Crossed Out

by Kim Baccellia

  “Any other ideas, class … ones that don’t deal with imaginary light shows?” Mr. Johnson snickered, then walked back to the front of the room.

  Dylan shot me a funny look. I couldn’t tell what he’d been thinking. I looked away, wounded that he didn’t at least stand up for me. But then again, he probably didn’t want others to know that he knew the truth about the paranormal activities suddenly happening in our school.

  “What about covering the upcoming winter formal,” said Dylan. “I can cover it. I know how to use the new Cannon digital.”

  “Why, yes, Dylan. That’s a great idea.” Mr. Johnson glanced my way. “It’s sure nice to know some students are actually serious about working on this yearbook.”

  Cura rolled her eyes.

  I slid further down in my chair, trying hard to tune out the snickers of Hillary and her friends.

  Throughout the discussion of photo ideas and ads, I kept glancing at Dylan. Leaning back in his chair, his open jacket revealed his surfer bod. I resisted the urge to walk over and smooth back his messy blond hair.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stay mad at him. I remembered my first ‘visitation’ and how freaked out I’d been. Why should he be any different?

  I wished for his gift of seeing lights around people. What was he thinking? Did he hate me? Was he afraid of what others would do if they knew his secret?

  Maybe we weren’t that different.

  Finally the meeting let out. I had an overpowering urge to talk to Dylan. If he heard me out, he’d understand. Wouldn’t he?

  Feeling better about my decision, I turned to Cura. “Meet you outside.” I shoved my notebook into my backpack. “Dylan and I need to talk.”

  “He already left.” Cura gestured toward the door. “Jeez, what’s going on with you two?”

  “Later, okay?” I rushed past a surprised Cura to the doorway. Hillary and her friends crowded the aisle.

  “Hey, Steph. Problems in boyfriend land?” Hillary asked.

  The only reason Hillary was on the committee was to get close to Dylan, who just happened to be assistant editor. I knew her interest shouldn’t bug me but it did. “Yeah, whatever.”

  I tried to push past her but she got in my face. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Stephanie but it isn’t going to work. Why don’t you just do like Mr. Johnson suggested?”

  “And what is that?” I asked, refusing to back down from her.

  Hillary snorted. “As if you don’t know. For all we know you could have been behind that whole cafeteria weirdness. I wonder what Dylan would think if he knew what happened at my house the other night? You know with the whole Bloody Mary thing.”

  I clenched my hands, afraid to leave but knowing if I didn’t, I’d lose Dylan. But I couldn’t let her know how her words scared me.

  “Like I said before – whatever.” I pulled my shoulders back. “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Maybe you should be.” Hillary gave me one of her phony smiles.

  I didn’t stay around to hear more. I pushed my way through. Later I could fantasize about different ways to get back at her. Right now I didn’t have time to deal with her. Not if I wanted to catch Dylan in time.

  I ran outside. No one else had left the building yet. I knew I’d better make it quick. I didn’t want to risk making a scene and be the gossip of the morning.

  I searched the parking lot for Dylan and found him standing by his truck, rummaging inside his pockets for his keys.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Dylan glanced up. “Oh it’s you. What do you want?” Opening his car door, he turned his back and reached in for some of his books. He hadn’t cleaned up since early this morning. A ton of crap still cluttered the seat.

  It didn’t help that I was still fuming over the Jessica’s veiled threat.

  But dang it, I was furious. Now Dylan was brushing me off? No way he was getting off that easy. Not if I could help it.

  “Where do you come off giving me the cold shoulder?” I set my hands on my hips. “Couldn’t you have waited around, instead of ditching me at the airbase?”

  “Steph, leave it, okay?”

  I knew I couldn’t leave it. How dare he leave me behind? I was so angry, I could just hit him.

  “What’s with you, anyway? Lights? Water? Enlighten me. I don’t get it.”

  Dylan glared at me, refusing to answer.

  “I trusted you with…” I glanced around to make sure no-one was listening, “…my secret. Can’t you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “So, that’s it?”

  “Yes. Now excuse me, I need to get to class.”

  If he thought I’d let him off that easy, he had another thing coming.

  “Dr. Anthony doesn’t think either of our gifts are strange. Can’t you...?”

  At the mention of the counselor, Dylan turned and glared at me. “Something isn’t right with that man. This weirdness started with him, didn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re implying. If anything, he’s been helpful.”

  “Jeez, Stephanie. Get a clue,” Dylan said. “That man is trouble.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”

  “What’s there to know? Guys like him don’t just go out with girls like you at two in the morning.”

  “It’s not like that and you know it.”

  “Do I? After this morning I tend to disagree.”

  “Oh?” I clenched my hands “Since when did you become my father?”

  Dylan shoved a notebook into his backpack. He then stopped, pointing his finger at me. “Your mom doesn’t know, does she? She thinks you’re going to him for therapy sessions.”

  My heart raced. Dylan might be a major pain in the ass but he wouldn’t squeal on me, would he?

  “Keep my mother out of this.”

  “Or you’ll do what?” He shoved another book in his bag. “Now that I think about it, all this weird stuff started to happen when that new dude, Mark, showed his pasty face. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed it.”

  “Whatever.” An image of Mark at the cafeteria the other day flashed through my mind. “You’re imagining things.”

  “Yeah, right, play dumb.” Dylan snorted. “I know all this crap is tied to him somehow. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re working together.”

  “Omigod, Dylan. Now who’s being paranoid? You can’t actually think that?”

  “Sheesh, Steph.” He zipped up his bag. “Wake up and see what’s happening around you. That Mark dude is bad news. Trust me on that.”

  Anger boiled inside me.

  “How would you know? Oh, wait a minute here. Did the lights tell you?”

  Dylan flinched. “That’s low, Steph, even for you.”

  Deep inside I knew I’d crossed the line. I should stop and just walk away. But I couldn’t. How dare he tell me who to see and who not to?

  “Well, what else would make you say those terrible things? Anyway, Mark understands me – something you sure as hell don’t.”

  Dylan’s face reddened. “Yeah, right. I don’t care about you? Forget that I saved your sorry ass this morning. Where was lover boy, Mark? Let me see….” He tapped his finger against his chin. “Oh, right. I don’t care about you.”

  “Dylan, that’s so unfair!” I banged my backpack against his truck. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”

  He pushed past me. Some of the others were coming out of the building. A few, including Hillary, pointed in our direction. But I was too mad and hurt to be embarrassed.

  Dylan continued walking, blending into the crowd.

  “Whoa, what was that about?” Cura grabbed me from behind. “You two pissed off at each other?”

  “Yeah.” I tried hard to keep the tears from coming. “You could say that.”

  Chapter 17

  Cura and I walked to our first class in silence. In between snaps of her bubble gum, she glanced over, waiting for me to break down and revea
l what’d happened with Dylan. But I refused to open up, afraid of unleashing tears. I looked away, fighting back the painful ache in my heart. Why was he being such a butt?

  The parking lot was now crowded with students and cars. Loud music blared from other cars, hip-hop tunes drowning out the pop songs. I kind of liked the beat. For a moment, it made me forget the mess that my life had become.

  Cura stopped me at a vacant parking space next to the P.E. building – far enough away from the crowds but still close enough to class.

  “You really shouldn’t let Hilabitch get to you. No way Dylan likes her.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Okay,” Cura said. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go there.” I pulled away. “Let’s just get to class, okay?”

  Cura stormed over to me, blocking my path. She put both of her hands on her hips, her black Kohl-lined eyes scrunched together into one mad line. In her Eagle Outlet mini-skirt, denim jacket, and boots, she was the picture of one fashionable, but upset friend.

  So much for not mentioning the scene with Dylan. I should have known better. Silence and gossip didn’t go together. Well, not in Cura’s eyes.

  “What’s the 411 on you two? Jeez, you’d think Dylan was mad or something.”

  “You’d think?”

  “Okay.” Cura took a deep breath. “What bit you on the butt?”

  “Like I said before, nothing. End of subject. Talk about something else. What did you do Saturday?”

  A dreamy smile flashed across Cura’s face. So much for worrying about me.

  “You just missed the best part of the dance. Lots of cute guys showed up. Hey, what was so important that you couldn’t come?”

  “I was doing a service project.”

  “Oh, you mean something to help Ricky with his Peace Corps work in the Philippines? Cool.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” An image of my furious mother – confronting me in the garage about my obsession with decorating crosses – flashed through my mind. Inwardly, I cringed. Well, I wasn’t exactly lying. She did have a letter from Ricky in her hand, while she ragged on me about desecrating yet another cross.

  We raced up the stairs, barely missing a guy on his skateboard.

  As usual, the hallway was packed. Kids were glued to their lockers, discussing their weekends or text messaging.

  “Omigod!” Cura yanked me aside. “Check out who’s by your locker.”

  “What?”

  “Forget about jerky Dylan. It looks like Mr. Gorgeous is awaiting your presence.”

  “What are you...?”

  My feet stopped moving. The guy of my latest daydreams, Mark, was leaning up against my locker. He looked amazingly hot. An open, black leather bomber jacket revealed a tight white t-shirt. His slim body screamed for attention. Around his neck hung a small silver cross attached to a leather cord.

  Strong vibes radiated off that cross. It beckoned me closer. I didn’t know if I was attracted to the jewelry because of my earlier rescue, or because I was seeing the rescue symbol hanging around a guy’s neck.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one enjoying the view. A few freshmen girls walked by, giggling as he smiled their way.

  Mark’s smile deepened as Cura and I came up to him. “Hey, Stephanie.”

  Cura nudged me hard in the ribs. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Cura this is Mark. Mark, Cura.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Cura fluttered her eye lashes at Mark.

  Oh, my gosh. I hoped she didn’t make a fool of herself.

  The warning bell rang for first period.

  “Oh crap. My English class is across campus.” Cura smiled at Mark. “Maybe we can meet again.”

  “Sure,” Mark said.

  “Well, peace out.” Cura rushed away, glancing over her shoulder and nearly sideswiping a passing guy.

  “Hey, Stephanie,” Mark said after Cura disappeared in the growing crowd. Hearing him say my name sent goose bumps up my spine. “Want to ditch this place?”

  Something about him screamed danger. I knew I should listen to the small voice in my head that told me I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t. I found myself inching closer to him.

  “Um....” I couldn’t believe he wanted to skip school on a Monday.

  “I know a great place we can go.”

  “Well, can we go later? I have to pass my Spanish quiz or else....”

  His hand touched my shoulder and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

  “Come on. What’s one day? Scared you’ll get caught?”

  “No, but....” I gazed into his large ice blue eyes. Did I mention he smelled yummy? All thoughts of my Spanish quiz went down the drain. All I knew was I wanted to be with him. I mean, what harm could one time be, anyway?

  I grabbed Mark’s hand and we dashed down the hallway.

  Chapter 18

  Finally, freedom! As we left campus, nobody gave Mark or me a second glance. Still my heart raced in fear of being caught and led back to the principal’s office. I swear I always felt guilty under Mrs. Hathaway’s radar glare. Everyone had taken to calling her Big Bird because she was six feet tall, but being that tall certainly had its advantages.

  We got to the crowded parking lot. Walking past the usual assortment of Volvos, Jettas, and hand-me-down cars, we found a motorcycle. The Harley’s black chrome glittered in the sun. I’d never been on one. Excitement coursed through my body.

  “Whoa, nice bike. Is this yours?” Where did he get such a nice motorcycle? Cute guy and rich too.

  “Yes, I happen to dig vintage Harleys. My dad has as shop where he fixes them.” Mark tossed me a helmet. “Here. Let’s leave this place.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He jumped on the Harley. “You’ll see.” He flashed me a gorgeous smile. “Get on.”

  My eyes were drawn to his luscious mouth, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.

  Torn between attraction and fear, I got on and wrapped my arms around him. The engine roared, the frame vibrated, and off we went. Up close, his warm woodsy scent was very inviting. The thrill of actually doing something against the rules – with a hottie – made me tingle with excitement.

  Thoughts of Dylan crept into my head. I didn’t know if this was a combination of guilt for leaving or my smart-aleck comment back on campus, but I sure didn’t appreciate him invading my brain. He’d been such a jerk at the Yearbook Committee meeting, then blowing me off. I didn’t need his crap. Hillary could have him.

  The bike ride didn’t last long enough. We stopped at a coffee shop. Funny, I’d never seen it before. Nestled behind Arden Hill Mall, it had a funky appearance. Faded black and white posters covered the brownstone building, advertising rock bands, and other names. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  As we walked in, a small bell chimed above us. The coffee house certainly wasn’t Starbucks. Round black tables looked like checkers against the white tile floor. Brick covered the walls and blocked out the sun. A few people sat inside. The smell of roasted coffee filled the air.

  Putting his hand under my elbow, Mark guided me to a booth against the wall. “What do you want?”

  “Uh, do they have Mocha Frappuccinos?”

  Mark leaned against the booth and laughed. “This isn’t one of those so-called coffee places that pass sugar water off as coffee.”

  I cringed. “Okay, what’s good?”

  A waitress came up to us. She must have been at least thirty or something. Small barrettes held back her long curly hair.

  Suddenly cold, I pulled my sweater close. Something about this place wasn’t right. But what?

  “We’ll both have espressos,” Mark said.

  At that moment, an old The Cure tune blared through the speakers of a present, but invisible stereo.

  The eerie feeling deepened. The backs of my legs itched. Usually this meant one thing – spirits close by. I glan
ced around. Some other people in the other booths looked like something from a bad early ’90s video: baggy corduroy jumpers, bell bottom jeans, and Rachel hair from an early episode of Friends.

  No way! I felt as if I’d stumbled into a rescuer’s nightmare. How could this be? The dead usually came at night. I shook my head. I glanced back over my shoulder. The booth people now looked like normal customers. Maybe I only imagined the ’90s attire.

  Boy, I’ve been around Cura’s mom too much. That or I need some serious sleep.

  I turned back to Mark. Dark, hot.... And those eyes! I melted back into my seat. “So, tell me something about yourself. I smiled, trying to do a Cura imitation. “Why did your parents decide to settle in this dump?”

  “Who said I lived with my parents?”

  He scooted forward and took my hand. A jolt of electricity shot up my spine. Jeez, talk about sexual tension.

  “I happen to like it here. The scenery is awesome.”

  Double whoa. Was he talking about me?

  He dropped my hand and reached for my cross necklace. Fingering it carefully, he glanced back up at me. “You into religious stuff?”

  “Um, no. Should I be?”

  “Do you believe in magic, Stephanie? I do.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’d love to show you, but only—” he dropped my necklace and settled back into the booth “—if you can handle it.”

  “Handle what?” I asked, ignoring the pounding of my heart.

  “I know you felt the same way I did in the cafeteria the other day.”

  I gulped. It couldn’t be possible. Did he sense the same strange stuff I did?

  “You’re special, Stephanie.” He smiled. “I think we have similar abilities.”

  First the counselor, then Dylan, now Mark. What was happening? My mouth was dry. No way. This couldn’t be happening to me.

  “What are you talking about? Abilities?”

  “Let’s just say I know we both see more than the average Joe.”

  Could it be possible I was sitting across from another rescuer? “You see the dead too?”

  Mark laughed. His laughter was warm and inviting like hot chocolate on a cold night. “Maybe, maybe not. Meet me tonight, at midnight. Here. And I’ll show you.”