My heart twinges.
Crap.
I follow Mom downstairs and join Dad at the table. He looks more worn out that usual, the lines around his face deeper than I ever remember seeing them, his lips pursed to mask the pain.
I reach across the table to touch his hand. "I guess I'm not the only one who feels like shit."
"Biz," Mom warns from near the stove.
"Well…" No wonder Mom looks so beat. Worrying about and taking care of both of us is probably not how she envisioned spending her weekend, not to mention her entire life. I twist in my seat to face her. "How are you doing? This can't be fun for you."
She sets the bowl of mashed potatoes and a chicken dish on the table and sinks into her chair in one motion. "I'll survive, but thanks."
Dad serves himself, his wary eyes giving me a warning. "We were worried about you. Your mother decided to drag you to the hospital if you didn't get up this evening." Something in his eyes tells me that he wasn't part of that plan. I don't fully understand why he's always sided with me and resisted the hospital, and until tonight I've never thought to question it, but for the first time I'm curious why he doesn't have the same fears for my safety as Mom.
"Well I'm happy to report that my headache is gone." I eye the chicken and my stomach growls. "Now I'm starving."
Mom smiles, happy her daughter is feeling like herself again, but Dad keeps a close eye on me throughout dinner. As I inhale my weight in chicken and potatoes, a small knot of uncertainty sits in the center of my gut, warning me that the side effects of this particular headache are far from over.
*****
Seems I'm not the only one happy my headache's gone.
"Biz, welcome back." Bishop hands me my half-finished test as I enter his classroom and shuffles me back into the hallway. "They're expecting you in the library."
Great. At this point I'm so far behind that I'm already worrying about the next test and I haven't even failed this one yet. The same urge to flicker seizes my body, but I wait for it to pass. I need to let my body recover.
The librarian fusses over me when I arrive, but I haven't forgotten her snotty attitude last week. My sickness—or whatever you want to call it—is not why I want people like her to be courteous to me. I sit at the table in front of her desk, but only because it's required.
It's amazing how much easier it is to take a test when you can actually read the questions. That, and the fact that I remembered enough from last week to look up the answers. I breeze through the answers in twenty minutes. The librarian isn't paying any attention to me so I waste the rest of the period pretending to struggle over the answers. With five minutes to spare I push back my chair.
"I'm finished," I announce, "so I'll take this to class."
She scribbles a hall pass for me and I return to Bishop's classroom. Heads turn when I enter. Amelia gives me a questioning look and I give her a small shrug in response. I hand Bishop my test and sit down just as the bell rings.
"Biz, please stay a moment," he says.
I smile at Amelia as she passes. "Talk to you later," we say in unison, then laugh. I stop in front of Bishop's desk. "What's up?"
"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, but I'm worried about how much you've missed the past week or so."
My stomach sinks.
"I understand my class isn't the easiest and I'd hate for you to fall behind. I'd like you to come in during lunch tomorrow so I can help you catch up."
Ugh, really? "Do I have to?"
His frown deepens. "This isn't meant to be punishment. You're a smart girl, whether you think so or not, and I hate to see students fail because of a…" he trails off.
Now I'm getting pissed. "A what?" I cross my arms over my chest.
"An illness." He says it so matter-of-factly that I almost believe that's what he was going to say. "Tomorrow at lunch. After you eat, of course, but don't dawdle."
"Fine." I turn to leave, wondering how else my headaches can ruin my life.
I arrive at Turner's class after the bell rings. An excuse dances on the tip of my tongue but it isn't necessary because the entire class applauds when I enter the room. I look around in confusion, a warm heat spreading up my neck. Turner is at his spot in front of the board, clapping louder than anyone else, the front page of Friday's newspaper taped behind him.
Well, one side of the paper. It's folded in half to hide Katie's picture, but the end of her pigtail peeks out.
I whip around to Cameron. His hands are moving, but there's no happiness in his eyes. Only complete, utter, agonizing despair. I silently plead for forgiveness, but he isn't looking at me. His eyes haven't left the newspaper.
"There she is, the woman of the hour." Turner ushers me to my desk as the room falls silent. Like they're waiting for me to say something.
"Sorry I'm late," I mumble.
The kid behind me kicks my seat. "Don't point it out the one time he doesn't care."
Turner's still smiling at me. "When I gave this assignment I admit I hoped some of you might get your pictures published in the paper, but I never imagined one of you would make the front page!" His excitement is contagious; several whispers reach me.
"So cool."
"Lucky she was there."
"Wish my pictures were good enough."
I know everyone's happy for me and I wish I could be excited, but the one person I actually want to be happy for me is sulking on the other side of the room.
Turner points at the paper. "I'd like to highlight why these are so good. Biz incorporated several of the elements I've talked about this semester, including a few I planned to introduce this week." He gives me another smile and I lower my head. I've never handled complements well, especially not in front of the entire class. He goes on about lighting and angles and effective use of cropping, but I'm only half listening. I can't stop thinking about the overly-lit school picture of Katie smiling at the chalkboard.
I don't think Cameron's blinked since I arrived.
A couple kids pat me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my daze. I look up and can't believe Turner's face hasn't split in two yet.
"Tomorrow we'll go over your next assignment. Please leave your projects on my desk as you leave."
I catch Cameron as he hurries to the door. "Cam, wait."
He pauses but doesn't look at me.
"I'm sorry."
He seems to consider this, then continues into the hallway.
I match his pace. "Cam, I wish they were never published. To make you think about her for the entire class…" I don't want to bring up Katie, not when he's finally willing to talk to me again, but it's kind of hard to ignore her.
He turns to face me. Students stream by on either side of us. "Don't be sorry. It's awesome you got published."
"But…" I hang my head. "I wish…" I don't know how to say what I'm feeling. "I know that getting published has nothing to do with Katie, but I feel horrible for reminding you about her."
He touches my arm and the tension in his face relaxes. "Biz, it'd be impossible for anything you do to remind me of Katie. That would mean I'd stopped thinking about her in the first place."
"Oh." Talk about feeling self-absorbed.
His hand moves up my arm and slides to the side of my neck. "Thank you for worrying, but this is something I have to deal with." We stop at his locker and he hesitates. "Do you have to go to your last class?"
I've missed several days but what's the difference at this point? "No."
"Can we get out of here?"
I nod, hating myself for feeling so grateful that he wants to spend time with me, but not enough to stop me from rushing to my locker to get my coat.
Chapter 28
We're sitting in Old Berta but haven't left school yet. I'm kinda worried he'll drive by the Strand. This is the best—or worst, depending on how you look at it—time of day for me to drive through there and flickering when he's finally ready to talk is not how I plan to spend this afternoon.
/> "Where to?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"The boat ramp?"
Ugh. "Sure."
He starts the car and turns out of the parking lot. You'd think someone would monitor the lot so kids don't ditch last period, but no one stops us. Cameron keeps flexing his hand against the gear-shift like he's thinking through what he wants to say.
I want to hurry him along in case I flicker, then at least I'll be prepared for whatever he needs to get off his chest, but he hems and haws until we're halfway to the Strand.
He clears his throat. "I'm not really good at this, so I'm just gonna say it." I start to panic, but then he places his hand over mine and my nerves settle. "Last week sucked. A lot. I've never gone that long without talking to you and it was like someone cut off my arm or something. I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you when you were just being honest."
"I am sorry I upset you."
"I know you are. And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you sooner. With all this crap at home, and the police calling to ask if we’ve remembered anything new. One cop even asked if I had anything I wanted to tell them, like I’ve been lying all these years." He gestures through the windshield with his hand. "It wouldn’t have been so bad if I'd had you to talk to."
"You know I'm always here for you." I want to rejoice at his words, to leap across the seat and wrap my arms around him, but any relief I feel is gone the moment it sweeps through me.
We're almost to the Strand.
He squeezes my hand. "I know. That's why—" He gives me a sidelong look. "Hey, are you okay?"
No. My fingers are tingling. My toes still feel normal but it'll only be a couple seconds before—
"Biz? What's wrong?"
I cling to Cameron's hand, my mind scrambling for a way to avoid flickering. "I'm fine, I just—" What? What? Pinpricks stab my toes and I dump my bag on the floor. "Oh crap!" I double over, burying my head beneath the dashboard, pushing my things around on the floor. This has worked before, but it's hit or miss how quickly I need to react to prevent the heaviness from descending.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I dropped my herfelator." I mumble the last word—I can only think so fast with my head between my knees. I count to ten, keeping my head down until I'm certain we're past the Strand, then slowly straighten, holding my notebook proudly in front of me.
Cameron shakes his head. "Just when I think I'm starting to understand you."
I shove the notebook back in my bag. Without thinking I ask, "What do you mean?"
He waves a hand at me. "Does this seem normal to you?"
I start to color. "I dropped my notebook."
"You weren't even holding it."
Figures he'd be all attentive and notice things like that.
"Do you really think I haven't noticed that there's something… different about you?"
Don't panic. Different doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Lots of people try to be different, hate being part of the crowd, blah blah. True, I'm not one of those people and would give my left kidney to be like everyone else, but that's beside the point.
I give him a wary look. "Different how?" I really don't want to have this conversation but I need to know what he's thinking so I can figure out how to deal with it.
"I don't know, things like this. Spazzing out for no reason, like when you jerk in class. Most people do that when they fall asleep, but you're never asleep. You just suddenly twitch out of nowhere. Everyone wonders if maybe you've got epilepsy like your dad but just haven't told anyone."
"People talk about me? About the—" what did he call it? "—jerking?"
"Yeah." His mouth snaps shut, like he was about to say more but stopped.
"Tell me."
"It's nothing. Just some of the guys being stupid."
I feel like the car is closing in on me. It's getting harder to breathe. "Do you… do you make fun of me, too?" Please say no. I can't bear it if Cameron isn't the friend he thought he was. “And what about Amelia? Does she make fun of me?”
"No, but what are we supposed to say? It's not like you've ever explained it."
I know the next question before he opens his mouth and wish I could leap from the moving car to not have to hear it.
"So why do you jerk like that?"
Why didn't I ever come up with an explanation? All my hours of hiding in bed and feeling sorry for myself for being a freak and I never anticipated this conversation. I shake my head at myself, but Cameron thinks I'm telling him no.
"So that's it? I'm honest with you and you can't answer one simple question?" His jaw clenches and even though I'm freaking out and still haven't come up with an answer, I can't help but notice how even when he's pissed off, he's gorgeous.
I touch his arm, his warmth spreading through my fingertips. "I want to be honest with you, Cam. I just—" I take a deep breath.
He laughs, confusing me at the sudden change in emotion, then he faces me and I realize he's still pissed. "I guess this isn't one of your better days."
Now I'm completely lost. "My better days?"
The car slows and he takes a moment to answer. We're at the boat ramp. He parks near the water and turns off the car before adjusting in his seat so he's facing me. The water shimmers in the afternoon light, highlighting his dark eyes and the dusting of stubble on his jaw.
"Some days it seems like you already know what's going to happen, like you have some magic ball that no one else can see."
My mouth drops. Now I'm really in trouble.
"I swear it's like you even know what I'm going to say sometimes." He leans his head back on the seat, resigned that he may have to wait awhile for an answer.
Words. I need words. Now.
"But I guess today isn't one of those days."
I can't believe Cameron pieced it all together. He may not know how or why, but he's noticed things I thought I'd kept hidden from everyone—even my family. Part of me is elated that this boy sitting next to me cares enough to pay that close of attention, but the rest is in a complete state of panic that someone has figured out my secret.
My voice is barely a whisper. "You've noticed that?"
His gaze narrows on me. "I'm not an idiot."
"No, I know you're not." A sudden, terrifying thought grips me: who else has figured this out? "Have you… has anyone else noticed those things?" I still haven't answered him and he's not going to put up with this deflection for long.
"Maybe, I don't know. I haven't said anything to anyone, but that doesn't mean other kids don't talk when I'm not around." He pauses, watching me closely for my reaction. "Or the teachers."
My heart stops. The teachers can't know. I've been so careful not to—Bishop's class flits through my mind. Well, maybe not as careful as I thought.
Cameron must know he's hit a nerve because he leans forward and slides an arm around my shoulders. "I'm not trying to make you feel like a freak." Too late. "I'm just worried about you and I'm sick of not knowing what it is that makes you different."
My eyes close. I try to lose myself in the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, but when I open them again he's watching me with a look so concerned, so trusting, that I spit out words before I can change my mind. "I have this… déjà vu thing. And sometimes the situation that I'm repeating seems so vivid, it's like I've actually lived it before. Conversations, stuff like that. I can recall all of it."
"Déjà vu?"
"That's all I know what to call it."
"And that's why you jerk in class?"
This might actually work. "Yeah."
"But today is a normal day so you don't know what's going to happen?"
I shake my head.
"Is this why you get headaches?"
I nod.
"Can't they do something for you? I mean, it seems like the doctors should be able to help you somehow."
"I have pills for when I get a headache." I don't like the direction this is going.
"No, I mean for the other part.
"
My chest tightens. It's like the weight that never came earlier is now suffocating me. I know I can trust Cameron, but it feels wrong to be telling anyone about this, even if I'm only telling him part of it.
"They don't know."
He straightens. "What do you mean they don't know."
"I've never told anyone."
"But don't you think they could help?"
I shake my head and damn if tears don't start running down my face.
Cameron's never seen me cry—not many people have—but he does exactly what I need: he pulls me into his arms and holds me against his chest until there are no tears left.
Chapter 29
By the next day, I've pushed aside the fear that Cameron is going to tell someone my secret. Even though he only knows a small part of the truth, being able to confide that little bit has lifted a weight that I never realized held me down. I float through school, my feet barely touching the ground.
My good mood doesn't go unnoticed.
Amelia elbows me on our way to Trig. "Someone got some last night."
I laugh. "No, we just talked."
"Uh-huh. I've heard that before."
I hold up my hands and contort my fingers into a parody of the Scout salute. "Swear to Google."
She rolls her eyes as we enter Bishop's class.
I do my best to pay attention but I'm excited for Turner's class. The fact that he said our next assignment will appeal to the artsy types means I'm definitely going to like it.
The bell rings and I'm halfway to the door when Bishop stops me.
Now what?
"Good work, Biz." He hands me my test. Eighty-seven.
"Thanks." I feel semi-proud of myself. Technically I didn't cheat since I was delirious when I saw the test so this means I actually passed on my own.
The extra good news carries me to Turner's class, where Cameron is waiting in the hall, a soft smile warming his face. I slide an arm around him and stand on tip-toe to give him a kiss. "Any idea what our next assignment is?"
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