Out of My Mind

by Pat White

While J.D. fought to stay alive.

  Even the Princess survived what could have been a fatal head injury. Instead, she woke up as perfect as before—okay, with shorter hair—with everyone spoiling her.

  J.D. shifted in his chair, the pinch of bruised ribs making him wince.

  “Let’s start with chapter one. Who wants to read?” Mr. Rimmer scanned the class and pointed to the back. “Ah, yes, Mr. Hoffman.”

  Unbelievable. The jerk had no doubt raised his hand, trying to make a good impression on Princess Catherine.

  J.D. pulled a pencil out of his jacket pocket. Drawing was the only thing that relaxed him, well, the only legal thing. He wouldn’t do weed anymore, not with his little brother looking up to him the way he did.

  J.D.’s life might be screwed, but he was going to make sure Billy got a chance. His brother would always know the truth, the real J.D.

  Everyone else saw the other guy, the fringe criminal. Stoner. Loser.

  J.D. kept his façade firmly in place: black T-shirts of bands none of these upper class geeks followed, like Sonic Youth and Iggy Pop; naturally torn jeans (not the kind you paid for); and a worn, black wool jacket. He’d created his tough reputation to set his boundaries.

  Boundaries no one dared cross.

  Sure the stoners offered to sell him nickel bags at lunch, to which J.D. would say he had his own supplier. Who needed that crap, or alcohol, for that matter? J.D. saw what it had done to the old man since Mom left.

  The whole mystique of J.D. Pratt protected him from having to deal with these entitled brats. Or it had until the accident.

  Now teachers were gunning for him, kids acted like he was a pedophile, and the local cops were always on the lookout, hoping to nail J.D. for illegal skateboarding.

  His senior year would be hell.

  Yet Catherine had stepped right back into her charmed life. Only this time she had it better. Teachers and students felt sorry for her, rushed to help the poor girl who’d almost been killed by the loser, J.D. Pratt.

  To think he’d actually felt sorry for her in the hospital connected to all those tubes, purple bruises discoloring her face.

  Unable to breathe on her own.

  “Mr. Pratt, you still with us?” Rimmer said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, read the next paragraph.”

  J.D. had no idea where they were. He’d been thinking about other things.

  Thinking about her.

  “Well?” Rimmer pushed.

  J.D. flipped a few pages. Kids snickered behind him. Catherine was probably one of them. Yeah, well, wait until she got the news from Burke. J.D. had a feeling she wouldn’t be laughing then.

  Chapter Five

  It’s third period and I’m ready for lunch. Not hungry, but bored and a little anxious.

  I doodle in my notebook. Yawn. Glance out the window. The meds make me sleepy when I shouldn’t be, and keep me awake until two or three in the morning.

  I snap my attention to Miss Walker. She drones on about the Industrial Revolution. Who cares? Blah, blah, blah.

  My eyes scan the classroom and land on J.D. It figures he is in most of my classes. He’s resting his cheek on his upturned palm, sound asleep. He was probably out partying last night, the night before the first day of school.

  Partying. Something I’ll never be able to do again. No beer or rum for the brain damaged Catherine unless I want to screw with what brain function I have left.

  People like J.D. Pratt take it all for granted.

  As if he hears me, he looks up and pins me with those colorful eyes. Challenging eyes. I challenge him right back and narrow my eyes at an angle so I don’t set off any frightening images.

  He smirks.

  Bastard.

  I refocus on Miss Walker.

  I have no idea what she’s been talking about for the last forty-five minutes. It’s day one and I start to think I’m screwed.

  Maybe I should quit school and get a job at Domino’s. Right, like they’d let me near an oven or a cash register?

  No, but I’d make a great dishwasher.

  If you don’t want people to feel sorry for you, stop feeling sorry for yourself!

  I slipped. It happens. Depression is another residual effect of my condition, or the drugs, or a combination of both.

  The words coming out of Miss Walker’s mouth float by. I’m unable to grasp them. If I stand a chance of passing history I’ll need to store this information in my brain and retrieve it for tests. I study my notebook. I’ve written down: steam power fueled by coal. What the heck does that mean?

  I’m definitely going to need a tutor. I’ll have Mom find me one in Bellevue, far enough away so no one knows I need help.

  The bell rings and I shove my notebook into my backpack. Mr. Burke, the associate principal, pushes through the herd of kids rushing to escape class. Maybe they didn’t get steam power either.

  My cell vibrates with a text from Taylor. They’re waiting for me in the commons. It’s good to have friends.

  “Catherine?” Mr. Burke says.

  “Yes?” I smile politely.

  “I need to talk to you in my office.”

  “Oh, okay.” Being late for lunch isn’t a crisis. Besides, Mr. Burke is assigned to keep up with my progress and make sure I have everything I need.

  How about a new brain, buddy?

  “Classes going okay?” he asks as we drift into the melee of students filling the hallway.

  “Sure.”

  I’m sinking fast, but he doesn’t have to know that.

  As we make our way to his office I smile at kids passing by to convince everyone the new me is just as smart, popular and charming as the old me. Deep down I’m starting to think there is no new me, just a blank slate.

  A big, fat nothing.

  We get to his office and I worry that my friends will give up my seat.

  “Can I text my friends and let them know I’ll be late for lunch?” I ask, sitting across from Mr. Burke’s desk.

  “Of course.”

  I text Taylor, slip my phone into my front jeans pocket and look at Mr. Burke. “So, what’s up?”

  “You know we’re trying to do everything we can to help you adjust to your new situation.”

  “You mean my broken brain.”

  He purses his lips and glances at a folder on his desk. “Your doctor recommends you have someone take notes for you in class. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “I guess.”

  My own personal secretary? Nice.

  “Do I get to pick?” I’ll ask for Greg.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Burke says. He presses a button on his phone. “Send him in.”

  “Why is it complicated?”

  Burke leans back in his chair and offers a comforting smile, the kind that sets my teeth on edge. I feel something dark and threatening coming my way.

  With a rush of frenetic energy J.D. Pratt plops down in the chair next to me. This cannot be happening.

  “No friggin’ way.” I’m proud of myself for using the PG13 version of the word that I really wanted to use.

  “J.D. has been assigned as your official note-taker,” Burke says.

  I jump to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain lancing through my head. “Are you crazy? He’s the one who…who,” I stutter.

  “Tried to kill you?” J.D. cocks his head and smiles.

  “Zip it, Pratt,” Burke orders.

  Burke isn’t thrilled with this either.

  “Please, sit down.” Burke motions to the chair. “Let me explain.”

  I don’t move. I fist my hands, my heart racing like a sprinter about to cross the finish line. I want to win all right. I want to win the right to keep this bastard out of my life.

  “It is the judge’s recommendation,” Burke explains. “J.D. needs to do community service. Who better to serve than the person he wronged?”

  “This is twisted,” I protest. “Did you talk to my parents?” I
blink back tears of panic. I will not cry in front of my enemy.

  “I spoke with your mother about—”

  “I don’t believe you!” I grab my backpack and race out of his office, charging into Mrs. Anderson, the secretary.

  “Sorry,” I apologize.

  She scowls at me. Scowls at me when someone should be scowling at Mr. Burke, the judge, my parents…

  J.D. Pratt.

  I march out of the office, furious and overwhelmed, a little scared. Sunlight streams into the hallway through a nearby door. It calls to me, beckons me to bust out of here and—

  “Hey, they’re waiting for us.” Andrea grabs my arm, preventing me from sprinting out of school. Not sure where I’d go. I’d just get as far away from this place as possible. Find safety somewhere away from my hellish life.

  “What happened?” Andrea asks. She’s figured out I’m about to lose it.

  “They…got me…a note taker.” Focus. Calm your breathing. Don’t want to trigger an aneurism in the cafeteria.

  “That’s good, right?” Andrea leads me through the commons to our friends.

  “It’s J.D. Pratt,” I spit out.

  “No way.”

  I nod. Can’t speak.

  As we approach a table, a few kids look up from their massive pig fest. Sandwich wrappers, soda cans and chip bags clutter their trays.

  I must look like I’m on the verge of a meltdown because Taylor motions the guy next to her to move.

  “Catherine, what is it?” Taylor pats the seat.

  “Burke assigned the Juvenile Delinquent to be her note taker,” Andrea explains.

  “No.” In slow motion, Taylor lowers her soda to her tray.

  “They can’t do that. It’s cruel,” protests Clarisse.

  “Duh,” Taylor says.

  Clarisse shrinks down and nibbles on a carrot stick.

  “I mean I still can’t believe that loser almost kills you and walks away with probation and community service,” Taylor says.

  “He claims it was an accident.” The McDonald kid takes a bite of his cheeseburger.

  I’m still unsure about his first name.

  “Accident, my ass!” Taylor says.

  “It definitely seems like he got off easy,” another guy offers.

  “I can’t stand it,” I whisper. “I want him dead.”

  Andrea chokes on her soda. The guys squirm in their seats, clearly uncomfortable.

  “You know what I mean,” I cover.

  “Tell your mom,” Taylor says.

  “She agreed to it!” I can’t control the pitch of my voice.

  “Why would she…” Taylor hesitates, then her eyes brighten. “I get it. They want J.D. to deal with his shame every day of his life in the worst possible way.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it,” Taylor starts. “He hates school, I never see him take notes, and now he has to take notes for the girl whose life he ruined?” She snaps her attention to me. “Sorry, I mean I know you’re back to normal and everything…but, well, what I mean is—”

  “It’s okay.” It’s the truth.

  “So return the favor.” Taylor crosses her arms over her chest with a wicked grin. “Ruin his life.”

  I wait. I know there’s more.

  “Make his life miserable,” she continues, a little irritated I couldn’t read her mind. “Make him write things over and over again, lose his notes, treat him like crap, then…fire him.” She claps her hands together. “If he doesn’t fulfill his community service he goes to jail, right? And you’re the one who can put him there.”

  * * *

  I’m intrigued by Taylor’s plan to torture J.D. as my school slave, but I can’t get past the part where I actually have to talk to him. Just seeing the guy reminds me too much of my trauma: the nausea and confusion when coming out of the coma, the anxiety and panic that followed, learning to read and comprehend, having to sequence through things that were second nature to me before.

  Because J.D. hit me with his car.

  I can hardly look at him, much less work with him. Yet torturing him with the threat of jail would certainly satisfy my need for revenge.

  It’s what the old normal me would do, right?

  “Step it up, Princess. We’re gonna be late,” J.D. orders, turning down the D wing.

  He’s been shadowing me since lunch.

  I stop and glare at him. “Are you talking to me?”

  “No, I’m talking to the wind.”

  “You might as well be, because I’m not listening. I did not agree to this note-taking crap.”

  “Neither did I, but I have no choice. Come on.” He walks away.

  “I know where I’m going.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  I curl my fingers into my palm. Calm down. You slug him in public and they’ll send you back to the shrink for sure.

  I’ve been able to avoid that disaster so far. A shrink would ask too many questions, maybe even figure out I’m a fraud.

  I head into Nutrition class, brushing past J.D. as if he’s invisible. That’s the best way to deal with this—treat him as a non-person.

  I find a spot in the front row hoping for distance. I know he hates it there, but he sits next to me anyway. He’s got it in his brain that he needs to stay close.

  I am going to scream.

  I wonder if it was their (my parents, the judge, the school) plan from the beginning. Make the criminal suffer the consequences of his actions by watching me struggle with writing, reading, and living. All the things I could do so easily before he ripped it away.

  “Move, Pratt,” Greg Hoffman says, towering over his desk.

  “It’s okay, Greg,” I say, not wanting him to get in trouble because of J.D. “Burke assigned Pratt as my official note-taker.”

  Greg claims the desk on the other side of me. “I wish they’d given me that job.”

  “It’s taken,” J.D. says.

  “You’re hired.” I smile at Greg and turn my back on J.D. “I’m sure I’ll have a better chance of getting an A with your notes.”

  A few of the kids laugh.

  Greg gives me one of those sexy, crooked smiles of his. “I’d be happy to make you a copy of my notes if you need them.”

  “She won’t,” J.D. counters.

  I roll my eyes at Greg and notice a scar running down the side of his arm. I’ve got one on my head, a big one. I feel a connection to Greg.

  I reach out and place my hand on his arm, aware of how hard the muscles feel beneath my fingertips. Muscles honed by working out and tackling opponents. “I’d love your notes. Thanks.” I smile and gaze into his blue eyes.

  He’s close to asking me out and it’s only the first day of school. Yes!

  No! No! No! I’m careening again. Being sucked into a HULU and I can’t stop it.

  A door slams shut. I’m locked in a dark shed, a stream of sunlight piercing through a crack in the wood.

  “Stupid, dummy dork!” a girl shouts.

  “Let me out!” a scared little boy cries, pounding on the door.

  “Stupid, dorky, Greg-ee!” another girl sings.

  “I’m gonna tell!” the boy whimpers.

  “I’m gonna tell!” a girl mimics.

  The little boy grabs a saw and wedges it in the crack of the door. He shoves it forward and back, trying to saw through the lock.

  The door suddenly pops opens and he tumbles out, landing on his stomach. The girls laugh.

  The boy stands up and wavers. Tears stream down his face as he clutches his arm to his stomach. It’s covered in blood.

  I gasp and blink a few times.

  “You okay?” Greg says. He’s leaning away from me like I’ve broken out in a contagious rash.

  “Yeah…fine,” I squeak.

  I hate HULU’s.

  “Stop flirting and pay attention,” J.D. orders.

  I snap my attention to him. Post HULU time sucks. It’s like I�
��m completely naked and whoever is nearby can see into the core of my soul.

  J.D.’s frowns like he’s puzzling over my momentary weirdness.

  “Shut up.” I snap my gaze from his. For a second I think I see concern there. Now I’m really going crazy.

  “Everything okay?” Mrs. Bartlett looks from me to J.D. and back.

  “Fine, thanks,” I say, my voice still tighter than usual.

  The kids are deep into the usual gossip, so no one notices my freakish moment. Well, almost no one.

  Out of the corner of my eye I can tell J.D. is watching me. Why? Is he waiting for another breakdown?

  I rest my cheek on my hand to block him out. Need time to recover, come down from the HULU rush. I’ll be fine. Everything’s fine. I just wish I could figure out a way to stop these things before I go completely nuts.

  Chapter Six

  The Princess was definitely back on her throne. Swinging her hips through the hallways, flirting with Greg the douche, and cutting down J.D. every chance she got.

  And she didn’t miss a single one.

  Like he cared? He just needed to fulfill his part of this nightmare. Take notes. Hand them over to her. Done.

  J.D. followed her to Beginning Art. He had a free period, but liked hanging out in Mr. Cooper’s art room. Coop had been good to him. He’d hired J.D. to help with art classes at the community center and paid him for doing chores at his house. It wasn’t easy getting a job in this town with J.D.’s reputation.

  J.D. had considered becoming an art teacher once, before the car accident. He didn’t think many school districts would consider hiring a criminal.

  He settled at a table in back of class while Mr. Cooper explained the different mediums: acrylics, watercolor, pencil. Princess Catherine and her posse commandeered a table front and center. Brainless Taylor sat across from Catherine, and Greg sat next to her. Everyone was in position.

  “Look at the image on the screen,” Cooper said. “I’m going to draw intersecting lines to help you look at it in four quadrants.”

  “Like this is going to get me into the U?” Greg muttered.

  Good thing J.D. was in the back or he’d be tempted to slug the guy. Ignorant ass.

  “Another comment like that, Mr. Hoffman and you’ll be asked to leave,” Mr. Cooper said.