by Shaye Easton
Caden nods. “I was only doing what I thought was right.”
“I know.”
“It was never personal.”
I swallow. “I know.”
The corners of his mouth lift with a small, vaguely-sympathetic-but-mostly-just-grim smile. “Let’s get you home.”
Chapter Twenty
In the blink of an eye, Monday is upon us, and I’m off for school once again. It snowed during the night and the streets are coated in sludge. I’ve been here before—the sludge, the damp feeling of the air, the layer of wet over everything—so I swap my school shoes for a pair of hardy winter boots. No way do I want wet socks.
My parents are in a charitable mood this morning, each offering to drive me to school. They’ve both attended several therapy sessions, and it’s good to see them coping well. I’ve been dodging all of mine. My second session was meant to be yesterday, so I took a walk in the rain for a couple of hours. Despite my therapist leaving calls on the home phone, I’ve been lucky enough to delete them before either of my parent’s notice. I figure it’s only a matter of time before they give up and stop calling.
There’s simply no point to a therapist. I obviously wouldn’t be able to unload any of my real problems, and the one incident I could talk about I’ve pretty much shoved aside and forgotten. I may have been attacked in my home, but my entire life is different now. It’s only going to get stranger. The last thing I want is to be dwelling in the past.
Dad ends up driving me, and I’m thankful for not having to trudge to school through the muddy snow. “Your mother will pick you up this afternoon,” he says as I get out of the car. “Have a good day, and be safe.”
“I will, Dad. See ya.”
The school is crowded when I step in through the front doors, and people have walked the wet all through the halls. Someone bumps into me in their rush to get somewhere but I’m wearing my cardigan, and they’re wrapped up in a dark yellow puffer jacket and gloves. There’s no meeting of skin. Today, I’m just another person in the crowd.
I spot Caden at his locker. In front of me, a random guy says, “Hey man,” while passing by. Caden grins and they slap hands. Then his eyes drift to mine, and as the kid walks away, the grin falls from his face.
“Wow,” I say, “you’re actually popular, aren’t you?”
He shoves his bag into his locker, ramming it with his shoulder. “Don’t look so horrified. You could just as easily be in my position.”
“Funny joke,” I reply sarcastically.
“Not at all. People here aren’t bad. If you just warmed up a little, maybe they’d like you.”
Okay, now that’s got to be a joke. “If I just warmed up a little?”
He grimaces. “Bad choice of words. I just meant, you’re so closed off to everyone here. You barely know anyone’s name. You think people are more averse to you than they really are. Like you expect them to hate you.”
I shrug. “Receive enough hate and you learn to anticipate it.”
He reaches in for another book, dropping it into the pile in his arms. “That’s a bad thing to learn.”
“Well, it’s not exactly like I had your spectacular guidance to stop me.”
He doesn’t laugh, not exactly. His body just shakes with the action of it. “Sit with me at lunch today.”
It’s so unexpected I actually fall a step back. “Is that meant to be funny?”
“If Davion is an underwalker, then they know more about the goings-on of the Ring than I do. There’s no point in keeping our distance. I guess there never was.”
“But what makes you think I’d want to sit with you?”
“My friends aren’t too bad. Give them a chance. You’ll like them.”
He’s misunderstood my reluctance. I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Caden.”
“You don’t think you’ll sit with me or you don’t think you’ll like them?”
“Both. Your friends hate me.”
“No, they—”
“Tell me you’re not that blind.”
He sighs. “Okay, so they don’t like you. But they could.”
“Caden, stop it.”
“What?”
“We’re not friends. I’m just the job, remember?”
“Hey,” he says, putting up a hand as though to say Don’t shoot, “you started talking to me.”
“My mistake,” I reply bitterly, and turn on my heels.
My first class of the day is mathematics, which I’m decidedly less than excited about. There’s still a little time before school starts for the day, so I set myself down at a table in the back row and open my books to get some work done. On Saturday, Caden and I went our separate ways under the guise of having homework to do. But I never did any homework. Instead, I lay in my room and stared up at the ceiling, migrated to my desk and stared out the window, slipped out into the world and walked through the rain. It was a quiet, empty sort of weekend but there was nothing quiet or empty about my mind.
Everyone seems to think I’m coping well: an inference generated by Caden’s persuasion and my own ability to act fine in large crowds. But as soon as I’m alone, the thoughts rush back in.
They do it now. Everything I’ve been told. Everything I’ve seen. Everything I’ve experienced. It’s like a wave crashing down over my head, and sitting in an empty classroom, I drown. My heart pounds, my palms grow sweaty, and no matter how much air I suck into my lungs, I still feel like I’m choking.
Come on, Melissa, calm down.
But I can’t. Everything is just so, so wrong, and I can’t see a future where it’s ever right again. Tears well in my eyes, pour in abundance down over my cheeks. I fall to the floor, gasping for air. My chest hurts from where my heart is thrashing wildly. I feel like I’m dying.
“Melissa?” someone asks cautiously. My sight is blurry from the tears, but the voice tells me it’s Kira. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
My blood is pounding so loud I can barely hear her. I manage to shake my head in between gasps.
“Okay, okay,” she says, voice breathy from panic, “I’ll get you some water.” She runs from the room.
Alone, my throat constricts again. And now I’m thinking about Newman, about his arm crushing my throat, his meaty hand rammed against my nose and mouth.
Don’t need a therapist, huh? A voice chides.
I tell it to fuck off, but it’s right. I’ve been dealing with all of this on my own, and if I don’t unburden myself, this will just keep happening—a buildup of emotion, bursting out of me all at once.
When Kira returns with a pink water bottle, I’ve calmed down enough to sit back against the table leg. “Here.” she offers it to me, sliding down to the floor opposite me, and I gulp down half before handing it back. She watches me carefully. “Your disease?”
I shake my head.
“Right. What’s wrong then?”
“Nothing.”
She raises a dark manicured brow. “Nothing doesn’t make you that panicked. Has anything happened recently?”
“Like, aside from nearly being strangled to death?”
Now she laughs. “Yep, that would do it. A therapist would say you have PTSD.”
“Good thing I’m skirting my therapist then. I’d rather not be diagnosed with another disease right now.”
“You’re avoiding therapy? Melissa, that’s bad. Your mind and your body need a release, and since you’re not giving yourself any other options—”
“I know. I get it. I need an outlet, or it’ll keep building up.”
“Have you tried writing it down? It’s the best next thing if you don’t want to speak to anyone about it. Unless, of course, you want to tell me.”
“The writing thing sounds good, actually.”
The start of school bell goes, and people start filing into the room. Kira gets to her feet, looking down at me anxiously. “I’d help you up, but—”
“It’s fine. I got this.” I pull myself up and into my seat.
“Thank you, Kira.”
She waves a hand. “No biggie. Just do yourself a favour and get it all out of your system. I don’t want to have to bring an extra bottle of water for you to drain every morning. My bag’s heavy enough.”
I smile at her, and she heads to her seat in the second row.
It’s not long before the room is bustling with students, chatting and laughing. Our teacher, Miss Davis, arrives and everyone’s chatter turns to whispers as they slide into their seats. I’m expecting her to dive straight into the class, as she usually does, but then a student enters the room and approaches her desk.
Miss Davis stands. “Can I get everyone’s attention, please?” The room falls quiet. “We have a new student. This is…?”
As soon as my eyes rest on the girl standing next to her, everything else seems to fall away. She’s a platinum blonde with what looks like a fake tan. But underneath that, she has a quality that strikes me as at once deeply familiar and strange.
Her eyes sweep over the room and find me in the last row. “I’m Sara,” the girl says, flashing a set of blindingly white teeth with her smile. “Sara Falconer.”
***
By lunch, the halls are swirling with talk of the new student. The rumours are crazy and I try to ignore them, but sometimes I can’t help but overhear them. Outlandish things like she grew up in Hollywood and is great friends with Zac Efron or she sailed around the world for the summer holidays. And then somewhat true things, spread through the power of jealousy like her hair smells of lilies and she has “Seriously the most perfect nose I’ve ever seen” and “Have you seen how good her tan looks?”
It all serves to drive me insane.
Caden jogs up to me on my way to the courtyard. I take one look at him and know he’s about to ask me to join his friends for lunch. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I’ll sit with your friends, then.”
I can’t believe him. I stop walking. “Why are you pushing this?”
“It’s easier to do my job if I maximise the time you’re within sight.”
“So watch me from afar.”
“This way is better.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I cry, turning heads.
Caden gives the crowd a moment to move on. “The Ring says otherwise.”
“Like you always do what the Ring says,” I scoff.
“Melissa, you’ve already had two run-ins with underwalkers recently. And if your vision is anything to go by, there’s likely to be a third.”
“But this is school. What could they possibly do to me while I’m surrounded by students and teachers?”
“You underestimate them.”
“I think you overestimate them.”
“Melissa,” he warns.
“Fine. You can sit with me and my friends.”
“And they are…?”
“Lauren and Levi. Kira, Evan, uh…Cooper. And Piper.”
“Those six?”
I frown at him. “What’s wrong with them?”
“It’s just…they’re kind of annoying.”
“Oh my god, you’re so cool,” I mock, shaking my head. “If you don’t like it, sit somewhere else.”
I head off towards the courtyard. He follows me like my shadow. “Have you seen the new girl?”
I feel myself tense up. “Yeah, um, she was in my math class this morning.”
“What do you make of the rumours?”
“They’re all bullshit.”
“You seem pretty certain. Did you talk to her?”
“Didn’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
I sigh. “Her name’s Sara Falconer.”
Caden stops me with a hand on my shoulder and a dark, wide-eyed stare. “Melissa, that’s—”
“I know.”
“It’s really her?”
“I think so. She looked familiar.”
“You need to talk to her.”
A laugh escapes my throat. “And how would I do that? Walk up and ask, ‘Hey, is there any chance you’re the Sara Falconer who’s wearing my body?’ I don’t think so.”
“Why don’t you just introduce yourself?”
“I don’t know, Caden. She seems pretty cool. Maybe you should do it.”
He rolls his eyes. “This is serious. If it’s really her—”
“If it’s really her, what?”
“She’s been off grid for years. Her and Kathryn. I never brought this up before because I figured she was dead; you only get a decade in someone else’s body before it kills you. Obviously, you’re an exception because you have regeneration, but Sara . . . Sara’s just a normal girl. She should have died a couple of years ago, which meant there was no point telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
His eyes are rich with hope when they meet mine. “That it’s possible to swap back.”
***
Sitting with Lauren’s group at lunch means I’m unable to ask Caden anything more, but my mind is still dizzy with theories and questions.
And hopes. Because I’ve spent over three weeks assuming I have only a few years left to live, and suddenly the dark curtain in my timeline has been yanked away, and I can almost see my future.
Beyond the chaos of my mind, it’s evident that Lauren is particularly excited about my bringing Caden to sit with us. I recall that I told her I’d talk to him on her behalf. Up until now, I’d completely forgotten.
But it turns out it doesn’t matter. Caden ends up sitting between Lauren and me, and she uses it completely to her advantage, talking pretty much only to him all of lunch. Levi takes one look at them and rolls his eyes.
Kira’s on my other side. “How are you feeling?” she asks me.
“Better,” I say, and with hope buzzing in my veins, it’s true. This day has already been a whirlwind of emotion, but it’s looking up.
“What happened?” Caden asks, drawing out of his conversation with Lauren.
“She had a little incident this morning,” Kira says, as if I’m not sitting right next to her, “but it was fine. I helped her through it.”
“Disease-related?”
“No,” she says casually, twirling her apple core. “It was more like a panic attack.”
I stare at Kira, horrified and betrayed. My cheeks heat up in shame. “What the hell, Kira?”
She looks at me, the picture of innocence. “What?”
“You had a panic attack?” Caden asks me, as if this is some grave discovery.
And even deeply embarrassed, I manage to be pissed. “Yes, Caden, I had a fucking panic attack. Really, what did you expect?”
I can see he’s swallowing his words. Everyone at the table is staring at us, and the moment prolongs, the tension wrapping itself like a rope around my neck.
Stop it, I tell myself. I will not freak out again, not in front of everyone.
Lauren leans forward. “This is about that thing isn’t it? The man who broke into your house?”
The suggestion just makes me feel worse. I can’t imagine what they all must think of me: one little incident and Melissa Croft, Ice Queen, melts into a puddle of tears. In that moment, I want to tell them everything. I want to point to all I’ve been through lately and say, ‘You try it. You go through all this crap and come out unaffected.’
Instead, I mutter, “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Lauren nods empathetically. “Of course, um…” She changes topic. “So have any of you guys met the new girl yet?”
I’ve had enough. I can’t stand to be around these people, any people, for a moment longer. I get up so abruptly that I bang my knee on the table, but my numb body doesn’t even feel the pain.
“I’m going to the library to study,” I announce curtly.
“Melissa—” Caden begins, but I’m gone.
The rest of the day passes agonisingly slow. I’m so sick of having to deal with people and their judg
ements. I just want to go.
But despite all my frustrations, a part of me still flickers with hope. As terrible as my life is right now, there’s a chance that one day it could get better. If I swap back and escape this life, I could live normally. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and more.
I open to the back of my workbook and, taking Kira’s advice, start writing out everything that’s happened since Caden arrived a month or so ago. It takes all of last period, but eventually, I get it all down. The spirits. The ghost. The memories. The attack on my family and me. Discovering who I am. My vision. Learning about spectres and the prophecy and the Ring. Meeting Davion. Sara Falconer. Swapping back.
I pour it all out, and when I’m done, it feels like a massive weight has been taken off my shoulders. For the first time in weeks, I feel at ease. I let out a long breath, my body relaxing into my seat.
I’m still pissed at Kira, but man was she right about the writing thing.
School ends and I collect my things from my locker while everyone speeds from the building. When I slam it shut, the halls are mostly empty. But just a little distance down from me, the new girl is pulling out her bag. From here, I can see only her profile, but she really does have a perfect nose, almost like it belongs on an Ancient Greek statue. In fact, all of her features look like they’ve been sculpted from stone—prominent cheekbones, smooth skin, perfect almond-shaped eyes. She’s stunning, and I wonder if my jealousy counts when she’s really wearing my skin. Is it vanity if I say she’s beautiful? The whole thing is unbelievably confusing and strange.
My legs take me forward before my brain can realise what I’m doing. And once it does, it’s already too late. I’m standing before her, and she’s staring at me, one eyebrow raised.
Oh well, there’s no going back now.
“Who are you?”
Her confusion dissolves, her features transforming with understanding.
“Sara Falconer,” she replies confidently. My hand’s hanging by my side, but she reaches forward.
