Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “No, this isn’t how I gloat. This is how I say, I’m sorry!” he yells back at me.

  “What are you sorry about?” I shout back, not caring if I draw attention to myself.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been yer friend. I’m sorry I busted the firewall ya bought me … and I’m sorry yer heart got broken,” he replies tightly. My expression must’ve told him that I’m about to cry, because in seconds, my face is pressed to his chest, and he is holding it there with his hand on the back of my neck.

  “Ahh, Red, don’t cry,” he says soothingly while I try really hard not to sob in front of all of the people witnessing our fight.

  Russell leads me out of the crowded corridor with his arm slung protectively over my shoulder. Moments later, we are outside and hidden behind a wall on the side of the building. I can’t hold my tears in any longer. Russell’s arms go around me as I cry into his chest.

  “He’s the stupidest … thing I’ve ever seen,” Russell whispers in my ear, which only makes me cry harder.

  When I finally manage to pull myself together, I step back from Russell, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my nose and face. It’s colder today. The fall weather is beginning to make its presence known, so I shiver when the wind picks up and blows my hair back.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say simply, because I don’t want to start blubbering again. “Does this mean we can be friends again?”

  “Yeah, Red, we can be friends again … but ya gotta take a shower ‘cuz ya look awful,” he says, giving me a cheeky grin. He kisses me on my forehead and gives me a quick hug.

  “Thanks, Russell,” I say shakily. My throat still feels raw from crying. “Are you sure our friendship will fly with Candace? I got the impression that she’s not my biggest fan.”

  “She’ll deal with it,” he shrugs in apparent unconcern.

  “She won’t deal with it well,” I say, knowing that I’m going to be bringing the wrath of Candace down on me.

  “Don’t worry about it, Red. I’ll handle Candace,” he smiles.

  “I really don’t think anyone ‘handles Candace,’ Russell,” I persist. He just smiles at me indulgently. “I have to get to class. I can’t miss any more if I want to do well. I’ll see you around.”

  “Lunch? I’ll see ya at lunch, okay?” he asks me.

  “Sure,” I say shakily.

  ***

  So Freddie, Russell, and I begin eating our meals together again, but it isn’t exactly like it was before. Now, Russell and Freddie take turns nagging me about what I eat, or more specifically, what I don’t eat. They also take turns trying to make me laugh, with mixed results.

  True to form, Candace has a major melt down over Russell’s friendship with me. She sees us walking together in the hallway, and she throws her books at Russell. Of course, I excuse myself so that he can “deal with Candace,” which I hear from a reliable source (Freddie) takes awhile. Since she eats at her sorority house, Candace doesn’t have many opportunities to dig at me. But whenever I do happen to see her in the union, or in the hallway walking to class, she always mouths the word “psycho” to me. I haven’t told Russell. What would be the point?

  I’m getting better at faking being okay. I’m able to look presentable, listen in all of my classes, and get through hockey practices without drifting toward the lacrosse field involuntarily. When Uncle Jim arrives for the Homecoming football game, the instant he steps out of his car, I nearly break down in his arms. I’ve never had to hide my emotions from him. It’s a struggle for me to act like everything’s fine as I pretend to be adjusting to college life well. I take him to the football game, and we both try to figure out what is happening. Afterward, we walk together through campus to the catered event in the quad.

  Arriving at the banquet tent, I see that it’s even more lavish than the one at the lake had been. The tent is not only set up for a sumptuous dinner, but there is also a band and a dance floor within the tent. My uncle and I wade through a sea of people, but we manage to make it to the food before it disappears. We find seats among a couple of other families, where we engage in small talk with everyone at the table.

  In the dim light of the elegant tent, I glance at my uncle sitting beside me, and the pain in my chest eases for the first time in weeks. I’ve missed him so much. I haven’t been home at all to visit him because I’m afraid to go home—I’m afraid of the scary things I could unwittingly lure home with me. Don’t think about that now …

  I am distracted from the conversation at my table by a familiar laugh coming from a table nearby. Over my shoulder, I glimpse Russell smiling broadly at someone. He had taken a quick shower after the homecoming game and is now the center of attention, along with Candace, at her table.

  “Who’s that?” my Uncle Jim whispers in my ear, following my line of sight to Russell.

  “Oh, that’s my friend, Russell. I think I emailed you about him a couple of times,” I say, looking in my uncle’s warm eyes, which are searching mine. “You fixed his computer, remember?”

  My uncle nods slowly, studying Russell at the other table. “Is he why you’re so sad, Eaves?” Uncle Jim asks me, intuitively picking up on my emotional state.

  My fake smile wavers a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say evasively. “I’m completely geeked that you’re here, and Russell is my really good friend.”

  “Hmm. If you say so, pal,” he says, but I can tell he isn’t buying it at all. “Boys sometimes don’t know a good thing when they see it. Just remember that you’re special. I think you’re the most wonderful person at this school.” My eyes fill up with tears then, because he has no idea just how special I am, but I know that, despite it all, I can always count on his love. Seeing my tears, he hugs me to his shoulder tightly. “It will be all right,” he says reassuringly, and I nod at his words, even though I can’t see how anything will ever be all right again.

  It is starting to get late, and since Uncle Jim has to drive a few hours home, we decide it is time for us to walk back to my dormitory. I hold his hand as we walk toward the front of the tent, and when we are about midway there, I feel butterflies taking flight in my abdomen, which is now usually accompanied by a tight, constricting pain near my heart whenever I feel it. Keeping my head down so that I don’t have to see Reed’s beautiful face ignore me like I don’t exist, I keep walking behind my uncle, wishing that this pain will end soon because it’s getting hard to breathe.

  “Genevieve,” Reed’s voice says ahead of me.

  Glancing up, my eyes widen in surprise, hearing Reed speak to me after weeks of nothing at all. He’s standing near the entrance of the tent, just a short distance away. His face is unreadable, so I can’t tell how he feels about seeing me here. If the past weeks are any indication, I’m sure Reed won’t mind too much if I just keep walking. But Uncle Jim notices that Reed said my name, so he pauses in front of Reed politely, allowing me the opportunity to speak to him.

  Summoning some of the pride I have left, I square my shoulders and try to smile at my uncle, who waits for an introduction to the young man in front of him. “Hi, Reed,” I say softly, feeling some pride in myself when my voice doesn’t break or crack. “How are you?” I ask him, trying to act as normal as possible.

  “I’m well, and you?” he inquires, and I can tell he is reading every signal that my body language is giving off.

  He is attuned to those kinds of signals, so I’m probably not fooling him at all, but I’m sure that he’d prefer lies to the truth, so I reply, “I’m good. Please let me introduce you to my uncle, Jim Claremont.” I turn toward my uncle and continue, “Uncle Jim, this is Reed Wellington, he’s my …” my brain stutters to a halt.

  My what? My love? My friend? My angel? I think sadly. I feel myself blushing before I think of a title that fits and say, “He’s my TA … for physics.” The pain of that cheap title makes my heart constrict again, but I plaster a fake smile on my face to cover it.

  “It is a pleasure to mee
t you, sir,” Reed says, extending his hand to Uncle Jim.

  “Likewise, Reed,” Uncle Jim says warmly as Reed studies my uncle curiously.

  I wonder if Reed can see any resemblance between Uncle Jim and me, I think as they converse briefly about Crestwood. Reed must be doing something official for the school because he is dressed in a dark suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

  “Physics, huh?” Uncle Jim says, while looking at me. “How’s that working out for you, Eaves?” he asks, smiling at me proudly.

  “Oh, you know … I had a few problems at first that Reed was able to help me with, but I think I’m getting the hang of it now, so everyone can relax. I’ll figure it out,” I say and see Reed’s face darken.

  Reed hides his frown before my uncle sees it, saying smoothly, “You know that I am always available if you are in danger of falling behind. I can help you work out the problem.”

  “Oh, well, that’s very kind of you, Reed. You’re such an angel, I don’t know what I’d do without you around,” I say stiffly.

  “You could always try solving one of those mathematical paradoxes,” he replies, before his jaw tightens.

  “No, my heart is just not into that. I don’t want to bring that into my nightmare schedule,” I reply sadly. “It was good seeing you. If you will excuse us, my uncle and I are on our way out. Enjoy your evening.”

  I think I really touched a nerve in Reed because he seems to want to say something else as his eyes argue with mine, but after a few seconds, he nods while he says, “Of course. Goodnight, Genevieve.”

  Uncle Jim and I leave the tent, walking the short distance back to my dormitory together. I have to struggle to keep my sorrow locked inside of me, so that I won’t cry on his shoulder. Hugging me tightly, Uncle Jim tells me that he loves me. Watching him pull away, I desperately want to go with him, to escape from Crestwood and pretend that this has all been just a bad dream … pretend that my life is something that I can wake up from. But I know I can’t go with him; he is safer with me here. The only way I can protect him from what I am, is to stay away from him as much as possible.

  When I finally reach my room, I am completely exhausted. Flinging my heels into my closet, I change my clothes. After brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed without bothering to turn off my lamp. Then, I do what I’ve been doing for a while now. I cry myself to sleep.

  ***

  I have a couple more sittings with Mr. MacKinnon, or should I say Sam, which is what Buns always calls him. I take Buns with me as a chaperone because she insists. I finish changing out of the Grecian dress and hang it back in the closet when Buns says, “Sweetie, Sam’s planning on letting you keep the dress when he’s finished with the portrait!” Buns smiles delightedly. “Isn’t that fantastic?”

  My eyebrows rise. “Why? What am I going to do with a dress like that?” I ask her, shaking my head.

  “There is a formal coming up at the Delt House. JT was talking about it at the last party,” Buns says significantly, eyeing me with growing speculation.

  “Do you want to borrow the dress?” I ask her. I could see Buns in the dress. She’d look stunning.

  “No, I was thinking you could wear it to the formal, if there was someone you wanted to go with. JT and I thought maybe we could fix you up with someone.” I must be making a face because she says quickly, “Or you could pick someone. It’ll be so awesome, and you know it won’t be the same without you.”

  “Where is it being held?” I ask her conversationally with absolutely no intention of going.

  “Not far from here. It’s in Ann Arbor, at some hotel ballroom or other,” Buns replies, while petting my hair, which she does when she’s being motherly.

  “Okay, maybe … we’ll see,” I say, trying to think of an excuse not to go. I have several reasons not to go—like big scary monsters that inhabit places like Ann Arbor, but I’m not at liberty to tell Buns this excuse, however valid.

  “Sweetie, you can leave it all to me,” she says, almost drunk on the power I’ve given her.

  True to form Buns doesn’t waste any time arranging things for me. She sets me up with a junior named Owen, prelaw. She also decides that the portrait dress would be too hard to dance in, due to the train, so she and Brownie order a new dress for me online when they are each getting one for themselves.

  Now, I have a decision to make. I can go to the formal and not tell Reed, hoping for the best, or I can tell Reed and see what he says. I deliberate over it for a couple of days, but finally, I am swayed in favor of telling Reed. Memories of the shadow man are still too vivid in my head to just blow off the dangers of leaving town without an escort.

  After hockey practice, I tell the girls that I need to find out what the assignment is for physics. Then, I run to catch up to Reed as he walks to his car after practice. I think for a moment that he is going to ignore me completely because he doesn’t stop walking when I call to him. When he makes it to his car, he reluctantly turns and waits for me. I stop several feet from him because it’s less uncomfortable the farther we are from each other.

  “I need a chaperone, Reed,” I say, looking off to one side of him so that his perfect face won’t distract me.

  “Why?” he asks me stiffly.

  “I’ve been invited to the Delt formal, and it’s in Ann Arbor,” I say, raising my chin a notch when I hear him growl.

  “No,” he says, turning his back on me like the conversation is now over as he opens up his car door.

  “Why not?” I ask him unhappily.

  He slowly faces me again. “Because I don’t feel like babysitting you while you play with a bunch of drunken frat boys,” he replies.

  The blood rushes to my face as I blush. “Fine,” I mumble, turning to walk away.

  I feel awful, like he has just reached into my chest and squeezed the last drop of blood out of my heart. I drag my stick along the ground, swinging it every few steps. The noise that my field hockey stick is making grows louder and louder, sounding like deep soughs in an echoing cave.

  Halting, I look around me in confusion because there are other sounds hitting me with painful clarity, too. A basketball being bounced in a driveway several houses away sounds like the echo of a wrecking ball. I instinctively back away from it to protect myself from the noise.

  Then, I quickly duck my head as something flies by me with the terrifying clamor of a buzz saw, causing every hair on my arms to stand on end. Looking around wildly, it takes me a second to rationalize that it is a dragonfly making that noise, not a vicious monster.

  In the next moment, a grating, feminine voice sounds as if it is shouting through a bullhorn pressed to my ear. I search around me and see a woman talking on her cell phone a hundred yards away. She pushes a stroller toward me with alacrity, and the sound of her voice is becoming unbearable. Turning, I run. I have to escape from here before she blows out my eardrums.

  With my head down, I don’t realize that someone is in front of me until I run right into his arms. My head comes up sharply as he holds me to him to steady me. Reed! I think as I continue to cover my ears, but what I really want to do is wrap my arms around him for protection from the chaos.

  “I …” I start to say, but I wince because the sound of my voice hurts.

  Reed doesn’t speak, but puts his finger to his lips, indicating that I shouldn’t talk. I nod, following him to his car. The crunch of our shoes treading on the gravel in the road is painful. I feel nauseous as if I’m on the deck of a ship that is swaying violently in the current of the sea.

  As we arrive at Reed’s car, he opens his door and reaches inside to the glove compartment, extracting a box that contains a set of earplugs. He hands me the earplugs, and I put them in my ears, immediately feeling better. I straighten my posture, only then realizing that I had been hunched over.

  “You’re fine, Evie. This is normal because your hearing is improving. Right now, everything will seem like a detuned radio with the volume turned all the way up. It t
akes a few days for it to even out, and then it won’t hurt you. You should be able to control it after a while. You’ll be able to focus on something you want to hear and tune out the background noise. Wear the earplugs most of the time, but take them out when it’s quiet so that you can practice tuning out the background noise,” he says. I think I see compassion in his face, but I can’t be sure because he’s still very stiff around me.

  “Thanks,” I say gratefully. I’m somewhat relieved, at least the pain in my head is gone … it’s only my heart that still feels dead.

  “If you have any questions about it over the next few days, you can email me about it,” he says, but I can tell he wants to get away from me.

  How very clinical it all is, like I’m his patient. I nod, not trusting my voice. I turn to go, but he stops me.

  “When is the formal?” he asks.

  “This weekend,” I reply.

  “Okay, you can go. I’ll arrange it,” he says grimly.

  He’s not happy in the least that he is caving in to the request. I don’t push him, I just nod my head, and it gives me a lot to consider as I walk back to my room.

  ***

  The day of the Delt formal, Buns presents me with the dress she bought for me online. It is a sleeveless, metallic-silver creation that clings to my every curve and hugs my shape. It’s very much like the dress that I wear for the portrait, because it exposes my back, but this dress is much shorter; it stops at my mid-thigh, so it will be interesting when I sit down in it.

  “I’m going to be cold,” I complain to Buns, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

  “No, sweetie, you’ll be hot,” Buns corrects. “I’ll get you a wrap.”

  Brownie applies my makeup. She uses a lot of dark eyeliner and shadow, but the effect is intriguing. It makes my gray eyes seem lighter. I put on earrings that are the same metallic-silver as the dress, and then I sit down on the bed to put on my strappy, silver heels.

  Buns and Brownie each have metallic gowns, too. Buns has a soft gold dress, and Brownie’s is a shimmering copper. Each dress is a variation of a flowing, haute-couture gown that also stops mid-thigh like mine. Standing all together, the effect is surprisingly chic. Buns hands me a black clutch purse and a black wrap. I covertly put my earplugs into my clutch. I don’t know if I’m going to need them tonight, since my hearing seems to have leveled out this week, but better safe than sorry.