There was a black glass partition between the front seat and the backseat, so I didn’t have to look at Foley, and then I opened my eyes, seeing something flashing in the glass, something right behind me. Then I saw that it wasn’t behind me: it was me: I was flashing again. Leaning my head against the window, my sweater had fallen down, and the scar on my shoulder was glowing green again, and I could see the reflection in the opposite window. But it was a different shape—the big heart with an arrow through it had turned into an anarchy symbol, and it was flashing: dot dot dot; dash dash dash; dot dot dot… SOS.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2010
(SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER)
3:00 PM
Another year. I can’t believe I’m back here again. I can’t believe how everything and nothing changes, but that’s high school, I guess. It’s funny, though, because people keep double-taking, looking at my new haircut. At first, they look all excited, like maybe there’s a new girl in school from some faraway place—you can totally see it in their eyes. But then, when they see that it’s me, they’re like, Oh. Oh, yeah. It’s that crazy girl. And I’m just like, That’s right. So stay the hell away from me, because you don’t know what a crazy girl might do, now, do you? I don’t care anymore. I really don’t; let them stare.
I was so bummed, though; because of all the school I missed at the end of last year, they’d already set me up for tutoring. Like seven hours a day in class wasn’t enough, I had to stay an extra hour twice a week? Whatever, let’s just get it over with. So I went to the library right after last bell, because I wanted a table at the back. I should’ve sat in the front, where I could be seen, clearly waiting for my new tutor, but I was like, No. He’s the one getting paid, so let him find me, and if he doesn’t, I’m outta here. I took out my sketchbook—I’ve been working on this American Apparel series, using all these famous men as models, and once I started drawing, I forgot all about school. For a few minutes, and then I felt someone standing over me.
All I could see were his feet. He was wearing Vans and Levis and he looked tall, thin. Maybe because he was standing right over me, staring at my notebook, but when he said, Who knew Stephen Hawkins was so flexible? all the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and out of nowhere, I could feel the blood heading straight for my cheeks, and I didn’t even know why. Just this feeling in my guts and tingling between my legs. Then the strangest thing happened, because there was this voice in my head that said, Don’t turn around, Thea. Whatever you do, do not look at him. Just get up, take your books and walk away. Then there was this other voice in my head that said, Look—look at him, because your life’s about to change forever. I mean, I just sat there, gripping my pencil, no idea where these voices were coming from, and I knew it was completely crazy to think looking at some kid could change my whole life, but crazy as it was, deep down, I had to believe that anything was possible.
Ghost Time Page 33