18 Thoughts (My So-Called Afterlife Book 3)

by Ayres, Jamie

  He threw his head back in laughter. “The Conner you once knew is dead. It’s time you got over him.”

  A weight dropped in the pit of my stomach. “In case you forgot, I am. Or are you just going to act like last night never happened between us?”

  I blanched, realizing what others around us in the lunchroom would assume happened with a comment like that. Too late to take it back now, though.

  He made a tsk-ing sound. “Oh, Olga, I’ll always be your special friend. We can do the friends with benefits thing if you want.”

  I slapped him in the face. “The only benefit I’d get from sleeping with you at this point is an STD. What’s happening to you? I thought Dr. Judy’s intervention worked. I thought you were sorry for everything.”

  Shrugging, he said, “Relax. I’ve devised a way for you to get over me. See?”

  He pulled his cell out of his pocket and held the phone under my nose. A dating website with my picture displayed on the screen. Specifically, a picture of me wearing my Princess Leia Star Wars costume from last Halloween.

  “What’s this about?”

  “It’s my little thank you for saving my life. Tammy suggested it back in June when we hooked up, but I only just now got around to actually posting your profile. And look, you’ve already gotten two dozen hits, which isn’t that great considering I already e-mailed it to all my contacts. But still money well spent, I’d say.”

  “I hope you’re joking.”

  “Oh, no, it’s totally legit. You want to hear your profile?” He scrolled through the screen and read. “Young virgin woman available, funny and quick, which honestly, would be like having sex with me! As my class valedictorian, I’m kind of a big deal. I love Jesus, but he can’t take me out on dates, so give me a call. I think that pretty much sums it up. Jazz hands.”

  “Jazz hands?”

  “Always end with jazz hands. Isn’t that what your boy Nate says?”

  “How about ending this conversation with me punching you in the face?” Nate suddenly stood behind me.

  “Oh, hey. We were just talking about you. I can tell what you see in my girl here.” He held up the picture of me on his phone. “I bet you’d like to tap that, huh, Han Solo? Is that why you hung out at the bookstore all summer? You were hoping for a little role play action, weren’t you, son?”

  Nate pushed him in lieu of an answer. Conner pushed back, and then it was on.

  I’d always been a fan of knights in shining armor, rushing in to save the damsel in distress. There’s always that scene where good guy faces undeserving guy in order to win the affections of the fair lady, the camera zooming in on the action as the villain falls to the floor. I felt like I was in a movie, watching Nate’s fist connect with Conner’s nose. The only difference being I’d never seen Conner as the bad guy until now, but his eyes, dark and darting, suggested he was. He hopped to his feet, vengeance on the agenda, swinging his fist toward Nate’s face. But Nate ducked, then slammed into Conner, driving him to the ground where they engaged in a wrestling match, Conner pinned underneath Nate.

  Gauging certain thoughts while in a state of disbelief proved difficult. Everything about this situation felt wrong—Conner wasn’t a villain. But one small detail filtered through: the lunchroom swarmed toward our table, screaming at Nate, because to everyone else he was the bad guy here. And with that in mind, distressed as I was, I stood up on the table and shouted at the masses to, “Stop!”

  My plan worked. It also left me standing stupidly with nothing else to say, so I hopped down, grabbed my backpack, then grabbed Nate’s arm and left the cafeteria with both in tow.

  “You’re dead!” Conner called from behind us, but I kept dragging Nate away from the scene of the crime.

  What a douche bag.

  “You can say that again.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Nate smiled. “I know.”

  “You were listening to my conversation with Conner?”

  “Yeah, and good thing, too. FYI, that guy you call your best friend is a monster.”

  The tears leaked onto my cheeks.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay? I should be asking you that question.” He sure looks okay, better than okay.

  A huge grin spread across his face because, of course, he heard everything. “Maybe we should go somewhere so you can inspect me for injuries.”

  “If you don’t wipe that ridiculous smirk off your face, you’ll be going back to the hospital sooner than you’d like.”

  “Right.” He took a deep breath. “Well, we can’t go back to the cafeteria. I’m guessing you don’t want to skip school. So where do you suggest we hide out for the remainder of lunch?”

  “The journalism room should be safe. The dean will find you eventually, wanting to know what happened back there. But we can hide out in my office until then.”

  “You have an office?”

  “Perks of being the Bucs’ Blade editor-in-chief. Technically, the office doesn’t belong to me. It’s just a small, closed-off space in the back of the journalism room.”

  He stopped and gripped my shoulders, turning me toward him. “I want to ask you something.”

  I peeled off his hands and continued walking. “Go ahead. I’m sure you’ll know the answer before I even open my mouth.”

  “Will you go out on a date with me this weekend?”

  “This weekend?” My traitorous heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

  “Yeah, ya know, Friday or Saturday night… whichever works best for you.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Why would you want to go out with me? I’m a freak. There’s something wrong with me.”

  He adjusted his book bag on his back. “I’m the one who can read your mind, and you think you’re the one who’s a freak?”

  “Ha! Didn’t Edward say that in Twilight?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t read romance books about sparkly vampires or watch those movies. I’m too manly for that.”

  “Hmm, that’s too bad. Because finding a guy who is manly enough to admit he reads books like Twilight would be a total turn-on.”

  “In that case, I loved all four books.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, staring at the steps as I did because if I looked at Nate, I knew I’d blush. “An-y-way, being a freak comes naturally. I’ve been the freaky genius girl since kindergarten.”

  He snorted. “Freak meets geek. A match made in heaven.”

  “You aren’t a geek, far from it.”

  “I thought I’d just made it clear I was the freak, though.”

  “So now you’re calling me a geek?” I sneaked a look at him, and I couldn’t help admiring his beauty, inside and out. Maybe he didn’t appear hot to every girl like Conner did, but he was undeniably adorable to me.

  His face flushed. “Only in the best sense of the word.”

  “Which means what exactly?”

  Skimming his fingertips along his perfect jawline, he said, “Someone who’s unusually intelligent and therefore doesn’t care what others think, which is why you shouldn’t mind going out with a freak this weekend.”

  I snorted. “I think outside school, a safe distance of two miles should be kept between us at all times. There’s too many complications that could happen if we spend time together.”

  My feet slipped on the last step before reaching the top. Nate rescued me with his quick movements, hugging me. There was no reason for me to keep holding on to him, but I did anyway. His arms were so warm as he clutched the back of my shirt, and his heart pounded against my chest like a drum. My heart fluttered in response. I let go immediately, refusing to make things more complicated between us. Robotically, I led him toward my office.

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t name any off the top of my head, but I’m sure there are a million.”

  “Well, I’d say it has a million advantages.”

  “Like what?” />
  “Exhibit number one, the lunchroom just now. I’ll always know when you’re in trouble and need my help.”

  “I don’t know. Nothing feels right anymore.” I looked down at my watch, calculating the minutes until school ended. “Obviously, I don’t have any delusions about dating Conner. I don’t even want to talk to him ever again.”

  “You want some advice?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, I figured. And if I knew what was good for me, I’d keep my mouth shut because him acting like a jerk brings the odds in my favor. But from what I can gather from your thoughts, it sounds as if he’s been a really good friend of yours for over a decade. Maybe you owe it to him to not give up on your friendship so easily.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. Just this morning, I resolved not to be angry with him. But now I just hope I can keep myself from killing him and his latest bimbo.”

  “Jealous much?”

  “You know, you have your moments where you rate a ten on the jerk meter, too.”

  “Touché.” He closed the distance between us. “But I find your feisty side sexy.”

  Groaning, I quickly opened the door to the empty journalism room, then made my way to the back office.

  “So you seriously do have your own office?”

  I chuckled morosely because I doubted his surprise. “I share the space with Nic. We both write for the paper. We were going to share the coveted titles of business managers for our student publication this year because it’s a really big job getting enough ad space to pay for all we want to do, but when Conner got struck by lightning on April first… it just made me think, go big or go home. So I told Mrs. Cleveland I wanted to run for editor-in-chief, and we didn’t even have to vote. Everyone on the paper thought it should be me.”

  He leaned forward, studying an article I’d written about prom styles through the ages pinned to the bulletin board. “This was from April’s issue. I’m guessing it’s the last article you wrote?”

  “You’d be correct.”

  Shuddering, he said, “You didn’t go to prom.”

  It wasn’t a question. Slumping down in the desk chair, I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

  After a painful few seconds, Nate slipped his arm around my shaking shoulders. “Olga, I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. Nobody should be under this much stress.”

  “You should leave. I’ll be fine.”

  He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to leave. Maybe I can help you figure things out. Just last night, Conner was himself and wanted you to promise to not give up on him. The Olga I know, the one full of faith and hope, wouldn’t throw in the towel so quickly.”

  I stared at him. “You didn’t listen in last night, did you? What do you do, stand outside my window so you can hear my thoughts or something?”

  He leaned back. “What? No! But the scenario has been on instant replay in your mind all day. Kind of hard to ignore.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” My voice came out hoarse. “But how could you help me figure things out?”

  With his jaw set in thought, he answered after a minute. “We should probably start with Googling the side effects of coma patients.”

  He flipped open the laptop, then asked me for my password. Embarrassed, I told him Conner99.

  “Why the 99?”

  Bringing up Google, I typed in my search. “It’s the year we met.”

  There was a lot to sift through during the twenty minutes we had left for lunch. The sites mentioned a variety of personality changes we’d seen in Conner—everything from disinhibition, impulsiveness, childish behavior, lack of initiative, and inappropriate sexual activity. The last one seemed especially accurate. What I wanted to know was when this side effect would switch off so I could have my best friend back. But, of course, there were no real answers for timelines. Some stated a few weeks, while others seemed to think two years, and some stated the side effects could be irreversible. The advice was to be patient with the person, not make a big deal out of their behavior, and direct them toward the appropriate doctors for help. Overall, there was little reason to hope. Frustrated, I snapped the computer shut as the bell rang.

  “Are Conner’s parents taking him to the doctor for help? Maybe they could prescribe some meds to get his behaviors in check. I mean, he’s basically destroying himself. They have to see that, right? No matter how happy they are to have him back.”

  I slung my book bag over one shoulder. “When he visited me last night, he said they had staged an intervention with a therapist. But what I don’t get is why he’d be himself last night, then back to jerkface Conner today.”

  Nate nodded. “Dr. Judy. I see the same therapist.”

  My mouth fell open. “Is she like the only therapist in this town or something? My mom has been trying to get me to her office for months.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever is going on with Conner can’t be fixed with therapy alone. Maybe he has a bipolar disorder, or maybe schizophrenia, or maybe something we haven’t thought of yet. I can eat lunch with you in here every day if you want to avoid Conner and do some research.”

  Opening the door, I was taken off guard by a group of five guys huddling together in the hall, all laughing at my dating profile. Nate whispered something to a nearby teacher standing in her doorway, and then she yelled at the boys to put their phones away.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. We walked in silence to fifth period. His mind seemed distracted, his gaze anywhere but on me. Maybe he was looking for other guys with their phones out so he could bust them, too. I hoped he wasn’t looking for Conner so he could punch him again.

  When I arrived at my Multivariable Calculus class, Nate followed me in.

  “What are you doing? You’re not in this class, are you?”

  He hit his forehead with the heel on his hand. “Oh, right!” The bell tolled five times, the sound of a ship, reminding us Grand Haven was the Coast Guard capital of the good ole USA. “Well, if you need me, all you need to do is think it, and I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  “Okay, thanks.” As I took my standard spot in the front row, I couldn’t help but grin as he waved at me through the small window of the door before taking off for his own class.

  Mr. Propert wasted no time in calling me up to the Smart Board to work out a problem we had for summer math homework. I breathed a sigh of relief when he declared my answer correct. A calculus theorem I could figure out and prove with no problems or worries. After all, I was captain of the math team, too. But trying to decipher Conner’s new behavior or my feelings for Nate… I didn’t have a clue.

  Nate joined me in my journalism office every day the first week of school, even opted for after school detention for the fight instead of serving his sentence at lunch so he could help me. On Friday, we snarfed down greasy cafeteria stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza and sweet potato waffle fries while hovering over Google searches on the laptop together. Today, we even shared a caramel-flavored iced latte. As I ate with abandon, my mind whirled over the endless possibilities.

  Throwing his napkin down, Nate belched. “Excuse me.”

  “Nice, Barca.” For some reason, I’d started referring to him by his last name sometime during the week. I think it made me feel more like a journalist researching a story, rather than a heartbroken, distraught friend trying desperately to find answers.

  “Thank you. So, only ten minutes left on our lunch hour research. What do you conclude?”

  I looked around at my desk scattered with notes. “I conclude I know nothing. Maybe the way Conner is acting isn’t so abnormal after all. Maybe it’s just a normal response to a traumatizing event. He may not be someone I want for my best friend anymore, but at least he’s alive, and he seems happy. His parents have him visiting a doctor, that therapist, and the school counselor. I think the best thing I can do right now is wait and…”

  “Meditate?”

  “I was going to say pray.”
/>   “Oh. Why did you hesitate to say that word?”

  I tossed my glasses on the desk and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t know if you have any type of spiritual life, and I didn’t want to spook you.”

  He took another sip from the latte, then offered me the last of it. “Don’t I seem like someone who has faith? I accepted the reading your mind trick fairly easily.”

  Running a hand through my frizzy hair, I decided to wrap my curls into a bun and secure it with a pencil. “True. So you go to church?”

  Nate caught a strand of my red hair between his fingers and tucked the piece behind my ear. What startled me wasn’t the intimate gesture but how natural the touch of his hands on my skin felt. “Olga, I find that, sadly, attending church and having faith seldom go hand in hand.”

  “Is that your passive-aggressive way of stating you’re too good for church?”

  He frowned. “Not at all. I’m just saying there are plenty of people at my last church who I’d be surprised to find in heaven, and there’s a lot of people I know who’ve never stepped foot in a church that I’d be shocked if they went to hell.”

  Slipping my glasses back on, I said, “I’m sure you’re right. Still, maybe you want to start joining me for Youth Alive? It’s a prayer group I lead on campus. We meet every morning in the library before school starts.”

  Nate shrugged. “Maybe. Have you ever tried meditation, though?”

  “No, have you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve read a lot of psychology and philosophy books that speak about meditating. Actually, the ability to intentionally not think about anything for a little while is something I’ve practiced more and more since meeting you. I know you don’t like the weird little brain hack trick I can do, so I’m trying not to. Would you like me to teach you how to meditate?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? It decreases stress, and no offense, but you’ve been suffering from a major anxiety problem ever since we met.”

  I stretched my head to see out of the office window into the journalism room. Nobody seemed to be spying on us, but I still asked, “Here?”

  “Sure.”