The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted

by J. A. Schreckenbach

  “She’s okay. I think they’re gonna release her tomorrow. She can’t remember much. And they still haven’t caught the sonofabitch who was trying to rob her. I tell you, it really had everyone freaked out on campus Friday. Hey, tell Dad we said hi. I gotta go pick up Sacha from work. Take care, and Aimee, I’m really happy that you wanna bring Dylan.”

  “Ditto,” she replied, but he had already hung up.

  Aimee closed her phone, hooked it to the charger, then set it on the nightstand. She laid back down on the bed and started to replay in her mind the harrowing scene at the bookstore. It nagged at her why she was given this gift without really understanding how she was supposed to use it. It was like getting a new computer without any instructions how to make it work. Aimee knew it wasn’t just a joy ride back and forth through time. Besides, getting sucked through a black hole that felt like it was shredding your body to pieces wasn’t her idea of a fun ride. All her travels up to this point involved someone in danger. She was being sent on these travels to somehow help these people, and hopefully alter the course of the event. She decided the next journey she was sent on she would try to change the outcome so no one got hurt…or worse.

  Suddenly, the vibration of the phone interrupted her thoughts. She looked to see if it was Dylan or Chelsea, or James calling back to poke fun at her some more.

  Number Withheld.

  Her stomach somersaulted, then instantly she became irritated at the unwelcome intrusion. She angrily flipped open the phone. “WHO IS THIS?!” Aimee growled between her teeth.

  Silence.

  Aimee continued, her typical latent temper gone and anger now fueling her mouth. “Look, you creep, if I find out who this is, you’re in BIG trouble. No, HUGE trouble! Do you hear me?!”

  Click. Dial tone filled her ear.

  Who the hell is doing this? Her mind raced thinking of all the possible weirdos who might want to harass her. The list seemed empty at first. Her easy going, avoid conflict at all costs personality shouldn’t put her on anyone’s hit list. Do I have a secret enemy? Other than some random sicko who might be out there stalking her, which she seriously doubted, there was only one person Aimee could think of that would dislike her enough to resort to this type of tactic.

  Brandi Peters!

  But why? Aimee remembered Chelsea saying she overheard Brandi and Nicole gossiping at the basketball game about her date with Dylan, and then the very next day Brandi made it clear, crystal clear, she wasn't very fond of her.

  But it wasn’t right. Aimee knew better than to accuse her until she was positive. So the rest of the evening she would let any more Number Withheld calls roll over to voice mail, and only answer calls for numbers she recognized. Aimee sighed anxiously and placed the phone back on the nightstand.

  She didn’t have any homework left to study. She was prepared for the world history test tomorrow so she decided to get in bed early for once. She changed quickly into an old t-shirt and sweats, then headed to clean up and check on Dad. Within ten minutes she was curled up under her soft quilt, her body finally letting the day’s excitement roll off layer by layer. Aimee started deleting thoughts from the past few days so her brain would float into sleep. She took a few deep breaths, then slipped into slumber easier than she had anticipated. Fortunately, there were no more disturbing interruptions from Number Withheld.

  Chapter 8 Weird Stuff

  Zonker’s moist tongue lapped across Aimee's dull face. Her eyes abruptly popped open. Z Boy was hovering over her. His mouth, with its pink tongue hanging out, appeared turned up into a mischievous grin. “Geez, Zonker!” she screamed, then she shot straight up in bed and wiped the slobber from her face. He laid down immediately and rolled over to his back pleading for forgiveness.

  Pale, white light was filtering through the closed blinds. It was too light for her normal time to wake up. She jerked around to check the clock. Seven thirty-nine. “Crap!” she screamed, then bolted out of bed. Zonker scampered to the closed door.

  She inspected the alarm. Geez, how stupid am I? It didn’t go off because in her desperate effort to purge her brain of the vexing journey, her botched attempt to help the young girl, and now the eerie calls, if for only a few hours so it could reboot, she forgot to turn on the alarm before falling asleep.

  Aimee pitched open the bedroom door and loped to the kitchen. Dad was already gone, which explained why he didn’t rescue her when she didn’t emerge at her regular time. She noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen table with Dad’s scribble.

  Hey Sleepyhead, I had to meet the electrician early

  at the McCoy job. Sorry I missed you. Have a great

  day! I should be home by the time you get off work.

  Going out to dinner with a friend so don’t worry about

  me. See you tonight. Love Dad…

  Oh yeah, forgot to mention some girl called for you

  last night about 11:30. She didn’t leave her name or

  message. Just asked for you then hung up when I told

  her you were in bed.

  She reread the note really irritated that someone had called so late, then didn’t bother to leave a name. Dad hated getting calls after ten, and usually gave her grief when anyone woke him up. All of her friends had her cell number so Aimee was positive they would have tried her first on her phone, but if anyone did call she must have been way too out of it to hear it vibrate.

  First Aimee let Zonker out, then grabbed a glass of water and dashed back to the bedroom. She searched for her phone under her pillow, then checked for missed calls. Not one call. Sort of peculiar, but Aimee didn’t have time to worry about that now. She was going to be late to school if she didn’t get moving.

  She tossed the phone onto the bed, then frenziedly began searching the closet for a clean pair of jeans. Every pair was dirty. She grabbed the pair from the previous day out of the top of the clothes hamper and half way checked them over before she tugged them on. Then she ripped the first shirt she found off its hanger and yanked it over her head. Aimee glanced into the mirror and grimaced. She would cover the wrinkled shirt with a blue jean jacket so no one would notice, that is no one except Chelsea, the fashion police. After throwing a brush through her tangled hair and pulling it into a disheveled ponytail, then swishing her mouth with mouthwash, Aimee slung her backpack over her shoulder and dashed through the backdoor, only pausing long enough to let Zonker in. She locked the door handle and pulled it shut, then flew to her car.

  She sped through the side streets to avoid the morning traffic on the main drag, gunning her ancient VW until the motor groaned unmercifully. A few students were still milling around in the parking lot when she pulled into the only remaining space on the first aisle she whipped down. Immediately Aimee noticed Dylan’s FJ Cruiser a couple aisles over. Her pulse started to rev up thinking she would see Dylan in a couple minutes. She peeked quickly in the rearview mirror to make sure her face at least was presentable. After snatching her pack, Aimee darted towards the main building, jogging pass the stragglers. Chels, Courtney, and Ashley, still huddled together gossiping, looked up as Aimee rounded the corner and pushed past the scant crowd into the main entry.

  “Gosh, Aimee, what the hell happened to you?” cried Chels. Courtney and Ashley both snickered while they waited for Aimee to join their circle.

  “I know, Chels. The pits, huh? I overslept and threw on whatever I could find so I wouldn’t be late.”

  “You’re fine. The first bell is just about to ring.” She motioned with her finger for Aimee to twirl around. “Here, let me help.” She straightened Aimee's collar on the jean jacket and slid her rumpled hair from the rubber band, raked her fingers through the lumpy strands before fastening it into a tight and smooth ponytail. “There, better.”

  “Thanks,” Aimee said with a smile. They started walking towards their class. She suddenly remembered her dad's note from this morning. “Hey, did any of you try calling me late last night on my house phone?”

  “N
ope,” all three sang in unison.

  They stopped at the second hallway, and Courtney and Ashley veered off to head to their first period classes. Chelsea kept chattering away about some party coming up at Jana’s boyfriend’s house on Saturday while they strolled into the next hallway. Brandi and Nicole stood in the middle of the hall. Brandi’s back was to them when they approached. Nicole looked over Brandi’s shoulder and spotted Aimee. Her eyes narrowed. They instantly stopped talking. Brandi reeled around and faced Aimee and Chels with her hands perched on her hips. Both girls shot evil stares at Aimee, who quickly cemented her eyes to the square patterns of the tile floor, but she could still feel the lethal venom being speared at her. Chels kept yakking about the party, mindless of everything else around her. Aimee didn’t absorb a word Chels said until they passed the two girls. She strained to hear their conversation, and watched out of the corner of her eye expecting one of them to do something mean, but nothing happened.

  “Aimee, girlfriend, wake up. Did you hear me?” Chelsea shook her elbow lightly. They stepped faster through the thinning hall. Just as they passed under it, the bell shrilled. Aimee jumped. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Chelsea sensed Aimee's edginess. “I said, guess who is waiting in the hall for you?” Chelsea repeated while she gestured with her eyes towards Dylan. Aimee glanced back quickly to see Brandi and Nicole about twenty feet behind them still watching her.

  Dylan stood by the door to Dr. Morris’s room with his back to Aimee talking to Trent Fry. Trent noticed Aimee coming and his face turned to stone.

  What else can go wrong today, she thought. Trent jabbed Dylan in the arm and laughed, then he turned to walk away, throwing Aimee one more nasty look.

  Dylan spun around and greeted Aimee with a crazy smile. His eyes locked intensely into hers, as if no one else existed around him. “Hi, you’re late. I waited for you in the parking lot. I tried calling, but I got your voice mail.”

  “Sorry, I woke up late and I forgot my phone in my hurry.”

  “Well, don’t let it happen again,” he teased as he walked her into class. His hand softly grazed Aimee's jacket. She felt a tinge of excitement shoot up her spine. She was glad he couldn’t see her cheeks flushing.

  Aimee settled into her desk, then Dylan slid nonchalantly into the desk behind her. She twisted around and looked at him with her eyebrows crunched together. Dylan smugly smiled back. Blake glared at him when he came through the door, then without a word went straight to the back of the room to take an empty seat. Aimee could hear comments brewing from Dylan’s buddies at the back, and she peeked indifferently at them. Robert Moore and Logan Whitney both stared at her. She immediately looked back at Dylan’s face. His eyes instantly calmed her rustled emotions.

  Who else can I piss off today? Aimee thought.

  She turned back to face the front as Dr. Morris slammed the door shut, then greeted the class. Suddenly Aimee felt Dylan’s fingertips touching her back. It was amazing how just his touch could level her upside down world in an instant. He was the one constant right now in her weird life that kept her grounded and sane. Her entire body sighed.

  After class Aimee knew the rest of the day would drag, now that her time with Dylan was over until after school. Dylan walked her half way to second period, then disappeared quickly down the hall to get to his class before the second bell buzzed. His last smile before he disappeared would have to sustain her for the next five hours until he walked her to her car after the final bell.

  This seemed to be the pattern they were falling into at school. Despite the obvious disapproval by his entourage of admirers, Dylan was clearly choosing Aimee's company over them. She figured the icy stares from them were proof enough of how they felt about their relationship. Well, screw them, Aimee decided. It’s their problem if they’re bummed about us. She couldn’t change her history of being the crazy chick in middle school. And, she couldn’t help but feel their stares were scrutinizing her current mental state, waiting for her to crack so they could rescue their pal. She wondered how much of her dark past they revealed to Dylan, and how much of it was the truth. Aimee knew Robert and Trent remembered, all too well. They went to the same middle school and attended some of the same classes. Coming to high school she had worked so hard to be a chameleon so she could bury those torturous memories. If Dylan knew about her dark past - and she was sure he did - it didn’t seem to bother him. She didn’t have to be the chameleon with him. He wanted her the way she was, and she wanted him. The prince and the crazy duckling.

  The final bell rang endlessly as it announced her freedom. Her worrisome thoughts evaporated and she bailed out of Mr. Bailey’s class to dash to her car. She would see her prince in a minute. When she rounded the corner of the main building, Aimee saw Dylan leaning against her car with his arms folded defensively across his chest. Robert and Trent were huddled around him. Dylan’s face looked ruffled. He shook his head, obviously contesting whatever his friends were telling him. Aimee froze, desperately trying to read his expression. Finally, she heard his voice. It sounded upset. Pained. He looked up and spotted Aimee.

  Abruptly Robert and Trent wheeled around, glowered at Aimee, and then they turned back towards Dylan. Dylan glared at them. Without another word Robert and Trent tore off the opposite direction ducking through the exodus of kids scattering through the parking lot. Dylan straightened up and watched his friends disappear, then he turned to Aimee. His façade changed. The pain was still there, but the anger had thawed.

  Dylan’s chocolate eyes melted immediately into hers. He spread his arms out towards Aimee as she approached. She stopped a foot away, nervously switching the backpack from one shoulder to the other. She waited for him to say something. She wanted to hear anything to reassure her that he still wanted her.

  Dylan reached over and wrapped his hands around Aimee's arms, then pulled her tight into his body. He rested his chin on her head. He squeezed tighter, and held her there forever. Finally, he leaned away and looked into her eyes. His brown pools smoldered. “Aimee, can we talk?”

  Aimee's heart dropped from her chest into her stomach. She could feel her throat constricting. She choked out, “Yes. Do you want to talk here or somewhere else?”

  “Let’s ride over to the park,” Dylan replied. He took Aimee's keys, unlocked and opened her door, then took her backpack and tossed it into the back seat. She slowly slid into her seat and waited nervously while he locked and slammed the door. Instantly he was folding his long, muscular frame into the tiny space next to her. Without a word, she cranked the car and backed easily into the thinning stream of cars. Aimee drove without paying attention to anything. Her mind was stuck a million miles away shifting through the past; her weird past. What does he want to know? What did they tell him? Does it matter? Will my perfect world come crashing down in a couple minutes?

  In less than two minutes Aimee eased her yellow Bug into a parking space, stomped on the clutch and shifted it into Neutral, and then yanked up the brake. The park was deserted, except for them. Dylan reached over and turned the key. The motor died with a quiet sputter. Her hands balled into fists so tight the blue veins popped up menacingly. He slid his hand under her right hand, and gently pried her fingers loose from its clenched ball. Then Dylan took them up to his lips, his eyes still watching for Aimee to thaw. She refused to face him. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. An eternity passed in silence. Without waiting for an objection, Dylan kissed each finger before he weaved them into his, and then laid their hands on his lap. He cleared his throat. Aimee cringed and held her breath, then waited for the fateful end.

  “Look, Aimee…” he finally started, hesitating only briefly to see if she would look at him.

  Omigod, he must hate me! Aimee exhaled a sigh of defeat. She stared out into the park, afraid for him to see her pain when he told her he had changed his mind and he didn’t want her after all. Maybe it’s better this way. He’s too perfect for me.

  “I kno
w you have had a rough past. I don’t know how bad it was, but they, uhh, well, Trent and Robert, told me you were - he hesitated trying to find the right word - ill.” He continued, his voice bridled, but smooth. “But I don’t care. The girl I fell in love with last summer wasn’t crazy. The girl sitting here with me now isn’t crazy, and if she is, I don’t care. I love you the way you are. I don’t give a damn what Trent, or Robert, or anyone else tells me. It doesn’t matter.” He stopped suddenly. He studied Aimee, trying to assess her reaction to his confession.

  Aimee slowly turned towards him with tear-stained cheeks. She looked into his eyes. They were filled with concern, but full of love. Her chin trembled. Dylan wiped away her tears. Her voice shook when she tried to speak. “Dylan, I don’t know what they’ve told you, but I’m sure some of it is true. I was – she cleared her throat to unstick the word from her lips - ill…actually, I had a meltdown. Dad sent me away for a while during the summer after it happened until I got well enough to come home and return to school. I’m not sure what happened to me. My doctor said I crashed. After years of smothering the pain of mom’s death, I couldn’t handle it anymore, and I guess all of the hormones and normal craziness of adolescence, well, I kinda fell apart. But I’m better. I know others still think I’m uh…weird. I can feel it even if they don’t say it to my face.” The tears flooded down Aimee's cheeks and stained the collar of her shirt. She wiped the sleeve of her jacket across her face, then continued. “I…I would understand if you…you decided you didn’t want to be with me.” She looked at Dylan wishing she could read his thoughts.

  After a long moment, Dylan sighed. He pulled Aimee to him and rested his cool cheek against her wet cheek. He held her for a long time before he spoke. “Didn’t you hear me, Aimee? I said, I don’t care! You are the best thing that has happened to me since I came to East Medford, actually you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t care about your dark past, or whatever you call it, and my friends can all get screwed if they think they’re gonna change my mind.” He took a long breath and looked deep into her eyes before continuing. “I love you, Aimee. You're the only thing I can think about. I am totally, insanely in love with you. I realized how I felt last summer. Man, I wanted to tell you so many times before now, but you know, well, I, uh, had to take care of other matters. I know it took me a long time to get here, but the way I feel has only grown stronger. I hope you feel the same about me. I know you have doubts, but you can trust me. I’m not going anywhere, well, except to Eugene in a few months, but I’m hoping you’ll come, too.” He stopped abruptly and waited for a response.