a scrape on the side of your head.”
Deacon tried to change positions. “My hands, uh… Maybe someone else should sit here.”
“No,” Scout said. “The less movement the better.”
Mr. Berry met my gaze again. “My shoulder is swelling. It won’t pop back in on its own if it swells too much.”
I cringed and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. They’ll fix it at the hospital.”
Deacon slid his hand further under Mr. Berry’s head, far enough to be under his injured shoulder. For someone who wanted to take his hands away, he sure seemed to be getting brave about moving even closer.
“That feels better,” the teacher said. “Warm. Like a heating pad.”
“He’s in shock,” Scout said. “If anything, he needs ice on that shoulder.”
Sirens wailed nearby.
“Ivy?” The operator’s voice clicked in my brain. “Are you there, Ivy?”
I bobbled the phone. I’d almost forgotten it was nearly stuck to my ear. “I’m here.”
“Good, sweetie. Is the ambulance there?”
“Yes. They’re on the school road.”
“You see them and they see you?”
With a horn blast and one final whistle, the help arrived. “They’re here.”
“I’m going to disconnect now. You did good. I’m here. Call back if you need to.”
I dropped the phone in my lap.
Paramedics, police officers, and anxious parents continued to converge around us. I stepped away on wobbly legs as Mary, Deacon, and Scout hovered near me.
Amid the commotion, Mr. Parrington burst into our foursome as other adults controlled the crowd, and emergency lights flickered across the lot.
“You saw what happened and were the first to get to Mr. Berry?”
“Yes, sir,” Scout answered for us all.