What is important is Amy. Rashanda once told me that they were in the same math class. I assume that will be my best chance of finding Amy again in this monstrous school. I need to stay awake to do that. I’m feeling warm and snuggly; it’s very hard to keep my eyes open. The floating feeling is irresistibly numbing.
Like I am being sedated. Drugged.
Deadened.
* * *
I wake up floating above the school. I feel happy, euphoric. I can look up at the blue sky and down to the asphalt of the parking lot. My whole body tingles. I stretch and feel stabs of pain to my head and arm and hip. My throat hurts.
My mother’s quiet prayers resonate all around me.
A fog of thoughts dissolves. One remains. I need to wake up.
Four kids come out of the school below me and head for a car I recognize. I will myself closer and see a fifth person come out another door. Amy.
It’s not unusual for kids to take off during lunch hour. Hit Burger King or McDonald’s, or even skim the freebies at Meijer’s deli counter. What does strike me as unusual is that my best friend is taking off with Tyler and Michael and Hannah.
Amy’s car follows theirs out of the lot and I relax into her back seat, burrowing myself into a car blanket that smells like dog.
“What are you doing here?” Amy’s faded spirit nestles up next to me.
“I. Don’t. Know.” I can barely get the one syllable words past my lips. “Saving. Amy. You.”
“We’re doing better. I told you.”
“Killing? Self?” I don’t make sense. My throat burns. It is next to impossible to form my words. For a brief instant I consider pantomiming, something we did the second day of drama class. Wordless clues.
Worthless clues. I’m missing something.
* * *
I walk exactly on Amy’s footprints, well, the ones left by her spirit, maybe half a foot off the ground. I think I am following her through the doors into the mall, but I’m wrong. This is not the mall. We’re at the hospital. My hospital.
I listen as Amy asks the woman at the information desk for Ashley Burdick’s room. A familiar name. That was the girl whose porno picture went viral before Facebook banned her. That’s what I heard anyway. Last week? Two weeks ago? I’m a little vague on the details. I’ll have to ask Rashanda. Some prank pulled by . . . I think it was . . . somebody . . . I don’t know. I can’t make the haze clear from my mind.
“I’m helping her,” Amy says aloud. The real Amy, that is. We’re alone in the elevator. She isn’t talking to anyone in particular and certainly not to me.
Her spirit self answers her. An eerie conversation ensues. The argument is more of a justification. Amy rationalizes her withdrawal while her spirit self validates her efforts to change back into her true self. I think of several things to say, but my single syllable interruptions go unacknowledged.
We pass my room. The door is propped open and I get a snapshot image of those inside as I float by. I hear my mother’s voice in stereo. She’s talking to Rashanda and Tyler and Michael and Hannah. Asking why they’re out of school. Their answers fade as I tag along behind Amy, helpless to stop on my own. Like I’m a dog on a leash.
We reach Ashley’s room and that door, too, is propped open with a rubber door stop. She’s asleep. Amy tiptoes in and speaks softly to Ashley’s mom. I stare at the poor girl in the bed. There are straps holding her down and her wrists are bandaged. I’m shocked and I want to move closer and help somehow, but I cannot move from the hallway.
“Bullies did this,” Amy’s spirit self explains to me. She squints at me. “You have to tell. They did this to you, too. They’re not your friends. Don’t trust Michael. Or Hannah.” And without another word, she vanishes.
The real Amy hugs Ashley’s mom and begins to cry. She blubbers on and on about feeling guilty, about not speaking up, about wishing things were different. The woman asks her if she knows who was responsible. Amy nods through her sobs. She names Michael and Hannah and six others.
And she names the victims, too.
Rashanda is one.
And so am I.
Rashanda
Wednesday morning
A week ago I would have laughed my head off if someone told me I’d be planning a soul transplant with shy Tyler and two seniors I detest. Well, not really a soul transplant, more like a spirit corralling. Maybe tomorrow Jessica will be able to laugh with me about this.
That was my hope.
I was pretty quiet on our ride to the hospital except for twice, well, three times. I kind of made a snarly threat to Hannah. Forgivable, because without Jessica playing down Hannah’s negativism, Hannah was a first class mean girl. I was a little too harsh with Tyler, too, when he told us that Jessica had paid him a visit and made him write about suicide.
My third outburst was to deny that Jessica would ever even think about killing herself. No way. Absolutely no way. I stared at the back of Michael’s head and tried to control my anger. I held my tongue the rest of the way there.
We rode the elevator with a couple of nurses who asked if we were friends of Ashley Burdick, because if we were, it was too soon to visit her. We shook our heads and Tyler stuttered out an explanation about Jessica and threw in Dr. Winston’s name, too. I noticed how uncomfortable he was to be standing next to Michael.
I knew who Ashley was and I knew that Michael and Hannah had pranked her in the most awful way. Their faces gave away nothing. Such actors. Both of them. My fingers closed into the same hard fists that Tyler was making.
The elevator doors opened and we waited for the nurses to exit first. I took the lead and headed to Jessica’s room. I hesitated at her open door.
“Mrs. Mitchell? May we come in?”
It was very hard to see Jessica lying there still so pale but without the breathing machine pumping her chest up and down. She looked like a corpse and I instantly imagined her funeral.
Her mother explained that the doctor had come and sedated Jessica in order to take her off the breathing machine. She asked if we wanted anything to eat, saying that her husband was off grabbing some fast food and then she focused on Michael, asking his name and how he knew her daughter. It was awkward.
Tyler gave me several questioning looks. I knew what he meant. I had the same questions. Dr. Winston had wanted Hannah here before the tube came out. Where was the doctor? How could we ask Mrs. Mitchell without sounding crazy? Why had they removed the tube so soon?
And what did this mean for Jessica’s recovery?
I had to give Hannah credit, though. She acted like she’d known Jessica for ages. Like they were best friends. She moved to the other side of the bed and stood as close to Jessica’s head as she could, hoping, no doubt, that Jessica would take the leap.
“So, is she still sedated?” I asked. Mrs. Mitchell turned toward me and gave me an unexpected hug. She blubbered her answer and I hugged her back feeling totally clumsy in my effort to comfort my friend’s mom. The answer was yes, the sedative was still in her system and she would not wake up—if she was going to wake up—until it cleared. The whole time we held the embrace I could see Hannah attempting to transfer Jessica’s spirit back. She put her forehead against Jessica’s and bumped a few times. She waved me off as a signal to get Mrs. Mitchell out of the room and I took the hint. I put my arm around her and whispered that I needed to talk to her in the hallway.
That’s when I saw Jessica. Faintly. Just down the hall. Floating in front of another doorway. I was excited and scared and puzzled all at the same time. I thought as fast as I could for some excuse to get Mrs. Mitchell away. I blurted out the craziest thing ever.
“Would it be all right if we had a little prayer circle around her? Just us teens?” I read the surprised look on her face at the same time as Mr. Mitchell came around the corner with lunch so I added, “You could take a break with Mr. Mitchell in the cafeteria. Okay?”
Thank goodness she trusted me. I felt doubly guilty for my lie and more than a li
ttle ashamed, but she was gracious and kind and hopeful. When she turned to her husband and caught him up to speed I held my breath and looked back over my shoulder at Jessica. I quickly said a real prayer to cover all the bases.
“We’ll be back in half an hour, dear. Will that be enough time?”
I smiled and nodded. As soon as they were gone I realized my dilemma. I waved at Tyler to come out. My predicament was that I couldn’t leave Hannah and Michael alone with Jessica. No telling what they might do. But I couldn’t have them leave yet or they might catch up to the Mitchells.
Tyler came out. “What? Why’d Mrs. Mitchell leave?”
“She’s gone to have lunch with Mr. Mitchell. I told her we were going to have a prayer group around Jessica.”
“Good idea, but—”
“I know, I know. Those two’ve probably never said a prayer in their lives.” I pointed down the hall. “See anything?”
He stepped forward without answering. He saw her.
I pulled his sleeve. “Wait.”
“I knew she wasn’t in Hannah. I couldn’t sense her in the car.” He took another step in her direction.
“But don’t you think we should keep them apart? You know, in case she, I don’t know, fades back into Hannah?”
Tyler’s eyes stayed on Jessica’s image though his head tilted toward me and he whispered, “I’ll go to her while you get them to take the stairs.”
I really thought it should be the other way around, but he was already moving away. I watched him walk slowly, carefully, towards her. Like he was approaching a wary animal. Like he was on a mission. Like he’d forgotten about me and Hannah and Michael.
Jessica
Wednesday morning
I try to step away. Hearing Amy say my name and Rashanda’s name glues me to my spot. Floating. Mid air. Floundering really.
I can barely think straight. At least Amy is all right. And Ashley is getting help. And getting Hannah’s and Michael’s names out there means there’ll be consequences. I guess those two can forget about Homecoming. I can see Ashley’s mother making a phone call. I hear her ask for Principal Francis. That’s great. He’ll see that they’re punished. And then another call. To the police. So glad I’m not inside Hannah now.
I pull my legs up to my chest and stare at my knees. Funniest thing. I can’t rest my chin on them. They have no substance. I bring my hand to my face. I can see through it.
This can’t be good. I straighten out and try to touch the floor. Bare toes on tile. Hardly touching.
I look down the hallway past the nurses’ station. My room. Rashanda in the hallway with my mom.
My mom.
My mom and my dad.
Leaving.
Rashanda turning.
Tyler.
Tyler coming towards me.
I cannot see his aura. His face. So set. So determined. So strong. I wish I could grab some of that strength.
I am evaporating. Like heat in a cold room.
“Jessica.”
There is no one else in the hall. He speaks to me. He reaches his hand out and so do I. I touch his fingers. Gain some warmth.
My toes, barely touching the floor a moment ago, plant themselves firmly down. My heels follow. I look beyond Tyler and see Rashanda leaving my room, leading Hannah and Michael away.
“Come with me,” Tyler persuades. He adds a few more charming words. Secret things. Just between us. His sweet talk strengthens me. I can follow him. I take a step.
And another. He draws my hand up to his shoulder and anchors it there with his own. He turns and walks forward. Baby steps. Easy does it. He doesn’t let me go. I walk some and float some. Grow stronger.
We pass through my doorway and he kicks the doorstop. The heavy door swings shut and gives us the private moment we need.
I swear that he kisses my very soul.
And I wake up.
Homecoming
Ten days later
The banner across my front door has the artistic markings of my best friend. Rashanda likes glitter and lots of color. Welcome home. Six days in a coma and ten more in the hospital—I was more than ready to come home.
I have a scar running from my belly button up a few inches where they took my spleen out. I have a bunch of purple and yellow bruises, pretty much faded now. A spot on my head is still tender to the touch. But I can walk on my own up the steps and into the house.
I don’t know how many friends visited me while I was in the coma, but this past week a ton of kids came to the hospital. Every girl on the swim team, of course, and friends I’d grown up with. And Rashanda, naturally.
And Tyler.
Rashanda and Tyler would arrive together at dinner time, right when my folks would leave. Then Rashanda would just happen to need something from the vending machine and it would take her like forever to come back.
Funny how instantly Tyler and I were comfortable together.
When I came out of the coma ten days ago I experienced a gradual awakening. I felt the darkness lift. I was no longer weightless though I didn’t exactly feel heavy. I knew I was waking up. I sensed Tyler’s presence as if he were moving out of my personal space. The air in the room shifted and I opened my eyes. I was looking straight up but I turned my eyes to him right away. I can’t describe the connection that bonded us on the spot. Some secret between our souls. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. I just knew that we were linked somehow—that something big had happened.
Then my ears unplugged, like the difference of hearing music underwater and then surfacing to hear every individual note.
“Awesome,” Tyler said when I turned my head his way. I must have looked and smelled awful—six days without a shower, no toothbrush, no makeup—but his steady, relieved gaze made vanity unimportant.
“Hi,” I answered in a scratchy voice and then I coughed. Then I ached. Then I cried. Tyler held my hand until a nurse burst in, alerted I guess by the monitor that still had its tentacles on me.
The thing I noticed at first was how dull colors were. The vibrant sharpness was gone. And I couldn’t see auras, not even Tyler’s, though I had no trouble at all reading his feelings.
I miss the freedom of floating. Still, it’s great to be grounded.
It’s great to be home.
My homecoming.
Rashanda went to the homecoming game last night. I insisted that she go, and Tyler, too, so they could tell me who led the band and who got named king and queen at halftime. I already knew who it wouldn’t be. I heard the story from everyone who visited me, how Michael and Hannah and Brittany and Andrew and a growing list of other seniors were in really big trouble. Bigger than just getting suspended for two weeks.
And they would all miss the Homecoming dance. Tonight.
But I wouldn’t. Neither would Rashanda. Tyler’s friend, Todd, asked her and she accepted. Tyler asked my mom if he could take me. Of course she said no. She was keeping me home from school another week, too, so there was no way she’d let me go to a dance in my condition, she said.
Unless . . .
I don’t know what Tyler promised. Maybe he was going to rent a wheelchair. Maybe he was going to carry me on the dance floor. Maybe . . . I don’t know, but there was a formal dress laid out on my bed. And it was beautiful.
* * *
“Awesome,” Tyler says when he sees me all made up, styled, and fashionably perfect in the sequined gown that Rashanda helped my mom pick out.
That seems to be his new favorite word. Everything is awesome since I woke up. Now that I’m clean and no longer look or feel like crap, well, life is good—life is awesome.
“Thank you. You like pretty good, too.” Really, really hot. He hadn’t had time to order a tuxedo, but his dark blue suit looks formal enough to me. His eyes twinkle, I’m not kidding, and when he grins at me my heart does a butterfly kick. I feel dizzy, but not from any post accident reaction. My folks are lingering off to the side with cameras ready and I hope they wo
n’t think I am weak in the knees from standing too long. That definitely is not the reason.
“This is for you.” Tyler picks up a corsage from the entry side table and fumbles to open it. My dad videos him pinning it on me and my mom snaps some pictures. We still haven’t had a perfectly private moment alone so I can’t wait to get out of the house. We say our goodbyes and endure the instructions and warnings. It’s a warm night for October, but my mother pushes a white shawl on me.
I didn’t expect a limousine, but I’m surprised to see a midnight blue Ford Focus—Keith’s car, only not wrecked.
Tyler holds the door open and explains that this car is brand new. Keith, who came home with a walking cast a week ago, lent it to Tyler for tonight. A bouquet of baby roses sits on my seat. I can see the tip of a piece of paper hidden in the roses. I gather them up and set them in my lap as Tyler closes the door and comes around to the other side.
“More flowers?” I ask.
“They’re from Mrs. Clark. A small representation of what they give the lead actress in a play on opening night.”
“Huh? I don’t get it.”
He has his left hand on the top of the steering wheel and his right arm on the back of his seat. He is twisted toward me and I can smell his cologne. His face is getting red. I love that about him.
“She wants you to consider trying out for the play. I think this is a bribe, maybe. But she asked me to tell you that she’s saving that part for you—the one she gave you to practice. Do you remember?”
I nod slowly and pull the folded paper from the roses. I did remember something about drama class: a script, double folded and stuffed in my back pocket the day of the accident. And Mrs. Clark’s request: “I want you to practice the part of the girl looking for her soul mate. You don’t have to memorize anything . . . yet.”
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