by Pat White
J.D. stepped away from the window and pressed his back to the wall. Catherine was okay. That’s all that mattered. He couldn’t let her die like that, run down by her friend because…
Because her brain injury prevented her from reacting fast enough to the threat of an oncoming car.
His fault. Again.
Just like the accident.
Just like Mom leaving.
J.D. stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. But the nightmare haunted him, repeating itself every time he drifted off…
Catherine standing in the street. Frozen.
Screaming.
The car slamming into her just as J.D. reached out…
J.D. hit by the car, flying through the air and landing in a shallow grave. Catherine and her posse standing above him, laughing and shoveling dirt on his head as he struggled to climb out.
By five in the morning he’d given up on sleep. He got up and drew instead, this time a lush forest etched itself onto the page.
Peaceful. Perfect. Isolated.
He headed out at six fifteen, earlier than usual. He convinced himself he wanted to hang out in Coop’s room before class, but deep down he wanted to be there when Catherine arrived so he could talk to her. Make sure everything was okay.
Idiot. She’s not going to talk to you.
As he climbed the steps to school it was obvious Catherine’s friends had done major damage control on Facebook last night. Popular girls, who normally didn’t acknowledge his existence, shot him dirty looks as he passed. Even his stoner acquaintances kept their distance.
J.D. was a marked man.
What’s that saying, again? No good deed goes unpunished?
With tunnel vision he headed to Algebra, ignoring the sneers, whispers and outright insults as kids passed him.
Just like home. Keep your head down, your eyes averted. Stay in your own zone and you won’t get hurt. If you’re lucky.
Someone whacked him in the shoulder and he stumbled forward. So much for that theory.
J.D. kept walking. It didn’t matter who it was.
Firm hands grabbed his jacket and jerked him around. Greg Hoffman, Catherine’s macho protector.
“You ever hear that expression, ‘Pick on someone your own size’?” Hoffman said.
“I’ve heard it.”
“Then pick me next time you want to run someone down on your skateboard.”
With a taunting smile, J.D. said, “Count on it.”
“All right, asshole.” Greg handed his backpack to another brainless jock. “Let’s do it.”
“Dude, I am not going to fight you in school,” J.D. said.
“Coward.”
J.D. had been called that so many times by the old man the word had no effect on him.
“After school, after football practice, whatever,” J.D. said. “You pick.” He needed to get to class and take notes for the Princess; not spend the morning in the principal’s office.
As J.D. turned Greg grabbed his jacket and yanked hard, hurling him against the lockers. The brainless jock stepped closer, his buddies closing ranks.
Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how this was going to end: J.D. in detention for starting a fight.
“Fight me now.” Hoffman’s eyes were glowing like Dad’s when he’d gone too long without a drink.
“I’d rather not be expelled today, thanks. How about tomorrow?”
Greg grabbed J.D.’s shoulders and slammed him against the lockers again. He didn’t fight it, didn’t resist. It wouldn’t do him any good. J.D. was outnumbered. Fighting back would only get Greg more pumped. J.D. knew how bullies thought.
Greg fisted his hand. He wasn’t dumb enough to hit J.D. in the jaw, was he? Nah, it wasn’t worth the damage to his hand. Which meant the jock would strike lower.
Hell, more rib abuse.
“Hoffman!” Coach Snyder yelled.
Since Greg was practically breathing fire J.D. didn’t think anyone could stop him. Coach Snyder, Coop right beside him, marched up to Greg and yanked him off of J.D.
“Mr. Cooper told me you’ve been causing trouble. What the hell is the matter with you?” Snyder said.
“This…this bastard—”
“Enough. Locker room. Now!”
When Greg didn’t move, Snyder pinched his shoulder. The pain snapped Greg out of his trance. Greg grabbed his backpack from his friend and went with the coach.
Greg’s buddies weren’t giving it up. They didn’t move, didn’t break their circle around J.D.
“Move aside,” Coop ordered, trying to imitate the coach’s gruff tone. “Pratt, you’re coming with me.”
“I didn’t do anything,” J.D. protested.
“My room, now!”
Greg’s friends broke formation, figuring J.D. would get his punishment from Coop. Punishment? For what, breathing?
As Coop and J.D. walked to his room, Coop whispered, “You need to stay off Hoffman’s radar.”
“Suggestions on how I do that?”
“Leave his girlfriend alone.” Coop paused by his door and glanced down the hall to make sure Greg’s friends weren’t still hovering.
“I didn’t hurt Catherine last night,” J.D. said. “I was trying to protect her.”
“How so?”
“Her idiot friend Taylor almost ran her down but I shoved the Princess out of the way.”
“That’s not the story that’s making the rounds.”
“Taylor’s majoring in PR at Wazoo next year. She’s gifted at spin.”
“Maybe you should transfer schools,” he said.
J.D.’s gut clenched. He couldn’t leave Billy. Although they kept their distance at school so Billy wouldn’t be tainted by J.D.’s reputation, J.D. always knew where the kid was and who he was hanging with. It was J.D.’s job to protect his kid brother.
He’d promised.
“I’ll think about it.” J.D. hesitated. “Thanks, Coop.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got some firewood that needs to be moved. Can you stop by this weekend?”
“Sure.” J.D. headed to Algebra, passing Greg’s buddies. They were in a major huddle, the second in command, Bryce, practically snarling at J.D. as he passed.
Survival instincts on full alert, J.D. blew past them. He should be worried about getting his ass kicked, but all he could think about was Catherine. First period was about to start and she wasn’t here.
Had he failed to protect her?
* * *
By third period J.D. had a pit in his stomach. Catherine was still a no show. Damn.
He admitted that although they were enemies, for half a second last night he thought they’d made a connection.
I’m the doe.
When she’d uttered those words something cracked inside of him. It was as if a part of her essence had drifted into J.D.’s soul.
Dude, you’re losing your freakin’ mind.
As he left History class he heard a squeal from down the hall.
“Catherine! You’re okay!” Taylor cried.
J.D. froze, turned around and spotted Taylor bear-hugging her friend.
Relief flooded through J.D.’s body. The Princess looked tired, but good. She sported purple-tinted sunglasses and her usual choker necklace.
She always wore a charm there, he guessed to cover the scar from the breathing tube.
“You look great!” her friend Andrea said, glancing at J.D., then back to Catherine. Andrea knew the truth about last night but would never go against her leader.
“What’s with the glasses?” Taylor said in a judgmental tone.
“Light sensitivity,” Catherine said, but her voice sounded off.
The glasses weren’t the only thing that had changed. Instead of Catherine’s usual black pants and skimpy top, she wore a long-sleeved black shirt and loose jeans with a silver-studded belt. She didn’t look like her usual self. No one seemed to notice.
“What did the doctor say?” Taylor asked.
&nb
sp; J.D. held his breath, tried to become invisible long enough to eavesdrop.
“Doctor said I’m fine,” Catherine said. “Can’t be late for class. See you later?”
Taylor gave her another quick hug. Catherine winced and loosely returned the hug.
With an odd smile, she stepped around her friends and headed for class. As she passed J.D. he thought she glanced at him, but couldn’t be sure. The tinted glasses camouflaged her eyes.
He followed a few seconds later, wondering if she believed the lie, believed that J.D. had some kind of stalker fixation on her and ran her down last night.
Which made no sense. What did he have to gain by hurting her? Taking notes and fulfilling his obligation would earn him points, maybe even get his probation reduced and scratch the black mark from his name.
But they all believed what they wanted to believe. He’d learned early on that things were rarely what they seemed. J.D.’s mom acted like she loved her sons, made their lunches for school, helped with homework, and ran interference when Dad drank too much.
In reality she didn’t care. Not about J.D. Not about Billy. If she did she would have protected them instead of abandoning them to their monster father.
J.D. wandered into Nutrition class and grabbed a seat next to Catherine. He wanted to explain what happened last night. Would she believe him?
It was worth a try.
“Hey,” he said.
No response.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he offered, studying her.
She fiddled with her silver ring, but didn’t respond.
So, that was it. She believed the lies and refused to speak to him.
Whatever. He shoved ear buds in place and cranked The Mars Volta.
It was ridiculous to think she could have changed enough to distinguish her friends from her enemies. Yet even before the accident he wouldn’t have called her posse “friends.” They were all in competition with one another over who had the best hair, wore the best clothes, and drove the most expensive car.
She might look different with her short hair, studded belt and sunglasses, but she hadn’t changed. Catherine the Great was too good for J.D., just like before.
In her mind J.D. was the psychopath who tried to kill her.
Twice.
Closing his eyes, he let the music take him to another place, a safe place.
Yeah, like such a thing existed?
With each wail from the electric guitar J.D.’s frustration eased. Crossing his arms over his chest he took a deep breath. He’d probably lose the iPod for listening to music in class but it was worth the risk.
Damn. Most days he was able to keep a handle on the anger and re-channel it into his art. Today he was struggling big time.
Thanks to Catherine.
He caught himself. If he blamed her for his hellacious existence he was as bad as the Princess, who blamed J.D. for everything wrong in her life.
No, he’d take responsibility for what was his.
If only he’d been home that night Billy wouldn’t have taken off in Dad’s car.
If he’d been a better son, Mom wouldn’t have left.
And the list goes on.
* * *
I don’t know what to say. I sense I should be grateful to J.D. for last night, at least according to the nurse’s account of what happened. But J.D. and I have never spoken to each other like civilized people. We’re always spewing nasty words and insults meant to hurt each other.
But since he made an effort I should at least try.
“Thanks,” I say.
J.D. doesn’t respond. I glance up. He’s plugged into his iPod, lost in some kind of crazed rock music. I can hear it screeching from his ear buds.
Oh well, probably not a good idea to talk to him in public anyway. He might get the wrong idea.
Still, during my mostly sleepless night I accepted two things: J.D. was not intentionally out to hurt me, at least not last night; and secondly, I need his help to pass my classes.
Mrs. Bartlett comes into class and heads for her desk up front. J.D. is so absorbed in his music that he’s unaware he’s about to lose his iPod.
“Okay, quiet down,” Mrs. Bartlett says.
“Hey,” I say to J.D.
He can’t hear me so I nudge him with my notebook.
J.D. jerks upright and glares at me. I point toward the front of class. J.D. spots Mrs. Bartlett and yanks the ear buds out.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter.
He ignores me. So much for closing the communication gap between us.
I focus on the lecture, trying to stay awake. Nutrition is a major bore, but I manage to take my own notes. I have to re-learn that skill if I’m planning to attend college.
College? I’m barely able to get through a few days of high school without a major meltdown.
Yet last night’s crisis had nothing to do with school, Cheer, or even J.D. Pratt, and everything to do with a HULU that came true.
Goth girl’s mugging—that’s what I’d been thinking about when I’d stepped into the street.
I push back the guilt gnawing away at my conscience. The mall mugger is out there stalking girls. I have to consider the possibility that my HULU’s aren’t simply my brain completing streams of thought.
Yet even if I can see into someone’s future or past, it doesn’t matter anymore. The sunglasses will prevent future HULU’s.
I hope.
If nothing else, the glasses are dark enough so people can’t tell I’m avoiding eye contact. I wish I’d had them when I met Goth girl and never had the parking garage HULU.
I sound like a coward. Or maybe I’m being smart. If I tell anyone about the visions the “Mom committing me” HULU will definitely come true.
Because no one can really see into the future, right?
Mrs. Bartlett lectures on, something about complex carbohydrates and complete proteins. I struggle to stay awake. As the period slowly passes I think about last night’s accident, wishing I could remember how exactly I landed on top of J.D. I don’t believe Taylor’s story that J.D. is out to kill me. If that were true he wouldn’t have launched himself between me and the pavement last night, right?
The classroom door cracks open and Mr. Burke pokes his head inside. “Sorry Mrs. Bartlett. I need to see J.D. Pratt and Catherine Westfield.”
Oh crap. What’s this about? I shove my notebook into my backpack and swing it over my shoulder. J.D. is halfway to the door by the time I catch up to him.
We follow Mr. Burke down the empty hallway as the last minutes of class tick away. I’m keeping pace with the associate principal but J.D. lags behind.
“What’s up?” I ask. I’m so tired of surprises.
“Let’s wait until we get to my office,” Burke says.
I glance over my shoulder at J.D. He actually makes eye contact and shrugs.
The first real communication I’ve had with the guy who saved my life.
There. I admit it. J.D. Pratt, the same bastard who hit me with his car six months ago, put himself at risk to save my life last night. Why? Could there be a conscience buried beneath all that aloofness?
We head into Burke’s office and sit across the desk from him.
“Your father called,” Burke announces.
“What the hell for?” J.D. says.
“Watch your mouth. Not your father, Catherine’s father.”
J.D. leans back in his chair, visibly relieved.
“Catherine?”
I snap my gaze from J.D. and look at Mr. Burke. “Yes?”
“In light of what happened last night your father is petitioning that we remove J.D. from school.”
“Big surprise there,” J.D. mutters.
Expel J.D. Awesome. He deserves it and I should be happy. Yet, he saved me last night. If I hadn’t landed on him…
“No, that’s not right.” The words escape my lips.
They both stare at me like I’ve grown three heads.
“J.D.
didn’t do anything wrong.” And he didn’t, at least not last night.
Mr. Burke quirks a brow as if to say I’m out of my mind. If he only knew.
“I mean, he hit me with the car last spring, but last night he…” I glance at J.D. but now he’s staring at a hole in his jeans.
“He pushed me out of the way,” I whisper.
J.D. still won’t look at me.
“Are you sure about that?” Burke presses. “You could be confused.”
“Why, because I’m a brain-damaged idiot?” I snap.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I lean forward to make my point. “A witness saw what happened and said J.D. pushed me out of the way. She gave a statement to police. That’s why J.D. wasn’t charged.”
“Pratt?” Burke asks.
I glance at J.D. He’s looking at me now as if I’m a complete stranger. Yeah, these days I’m a complete stranger to myself.
“That’s what happened.” He breaks eye contact. “Call Detective Ryan if you want confirmation.”
“I’ll do that,” Burke says. “In the meantime, we need to find Catherine a new note taker.”
“No, leave it the way it is.” I’m screwed without J.D.’s pictures.
“I think it’s best if—”
“I want to keep him.”
I need J.D.’s notes.
“Keep me?” J.D. says. “I’m not a damned puppy.”
“No, you’re my school slave.” I smirk, trying to play mean girl. I have a feeling I was good at it before.
“School slave? Nice,” J.D. says. “I get it now. Retribution and torture.”
I study my silver ring, hating the way I sounded just then.
“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Burke warns. “Let’s find you a new note taker and—”
“This is my life and everyone needs to stop shoving me around like a mop!” I stand, anger warming my cheeks.
When the anger latches onto me it’s like having an out of body experience. I shout at the associate principal knowing on some level that it’s inappropriate, but I can’t stop myself.
“Calm down, Catherine,” he says.
“I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do. My dad understands nothing. He barely talks to me since the accident because he thinks I’m a freak.” Oops, didn’t mean to let that slip.
“I’m sure he doesn’t—”