Flicker

by Melanie Hooyenga

  "Did you take your pills?"

  His eyes dart to the table, brush over the Mexico bowl. "Yeah." He doesn't meet my gaze.

  "Dad, you have to take them. This happens every time you forget—"

  "I've already heard it from your mother."

  "Well—"

  Mom joins him in the doorway and runs the back of her fingers across his cheek. "He promised to be better about taking them." She smiles. "Although I think he would have promised anything to keep me from calling the ambulance."

  My head snaps between them. "It was that bad?"

  Dad still refuses to look at me.

  Mom crosses the kitchen, stopping in front of the table and the little ceramic bowl. Our ironic icon. She scoops up the pills, walks back to Dad, and slips them into his hand. "Yeah, it was."

  Chapter 3

  A piercing whistle quiets the auditorium.

  Principal Walker, better known as Stride Right, shuffles to the center of the stage. Rumor has it he has some kind of issue with his name and refuses to walk like a normal person. The nickname's been around since way before I got to high school.

  Stride Right clears his throat. "As most of you have heard by now, a seven-year old girl was kidnapped yesterday. Most of you are probably wondering what this has to do with you." He turns on his heel and half marches to one side of the stage, peering into the darkness behind the curtain. He lifts a hand and waves for someone to approach. "Officer Jackson is here to talk to you about safety."

  A heavyset man with thinning hair and bad skin steps into the spotlight. His blue uniform strains against his belly, his gun rests comfortably at his side.

  I turn away as a murmur rises up from the students.

  Stride Right goes on. "I know. You know everything there is about being safe. Humor me," he says before shuffling into the darkness of the wings, leaving the cop staring at us, arms stiff at his sides.

  "Common sense will save you in most situations. Unfortunately," he chuckles, "not a lot of you have any common sense, so that's why I'm here."

  This is the person our fine police station chose to send to our school? As he drones on, I twist around in my seat to find Amelia. We had to sit with our class and she's towards the back of the room. A sharp cough draws my eye near the aisle and Amelia's dark head pops up.

  "Did you have a question, miss?"

  Her head disappears.

  "Kids, this is a serious matter. I know you think you've got better things to worry about, but your safety is the priority of this school, the police department, and your families."

  My eyes skim the faces, hoping to find someone as bored as I am, and land on Cameron. He isn't smiling. Several kids turn to look at him, then stare across the auditorium at me. Heat flushes my cheeks and I sink lower in my seat.

  Safety. Right. I can at least pretend to pay attention to the rest of the speech.

  *****

  Robbie's waiting for me at my locker. "I texted you last night…"

  A lie springs to my lips but the hurt in his eyes stops me. "I'm sorry, I—"

  "I don't get it. You always have your phone on you."

  That's true. I got each of his texts the instant they came through. I just couldn't make myself reply.

  He stares at the ground, the confidence I'd once found so endearing gone.

  Guilt pummels me, but there's no sense in dragging this out. "Robbie, this isn't working for me anymore. You're a great guy and all but—"

  He looks up. "You're serious? Just like that?" He shakes his head and his gaze drops to the floor. "But what about…?" he trails off.

  I bite my lip.

  He leans close and his dark eyes turn cold. "I should've listened when everyone told me to stay the hell away from you. What a waste of time."

  My reputation may have a benefit after all. I watch him go, unable to move until the bell sounds. Late for class, I slam my locker shut and hurry to photojournalism.

  At least I won't fail in there.

  *****

  "Biz, these are remarkable." Turner clicks through my photos a third time. "You have a remarkable eye for detail, especially considering this is your first photography class."

  My head drops forward until my hair covers my face. Until this year I hadn't taken photography seriously and while I love hearing that I’m doing well, I'm not used to getting compliments.

  "Don't be embarrassed. It took me until I was in my thirties to discover my passion. You have a gift and you should be proud of it."

  "Mm-hmm." I want to hear this, I really do, but couldn't he just text me or something? Hearing people say nice things out loud is just weird. Especially a teacher.

  He clears his throat and waits until I meet his eye. "The assignment was flora so you can't use these—" he holds up a hand when my mouth drops open, "—for class. But I'd like you to submit them to the paper."

  "Oh, sure." No one actually reads the Weekly Digest. It's a glorified gossip rag for the kids in the newspaper club. And not even good gossip.

  He continues clicking through my photos.

  "So do I just talk to the club advisor?"

  His eyes narrow and his head tilts slightly to the side. "What? Why—oh! I don't mean the school paper." He chuckles and my cheeks burn. "I meant the Daily Chronicle."

  Now it's my turn to be confused. "But why would they want my pictures?"

  "Biz, I'm trying to tell you that you have talent. Something that will stay with you long after you've finished high school." He sets the camera on his desk. "Getting published in a real publication is just the first step."

  "You really think these are good enough? They're just of the side of my house."

  "A friend of mine runs the features section and he's always looking these types of photos. I'll give you his email and you can submit them that way."

  I bristle despite myself. "I don't need any favors."

  He exhales heavily. "I appreciate that you think I have that much control over what is published in our local paper, but believe me, I don't. All I'm giving you is the connection. The rest is up to you."

  I head back to my desk, allowing a small smile to creep over my face, but it vanishes when I look up and see Cameron watching me. Seeing his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes reminds me of my conversation with Robbie and I'm filled with a heavy feeling of guilt.

  *****

  Driving home after school I can't help but replay what Robbie said. I know people started saying shit about me after I dumped Alex a couple months ago, but it's not because I don't like them. It's totally the opposite. If they get too close…

  My fingers tingle. I flex them against the steering wheel, but it's too late to stop it. The rhythmic pulse of light floods through the drivers' side window. My reflex is to close my eyes but I can't keep them shut.

  The tingling moves up my hands, delicate pinpricks that increase in intensity until the sensation races up my arms and slams into my chest. The familiar heaviness pushes me against the seat and I fight the urge to stare into the light. The test wasn't that bad. I can deal with failing. It's reliving that conversation with Robbie that I'd rather avoid.

  I reach for my sunglasses in the passenger seat but it's too late.

  With a final push the heaviness lifts and I'm floating, barely able to hang on to the steering wheel. I take a deep breath and—

  —I'm in yesterday's English class. A couple people look at me from the corner of their eye but no one says anything. When I come to after flickering, I spasm like when you dream that you're falling. Sometimes I do it on purpose when I'm not flickering. I figure the more people think I'm just mildly weird, the less likely they are to know how weird I really am.

  Chapter 4

  One of the down sides of flickering is reliving things I'd rather not repeat. Like the safety assembly with Stride Right. It was bad enough the first time, having to watch him strut around like he's all important, but listening to him a second time is unbearable.

  I focus on a piece of hair da
ngling from the collar of the girl in front of me. It flutters in a breeze I can't feel, then drifts to the darkness at my feet.

  While I'm staring at the floor a sense of dread sneaks up on me. I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes. How can I do it better this time?

  "Common sense will save you in most situations. Unfortunately," the cop chuckles, "not a lot of you have any common sense, so that's why I'm here."

  Oh good, it's almost over.

  The same hushed whispers pass through the auditorium after the cop leaves the stage. I want nothing more than to sneak out the back door, but I spot Cameron ahead of me, walking alone, the other kids moving around him like they’re afraid to get too close. If he can face the entire school and the things they say about him, I can deal with one boy.

  Robbie’s at my locker. "I texted you last night…"

  This time I stop the lie before it can form, but the hurt is still in his eyes. "Robbie, I think we need to talk."

  His eyes dart to my locker, then down at our feet.

  Words won't come.

  He looks up. "You don't want to see me anymore?"

  Huh? My brows crinkle and my heart drops to my stomach. How did he know that?

  "You've been acting different the past couple weeks. That's why I wanted to talk to you last night."

  "It is?" Don't tell me he wanted to break up with me.

  He toes the ground with his sneaker and leans against the locker. "There's no point dragging this out if you aren't feeling it. Besides, I knew what people said about you before we started going out."

  I really can't escape my reputation.

  "You're a great guy and all but—"

  "Don't go there." He leans close but his dark eyes don't have the same coldness they did last time. "I just wish you'd had the balls to say something when you decided we were over."

  "What do you mean?" I mean, I know what he means, but how could he know that's how I felt?

  "You walk around like you've got some secret you don't want to share. I thought that maybe when we started dating you'd let me in, but I don't know you any better than I did two months ago." He gives the locker a final shove before turning on his heel and stalking away.

  I don't feel the same anguish as before, but this still sucks. I close my locker and walk slowly to class.

  *****

  This time I grab a hat from my locker and shove on my sunglasses before venturing home. I've learned that no matter how many things I'm able to change, the weather isn't one of them. If it's sunny today, it's sunny today.

  Feeling the warmth wash over me, I grip the steering wheel and take slow, deep breaths. After a few hard blinks, my eyes finally focus. That's something else I've figured out. I can't be jumping back every time I'm in a car or train, as I realized too late on my freshman field trip, so I'm teaching my body to fight what comes naturally.

  Up ahead is a section of road I call the Strand. There's nothing special about this particular chunk of black top, at least not to anyone else. For me it's where I come when I want to flicker. The precision of the farmer who planted these trees dozens of year ago, combined with the angle of the mid-afternoon sun, makes it my go-to place when I need to go back.

  I usually take different routes home on the days I want to… well, continue with my day, but Robbie has me distracted.

  His words hit me harder than I thought they would. Maybe because I expected him to change what he said. But flickering doesn't change who I am, or why I can't let anyone get too close.

  It's not fair to him, or anyone else that really tries to get to know me, but I can't risk anyone knowing the truth. If I let them get too close I might slip up, and who knows what might happen to me. I've seen what they do to my dad—the needles, the brain scans, more drugs than anyone should have to take without getting some kind of pleasure out of it—and he has a legitimate disease. I don't need some doctor poking around inside my skull to tell me something I already know.

  I'm a freak.

  Chapter 5

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull into the driveway. So many people take it for granted that when you get in your car and drive someplace you'll actually get there. I'm especially happy to be home. It's not much, but it's a haven for me, even though my parents don't know about my condition. Since they don't have any other kids to compare me to they probably assume my quirks are just normal teenage stuff.

  Dad's on the couch reading with the TV on low. Neither one of us can stand complete silence. My solution is my iPod, but I haven't been able to convince him to get one for himself. He says he's happy with the boob tube.

  Dropping my bag against the coffee table, I sink into the spot next to him.

  His eyebrow lifts, his clear eyes studying me. "Rough day?"

  "You could say that." I feel like I haven't slept in two days. Because I haven't.

  "Anything you need to talk about?"

  Let's see. I dumped my boyfriend—twice—and the guys at school apparently have some sort of warning system about me. "Not really. A cop came to school to talk to us about safety. Because of that kidnapping." My fingers drift to my temple before I catch myself.

  His frown deepens. "Another one?"

  "Not yet. But soon."

  "Mom refilled your prescription last week. There should be a new bottle in your bathroom."

  My parents know I get migraines, they just don't know why. No one does. So far I've been able to skate through doctors' appointments without any kind of brain scans. God knows what the hell they'd find inside my head.

  Dad pats my leg and smiles. "Go take something and lie down for a little while. I'll wake you up for dinner."

  I nod at the kitchen and the ceramic bowl I know is on the table. "Did you take yours?"

  His smile tightens. "Of course."

  *****

  Music plays just loud enough to drown out the silence. Any louder and Dad will pester me about needing to rest. I grab my cell phone from the front pocket of my bag and press Amelia's name.

  "Dude, what's up? I saw you talking to Robbie in the hall and he did not look happy." Amelia never was one to beat around the bush.

  I sigh.

  "Really? I thought you liked him."

  And this is why Amelia is my best friend. Most times I don't even have to tell her what's going on and she knows. That makes it hard with the stuff I have to keep from her, but I love not having to explain my every waking thought about everything else.

  "I do. I mean, I did. I just…" I'm gonna have to come up with a better explanation than this. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. "I guess it got boring."

  Amelia laughs. "You mean now that you got him it's boring. One of these days you're gonna to have to stick around once the chasing part is over."

  My fingers curl tightly around the phone. "Is that what people say about me? That I just play games? Because that's totally not what I'm about."

  Her laughter stops. "Sorry. No, that's not what I mean. It's just," she clears her throat, "you've never dated anyone more than a couple months. I know we're not trying to get married or anything, but you've got a track record, babe."

  I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. "You have a point." It's not the right point, but it's a point.

  The music on her end gets louder and she raises her voice to compensate. "So what'd you think of Stride Right's little talk today?"

  "Ugh, don't remind me. I felt like it went on forever."

  "And that cop! What an ass." Amelia inhales sharply. "Did you see Cameron in there?"

  Cameron's dark features sweep through my mind and I remember the way he stopped me in my tracks two different times today. Well, really four, but who's counting? "Yeah, and I'm worried about him."

  "Because of his sister?"

  "Well yeah. This hasn't happened since Katie disappeared."

  "Do you think the police will want to talk to him again?"

  I'd thought of nothing else since I last saw him. Normally I'd have tal
ked to him by now but it occurs to me that I haven't actually spoken to him since class yesterday.

  A light knock on my door interrupts my thoughts.

  "Hey, I gotta go. I'm supposed to be sleeping and someone's at my door."

  "Another migraine?"

  "One's on its way."

  "Will you be in school tomorrow?"

  "Yeah." If I skipped every time I had a headache I'd be twenty-four before I graduated. I toss the phone across the floor and roll so I'm facing the wall. "Come in."

  "Is it bad?"

  I shift to my back as Mom sits on the edge of the bed. As if on cue a sharp stab pierces through my right ear towards the top of my head. "Not yet."

  She touches the side of my face, her cool fingers winding their way through my hair until they're tucked behind my ear and pressing into the base of my skull, just the way I like it. "I worry about you. It seems like they're coming more often."

  Only when I fail tests. Or forget to pay attention to where I'm at.

  "Your dad and I want bring you in for more tests."

  But he's on my side! I sit up and her hand drops to my shoulder. "Really? Dad said that?"

  She lowers her hand to her lap and twists her wedding band. "Well, it was my idea and he didn't disagree. At least not much."

  That makes me feel a little better.

  "I hate seeing you like this. You've lost weight and sometime your eyes seem… I don't know… hollow. Like there's something eating away at you."

  My hand moves over hers. I lean close to look in her eyes. "Mom, I'm fine. The pills work great and I just need to try to get more sleep. Please don’t make me go to the doctor."

  She chews her lip. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah." Just please don't take me to a doctor.

  A deep sigh makes her chest rise, then fall. She seems about to say something else, but changes her mind and instead caresses my face once more before standing. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Are you well enough to eat?"