I sling the bag over my shoulder, taking her small hand in my large one. “I’m—”
“Will someone please tell me what is going on here?” a voice shouts from down the hall. A door is flung open, revealing the face of a teacher I know only by sight. “What is all the shouting about?” he bellows, storming his way out of his classroom and toward the two of us.
We both turn to face him. “Sorry, Mr. Hammond,” she says. “I thought I saw a mouse.”
I sneak a peek at her from out the corner of my eye, relishing the way her large, blue eyes turn into oceans, opening wide with feigned innocence. She tugs at the hem of her dress and tucks one toe of her shoe against the other. The perfect image of angelic remorse. “I promise it won’t happen again,” she says, placing the cherry atop her penance sundae.
Mr. Hammond raises an eyebrow at the pair of us, pausing to take in her look of contrition. “Yes, well . . ” he coughs into his hand. “Please keep the volume to a minimum in the future.” He slides his glasses up his nose and slips back down the corridor. With a final unsure glance in our direction, he steps back inside his classroom and closes the door after him.
“That was close.” Billie whirls on me, flinging golden hair behind her in a circle. All signs of naiveté and virtue are gone, replaced by an unmistakable spark buried in those pools of blue. I open my mouth to speak once more, to tell her thanks or perhaps share my name, but find I’m stopped. “Listen, I’ve got to get home. My mom will kill me if I’m late again.” She begins jogging the hall backward, keeping her eyes trained on my face. “It was really nice meeting you. See you around, yeah?”
I want to tell her to stop. I want to take her hand and never let go. I want to run after her, but find I’m stuck in place, my mouth dry. She spins around, dashing around the nearest corner and out of sight. I listen to the tap–tap of her soft shoes against the floor until not even the echo remains. I’m alone once again, as I was yesterday, as I will be tomorrow. And still . .
With a smile, I shoulder my bag and begin the walk home. I can’t shake the feeling that she, this girl, Billie, has changed everything. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Who knows?
Stranger things have happened.
Ford
Oh, crap. I’m dead.
My head throbs to life, my brain pounding, swelling against my skull, drumming rhythms of pain behind each eye. I’m afraid to open them, terrified of what I’ll see. I don’t know what could possibly await me in the afterlife, and I’m too much of a coward to brave it alone.
My eyelids flicker against my will, opening slowly before giving up and greeting the world around me. There are no pearly gates, no St. Peter or bright lights. Not even a single white cloud. There is, however, the single ugliest painting I have ever seen hanging on the wall across from my bed. A canvas portrait of Jesus stares back from its brass frame, leering at me with a strange smile.
Now I know I’m not dead. There’s no way Jesus would be that ugly. He looks more like Jerry, the strung out homeless guy who lives on my street than the redeemer of mankind.
“Good,” comes a familiar voice from across the room. “You’re up.”
I attempt to prop myself up on the two lumpy pillows already supporting me, only to discover something holding me down. Crooking my neck as far as it will go, I see Tucker leaning back in the room’s only chair, legs stretched in front of him, taking up a good majority of the floor space. He’s shadowed by the horizontal lines of sunlight streaming in through the blinds. I’m momentarily frightened. The last clear memory I have of my Guardian is the image of him demolishing a graveyard. The rest of the night is a blur, memories and revelations I know I should remember, but feel slipping away with every tick of the clock.
“Morning,” he smiles, pushing himself out of his seat. He crosses the tiny room in two Tucker–sized strides. The room is silent, the quiet unbroken by his inaudible footsteps. Outside the flimsy panel of door, however, I can hear carts rolling by and voices calling.
“Where . . . how . . . what happened?” I stammer. Glancing around, I discover a secure leather strap latched around my left forearm, confining me to the bed. “Why am I tied down?” I pull in vain against the restraint.
Tucker chuckles and places a hand on the leather belt, holding it firmly in place. “It’s for your own good,” he says. “You woke up not long after surgery ranting and raving about ghosts and Guardians and someone named Milo. You were hysterical. It took a whole army of nurses to finally sedate you. They were afraid you would accidentally rip out your stitches.” He gestures to my arm, and for a moment I wonder what he’s talking about. That is until I see a wide expanse of white bandage stretching across half my chest and shoulder.
“I have to hand it to you,” he goes on. “You put up one hell of a fight. At one point you punched one of the nurses.”
“I punched a nurse?”
“Like a tiny Rocky Balboa.”
I shake my head, sending another wave of throbbing pain to my eyes. Reaching a hand to my face, I discover a thick five o’clock shadow, a few days worth of growth at least. How long have I been out? “I don’t remember much. Is the nurse okay?”
“She’ll be fine. But I wouldn’t expect extra jello from the nursing staff if I were you.”
“Where’s Gran?”
“She’s around here somewhere. I think maybe down in the cafeteria. She’s really worried about you, so make sure to be extra sweet to her.”
“Why are you being so nice to me, Tucker? Am I not going to make it or something? Sympathy for a dying man?”
He laughs and lumbers to the window. “You’re going to be fine,” he says, “although I think every doctor in this place is currently discussing which mental facility to refer you to.”
“Then why the buddy–buddy vibe?”
“Consider it a fresh start.” Tucker turns away until I can no longer see his face, the dust and particles by the window visible shimmer in his strong glow. “Clean slate.”
“What happened, you know . . . after I passed out?” A thought suddenly strikes me, almost as painful as my headache. “Oh, god! Riley! Is he . . . ?”
“One room over,” Tucker says. “Attached to his bed same as you, I might add. Except his restraints are a pair of handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs?”
He nods, messing up his tuft of hair. “Someone in the house next to the graveyard heard the gunshots and called the police. Riley regained consciousness just as they arrived. I don’t know what made him do it, a sudden attack of conscience or fear or head injury, but he spilled everything to the cops hours ago. Not that it matters. His prints were all over the gun that shot you. And since he admitted to several counts of attempted murder, I seriously doubt he’ll be hurting anyone anytime soon.”
I flop back against the flat pillows. Part of me is relieved. It’s all over. All of the running, all of the looking over my shoulder is finally done. I can relax and breathe and enjoy being a teenager. I can worry over the trivial things a teenage guy should worry about–homework, college, girls. And yet part of me can’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of pity for Riley. Losing a father. Losing his friends. Losing himself. Maybe he was as much a victim in all of this as I was. He just chose the wrong way to handle his problems. He let his anger consume him. I had been so close to doing the same. It scares me to think that his story might have become mine.
“Wait a second,” I say. “Counts of attempted murder? As in more than one? But I thought . . . Shannon . . .”
Tucker’s chin drops, his face twisting into a grimace before he manages to compose himself. “Shannon’s fine,” he says. “She’s been asking for you.”
“She’s awake?”
He nods and turns from his place at the window. “They’ve started calling her Miracle Girl. Last I heard, they expect her to make a full recovery. She doesn’t remember much about the accident, but the doctor said she could see you as soon as you were awake. Shouldn’t be too long. News travels fast
around this place.”
I’m so thankful she’s safe, I almost forget about the blonde haired, blue–eyed hellcat–the other woman in my life. Almost.
“What about Billie?” I say carefully, and though I’m tiptoeing through a minefield. “Was she taken?”
I’m afraid to hear the answer. The last time I saw her, she was screaming, head thrown back in agony before her body gave out on her. The memory will haunt me the rest of my life.
“She’s okay,” he answers. “It was all a misunderstanding. She’s safe now.”
I want to believe him. I want to tell myself she’s okay, that the last, horrible memory I have of her is nothing but a lie. “Can I see her?”
He shakes his head. “She says she’s really sorry she couldn’t be here, but she’s glad you’re okay. Which reminds me. This is the last time you’ll see me, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Assignment’s over. Your situation is no longer dangerous, so your Guardian detail is being pulled.”
I can’t help but feel a brief spasm of panic. That, combined with the sedative and headache almost succeeds in making me throw up. I don’t enjoy being tossed out of the loop, and even though I’m officially no longer a member of the inner circle, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I’ve seen Billie for the last time.
“But I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
He shakes his head and I know I’m not going to get what I want. Perhaps he senses my distress because he a softness I haven’t often seen comes over his face and he says, “Billie wants you to know she loves you and will miss you. She says she can’t wait to see you again, but hopefully not too soon.”
I find myself laughing against the heartache. Tucker nods in understanding. He bows his head and remains still, a statue of light. It’s true he and I never got along. It’s true that no amount of brotherhood will be lost with his departure. Then again, maybe that’s what makes me uneasy. The fact that if either of us had been willing to put aside our insecurities for even a moment, maybe I would be losing two friends instead of one.
“So that’s it?” I say.
Tucker nods. “That’s it.”
“I feel like I should say a few words or something. It’s such a big moment.”
“It’s really not.”
“It is! I mean, you guys are the closest things I have to friends. And you’re leaving! What am I supposed to do now?”
“Anything you want. Fresh start, remember? You have your whole life ahead of you, Ford. Don’t waste it.”
He’s right of course. Lying here on my brick of a mattress, fake daisies adorning my windowsill, bandaged up from a gunshot wound given to me by a boy I once considered a friend, I realize . . .
. . . it’s the best moment of my life.
Benedict. Ford. Son. Grandson. Loner. Ladies’ man. Friend to the living and the dead. An enigma unto myself. Everything–anything–is open to me. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not alone. I’m not angry. I’m not making excuses. I’m just me.
Billie would be proud.
“Oh, and about Shannon,” Tucker says, interrupting my reverie.
“What about her?”
“She’s more special than you will ever understand. Don’t let her forget that.” He shoots me a final, mischievous grin, and taps the side of his nose. “Remember, I’ll be watching.”
And I’m alone.
Shannon
(Two Months Later)
There goes another one. What is that today? Six? Seven? For crying out loud, it’s not even first period yet!
The wide–eyed freshman I’ve caught staring darts past, his oversized pack thumping noisily against his back as he rushes to class. I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry. It’s the last week of school. No teacher in their right mind would bother even wasting the paper to write a detention slip for being late.
A severe case of senioritis has descended upon the school like a thick fog. The seniors are wild and irreverent, the sophomores and juniors already acting like upperclassmen, and the freshman merely thankful they are no longer at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. Outside the front doors is row after row of blooming poplar trees, taunting us, beckoning us to join them in the sun. The halls are devoid of life, teachers or hall monitors nowhere to be found, and as a result I duck into the nearest restroom. A curly–haired girl bumps into me on her way out. She gapes at me like all the rest and hurriedly makes her exit.
Eight and I haven’t even made it to my first class. Impressive.
I waste time as best I can, checking out the stalls, washing my hands for an extensive amount of time. The mirror over the porcelain sink reveals a familiar face, albeit thinner than usual. Twin rings of fatigue line dark eyes, and my hair, now grown out past my chin, is tangled and unkempt.
I run a quick hand through the nest, wondering for the millionth time what I would look like as a blonde before giving up and choosing to ignore the ridiculous, but persistent, thought. I splash cool water against my face, and take my leave a minute later. The bell blares loud and abrasive throughout the empty hallway.
Ugh. I can smell the chemistry lab from here. The room is located only a few doors down from the girls’ bathroom, and as a result the entire hallway is often filled with the stench of bleach, formaldehyde and a plethora of other harsh chemicals. As usual, I give the lab a wide berth as I pass, hating the thought of going anywhere near it.
“Shannon!”
I turn, a silly grin leaping to my face. “Hey, babe!” I call. His hair isn’t much neater than my own, tangled and knotted from the fierce morning wind.
He smiles as he approaches, taking my hand and pecking me quickly on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Gran needed a ride to her tango lesson.”
“It’s okay.” I eagerly lace my fingers through his. “The bell only rang a second ago.” We begin a lazy stroll to his locker.
“So,” he says, bending to open his backpack. “The last Monday of senior year. Are you as stoked as the rest of the lemmings?”
I laugh. It’s been months since our near–death experiences, events that have turned the two of us into local celebrities. Incessant reporters, constant phone calls, newspaper articles all became part of our world for a time, but never once did he allow the attention to go to that mop–top head of his. I’m delighted to find he’s still the same awkward outsider I had a crush on so long ago.
“Hardly,” I say, slipping my arms around his neck. “But I’ll definitely be glad when this is all over if that’s what you mean. When it’s just the two of us and we have a whole summer together before college.”
“Which doesn’t really matter,” he says, “seeing as how our schools are only an hour away from one another.”
“An hour too far if you ask me.”
“Good thing I like to drive fast.”
“Just don’t tell that to my dad.”
He cringes at the mention of my father. Things between the two of them have been less than congenial considering how dad still blames him for the “accident” that almost killed me. There’s not much he can do to stop me from seeing him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. It stinks that my boyfriend is banned from setting foot in our home, and a ten o’clock curfew isn’t much fun either. But we work around it. His Gran is always more than happy to give us free reign in their house, and when that doesn’t work, there are plenty of places in town to hide out.
“So what’s the plan tonight?” I ask, grabbing his hand the instant his locker bangs shut.
He pulls our hands to his lips in order to kiss my fingertips. “Gran will be gone all night. Something about a Neil Diamond concert.”
“Movies at your place?” I ask with a coy snuggle into his shoulder, hoping the movie watching will lead to fun of a different nature.
“As long as you don’t make me watch Titanic again.”
“Why not?”
“Because you always laugh when Jack dies. It’s depressing.”
�
�I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”
“You’re a true romantic.”
“And you’re a pansy.”
“Shannon Walters, please report to the guidance office. Immediately.”
My name rings through the crackly P.A. system, echoing around the hallways. I choose to ignore the piercing voice and continue smiling up at my slightly–confused boyfriend.
“You should probably go,” he says, placing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
I push my lips out into a pout, hoping he’ll meet them with his own. “You know I’d rather stay here with you, Ford.”
Here we go again. He tries his best to cover, but his eyes give him away. The identical chocolate circles narrow, as they always do when I call him by the preferred nickname. I was alarmed by how uncomfortable he seemed by it at first, but what else what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I can date someone named Benedict.
He composes himself and bends quickly to kiss my cheek. “See in you fourth?” he asks.
I nod and pat his cheek, watching as he jogs the length of the hallway and disappears through the door of his trigonometry class.
Nice going. I’ve gone and freaked him out again. I came to terms long ago with the fact that my boyfriend is a bit jumpier than most. And who wouldn’t be after discovering their best friend isn’t really a friend at all, but the person behind a gruesome string of murder attempts? Then again, who am I to judge? I fell for Riley’s lies hook, line and sinker.
But in spite of Ford’s unfortunate tendency to spook at his own shadow, I find his company the only company I enjoy as of late. It wasn’t long after the accident that I began to notice something strange. Something not quite right with how people looked at me. At first I thought it was me, that I had been through a traumatic experience and people only stared out of sympathy or awe for the “miracle girl” who woke up after being declared dead.
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