He’s the guy from my nightmares—the guy that died. Ever since I woke from my coma I dream of him, get texts from him. Jeremy Michaels, the boy whose car crashed into mine.
***
I stand staring at him, unable to believe my eyes, unable to breathe. Jeremy Michaels. He’s been haunting me with his text messages from the grave, haunting my dreams. But I’m not dreaming now. It’s the middle of the day and I’m awake…. Aren’t I awake?
Jeremy’s smile broadens, looks hopeful.
“See ya,” he says, and then he’s gone, vanishing into the crowd, and I’m left shivering and sick, watching him go.
For a moment I simply stand where I’m at, frozen, unable to bring myself to move. Was it really him? Come from my nightmares? No. It couldn’t have been. It’s not possible. It’s just not. Okay, I’ve been really, really sick, so maybe I have a fever. I’ve heard fevers can do crazy things to people’s minds, fry their brains. Maybe I had a delusional episode.
But no. It was him. It was Jeremy and he’s come to get me. What’s strange is, deep down I knew this would happen. I knew he would come for me. It wasn’t fair that I lived and he died. It just wasn’t.
And I knew it. I knew he would come for me.
Suddenly two hands grab me around the waist, and I’m hurled in the air. My heart stops beating. I mean it. It’s like I die from the shock. But it’s only my huge friend Eric and this is nothing new. He’s always picking me up and swinging me around. It’s like I’m his favorite rag doll.
“Eric! Geez, put me down. You gave me a heart attack.”
Looking pleased by my fright, Eric places me back on the ground. His blue eyes sober quickly though when he sees how messed up I am. “Sorry Lexi. Really. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I was just glad to see you.”
Trying to force my lips into a smile, I murmur that it’s okay, that I’m glad to see him too. He’s my friend. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. But I can’t stop shaking. I feel as though I’m going to break apart, crumble into gravel.
Dakota’s at his locker, watching us from his group of friends. His eyes look uneasy as he heads towards Eric and me, dodging errant students as he comes. “Hey, Eric, take off,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving my face. His warm brown eyes study me, looking concerned. “Lexi, what is it? What’s the matter?”
I bite my lip. How can I tell him I’ve just seen the boogieman from my nightmares? He’ll think the car crash caused brain damage. He’ll think I’m nuts.
Dakota skims the length of my arms with his warm hands. “Lexi?”
I’m shaking. Really bad. It’s so weird. I can’t make myself stop.
Dakota tilts his head, searching my eyes. Then kind of awkward like, he puts his arms around me, rubbing my shoulders as though he thinks I’m cold, as though he’s trying to warm me. It’s nice. Comforting.
“Are you okay?” He brushes back my hair. “Should I go get the nurse?”
I shake my head. I don’t want him to leave. I just want him to hold me like he’s doing.
I start to calm down a little, maybe, but then Dakota’s sort-of girlfriend, Gina, shows up. Her eyes narrow like a cat’s seeing us together. She’s mad. Gina hates me. She thinks I’m trying to take Dakota away from her. She’s insane.
Dakota flicks a look at Gina and tries to explain. “Lexi’s hurt…or something.”
“I think I’m still sick,” I mumble. “I’m going to go back home.”
Dakota’s arms tighten around me. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”
“No, that’s okay.” Shiver. Shake. “I’m okay.” I try to pull away from him.
“I’ll just walk you,” he says firmly.
“No. Don’t. I want to be alone.”
That’s not really what I want. It’s not what I want at all. But there’s a big crowd gathering. Everyone’s staring. If Dakota walks me home, Gina will make a big scene. I’m not up for that.
Dakota looks into my eyes. “Are you sure? Lexi, you seem really sick. I don’t think you should be alone.”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him. I practically run to get away from him.
His words “I’ll call you later,” follow me down the hall. But it hurts to know that he’s already holding hands with Gina, assuring her that he and I are only friends.
***
On my way home, I feel as though I’m being followed. I’m too scared to turn around, but I know it must be Dead Guy. He’s following me! It makes me walk faster. I want to run, but I can’t. My legs are too weak. Every part of my body aches. I feel as though I’m going to collapse.
Halfway home, I start seeing red and purple spots zooming before my eyes. I’ve fainted before, and this is exactly what it was like. There’s no doubt, I’m going down. I just want to make it home before I do.
“Lexi!” someone calls.
Whoever it is sounds close. Too close.
I take off running.
My heart’s pounding up a storm in my chest. It feels as though it’s going to explode. I make it all the way to my front yard before every thing starts spinning. But I don’t make it to my front door before everything turns black.
***
I wake in my bed, sopping with sweat, a scream strangled in my throat. Another nightmare. Ugh! They’re getting weirder. This time I dreamed Dead Guy, Jeremy, came to my school.
Weird, weird, weird.
I’m about to hobble out of bed and hit the shower when I realize something: It’s not morning. My first clue: It’s kind of dark out. Second clue: I smell something—not a breakfast something, but dinner, spaghetti. Mmmmm. Still, it takes a while for this information to sink in to my sleep-muddled brain. Finally though, I look over at my clock—5:30 p.m.
I roll over in bed. I don’t feel like getting up. I don’t even think I can. I feel as though I’ve been hit by a truck. The thought could almost make me laugh, almost. But it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me cry. I was hit by a truck.
Jeremy Michael’s truck.
We were both in comas when they rushed us to the hospital. But I woke up after a week. Jeremy didn’t. Jeremy died. Sometimes, I feel guilty about that. It doesn’t seem fair. Me living, him dying.
***
By the time my mom comes to get me for dinner, I’m done crying. Downstairs, the kitchen looks sort of funny—too bright or something. That’s what happens when I get too much sleep. It makes everything seem like a dream. Like it’s not quite real.
Mom eyes me, looking concerned. “You alright?”
I yawn and nod, but I have to plop into the nearest chair ‘cuz I feel like I might fall.
My older sister, Ragan, is on the phone. Nothing new. She’s always on the phone. But right now she’s acting goofy on it. She keeps giggling and she’s getting all wrapped up in the cord.
“It’s a boy,” Mom says.
I nod, understanding. Ragan turns into a freak around boys.
“They were assigned to do a science project together.” My mom tells me as though I asked, but I didn’t. I don’t care.
Ragan gets off the phone and sits across from me at the table. “We weren’t assigned to be partners. He chose me!” She twirls a strand of her golden hair around her finger, beaming. “We got to choose our own partners—out of everyone in the class, he chose me.”
I get myself some spaghetti. I don’t know why a boy would choose to be partners with Ragan. I can’t imagine anyone purposely doing it. Still, she gushes about it all through dinner. She goes on and on, talking about the boy—how nice he is, how cute is, how funny he is.
Ragan gets crushes on boys all the time. It’s part of life, like breathing and air. I’m not really listening. I eat a whole heaping plate of spaghetti, and then go back for seconds. When I’m about done, I glance up at Ragan. She’s not talking anymore. She’s staring at me instead. The way she’s doing it, it’s as though I accidentally ate our cat or something.
“What?”
“I thought you were supposed to be sick,” Ragan w
rinkles her nose. “The way you’re eating—it’s making me sick.”
Mom laughs. “It’s good she’s eating,” she says. “It means she’s starting to feel better.”
The way they’re talking about me, it makes me self-conscious. Makes me slow down and take small, dainty bites. But it’s kind of hard. It is spaghetti.
“Dakota’s been calling for you,” Mom says.
“Yeah, like constantly,” Ragan adds. “I guess you really scared him today. He said you were shaking and wouldn’t stop.”
I choke on my food.
“Are you alright?” Mom hands me my milk and makes me gulp it down.
“Dakota said that?” I gasp, when I’m finally able to talk. “He said I went to school?”
“I told you not to,” Mom says, shaking her head.
“But…I did?”
Ragan looks at me as though I’m nuts. “Yeah. I walked with you, remember?” The way she says it, it’s as though she’s speaking to a small child with a learning problem. Well, not even that, an idiot.
I’m shaking again. I hide my hands under the table so Mom doesn’t notice. But I feel sick and frozen, just like I did this morning…only I thought this morning didn’t happen. I thought it was a dream.
I try to remember being at school, but it’s all kind of fuzzy. Jeremy. Something about Jeremy…. Oh! He was there! At my school! But that couldn’t have happened. That had to be a dream. It had to.
I look at Mom, then at Ragan. What they’re telling me—it can’t be true. It can’t! I couldn’t have gone to school today. The way I remember things, I fainted before I even got to the front door. If everything really, truly happened—how did I get in the house?
“But … when I woke up,”—I paused, biting my lip—“I was in bed.”
Ragan and Mom both look at each other, like: “So what?”
Finally Ragan just comes out and asks it. “So?”
“So, how—how’d I get in bed?”
Ragan shrugs. “You were there when I came home—sweating like a pig.” She eyes me closely. “You really don’t remember going to school today?”
“I remember. I just … I thought it was a dream.”
“Geez, you really are sick,” Ragan says.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I guess I am.”
***
Life is suddenly a seriously spooky place. This morning really happened? Jeremy came to my school? No. No way, not possible. People don’t hang around after they die. They just don’t. They go … wherever dead people go.
Like my dad. He’s dead. He doesn’t come around, wanting to be my locker partner. And if any dead person wanted to be my locker partner, it would be him. Not Jeremy. Jeremy didn’t even know me. If he’s really around, he would be spooking somebody else. Somebody he knows. Not me. So, there’s no way this morning really happened. No way.
Right?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the plaguing thoughts of the texts I’ve been getting, the ones with messages like, “I miss you” and “Come back to me.” You know, the ones I’ve been getting from Jeremy. ‘Cause, well, they’re creepy. And … not real.
I grab my guitar and start playing. It gets my mind off all the spooky stuff going on ... sort of. Still, I keep thinking about what if it’s true—if I fainted outside. Then you know who brought me in? Jeremy. He picked me up and tucked me in my bed. A dead guy! The thought gives me the shivers, makes me want to crawl under my covers and never come out.
Suddenly, Ragan barges into my room. She’s like that. She barges in all the time. The thought of knocking never seems to cross her mind.
“Listen, Lexi,” she sits beside me on my bed, “I’ve been thinking. We should trade lockers.”
“Hmm?” I keep playing not really listening to her. I do it all the time.
“Well,” Ragan flips her hair, “Since Jeremy and I are going to be science partners—”
I stop playing, paralyzed. The only part of my body that can move is my heart. It’s beating like crazy. “Did you say you’re science partners with Jeremy?”
Ragan looks bugged, mad that I interrupted her story. “Yeah. So?”
I can’t talk. I can’t even breathe. The boy Ragan has been talking about non-stop—it’s Jeremy? Dead Jeremy?
Ragan furrows her brow. “What’s the matter with you? You’re scarring me, Lexi.” She gets off my bed. “I’m going to call Mom.”
I grab her arm, pulling her back to the bed. “No, don’t. I’m okay.”
She studies me, not looking convinced. “Then what’s going on? I told you I’m science partners with Jeremy. I talked about him all through dinner.”
“I know. I just, I wasn’t listening.”
“Thanks a lot.” She heads for the door, but turns back to me before leaving. “So, can we trade lockers?”
I don’t say anything. I’m still too stunned. But Ragan’s waiting for an answer, looking perturbed. “He’s so not your type.” She gives me her Get Real smirk. “Give it up.”
I blink. She thinks I want to date Jeremy? The idea is so perverse I choke.
Ragan scowls at me, like she’s mad. Mad I’m choking. “Lexi! Are you okay?”
I swallow, trying to breathe, and when she sees I can, she asks again, “So, can we trade lockers?”
I roll my eyes. There’s no way I can explain Jeremy to Ragan. No way. She won’t believe me. No way. And she’ll be mad if I try to warn her to stay away from him. She’ll go on thinking I want to date him, that I’m concocting a hokey plan to keep him all to myself. Because that’s Ragan—the world revolves around her chance at nabbing a guy.
“Whatever.”
Ragan smiles, smug and happy, chirping “Thanks!” and she’s out the door.
After she leaves, I just sit staring at nothing. Jeremy Michaels. He’s really back.
***
I lay curled up in a ball on my bed, still staring at nothing. Ragan is science partners with a zombie! The realization makes me shiver. I crawl under my covers, trying to get warm, but it’s no use. I’m a quivering mess.
What’s going on? First Jeremy took over my locker, now he is taking over my sister. It’s as though he is taking over everything, my whole life. Why?
Finally, after maybe an hour, I don’t know how long really, I get up and start playing my guitar. Sometimes playing helps calm me down. Sometimes. But not tonight.
Thump, thump.
There’s a knock at my window. I swear, I jump like a mile in the air. But it’s not Jeremy come from the grave. It’s Dakota from across the street, so I guess I’ll be okay. Eventually.
“Hey,” he says, coming in as though I invited him.
“Hey,” I tell him back, glancing around my room. It’s kind of embarrassing having him come in like this, my underwear from yesterday in a heap at his feet. That’s something I could do without.
Still, of course I’m glad to see him. In fact, you could call me psyched, but I play it chill. “You almost gave me a heart-attack.”
“Sorry. I’ve been texting you all day, but you never wrote me back.” He straddles the chair at my desk. “And I would’ve used the door, only it’s kind of late. I thought maybe your mom would be mad.”
“She wouldn’t.” My mom is really calm. It takes a lot to make her mad.
“Yeah, well,” Dakota raises his eyebrows, “then I guess I used the window for old-time’s sake.”
Since I can’t think of anything to say to that, I just nod.
Back when we were kids Dakota and I used to crawl through each other’s windows all the time. We never used doors. But that was a long time ago. Before he became super popular. And before I started wearing a bra.
“I heard you playing.” Dakota picks up my guitar. “You’re getting really good.”
I shrug, but that means a lot coming from him. Dakota has been playing a long time. He’s awesome.
He plays something now. It’s soft and pretty and kind of sad. I wonder if he wrote it himself. He w
rites most our band’s songs—the good ones anyway.
When he’s finished, I sigh, realizing I’d been holding my breath—ogling and admiring, all that fan-girl stuff. “Pretty.” I clear my throat. “Did you write it yourself?”
“Yeah.” He laughs, kind of self-conscious like. “I wrote it for you.”
Whoa. Tingles run through my body, all the down to my toes, and I can feel my face turning red. Ugh! I have to look away. This would be a magical moment, though. I mean, my stomach is all fluttery and full of butterflies. He wrote me a song! But the gross thing is, we can hear Ragan through my wall. Her room is right next to mine. She keeps giggling. Obviously she’s talking to Jeremy. It kind of blows the moment. For me anyway.
Dakota raises his eyebrows, like: “What’s up?”
“That’s Ragan,” I tell him. “She’s on the phone.”
“Is she talking to that new guy, Jeremy?”
Yeah, the demon from hell, I want to tell him, but I just nod.
“They were together all during lunch,” Dakota says.
I squeeze my eyes shut, not knowing what to say, not even sure I can speak—my throat feels all tight and sweaty. So does my stomach, like I might barf. I’m just so hoping this is all a bad dream. All of it. That soon I’ll wake up and laugh. Crazy dream.
“He seems pretty cool—I guess. Gina says so anyway.” Dakota gives a little laugh. “But what does she know? She likes me.”
I can’t help smiling. Dakota is the most adorable guy in our whole school. But he’s really modest about it and he’s not just faking. He has no idea what he does to my heart.
We’re silent for a moment, just looking at each other. It’s kind of weird. Finally, Dakota breaks the silence. “When, you were in that coma—I’d go to the hospital every day,” he says.
“I know. My mom told me.”
Dakota sits beside me on my bed. “I’d go there and just watch you…. I was afraid you were going to die.” He stares into my eyes, then down at his hands. “I kept thinking, if she dies—I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
So Hot For You Page 3
