The ball clatters onto the table, and with one flick of my wrist, the first goal is on the scoreboard.
“Dez one, Charlie zero.” I give myself a little round of applause.
Charlie cocks his head and squints at the table. His dark hair flops over his eyes and he pushes it back.
I find myself wishing it were my hand brushing it aside.
I need to get a grip.
He leans in close and runs his hand across the table, searching for flaws. “Is this thing crooked? I think it’s sloped.” He nods. “Yup, sloped. Looks like my goal’s on the low side, here, which you know—”
“Spare me. Ready to lose the next point?”
“Pfft. You got lucky.” He drops the next ball, and after a few seconds volleying back and forth, I score again.
“Have you ever even played foosball before, Charlie? Maybe I need to explain how this works.” I point to his defenders. “See these guys? You use them to stop my guys from scoring. Maybe you should write this down.”
“Funny. Thanks, but I know what I’m doing.”
“Are you sure? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”
The jerseys of my players are painted the same shade of red as the team I always chose on the well-worn foosball table in my basement. The one my dad taught me to play on. It’s gotten so much use and abuse that one leg is wobbly and has pieces of extra felt glued to the bottom of it to make it sit straight, but I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Not one dent or scuff. Too many memories, like schooling Aaron at foosball before he—
The clatter of the ball falling into my goal and Charlie’s hoot of elation snaps me back to reality.
“Ha! You snooze, you lose.” Charlie pumps his fist in the air. On anyone else, this display would be unappealing, to say the least. Somehow, on him it works.
In case the gesture wasn’t enough, he breaks into a little dance. “That’s right, that’s right, here’s the thunder, here’s the thunder,” he chants. “Ba-boom!”
Without explanation, the grin falls off Charlie’s face and his arms drop to his sides.
“Dez?” Hannah’s voice is soft. And right behind me.
“Hey, Hannah,” I say, turning to face her with a big smile.
Her expression fluctuates between interest and gloom. “Sorry to interrupt.” She looks from Charlie to me. Her cheeks redden.
My stomach lurches as she examines us. Crap.
Bogged down by the awkward silence enveloping us, I offer, “Care to join us? Charlie sucks at this game and could use the help.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hannah says. She glares at Charlie and storms off.
Charlie drops a ball back onto the table and watches as it rolls slowly toward my goal.
“What was that all about?” I ask, not sure I’m ready to hear about his relationship with my only other friend in this place.
Or any other girl, for that matter.
Charlie shrugs. “You stick a bunch of dead, moody teenagers together and you’re going to get a lot of fireworks.”
“Great, so it’s like high school, but no prom and no graduation?”
“Something like that.” He stares after Hannah as she slams the door to our suite shut behind her. “Want to finish our game?”
Alarm bells clang in my head. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Maybe tomorrow, then?”
“Sure.” My feet do the thinking for my reluctant brain, compelling me to follow Hannah back to our room. “See you tomorrow, Charlie,” I call over my shoulder.
With trepidation, I enter our suite. “Hannah?” I call out.
Hannah is sprawled on her bed, so I flop on mine. My arms wrap around a pillow. I try again. “Hannah?”
“What?”
My voice is heavy with nerves. “Did I … is there something between you and Charlie?”
She stares up at the ceiling. “No.”
“Well, was there?”
“It’s not your problem. You have enough to worry about right now.”
“If you guys have some kind of history—”
“Just stop.” She covers her eyes with her arm. “We don’t. Maybe we came close, once, but it didn’t work.”
“I’ll steer clear, okay?”
“Don’t bother.” She turns to face me. “He never looked at me once the way he was looking at you after, what, five minutes? Have at it.”
Her words are hollow and unconvincing, her feelings for Charlie clearly unresolved. I sit up, desperate to change the trajectory of our unfolding relationship. “It’s almost time for that dream-state, right?”
Her expression softens. “It is. Do you have any questions?”
“Not really, I guess.”
As I prepare for what’s next, I make a silent vow to steer clear of any romantic entanglements with Charlie.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A woman I don’t recognize materializes. She’s dressed in the familiar sky blue worn by many of the station’s staff. Her dark hair cascades down her shoulders, and although she’s only in my mind, her bright eyes seem to stare right into me.
“Desiree Donnelly,” she says. “Welcome to Dream-State Reflection. It is here where we do our most important life-reflective work, which, when combined with our effective talk therapy led by our highly skilled counselors, will assist you in letting go of the life you’ve left behind.
“You hold your destiny in your own hands. Our staff is here to guide you, but it is you who must take the steps on the path of progress. Arguing and fighting are counterproductive. A cooperative mind is a cooperative soul.
“Please relax and focus as tonight’s reflections are presented to you.”
I’m in the car driving to my cello lesson, my window down despite the chilly, hazy morning. After a long winter, the smell of spring is enough to make the blast of cool air worthwhile. I smile as I take a deep breath of the sweet scent. The breeze blows against my face, bringing with it a promise of long summer days to come. Days like this are about as perfect as they come.
I drive past the last farm before a large tract of forest. Even the cows, gathered around a feed bin, seem happy today. Their tails flick as they munch serenely on hay.
My last summer before college is almost here. Dad’s already taunting me with talk of my mystery graduation gift, but I can’t even get Mom to give me a hint as to what he’s planning.
A trip?
Some big gift?
Something sentimental?
His poker face is world class, and no amount of begging, buttering up, or cajoling has ever cracked him.
I guess I’ll just have to wait.
My mom left a CD in the stereo, but for once I don’t mind, or even lament the lack of an iPod connection. I turn up the volume and sing along, but my ringtone interrupts my duet. Still singing, I turn down the music and reach into my purse. My hand searches past my wallet, lip gloss, gum, iPod—I have a lot of stuff in there—fumbling around for my elusive phone. True to form, my purse tips over and the phone falls out and slides across the seat, just out of reach.
“Crap.”
I lean over and stretch out my fingers, my eyes fixed on the road, the phone still inches beyond my grasp. I hear my mom’s voice in my mind, ordering me to not even think of what I’m about to do, but that’s her ringtone squawking at me.
It must be important, because she never calls when she knows I’m driving.
She was just answering a call from Grandma when I left.
Grandpa just got out of the hospital two days ago after a bunch of tests. Is something wrong? Is his cancer back?
It will only take a second, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean a bit farther.
Success! My fingers close around the phone, and as I’m about to pick it up, it slips again, this time landing on the floor. Figures.
Since there are no cars coming and it’s a matter of a few seconds, I steady my left hand on the wheel and lean across the seat, doing my best to watch the road.
> Sometimes your best isn’t good enough.
My fingers fumble across the floor mat, at last closing around the prize. With the phone in hand and a triumphant “Ha!” I sit back up.
Too late, I realize I’ve drifted over to the shoulder, and I jerk the wheel hard to the left, overcorrecting into the oncoming lane.
I see the truck.
It’s too late.
I crank the wheel hard to the right and slam on the brakes, doing about everything wrong and remembering none of my dad’s careful training. The car spins sideways, leaving my driver’s side rear door directly in the truck’s path. Its horn blares at me in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable. I grip the wheel and brace for impact, screaming above the shriek of metal meeting metal.
And then I’m airborne.
Time seems to slow to a near standstill as my body drifts through the air. I feel like I may never hit the ground. The sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal fade away, and all that remains is the whistling wind. …
Next, I’m shown my parents, but this isn’t a memory. They are sitting in my high school’s auditorium. Proud smiles light up their faces as they watch me walk across the stage in my white cap and gown, a gold honor cord across my shoulders. I wave to them from the stage and my mom’s eyes well with tears. Dad puts an arm around her and offers her a tissue with his free hand. She leans against him as they watch me walk back to my seat. …
We pull to the curb in front of a dormitory, the car packed to near overflowing. Dad opens the hatchback as Mom and I get out. Her auburn hair shines in the afternoon sun, in stark contrast to Dad’s salt-and-pepper curls. She gets her camera from her purse and snaps a photo of the building, then ushers me into the frame.
Click. Click. “Just one more, Stinkerbell.”
“I’m in college and officially way too old for that name,” I insist. Click. “Mom, come on … ” Click.
“Almost done.” Click. “Don’t make that face.” Click. Click. “This is a big day!” Click.
“Okay, Mary, that’s good enough, huh?” Click.
“Jim, stand next to her. I want one of both of you.” Click. Click.
“Dad’s on my side. Back in the purse, Mom.” Click.
She hugs me like she’s never going to see me again.
“Mom, it’s going to be okay. You already booked my flight home for Thanksgiving. It’s only a couple of months.” I pat her back, trying to reassure her. …
The mystery woman appears again. “Your assignment for the day,” she says, “is a simple one. You must remind yourself of these words: Acceptance turns the rocky path smooth. Cooperation leads the way.
“You may now wake, Desiree.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m coming to and Hannah is wishing me good morning. I rub my eyes, sit up in bed, and look out the window at the bright daylight.
“That’s it?”
Hannah nods from her perch by the window. “Goes pretty fast, right?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.”
“It’s just DSR messing with our perception. You’ve been out all night, just like the rest of us.” She looks back over at me, a bit concerned. “How was it?”
“Strange. Who is that lady, anyway?”
“What lady?”
“The woman who introduced DSR, told me to work on complying … ” I trail off when I notice Hannah staring at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra nose.
“I’ve never seen her,” she says.
“Weird.” I rub my face, trying to get rid of the haze hanging over my mind. “What’s the point in showing us stuff that’s never going to happen?”
“Ah, the future that will never be,” Hannah says with a knowing nod of her head. “We have to know what we’ll be missing in order to fully let go. We have to make peace with the future we won’t have and accept the reality that is the afterlife.”
“A bit much for the first night, don’t you think?”
“You’ll get used to it. It gets better, I promise.”
“So they say.” I frown. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Six. Morning Meditation is at eight.”
I groan and flop back on the bed. “I miss sleeping already.” I pull the covers up and put a pillow over my head—my favorite I-don’t-want-to-get-up-yet tactic.
“You want to go down to the cafeteria? The breakfasts here are great.” Hannah’s voice sounds muffled but enthusiastic through my cocoon of pillows and blankets.
“Dead people eating. I don’t think I’m ever going to get my mind wrapped around that one.”
“What? All I got from that was mmmff ggrrr eeefffrrrggg.”
I move the pillow and scowl. She has a big grin on her face.
“Great. My roommate is a morning person.” This could be a problem. I hate mornings, and I have never been able to understand those who don’t.
“So you want to get breakfast, or what?” Hannah asks.
“No thanks. I just want a little alone time, I think.”
“Suit yourself.” Hannah heads to the door. “See you at Morning Meditation. We meet in the lounge. Don’t be late.”
I lie in bed for as long as I can stand it, which, as it turns out, isn’t very long. In surrender, I go to my closet and throw on some clothes.
A hollow thunk near the front door gets my attention, and upon investigating, I find the light is blinking at the message center. I take out the cylinder and see we have mail. The first letter is for me.
Desiree Donnelly,
Please report to SGA room 2108 at 09:45 today for your intake assessment with Kay Robinson. The appointment will take approximately ninety minutes. Please refer any pressing questions regarding your appointment to your advisor, Franklin Hicks. Otherwise, Kay will be happy to address any concerns during your intake.
My concerns? Let’s see:
Getting tackled.
Being chased.
Getting zapped by Gideon’s silver orb.
Psychiatric placement.
That mystery “procedure.”
Oh, and the whole being dead thing.
The other message is for Hannah and is in a sealed envelope, which I leave on the table. I drop my appointment slip next to Hannah’s message and head out into the common area, my mind set on wasting my remaining free time in the library.
Charlie’s at the foosball table, talking to two other boys, but after last night’s run-in with Hannah, avoidance is my best option. As I try to slip through the game lounge undetected, my inner klutz strikes. My foot gets tangled up on the edge of a throw rug, sending me stumbling for purchase.
I’m a trained sprinter, but I can’t manage to walk without tripping.
Charlie turns when he hears me. A big smile spreads across his face. “You okay over there?”
“Yeah, great.” I kick at the rug and silently curse my cute new sandals. “But somebody needs to fire the decorator.”
Charlie laughs. “You’ll have to take that up with Franklin.” He gestures to the two guys standing next to him. “Dez, this is Shawn.” He points to the boy nearest him. “And this is Bobby. They’re next door to you in suite seven.”
“Hey, Dez,” says Shawn, a boy of about seventeen who looks like he’s missing Southern California and a surfboard. His long blond hair is bleached almost white. He has the tan and the lean muscles of someone who spends every waking moment at the beach.
“We’ll try to keep the volume down to a pleasing level,” Bobby offers. He’s Shawn’s diametric opposite, skinny and fair with an unkempt mop of auburn curls.
“Good to know,” I laugh. “We’ll try to do the same.”
Bobby reaches up and adjusts the collar of his T-shirt.
Catching a glimpse of his bracelet, I can’t help but stare.
ERROR. PLEASE SEE SGA TECH REP.
Noticing my gaze, he slips his arm behind his back. “Noise pollution is a tremendous irritant, and a leading cause of disagreements in dormitory s
ettings. When one is provided a placid environment, the probability of conflict is greatly diminished.” He finishes with a nod.
“Okay … ” I look to Charlie for a hint. There’s a smile in his eyes, despite the straight face he’s maintaining. “I haven’t gotten a chance to read the entire handbook yet, but I’ll be sure to brush up on all the rules,” I say.
Bobby looks concerned. “I didn’t mean to give the impression that acceptable volume parameters are Atman policy. I simply abide by these limits of my own free will and as a courtesy to others based on statistical data supporting such behavior. While I firmly support the implementation of such a policy, we are at our own discretion to adhere to self-policing for the foreseeable future, as the Atman authorities, such as they are, have not yet placed a priority on implementing any such parameters into the official bylaws or the voluminous, yet insufficient, conduct manual.”
What? How am I supposed to respond? My mind scrambles to gain a foothold. There’s an odd familiarity about this guy, but I can’t place it, which adds to my inability to form a reply.
“Right. Uh, that was very informative, and I will be sure to keep all of it in mind.”
Fortunately, Shawn saves me. “Well, we were just on our way to grab something to eat, so we’d better get going. It was nice meeting you, Dez.”
“What was that?” I demand of Charlie once Shawn and Bobby are out of earshot.
“Bobby is a super-serious super-genius. He takes a bit of getting used to.”
“You think?”
Charlie flashes that smile of his. “You ready to finish our game of foosball?” he asks, brushing his hand against mine.
My fingers tingle. I feel shaky and nervous and perfect. And confused.
What was that about not getting involved?
My vocabulary abandons me. “Umm … ”
“It’s okay. I know my foos prowess is pretty intimidating.”
I take a moment to get myself together and shove aside my feelings. Friends only. I can do that. I have to.
“All right, bring it on, Weimann.”
“You sure you can handle it? I’m not going easy on you this time.” He spins his soccer men again, but this time is careful to keep them from making a full rotation. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
Life, A.D. Page 7
