by Pat White
Greg shrugs. “Let’s see how he likes being benched.”
“If you get caught—”
“I won’t,” Greg pins him with steely black eyes, “unless someone narcs on me.”
Striden puts up his hands. “I’m on your side, dude.”
Greg smiles. “A good place to be.”
He flicks a lighter and glances down at a white laundry bag, the kind they use for dirty towels at school. Only this one is moving. There’s a person inside, thrashing around, his voice muffled against what I assume is a gag.
Greg kneels beside it. Flicks his lighter. “But first I’ll start with him.”
He lights the edge of the sack and it bursts into five-foot flames.
I scream—
I’m jerked back to reality. I’m in the upstairs den of the party house. The orange glow of the room looks more like the fires of hell than romantic atmosphere.
“Catherine? What happened?” Greg grips my arm.
I want to believe he’s concerned about me but there’s an edge to his voice, an edge that makes me want to run.
“I’m sorry.” I slip my arm from his grasp and scan the room for my sunglasses.
Get a grip, Catherine.
I spot my glasses on the couch where we’d been sitting. Somehow I’d moved during the HULU and was halfway to the door.
I shove the sunglasses to the bridge of my nose.
Adrenaline whips through me. The HULU’s have to stop, damn it. They’re messing with my recovery, my future.
I ignore Greg’s demanding expression, the fact he’s twice my size.
And he’s blocking the door.
There’s no reason to be afraid of him. The HULU’s are misfires of my imagination, that’s all. They’re not real.
“I’m sorry. I have these spells, kind of like seizures but not. It sucks.”
I want out of here, away from the pounding bass line vibrating up through the floor, away from the muffled laughter of a house full of partying kids.
Away from Greg.
“Do you need medicine or something?” He steps toward me.
I try not to visibly recoil.
“No, just fresh air.”
He steps closer and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. I can’t breathe.
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
So am I. I’m sorry that this doesn’t feel like I’d imagined it would, that my skin is on fire and my throat is closing up.
I break the hold and avoid eye contact. “I am so embarrassed. I need to go outside for a few minutes.”
I grab my purse and brush past him.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, stay.” I have to lay it on thick. I squeeze his upper arm. He’s proud of his biceps. “It’s bad enough I ruined this moment.” I motion to the couch. “I do not want to ruin your night.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
But I won’t be back. Not tonight. I need out of here like a crab needs out of a pot of boiling water.
I open the door.
“Wait.” He looks deeply into my eyes.
I focus on his forehead. He can’t tell since I’m wearing my sunglasses.
“If you’re not back in ten minutes I’ll come looking for you.”
“You’re sweet.” I kiss his cheek. “I’ll be fine.” I know once he gets drinking with his friends he’ll forget all about me.
I make my way down the stairs but the front door is blocked by partying kids. Anxiety floods my chest. The loud music and cheering over a beer pong game is suffocating me. I push through the crowd toward the back of the house.
Taylor grabs my arm. “Well?”
“Be right back!” I shout.
She squeezes my arm. “Did he ask you?”
I nod and shoot her the brightest smile in my repertoire. She lets go to clap her hands and I whip around to escape. I make my way through the mass of people between me and my freedom. By the time I get to the kitchen I’m no longer polite about it, forget the “excuse me’s.” I’m struggling to breathe and feel like I’m going to pass out.
But I’m still smiling, beaming a confident grin at my classmates.
Being two people is exhausting.
Sweet Clarisse is blocking the door, a plastic beer cup in her hand. She tries to talk to me over the loud music, but I wave her off and grab the doorknob.
Fling open the door.
I can breathe again.
Marching down the back porch toward the greenbelt, I try to shake it off, the loud music, the smell of beer…
The image of Greg lighting someone on fire.
A choke-gasp catches in my throat. Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I fight back tears. I’m so tired of crying at the smallest things.
Small? You just hallucinated Greg planning revenge with a Molotov cocktail. A HULU, that’s all it was. Not real.
Yet Goth girl was really mugged after I saw it happen.
“A coincidence!” I rip off the sunglasses and shove them into my purse so I can see a path leading into the greenbelt.
It’s so green, lush and quiet. I aim for the mass of evergreen trees, desperate for peace.
Instead, reality smacks me hard across the face. I’ll never be my old self again, never get back on Cheer or get into the University of Washington.
I surely won’t be going to senior prom with Greg.
I’ll never have my life back because of my broken brain. I’m an aberration. End of story.
“Damn it!” At the edge of the greenbelt I lose it and swing my purse against a tree. Two, three times. With a guttural moan, I lean against the cold, damp bark. Defeat blankets my skin with the chill of fresh rain.
Sirens echo in the distance. Someone must have called the cops about the party.
“Come on.”
I jump at the sound of J.D.’s voice. He appears out of nowhere, grabs my hand and leads me into the forest.
Chapter Fourteen
I consider pulling away from J.D. and heading back to the house, but I don’t want to get busted at a drinking party, complicating my already messed up life. I’d probably be grounded for the rest of high school.
What was I thinking wandering into the greenbelt alone? With my challenged sense of direction I could have been lost for days.
I didn’t know what else to do. I had to get away from the party, the screaming kids, and a HULU that scared the crap out of me.
J.D. walks with purpose, pulling me deeper into the woods. Once we’re out of sight of the house he turns and gently places his hands on my shoulders. “What did he do to you?”
“What are you talking about? And why are you here?” I accuse.
“Hoffman, what did he do?” he asks again.
“He didn’t do anything.” I wrench away from him and start walking. “You did.” My last grasp on my old life.
“It was an accident. Get over it already.”
I turn on him, rage stinging my words. “Get over it? How do I do that? I’m a brain-damaged, messed up loser. I’ll never be right again.”
“You’ll never be the way you were before. That doesn’t make you wrong.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Careful not to look into his eyes, I open my purse and dig for my sunglasses. “I’m messed up, worse than anyone knows.” I can’t find the glasses.
“Catherine—”
I glare at him. “Because of you driving like a maniac. What was the hurry, anyway?”
He looks at me with concern in his blue-green eyes. “What did Hoffman do? Did he try to get into your pants?”
“Why would he want to? I’m a barely functioning, messed up freak.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
He touches my arm. There’s no burn, no itch, just a slight hum.
“Who says I want to go home?” I jerk away from him. “Maybe I want to party, do some shots or smoke a
joint. You got anything?”
“Stop it. That’s not you.”
“You don’t know me.” I step closer, so close I can see specs of gold in his blue-green eyes. “You don’t know my hell whenever I look into someone’s eyes.”
Which I’m doing right now. I start to slip.
“No,” I whisper, gripping his arm.
Too late.
Surrounded by white. I’m in a hospital. I glance around a waiting area but don’t see Mom or Dad.
Shouting echoes down the hall. “Where is he?”
I spin around and see J.D. with a wild look in his eyes, racing past me down the hallway.
An orderly chases after him. “You can’t go back there.”
“I need to see my brother!” he cries.
A security guard blocks the other end of the hall. A second guard steps up beside him. J.D.’s shoes slip on the floor as he turns and heads back the other way.
“Billy!” J.D. croaks.
Pain grips my chest.
I spot another security guard coming up from behind.
“J.D.!” I call out.
He can’t hear me.
The guard tackles him and they both go down. The other guards swarm over him like ants on a breadcrumb.
I struggle to breathe. I can’t help him. A guard snaps handcuffs on J.D., who’s still fighting to get free.
Two guards pull him to his feet.
“I need to see my brother!”
A guard shoves J.D. against the wall chest first. “You need to calm down.”
Someone bumps into me from behind as he passes. It’s Detective Ryan. I recognize him from the other night when J.D. saved me from oncoming traffic.
The cop flashes his badge. “Detective Ryan, Sammamish P.D. I’ll handle this.”
The guards hesitate.
“Cuffs off,” the detective orders.
A guard removes them.
“Come on, kid.” Grabbing J.D. by the arm, Detective Ryan pulls him down the hallway to an elevator.
“Tell me, you’ve got to tell me,” J.D. pleads.
“They don’t know yet,” the Detective says.
“What happened?”
The elevator doors open and they step inside. I’m still with them, hovering in the corner of the elevator.
“Skateboarding,” Detective Ryan says matter-of-factly. “He wasn’t wearing a helmet.”
J.D. bangs the back of his head against the elevator wall. His eyes water, making them an even more vibrant turquoise.
The doors open and they nearly collide with a gurney. A young man is strapped to it, his head wrapped in gauze.
“Billy?” J.D. hushes.
“Where are you taking him?” Detective Ryan asks.
“Imaging for an MRI,” the orderly answers.
“Billy,” J.D. chokes.
A stabbing pain pierces my chest. I grip my shirt above my heart. Can’t stand the pain; have to make it stop.
“Catherine!”
“J.D.,” I rasp.
“What’s the matter with you?”
I blink. Struggle for what little air I can manage to suck into my lungs. I look up.
Into J.D.’s turquoise eyes. I blink again, glance at the trees surrounding him. I’m back. I fight to remember how I got here. Wait, the party, Greg’s HULU, and running into the greenbelt.
I close my eyes. Breathe deeply. I realize I’m on the ground and my butt is wet from the damp earth.
“Catherine?” J.D. says, softer this time.
I hate that he’s the only one who seems to offer me compassion without pity.
I hate that I might know something that will potentially destroy him. His little brother…
“I have to go.” I get up and he tries to help me, but I pull away.
“I’m fine.” I start down the path. I’m terrified by what I’ve seen tonight.
I’m heartbroken.
For me.
For J.D.
“You’re welcome,” he calls after me.
I keep walking, blinking back tears.
“You’ll get lost,” he adds.
“I’m already lost,” I whisper.
I hear his Vans crunch against the fallen twigs as he follows me.
“Go right at the rock up ahead,” he offers.
“Thanks.”
He catches up to me. “What happened just now? A seizure or something?”
I shake my head. I can’t talk about it, can’t look into his eyes knowing what I know. What I think I know.
I hesitate. There’s one way to know for sure if these things are based in any kind of reality or not.
“Your father hits you, doesn’t he?” I ask, not looking at him.
“No,” he snaps and walks ahead of me.
“J.D.?”
He hesitates.
“Please tell me the truth,” I press.
He shoves his hands into his black jacket pockets, but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah, sometimes.”
My heart sinks. Confirmation. I have to accept the fact that along with my traumatic brain injury I’ve developed the ability to see into someone’s mind. The past, the future, who knows?
I’m desperate to make it stop. I don’t want to feel the devastation, the gut-wrenching pain.
“Do you have any weed?” I’ve heard other kids with TBI’s use it relax and calm their minds.
“Nice try, Princess.” J.D. turns to me, anger lighting his eyes. “Trying to get me busted on drug charges so they’ll send me away for good, huh? I’m not that dumb.”
“No, that’s not—”
“What, you recording this conversation?” He eyes me up and down.
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling exposed, naked. There are worse things, like seeing J.D. fight off the guards, seeing him break down into tears at his brother’s side.
“Please,” I choke. “I just need it to stop.” My eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Whoa, you are good. Come on, sniffle a little with those tears.”
“You’re an asshole.” I shove past him, but he grabs my arm.
“Come on, tell me. What do you want to stop?”
He’s looking at me with those colorful eyes, eyes that were filled with excruciating pain in my vision.
“I see things.” I blurt out and glance away. I won’t risk another HULU.
“Like dead people? Wait a second. I know that one.” He glances up. “What was that movie called, again?”
“I see things I shouldn’t and I know things I shouldn’t and—”
“You’re such a drama queen.”
I wish that’s all it was. But I’ve accepted the fact that my visions do come true, which means I have to warn J.D.
“Your brother…” I can’t get the rest out.
His eyes turn cold and dark. Threatening. “What about him?”
“He’s going to get hurt on a skateboard.”
He lets go of my arm like I’m diseased. “You’re sick, you know that? You can’t destroy my life so you’re going after my little brother?”
With a sigh, I walk around him. Streetlights twinkle from the houses above the greenbelt.
“Tell your brother to wear his helmet,” I offer, and head for the light.
Chapter Fifteen
J.D. hated Monday mornings. It meant another week of hell at school. He wandered downstairs and poured a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles. Poured a second one for Billy.
Dad wouldn’t be up for another half an hour. With any luck J.D. and Billy would be gone before the old man regained consciousness. It was a miracle he could keep his job selling office equipment considering the amount of booze he consumed.
But the old man was a master salesman, wearing the smile, pouring on the charm for strangers and saving his rage for his sons.
J.D. spent Sunday in his room, studying and drawing. Watching the house across the street. Not sure why. He thought she’d changed, that she and J.D. were coming to a truce.
Then she threatened
Billy. No one threatens Billy, not even the girl he’d wronged.
He heard Billy coming down the stairs. Morning wasn’t Billy’s favorite time of day. He shuffled into the kitchen with his backpack over one shoulder and skateboard under his arm. He dumped them on the floor, sat down and stared at his bowl of cereal.
J.D. slid the milk jug across the table. Billy grunted, poured milk and leaned back against the chair.
“Andrew’s party got busted,” Billy said.
“I heard.”
“Glad I left early.”
J.D. glanced up. “You were there?”
“For a few minutes. I heard Annie Sass was going to be there.”
“Was she?”
“Nuh-uh.” He shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
A few minutes passed.
Billy swallowed. “Saw Catherine the Great. She was running away from Greg.”
J.D. didn’t want to talk about her or even think about her, yet he couldn’t forget the look in her eyes when she’d raced toward the greenbelt. J.D. feared Greg had achieved his goal and “nailed the retard.”
And for some ridiculous reason, J.D. found himself wanting to protect her. He was drawn in and almost didn’t see it coming. Then she asked for weed. It was a perfect set up, her way to finally rid herself of her nemesis, J.D. Pratt.
“What’s the matter with you?” Billy said.
“Tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You got cross country today?” J.D. redirected.
Billy was a great runner. It came with living under the old man’s roof.
“Not today.” He dumped his half-eaten bowl of cereal in the sink.
“Dishwasher,” J.D. reminded.
Billy put his bowl on the top rack, grabbed his backpack and skateboard and headed for the door. “Later.”
“Helmet,” J.D. said.
“Come on, I’m—”
“Billy.” J.D. stood. “You of all people know what a brain injury can do to someone.”
“Whatever.” Billy whipped open the back door and J.D. watched as he swiped the helmet off a porch chair.
“Wear it,” J.D. called after him.
“Yes, mother.”
The kid shoved it on his head as he pumped the skateboard.
It was J.D.’s job to fill in for Mom, make that Mom and Dad. His warning had nothing to do with the Princess’s threat, her premonition about “seeing” Billy get hurt.