by Linda Gerber
A sound outside my dream jerked me awake and I sat up, blinking and rubbing my eyes. My textbook was still on the kitchen table, but the study guide had fallen to the floor. I was bending to pick it up when I heard the sound again. Then a shadow moved just outside the sliding glass door. I straightened slowly, staring at the dark shape, barely daring to breathe.
“Lynnie, it’s me.” Michelle rapped on the glass.
I clutched at my chest where my heart was skittering like a scared rabbit. “What are you doing out there?” I demanded.
“I tried the front door but you didn’t answer.” She tapped the glass again. “Are you going to let me in or what? It’s cold!”
Just as I was about to get up and open the door for her, Michelle slid it open and stepped inside.
“Did you know this thing was unlocked?” She closed the door behind her and clicked the little latch. “Not that the lock is going to do you much good . . . My aunt had a sliding door in her apartment and one time this guy came with a crowbar and pried it right out of the—” She cut herself off and gave me an exasperated look. “What?”
I shook my head. “Thanks for making me feel so secure.”
She cocked her hip and planted one hand on it. “Hey, if it’s true, it’s true. Since you’re home alone so much, I just thought you should be aware.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
“I know.” She grinned at me until she noticed my open books on the table. “Don’t tell me you fell asleep studying.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
“You still up for a run?”
I glanced at the clock. 6:03. “Give me a minute,” I said, already turning toward the hallway. “I’ll get changed.”
In my room, I pulled on my running clothes, trying not to let myself dwell on the fact that Kyra was gone. The familiar dull ache hollowed out my chest whenever I thought about her. Most days I tried to accept that she needed time to herself, but after my solo trance, her absence was too much. I needed to talk to her; she was the only one who could possibly understand. Except she didn’t want me to know where she was.
I grabbed my shoes and hurried down the hall to the front door in stocking feet. Michelle had gone out to begin stretching as I put on my shoes. Outside the parlor window, the sky was a wash of deep peaches and purples. The predawn glow cast reverse shadows across my mom’s couch. I shut my eyes to the sight of it and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind me.
Running was really my dad’s thing. He was a star sprinter in college and one of the only times I ever heard him get excited about anything was when he talked about the high he got when his muscles were pumping and the wind was blowing back his hair. I was still pretty young when I figured out I could get more time with my dad if I said I loved running, too.
The morning run used to be our special time. We never said much, but just being together and sharing the sunrise was enough. One morning we raced the last couple of blocks and Dad discovered I could be fast when I wanted to be. He started talking college and scholarships and the next thing I knew, I was joining the track team and he was cheering me on.
Until the accident. I hadn’t seen him run at all since I got home from the hospital. I asked him plenty of times if he wanted to join me, but he always had something to do. I kept going, hoping he would notice. Hoping he could still be proud of me. Hoping I could make him forget what I had done.
My dad and I had a thing when we ran together—we didn’t say a word to each other for at least the first couple blocks because that’s usually how long it takes to work the kinks out and fall into your stride. When Michelle started running with me in his place, this was a hard habit for her to get used to. Michelle’s a talker. For her, keeping quiet for two feet was a challenge, let alone two blocks. The way she kept glancing over at me that morning, I could tell she wasn’t going to make it that far. Sure enough, we barely reached the end of the block before she cleared her throat.
“That was interesting last night.”
“Tell me about it.”
Our feet hit the asphalt in a steady rhythm. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
“Aren’t you even the least bit intrigued that the music guy was watching you?”
“His name is Jake, and he wasn’t watching me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. He just happened to notice you weren’t feeling well. And followed you outside.”
I didn’t want to encourage her by answering, but I couldn’t help myself. “He did not follow me outside. He was on his way home.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And it’s not like he had to watch anything. The kiosk is right there in the middle of the walkway. Kind of hard to miss.”
“Methinks,” she said haughtily, “you do protest too much.”
“Nice misquote.” I shot her a look. “Shakespeare just rolled over in his grave.”
Michelle laughed. “And you are avoiding the issue.”
“There is no issue,” I said testily. “Can we just drop it?”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
“All right, then.” She must have realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of me, because she shifted gears without missing a beat and kept on talking. “Trey and I ran into some of the guys at the movies last night—”
“Hold on. You and Trey finally went out? When did this happen?”
“We didn’t go out,” she said, avoiding the question. “He met me at the theater.”
“Prearranged?” I asked.
She pressed her lips together like she didn’t want the word to escape. Finally, she said, “Yes.”
I grinned triumphantly. “Date.”
“Do you want to know what the guys were saying or what?”
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Okay, I give up. What were the guys saying?”
“That Nick Cumberland got pwned last night.” She smiled at the thought. Michelle never liked Nick, especially after what she called our “history.” “He was trying to come on to some girl and she completely shot him down. Best thing is, she did it right in front of all his friends.”
I lost the stride and had to double step a couple of times to find it again. Come on, Greenfield. We could go someplace quiet.
“Really.”
“Yeah.” She smiled like this was her own personal victory. “Eventually nature finds a way to restore the balance.”
I bit my lip. That’s what I was afraid of.
I sat in life sciences, staring out the window at the gray day outside. The memory of my trance the night before had followed me like campfire smoke all morning, clinging to me no matter how much I tried to escape it. It had been short, only a few images, but those images were burned into my brain. The rain, the wet pavement, the headlights of a car. Images I should have seen weeks ago.
“Greenfield. You in there?”
I blinked out of my stupor to find Todd Gibbons snapping his fingers in front of my face.
“What? I’m sorry.”
“You got that study sheet you said I could borrow?”
“Oh. Yeah. Hold on.” I rifled through my binder and found the paper. “Here it is.”
“Thanks.” He stuffed it into his textbook, giving me a conspiratorial grin. “Man, what are you on?”
I looked up at him sharply. “On?”
“Yeah. You been staring out that window half the class. Didn’t even hear the bell ring.”
“Oh.” I noticed for the first time that everyone else in the class had already gone. “A lot on my mind, I guess.”
“If you say so. Might want to be a little smoother about it, if you know what I mean.” He hefted his books up under his arm and headed for the door. “Later.”
I slapped my notebook shut and stuffed it into my backpack. I hadn’t thought anyone would notice if I was a little distracted, but if a burnout like Todd Gibbons called me on it, it must have been obvious. I decided I’d have to be more careful, but as soon as I slung my backpack over my shoulder to go to my next c
lass, the flashes of the night before came flooding back.
The only thing that lifted the gloom a little was remembering that smile from the tie guy, Jake. I should have been mortified that he saw me slip into the trance. I should have been ashamed. But thinking about the way he smiled at me made me feel warm and safe. At least for a moment.
I saw Nick before I even walked through the door for AP lang. He was leaning against a desk right across the aisle from where I usually sat. Like he was waiting for me. My stomach did a little flip, even as it sank. What did he want?
I was already trying to formulate a getaway excuse when he gave me one of those macho chin-jerk acknowledgments and then his eyes moved beyond me. He pushed away from the desk, waving to someone behind me. I turned to see Alicia Hayes coming through the door. She shot me a better-luck-next-time smile and sashayed to the back of the room where Nick and his crowd usually sat. I hugged my books to my chest and sank down on my seat, relieved and, I had to admit, a little bit disappointed.
After all those years, you’d think I would have built up a resistance to the cycle of Nick, but I was still stuck in the never-ending loop of hope and disappointment. Nick had been my first crush, my only make-out, and party to the biggest mistake I had made in my life. And I still liked him.
After school, I changed in the locker room, nervously zipping up my track jacket and tying my shoes. It was the second week of conditioning training for the team, but only my first full day back to practice. My dad was actually looking forward to it more than I was. It was practically the only thing he ever talked to me about. When he was home, that is.
My dad was all about motivation and goals. Ever since he saw how I could run, he had my track career all laid out in his head. He formulated what kind of stats I’d need for college scholarships, how many races I’d have to win to earn those stats, and how hard I’d have to train to win those races. All those weeks I was working on rehab, his main concern seemed to be how soon I could get back out on the track and keep pushing for those goals.
I knew as I worked out that I was chasing his dream, not mine. But I also knew it was the only conversation I could still have with my dad. Don’t get me wrong—I love to run, but I want to run for the joy of it, not to beat someone else’s time. Still, if it kept Dad happy, I was willing to try.
After the team warmed up, Coach Mendenhall called me over. “We need to time the one-hundred and three-hundred-meter hurdles,” he said. “I’d like you to assist Coach Roberts in recording times.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Look, Greenfield, I appreciate your dedication. I know you’ve been working hard to get back into shape. But I’ve been watching you warm up. You’re still favoring your right leg.”
“No. It’s just—”
“You’ll assist Coach Roberts this afternoon and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
What else could I do? I followed the assistant coach to the other side of the field. Michelle was on the track warming up for hurdles and gave me the “what’s up?” gesture. I shrugged and made a helpless face.
Coach Roberts pressed the clipboard into my hands and turned to signal the first runner—Justin Allred—to take his mark, get set . . . She blew her whistle and Justin took off. He flew down the track, taking the hurdles and the steps between in perfect rhythm. She announced his time and I wrote it down as she signaled the next runner.
We’d only recorded three times before it hit. All of a sudden came a whoosh like a great rush of wind and then I was falling into a vortex.
Not here. Not now.
I tried desperately to breathe through it, even though I knew that wouldn’t work. The coach’s face swam before my eyes. Distant. Out of focus.
“Greenfield—” she began.
But I was already gone.
6
The backdrop of the stadium flips and the bleachers disappear. The track morphs into a rain-slicked road. In the air around me, a random jumble of numbers drift and swirl like tendrils of fog. Twin headlights cut through the darkness, racing toward me. I try to scream, but I can’t make a sound.
“Ashlyn!”
In one blink, the stadium swirled back into place. I swayed a little and had to take a step to keep my balance.
“Are you okay?” Coach Roberts was staring at me like I had a third eye. “You look kind of pale.”
I started to give her the automatic “I’m fine,” but I wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “I . . . I’m just . . .” I glanced down at the score sheet in my hand and my knees felt weak. Bold, black numbers sprawled across the paper. Ice settled in the pit of my stomach. How could it be happening again? The trances had never come so close together before. “I think I need to sit down.”
I pulled off the top score sheet and handed her the clipboard, walking away before she could ask questions. I couldn’t walk in a straight line. It felt like when I was a kid and we used to spin around and around and around until we were dizzy and then try to walk. When I finally reached the stadium steps, I sank down onto the cool metal and rested my head on my knees until the dizziness passed. I couldn’t stop the trembling, though.
It didn’t make sense. Not only had I been pulled into another trance, but the images were a repeat of what I had seen the day before. A repeat of an accident scene I knew too well.
The wet road. Bright lights stabbing my eyes.
It couldn’t be. Kyra and I had never seen the same vision twice. It was like I was seeing my own accident. . . .
I didn’t want to follow that thought. If I was just now seeing the images I should have seen before the accident, what did it mean? Would all the trances I had missed for the past several weeks come back to haunt me?
Or just the one that killed my mom?
“Hey, what’s going on?” Michelle sat next to me, rubbing my back.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I lifted my head and felt the wetness on my cheeks. I also didn’t realize what a sideshow I had become. The guys on the field stood gawking at us. A group of girls jogging around the track slowed down as they passed by, trying not to be too obvious as they stared. I stared right back until they looked away.
“Do you need me to take you home?” Michelle asked. “I could ask Coach if—”
“No.” I sat up straighter and wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my jacket. “It’s okay. I’m just having a crappy day.”
“Maybe you’re trying to do too much too soon,” she said. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to—”
“Really. I’m fine.” I pushed off the steps, and then had to grab the railing to steady myself.
“Okay, that’s it. I am taking you home. Let’s go.”
I could have argued, but it wouldn’t have done any good now that Michelle had officially moved into the protective big-sister mode. Michelle’s only a couple of weeks older than I am, but she’s a nurturer by nature. Since she’s the youngest in her family of boys, she was more than happy to take over the big-sister role when Kyra left.
If only she knew why Kyra left, she might not have been so eager to take her place.
“Looks like your dad’s back,” Michelle said as she pulled in front of my house. His black Accord was parked in the driveway.
I actually was glad to have him home, even though it probably meant I was going to have to explain why I was home from track early. I started to open the car door and she stopped me.
“Lynnie?” She turned down the radio. “Seriously. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Thanks,” I said, “I’m good.” I climbed out of the car, closing the door behind me.
Michelle honked and waved to Mrs. Briggs, who was watching from her window, and drove off.
As I expected, Dad was in his office. I peeked in on the way to my room and found him sitting at his desk, laptop open in front of him, his phone’s Bluetooth receiver hooked over his ear. He nodded at me and then gestured toward the Bluetooth so I’d be sure to notice he was busy.
I gave him
a smile to let him know I understood and closed his door quietly, tiptoeing down the hall to my room like an obedient daughter. On my bed, I sat and listened to the silence of Dad being home and my chest felt hollow again.
It hadn’t always been this way. Dad had never been one to sit down and talk, but we used to do things besides running together. Things that didn’t need words. Before the accident, Dad and I would watch movies or go on quiet walks. He used to sit at the table to read the paper while I did my homework. We’d go fishing, build a snowman, whatever. It didn’t matter if we said anything; it just mattered that we were together.
Since my mom died, all of that changed. We still never talked, but now the silence was so loud it hurt. Now the words we didn’t say built entire fortresses between us.
Among the other lies I told myself while I was working through physical therapy was the one about how if I just kept moving forward, eventually everything would return to normal. I didn’t stop to think about how my “normal” had never been so great in the first place. I just kept believing, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
On my way to work that Saturday, I called on my power of positive thinking and decided it was going to be a good day. It didn’t matter what had happened before; I’d just keep moving forward.
My schedule sheet said I would be working with a girl named Gina. As the bus rumbled and swayed over the speed bumps in the mall parking lot, I resolved that Gina and I would get along perfectly.
That was before I realized who Gina was.
When I got to the kiosk, she was already there opening up. At first I saw her only from behind and nothing about her bracelets or her long dark hair registered. Then she walked out from behind the counter and I groaned. Perfect. The pregnant one with the attitude I’d met on Thursday.
