by Lucy Swing
“What is your problem, Claire?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Why are you being so weird?”
She looked at me, and her features suddenly softened. She smiled and waved me off as if I were crazy. “Look, the guy seems nice,” she said. “But I don’t think he’s your type, you know? Talking in class and getting into trouble isn’t worth it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?” I said. “You and I talk all the time. What’s so different now?” I could feel that the topic was somehow upsetting me. What the hell happened back there?!
Claire and Nate led me out of the classroom and onward to next period. I was a little uneasy about standing up and taking the first few steps, not knowing if more blinding lights in my head would again reduce me to Jell-O. The hallway was still busy with students greeting each other, excited to catch up with friends they hadn’t seen in months. Adding to the clamor was the clatter of lockers opening and slamming shut.
“Since when do I have a type?” I said. “It’s not like I’ve had boyfriends or anything. I would think that file is still open for further investigation.” Apparently, I still had all the charm of a Siamese cat. My trademark sarcasm seemed to have come away from the experience unscathed.
“What Claire is trying to say, Jade, is that the new kid doesn’t seem to come from the right kind of crowd for you.” Nate said. He seemed to think it important that he go on the record as siding with his girlfriend.
Crowd? How would either of them have the foggiest notion what kind of “crowd” was right for me? It seemed as if they were trying to convince themselves more than me. Claire gave a sort of noncommittal nod, and we continued walking toward our next class.
Suddenly, the first day back at school was proving to be relentlessly difficult. At lunch, we went to the courtyard and sat under my favorite oak tree. I was halfway through my sandwich when the mind-flooding voice came through, loud as thunder, with nothing I could do to resist it. I got only a dim understanding of what I was being told again: the same strange word with the same sense of hearing it as a warning: “Ki-sikil-lil-la-ke.” I squinted and shook my head. Claire and Nate looked at me in unison with arched brows.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked. I must have nodded, because he continued, while attempting to touch my hand, which immediately darted away to hide behind me. “You sure don’t look too well.”
“Yeah . . . just a headache.” Like my hand, my mouth seemed to be working independently of me. I set my tray to the side and put my head down on the wooden picnic table. I felt the warmth of Claire’s hand on the back of my neck and jerked away.
“What?” she asked, putting her hand on my shoulder. But no light blinded me this time. There was only a sense of peace. I lay back down on the table with my head on my arm and closed my eyes.
