I frowned. I had hoped this book, brought to me by fairly spectacular means, would be more informative and have the real key to public speaking. I shelved the book with a sigh. I would just have to hope picturing people naked would do the trick.
****
The sun hung low over the hills, striping the landscape with long shadows as I walked back to my dorm later that evening. The heat ebbed to the coming cool night air. It was a perfectly balanced evening that would make the rest of the world jealous. Once again I was envying my shadow’s grace when a feeling of cold made me shiver.
I gulped and swallowed, tasting chlorine in the air. My heartbeat felt like it was tapping out danger in Morse code. I strained my ears to hear something, anything, but all I heard were my own steps. Then an arctic thread of air tickled the nape of my neck. I spun around expecting . . . I’m not sure what. But the whole campus was deserted and I was eerily alone.
Involuntarily, my step quickened and I started to glance around in search of a safe place or other people for that matter. I had the unnerving feeling that I was being followed. I paused for a moment, listening, but all I heard was a deafening silence. My lone companion was my shadow and even it seemed determined to abandon me as it stretched longer and slid further away.
I blinked at my other self. How is my shadow moving if I’m standing still? My possessed shadow raised itself from the ground like a zombie emerging from the grave until it hovered before me. The black mist that had attacked Brent. A geyser of terror erupted inside me, freeing my heart to leap to my throat and my knees to buckle in its wake. Landing painfully on my butt brought back some clarity of thought and my mind registered that the mist was thicker and more massive than I remembered. I scooted backward trying to escape, but its thick blackness snaked itself behind me, encircling me, blocking me in.
A hate-twisted face materialized in the mist while one of its slithering tendrils grew into an arm, with fingers stretching for me. A scream I didn’t even know I was capable of left my throat, echoing off the buildings in a terrified refrain.
A scraping that made my skin crawl resonated in the air, as its nails hit some sort of invisible barrier mere inches from me. Screeching, it pulled back, then attacked again only to ram into the same unseen blockade. Refusing to give up, it battered against it, higher, lower, faster, slower, trying to find a weakness in its defenses. Despite being covered by my trembling hands, my eardrums pounded, threatening to burst at the mist’s shrill cries of failure. Sensing its mounting frustration, I cowered, drawing my knees tightly to my chest, as the fear buzzing in my head grew louder. Then the whole entity attacked at once, circling me completely, its energy squeezing me momentarily in a breath-stealing vise before it was slammed back with a force that left me dizzy.
“Yara!” A familiar voice called. I spun toward Brent, who was waving his hands dramatically, trying to get my attention. His face tightened as he took in the horror in my eyes and the panic etched on my face, but his arms kept moving. “Over here, Yara.”
My lips were mouthing the word my fear wouldn’t allow me to voice. “Help.”
My eyes slid past him, seeking the mist, when an assault of wind stung my eyes, forcing them closed as an explosion ricocheted around me. For a moment I feared I had died. But the hard concrete didn’t transform into a billowy cloud; I didn’t hear heavenly angel choirs, accompanied by harps. It took several blinks before my open eyes believed that not only had I survived, but that the mist was gone. I had no idea what had happened and chose not to question it as my body sagged in relief.
The air in my lungs that had felt thick and heavy instantly felt fresh, like pure oxygen. Black spots danced before my eyes and my head felt light as the rush of clean air overtook me. The encounter had drained me of the ability to sit upright and I felt my body give way under the exhaustion. More softly than I would have imagined, I collapsed onto the concrete.
My cheek lay against the warm walkway as my body shuddered with shock. Tears coursed down my face, my breathing shallow. I had never felt more weak or vulnerable in my life.
Brent crouched down beside me. “What are you doing on the ground? Are you sick?”
“Did you see it?” I whispered, my voice crackling with fear.
“See what?” Brent asked, looking around. The angry blue bruise on his temple convinced me that answering truthfully would just reignite our old argument.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, suddenly wanting him to go away.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
Did he really want to know? I stared up at him. No, he doesn’t, I decided. Still, he looked at me expectantly for some sort of answer, so I nodded. Not because I was okay, but because that is what people do in situations like this— they muscle through it, cowgirl up. When people ask how you are, they don’t really want to know, they just want to hear, ”I’m hanging in there.“ I was not as strong as other people, I decided, as I sniffed back tears. My hand covered my mouth to contain the sobs that were bubbling in my throat.
Brent accepted my answer and started to reposition himself. I thought he was leaving, and a tug of war between abandonment and relief fought inside me. Instead however, he lay down beside me, his ankles crossed, hands laced behind his head, face to the sky and began whistling.
“Please leave me alone,” I muttered. He must not have heard me over the off key melody he was creating, because he didn’t move. Even though I was angry at him, that didn’t make me any less grateful. “Thanks for your concern but you can go.” I pushed unsteadily off the ground to an upright position.
He didn’t budge; the rhythm of his song swirled in the air, chasing away all of my fright and I found myself humming along to the old classic, “Can’t Stop Dreaming of You.” My teeth bit down hard on my bottom lip, trapping the melody in my throat as I stood.
When the world stopped swaying, I slowly began making my way back to my room. I took a few steps but stopped abruptly when I felt a presence behind me. I turned toward it, my heart racing, only to find Brent. He offered an apologetic smile and a shrug.
“You don’t have to follow me,” I told him, my voice weak.
“Well I’m all about chivalry,” he said, with a formal bow and a flourish, “and you are so pale, I’m not quite sure you won’t collapse again.”
“I’m not going to collapse,” I lied through gritted teeth. “I’m perfectly capable of making it home.” In truth, my whole body threatened to keel over.
“Well in that case, I’ll just be on my way.”
With a nod I took a couple of steps only to find him still shadowing me. When I eyed him suspiciously he shrugged. “I happen to be heading toward your dorm to visit Samantha. Pure coincidence I assure you.”
I stifled a laugh, which made his eyes twinkle.
“Thank you for helping,” I mumbled under my breath.
The way he smiled into the edges of his mouth made me pretty sure he heard me but he asked, “I’m sorry— what was that? It was hard to hear you over my song.”
Fighting to not grin, I continued on my path.
“Were you apologizing to me for hurling your book at my head?”
The smile on my lips died. My head spun toward him, my eyes throwing daggers and the tune died on his lips. “Were you apologizing for calling Cherie crazy?”
“Touché.” He grinned.
Taking a deep breath I said, “I really appreciate your help.” I raised my hands to call a truce. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”
I started toward my room again, with him walking beside me whistling again.
“That is one of my favorite songs. Can you maybe whistle something else?” I asked, after listening to him whistle his asinine version of the song four complete times. The repetitiveness wound my nerves tighter than a bowstring and the only escape I could foresee was my dorm.
“Nope, it’s the only one I know,” he explained before continuing on with the song for the fifth time.
I slipped through the glass d
oors of my dorm house before he started whistling “Can’t Stop Dreaming of You” for the sixth time. I made my way to my room only to be greeted with his loathsome song being carried in through the open window. I picked up my thickest textbook and made my way toward the window.
I leaned out, brandishing my book like a lethal weapon. The song stopped abruptly, replaced by a very amused laugh. He gave me a lopsided grin as he retreated out of range of my pitching arm, rubbing his temple. I slid the window shut, with a smile and dropped the book on my desk.
Complete exhaustion overcame me as I pulled my covers over my fully-clothed body. I lay there trying to convince myself that the dark mist wouldn’t try to attack me again, though I knew I was lying.
“It’s going to leave you alone,” I repeated to myself, fingering Vovó’s necklace as fatigue forced me to sleep.
****
I slept soundly the whole night, fully clothed, with anxiety still humming inside me over the mist experience. Did Brent see the mist yesterday? No, I decided. If he had, he would have said something. So, that left me the only one who could see it. I didn’t like that thought, so I tried to shove it to the back of my brain as I readied myself for school.
Language Arts came far too quickly for my taste. And somehow I had been given the honor of getting to speak first. Standing up, I walked to the front of the class and swallowed hard, resisting the urge to bite my lip. I carefully interlaced my hands behind my back and stood tall, lifting my eyes to face the audience. My mind raced, and my carefully prepared words suddenly eluded me.
Should I try to picture the people naked? I glanced at Brent,
and flushed, glad he was too busy talking to the girl next to him to notice. Cherie, sitting behind him, stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes, and trying not to laugh helped me refocus. I would have to let Travis know that his idea of looking into the faces of friends really worked. Maybe I could write a testimonial for his book, I thought, before realizing I had been standing in front of the class this whole time, and my mind was rambling. How long have I been standing here?
My face flushed deeper, my pulse reeled, the room started to spin— I was going to faint. Hoping to stop the swaying of the room, I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths— getting even dizzier— and tried to pretend I was dreaming. I hadn’t meant to follow the book’s advice, but somehow here I was, doing what it had suggested.
“Hello, my name is Yara Silva. People always ask what my name means.” I took another deep breath.
As I talked, little drops of sweat began to trickle between my shoulder blades and my necklace felt uncomfortably warm around my neck. Still trying to calm myself, I concentrated harder on pretending I was dreaming, distancing myself from reality, like I was outside myself, a mere observer. Suddenly the world around me seemed to slow, and I felt as if some part of me had detached from the rest. My head felt groggy, as if in a deep sleep and unable to awaken itself. I heard the words I was speaking, but at the same time, it was as if I wasn’t the one saying them. It felt like I really was dreaming, but somehow I knew I wasn’t. Had I hypnotized my own brain? Focusing as hard as I could, I tried to see if I could pull even further away.
It worked; I felt a cold rush of air as my spirit completely left my body. My dull, foggy brain was suddenly wide awake, alert, while the rest of the world seemed frozen in time. The words I had been saying stopped and I turned to see my body, still as a statue and ghostly white. What had I done? Could I get back? Raw panic overwhelmed me, constricting my chest, pulling my spirit back to my body.
I became whole again, except now I was freezing and shivering. Everything seemed back to its normal pace, but I felt sluggish, slightly out of sync. My shaking body had never felt colder and I crossed my arms and began rubbing them for warmth. A scattered chorus of giggles from my classmates brought me back to the reality that I had a speech to finish. My tongue was heavy like it had been coated with thick peanut butter. After rubbing it several times against the roof of my mouth it finally loosened. It took great effort to give my closing remarks.
“That was . . . interesting,” Mrs. Piper said politely, looking surprised that I hadn’t passed out. Still shivering and feeling dazed, I made my way back to my seat, nearly tripping twice. Brent’s eyes were on me; I could feel him trying to get my attention but I refused to look at him. I sank gratefully into my chair, squinting against the glare of the lights in our class.
Cherie leaned over and practically shouted in an impressed voice, “That’s the best you’ve ever done.”
I shushed her with a worried glance toward our teacher. Cherie frowned at me, not liking being shushed. Still not quite feeling like myself, I started to explain, in a quiet whisper, the weird event that had just taken place, “It wasn’t me; it was like . . .” I was interrupted by Mrs. Piper calling Cherie up for her turn.
She stood up in front of the class, and without any fear, launched into the story of her life. My head throbbed in pain and I dropped it to my desk, covering my ears with my arms to stop the pounding in them. My nostrils inhaled an overpowering and nauseating mixture of sweat, perfume, and deodorant. Worse still, my taste buds absorbed it and it settled down to my stomach, which turned over, threatening to be sick. Tears flooded my eyes, trying to ease the burning caused by the painful brightness of the room. The shrillness around me was like a live wire, scratching and tormenting my senses, zapping my nerves, in a series of painful jolts.
Soon Cherie sat down amid a round of loud applause that made my ears cringe. A thick sheen of sweat formed on my face as my body slowly warmed. With my head still down I raised my hand, begging Mrs. Piper to let me be excused. Cherie tried to ask me what was wrong, but I couldn’t answer as I fled the room.
Outside the building, my head was still pounding, and I needed to be alone. I headed toward the trees that Cherie and I had cut through to get to the pool a few days before. After a short walk, I found a stone bench in the middle of a small clearing and dropped my belongings next to it. I gracelessly collapsed on the bench, stretching out on my back, and gulped in the fresh citrus air, ridding myself of the overpowering scents from my class. The sun heated my cold body, but was too powerful for my eyes and I let them slide closed. Slowly, the thudding in my ears faded, replaced by the soothing, lulling hum of the groves. The woods were peaceful and I let their tranquility wash over and heal me, lessening the severity of my surroundings. Refusing to even think about what had happened in class, I drifted off to sleep.
Some time later, I woke and slowly stretched, feeling refreshed. Noticing how high the sun now hung in the sky and where I was reminded me of what had brought me here.
My spirit left my body. Wow.
It was beyond freaky and I knew I should be scared but I found myself more annoyed than frightened. It’s not like my grandma hadn’t told me stories like these; I had just never thought they would happen to me. It was not uncommon among very strong Wakers, but this didn’t bode well for me and my plans for complete normality. I laughed as the irony of the situation settled into my mind. Great. Not only was I a Waker, I was a strong Waker!
My grandmother would be thrilled. Vovó had plans for my future, and seemed to think it was me and my sister’s destinies to take her place to help communicate and assist the ghosts someday, just as she had replaced her mother, and she had replaced hers. Since the gift for seeing ghosts was passed down through the female line, that hope jumped my dad’s generation and now fell to us. With my dad marrying an American woman, Vovó was nervous that the gift might be too diluted and would not take root in me. I was nervous too— that it would. Now it had.
I wanted to go back to bed.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, interrupting my internal debate. I was being watched. Jerking to an upright position I spun toward my watcher, my heart beating hard against my rib cage.
Relief flared in me when I found it was Brent’s brown eyes watching me, his arms folded across his chest, staring intently at me. He w
alked toward me and sat down at the far end of the bench.
“You missed lunch.” He handed me an open bag of my favorite candy. “I took the liberty of eating all the greens.”
“Thanks,” I said, willing the sudden warmth in my heart to cool. I took the candy and poured a few into my hand, then tossed them into my mouth.
“You want to talk about what happened to you in class?”
My muscles all coiled, waiting to spring, my breath caught in my throat, and I choked on the candy. “What are you talking about?” I asked between coughs.
Brent made a tsking sound. “Do I really have to ease into the topic? Can’t we just cut to the chase?”
I started to sweat. “What do you think happened?”
“Really? You won’t show me yours until I show you mine?” Brent sighed reclining back on the bench.
“You wish,” I spat, giving him my best “drop dead” look. I pulled a flower from the ground and twirled it in my fingers. “How’s your head?”
“Fine, how’s your crazy friend?” He multitasked by rubbing his bruised temple and glaring at me at the same time. “Of course, it might be safer to deal with her insanity than your temper.”
“Temper?” I asked through a clenched jaw, my fingers compressing together so tight I bent the flower’s stem in half. “You chucked a book at me because I called her insane. Yeah, I would say you have a temper.” “You deserved it, calling her crazy,” I huffed, plucking the
purple white petals from the flower and dropping them in my lap.
“I’ve been called a lot worse than crazy.”
“Nothing is worse than being called crazy. You don’t joke around with that word.” My eyes bored into his intensely so he would understand exactly how much I meant what I said.
When he finally looked away he started chewing on his nails. “Yeah, okay. Your friend is playing with stuff she should leave alone but she isn’t crazy. I never really meant she was nut-house bound.”
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