* * * *
Thomas tapped his foot against his desk as he made mincemeat of the inside of his cheek. What if his strange dreams had some kind of purpose behind them after all? What if Warrenna walked in looking amazed and teary-eyed, with a tale in her head from Natalie's perspective that his story brought out?
But what if the story didn't affect her? What if the similarities were just a coincidence? What if what happened to him when he saw her painting was actually a symptom of some mental illness?
Maybe there's something really wrong with me. Maybe my dreams are hallucinations. Maybe this morning was a blackout. Who knows what else is happening in my head?
Something waved in front of Thomas's face. He turned, wild-eyed, and Brendan quickly pulled his hand back.
"Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.” Brendan peered into Thomas's eyes. “Are you all right, man? I mean, you sleepwalk through yesterday's practice and don't even blink when coach yells at you for daydreaming. Then you walk right by me and C-Rod this morning like we're not there. What's going on?"
"Uh, nothing.” But then Warrenna appeared in the door. “Well, it's something I'm gonna take care of right now."
He hurried across the room, arriving at Warrenna's corner desk just as she fell into it. “So what do you think?” he asked.
She yawned. “It's really good. You know what you're doing with words."
He gave a frustrated sigh and stuck his hands in his back pocket. “I didn't want an opinion on my skill. I want to know if the story meant anything to you."
"What do you mean, ‘meant?’ What do you care what I think?"
Thomas chomped on the inside of his cheek and bowed his head. He couldn't come up with any way around telling her everything. He made sure no one was close enough to hear, and then began.
"Okay, here it is. That story came from a dream I had a while back, and when I looked at your painting yesterday, I swear the dream was happening again, I was inside it. Only I knew more about what was going on, ‘cause I had another perspective."
Thomas could feel his throat tightening up again. His words were sounding strange enough. How crazy would he sound if he started telling Yannic and Natalie's story?
"Hey, Tommy boy."
He looked up to find Mariah's bright blue eyes staring back at him. He swallowed hard and held her gaze. “I'm kind of in the middle of something right now. I'll just be a minute."
Mariah's jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly. “Sure. Take your time."
Thomas looked back to Warrenna's dull gray eyes. She was staring at him, too.
That was when he felt the tears running down his cheeks.
"Damn.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Sorry."
"That's all right.” She rubbed her shirttail between her fingers. “Do you have a car, Thomas?"
"What? Oh, yeah. Why?"
"I'd like to talk some more about this. Someplace,” she moved her eyes from side to side, “more private. How about after school today? You'd have to take me home."
"Okay. Sure, that'd be good.” He sniffed. “Listen, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."
"Hang on.” She gestured to the tiny cell phone that was suddenly at her ear. “Hey, it's me. No, nothing's wrong. Listen, you don't have to come pick me up this afternoon. Because a friend of mine is giving me a ride, that's why. Unless I'm suddenly not allowed to have friends. Yeah. Okay. No, it'll be okay. Okay. Bye."
The bell rang, and she looked back at Thomas. “All right. Meet me at the main exit after sixth hour. We'll go somewhere and chat."
"Okay. Thanks.” He turned to go.
"Tom? Your story?"
He whirled back around and took the pages from her. “Oh, yeah, thanks."
Thomas didn't look at any of his friends as he sat down at his desk.
"What was all that?” Mariah asked, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"Oh, nothing.” Thomas forced himself to smile through the plummeting feeling in his stomach. “She did this painting, and it reminded me of that scene in Braveheart when that girl gets her throat slit. We were talking about it, and I remembered the movie, and just kinda got overwhelmed by it."
Brendan stared at him, his eyes full of doubt.
"I know. She's a great artist, isn't she?” Thomas said, straining his voice to sound enthusiastic.
Brendan squinted at him, opened his mouth, then looked at Mariah. “Yeah,” he finally said. “That's, um, a tough scene to forget. You see the love of someone's life killed right before your eyes."
Thomas sighed inwardly in relief. He knew Brendan didn't buy his story, but his friend was playing along, at least with Mariah around.
But now he had to come up with a story Brendan would believe.
* * * *
Warrenna pulled her sketchbook out of her locker and slammed the door shut. Fifth hour was history, and the teacher wasn't big on class participation. Maybe she could work on that sketch of the man lying in the stream among those white-barked trees.
"Hey, Red!"
The words were shouted down the hall, but Warrenna kept walking. She wondered what the man in the stream was looking at.
"Wait up, Red."
A pretty blond girl grabbed her arm. Her blue eyes were clear and intense, and her smile seemed a little too sweet to use on someone she didn't know.
"My name's not Red,” Warrenna told her.
"Yeah, I figured it probably wasn't.” The girl let go of Warrenna's arm and walked beside her. “But I don't know what your name is, ‘cause the only person you seem to talk to is Tommy, and when that happens he bursts into tears. What's up with that, by the way?"
Warrenna squinted. “What are you talking about?” Then she recognized the girl. She sat in front of Thomas in third-hour English. Warrenna had seen the two of them passing notes all week. “Oh, that. I don't know what his deal is. Why don't you ask him?"
"I did. He has his story, but I'd like to hear yours."
Warrenna thought for a second. Thomas had told her about his dream as though it was a secret. Well Thomas, if you lied to this girl, you're on your own.
"He said one of my paintings really affected him. There seems to be a lot more on his mind, though."
The girl frowned. “That's for sure."
"Listen, what's your name?"
"Mariah."
"Mariah, I'm Warrenna. It's nice to meet you. If you're worried about me going after your man, you can relax. He's not my type. And I've seen the way he looks at you.” She grinned. “You've got nothing to worry about."
Mariah blushed and bit her lower lip. “Yeah, well, I'm just worried about him. He acts like a goof, but there's a lot going on inside him, you know?"
Warrenna shrugged. “Couldn't say.” She paused at a classroom door. “This is my stop."
"Oh. Well, thanks. What was your name again?"
"Just call me Renna."
"Thanks, Renna. I'll see you in class."
"Uh-huh."
She waited for Mariah to turn a corner, then resumed down the hall, toward her actual classroom.
Chapter 5
Warrenna pushed through the river of students flowing to the parking lot, wondering how long it would take to meet up with Thomas. As small as Bascomville was, the high school was still populated by hundreds of kids.
But it didn't take long to find him. His pogo-stick hopping by the front door made it pretty easy.
She frowned. I hope I didn't get his hopes up too high.
Nothing about his story stood out, but the tears streaming down his face stung her eyes as if she were the one crying. She figured she could at least give him a private conversation. That would probably make her feel more human, too.
"Hey,” he said when she reached him. “Did anything come to mind?"
"I really need a cup of coffee. I'd rather not discuss your dream ‘till I get some java in me. You know any place we can go?"
"Uh, sure. There's A.J.'s. It's got a c
appuccino machine, Italian sodas, and a bunch of different kinds of coffee."
Warrenna gestured to the streams of teenagers passing by them through the doors. “We gonna have lots of company?"
"I don't think so. You'll see."
"Okay. You don't think Mariah will get upset with you hanging with another girl, do you?"
His eyebrows rose. “Well, what Mariah doesn't know won't hurt her.” He laughed. “And if she does mind, then I'm in better shape with her than I thought."
They started into the dusty parking lot. The afternoon sun blazed a brilliant yellow in the pale sky, so Warrenna quickly fished a pair of wraparound sunglasses out of her bag.
Thomas grinned. “You look like an old lady with those things on."
Warrenna glared at him, but she was happy to see his smile. “My eyes are really light-sensitive. I can't believe how bright it is here."
"You'll get used to it. Everybody does."
The sun was behind them as they walked, so Warrenna pulled her collar up to cover her neck. No skin was exposed, but her back and shoulders itched from the heat.
Warrenna told herself to relax. The shade was soon to come.
They reached a small brownish car that looked like it hadn't been washed in years. With a sweep of his hand, Thomas said, “Warrenna, meet the Beatermobile."
"Nice to meet you, Beater.” She stroked the roof as though she was petting a cat. “Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Boy. Stick-shift."
"Ah. Does he have A-C?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good. I can't believe how hot it is here, either."
Thomas started the car, and they queued up to exit the parking lot. “So, you haven't lived here long, right?"
"Just about two months."
"Where'd you move from?"
Warrenna sighed and adjusted the sunshade. “A little town near the coast in Washington State. We had trees, we had the ocean, and it actually rained. It never rains here, does it?"
"Actually, we have thunderstorms every day during the monsoons."
"That's what my mother said. I can't imagine it's worth the wait."
He shrugged. “They're pretty cool. The lightning over the mountains can be pretty awesome."
"I'll watch for it."
Thomas steered the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. “So, what brings you to my corner of Arizona?"
Warrenna winced, and nervously dug through her shoulder bag to retrieve an old flyer. “It's kind of a long, boring story."
Thomas grinned again. “Lucky for you, I happen to like long, boring stories. I write them all the time."
"Heh.” She folded the flyer in two precise places. “Well, my parents grew up here, and my mother had to get, uh, transferred, so she picked a place she was already familiar with."
Thomas nodded and gestured at her hands. “What are you doing there?"
"Oh, nothing. Just a little origami. Keeps my fingers nimble for painting."
He watched her with genuine interest. “Cool. What are you making?"
"A heart. See?” Warrenna held up the paper, but then she felt silly. “Here, you can have it.” She slipped the heart into his glove compartment.
He smiled. “I'll let Beater keep it."
They stopped at the Highway 20 intersection and watched the cars and pickups race by on the wide, dusty blacktop.
"Hey, Thomas,” Warrenna said, and he looked at her. “It's been, like, five minutes, and you're not crying."
He blushed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me."
"I'm just teasing you.” She smiled. It felt good to tease someone again.
Thomas turned the car into a strip mall parking lot and eased the Escort beneath a sheltered overhang.
"Thanks for the shade,” Warrenna said. “Guess I don't have Arizona eyes just yet."
"No problem. A.J.'s is over there, between the Cheap Cigs and Sammy's Salon."
Warrenna immediately liked the feel of A.J.'s Cafe as soon as she walked in because it was dim enough to remove her shades. Soft jazz played from speakers high on the walls, which reminded her of the Blue Tulip in Bellingham. She and Melissa had spent many an hour at that little coffeehouse sipping coffee and talking about boys. Any place that reminded her of the “BluTu” couldn't be all bad.
They sat at one of the tiny tables across from the bar, a dark cherry piece with polished brass knobs. “This is really nice,” Warrenna said.
"Yeah. My mom works in the complex by the hospital around the way. She likes a quiet place to have lunch. Business doesn't pick up here ‘til pretty late."
The waitress, a woman in her forties with black hair and a soft French accent, took their drink orders: a banana smoothie for Thomas, a double espresso for Warrenna.
Warrenna waited for her to leave, then asked, “So, what do kids do for fun around here? Tell me this isn't the sort of town where y'all go cow-tippin’ every Friday night."
"No, no. Wednesdays are much better for tippin'. Not as many deputies out."
"Tell me you're messing with me."
Thomas tipped back an imaginary cowboy hat, and mimed spitting into a spittoon. “Why, yes'm,” he replied in a John Wayne drawl, “I reckon I am at that.” He snorted and laughed. “We're not exactly a cow-town out here. Bascomville is like any other town, I guess. We've got our little theater, and our little park, and our little mall. And Maldecido's a pretty cool place. It's a college town about an hour north. There's always events going on at SAU. Lotta good concerts. I've been to Lomax Auditorium at least a dozen times."
"Oh, yeah?” Warrenna imagined twangy singers with enormous hairdos and/or belt buckles. But she asked anyway. “Who was the last act you saw?"
Thomas rubbed his neck. The blender whirred behind the bar. “Ever hear of Ancestor Cult?"
Warrenna's jaw dropped. “Are you serious?"
Thomas blushed. “Yeah, I know their fans are kind of creepy. But they do this one song. It's this amazing voice singing in Latin along with a violin. Whenever I hear it, I get hypnotized. I think I heard it in a dream once, or in a song like it anyway. It really stuck with me."
"That's The Mirror Cannot Lie. Great song."
His eyes lit up. “You've heard it?"
She nodded. “I saw the Cult in Seattle last year. I had to sneak out of the house, which made my parents furious. But the show was worth the four weeks I was grounded."
Thomas grinned. “Huh ... I had to go by myself. My friends still give me crap about being a closet goth. I mean, great music is great music, and just because most of their fans have more piercings than fingers doesn't make the Cult's music any less amazing."
"Wait. You went by yourself?"
He shrugged again. “No one would go with me."
"That's funny, I went alone too. None of my friends wanted to go either. But I just had to hear that line in Floating Upstream. It's my favorite line ever written."
"Which line is that?"
Warrenna bit her lower lip and looked up to one of the slowly rotating ceiling fans. “It's the one that goes: ‘No one, no one can stop what is coming.’ The music stopped when she reached that line, and the crowd went absolutely silent."
"And you felt like she was singing to you alone,” Thomas finished. He closed his eyes and smiled. “The rest of the crowd was gone, and it was just you. You and that breathtaking voice."
Thomas held the pose for a moment, lost in his reverie. Warrenna pictured him standing in a darkened concert hall, surrounded by strangers, his eyes closed, reveling in the music without a care for what happened around him.
Then Warrenna imagined herself standing on the opposite end of the same hall at that same moment, her eyes open but not seeing Thomas. Then, by chance, she would happen to turn his way. And then he would feel her eyes on him and look, and they would smile, for they knew that this moment, this music, this wordless connection from across an auditorium was the only thing that really mattered. Image, cli
ques, the condition you were born with, all that was meaningless. He would feel it all, and would move to her, his steps in time with the beat, and he would hold out his hand....
"Do you believe in fate, Renna?"
She blinked. “Fate?"
"'No one can stop what is coming,'” Thomas quoted. “Sounds like fate to me."
The waitress arrived and set their drinks on the table. When she left, Warrenna's eyes bore into Thomas's. “Yes, I believe in fate. I have to. I'd go crazy if I didn't. What about you?"
"I don't know. Fate is fun to talk about, but I think it's mostly the stuff of dreams.” He took a long sip of his smoothie. “Speaking of dreams, do you mind if we talk about the story and the dream now?"
"Sure."
"Did you remember anything? Maybe a dream you had?"
Warrenna's eyes drifted to a watercolor sunset hanging on the wall. “Well, the situation sounds familiar. Like I've heard that kind of story before."
"Oh."
He sounded disappointed. She hurried on. “I mean, I guess it's possible. I get ideas for my paintings from all sorts of things, TV, movies, other paintings. My dreams are bound to influence my art."
"But you didn't have any great revelation."
"No."
Thomas's shoulders sagged.
"You shouldn't take coincidences so hard, Thomas. It's not good for you."
He shrugged and mumbled into his smoothie.
"Why does this matter so much?” Warrenna said. “You've obviously been pretty broken-up about it."
He started to speak, but then stopped and looked hard into her dull gray eyes. “Renna, can you keep a secret?"
Warrenna nodded, biting her lower lip to keep from saying, you have no idea.
Thomas took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Ever since I can remember, I've had really vivid dreams. Every single night I'm fully immersed, all senses. I've smelled the salt water of the greenest ocean, tasted the hottest red pepper, felt freezing ice or broiling sun on my skin. In one dream, I got stabbed in the leg, and I felt the pain, and the blood flowing down my knee."
He frowned. Warrenna froze. I didn't just lick my lips when he mentioned blood, did I? She quickly took a sip of her drink. “Go on."
He nodded. “I think I was eight when I realized that I dream different from anyone else. Well, anyone else I know about. I read about falling dreams or dreams where you can't move your legs, or your teeth fall out, or you go to school naked. Nothing weird like that ever happens in my dreams. But the thing is I've never been in them. Well, I guess it's me, but not with any face or body I recognize. And I've never seen anyone I know in these dreams. When I was twelve my mother suggested I start writing them down for the story ideas."
The Cure for the Curse Page 4