by Lisa McMann
Afraid to go back to Center Street again.
January 27, 2006
Janie’s mind is far away, inside the front cover of a green spiral notebook and dwelling on her nightmare. She walks down the school hallways in a daze, nearly bumping into Carrie between classes with Bashful and Doc.
“Hey, Janers, wanna hang out tonight?”
“Sure.” Janie thinks. “Um, I mean, I can’t. Sorry.”
Carrie gives her an odd look. “You okay? You’re not gonna keel over, are you?”
Janie shakes the cobwebs from her head and grins. “Sorry. No, I’m fine. I’ve just got my mind on other shit. Colleges and stuff. I’ve got a bunch of junk to fill out, the house is a mess, and I’m working on a nasty headache already today.”
“Okay,” Carrie says. “I just thought you might like the latest gossip.” She looks crestfallen. Of course, lately, Carrie only wants to hang out with Janie if Stu is playing poker. Janie doesn’t mind being called upon only when Carrie’s first choice is busy, though. She keeps busy enough without Carrie hanging around all the time.
“What about Melinda?”
“Thanks,” Carrie says sarcastically, “but you don’t need to set up a playdate for me. I can find my own things to do. I’ll catch you later.”
Janie blinks. “Whatever,” she says under her breath. And walks into Mr. Wang’s room. He’s watching her walk in as he pretends to look at a paper in his hands. She smiles automatically. When he doesn’t smile or look away, she winks.
That does it.
He flushes and sits down abruptly.
Third hour. Mr. Durbin’s class. Janie waits until after class to present the flyers for the March 4 party. She takes her time packing up her table. Soon she is the last one there. From the corner of her eye, she sees Mr. Durbin watching her.
She pulls the flyers out and hurries up to his desk, like she doesn’t want to be late for her next class. “Does this look all right?”
He takes them and gives an approving whistle. “Great,” he says. He turns to her and raises his eyebrows. “I like,” he says, staring at her now.
She leans forward on his desk, just slightly. “There’s more where that came from,” she says. “If you ever need any.”
He swallows. “I’ll have to take you up on that sometime.”
She smiles. “Gotta go.”
“Before you go,” Mr. Durbin says, “I’ve got the okay on the chem fair and a team of seven students, if you’re game. It’s February 20. We’ll leave Sunday the nineteenth at noon, set up our display, stay overnight, do the fair, and start home around six p.m. on Monday, so we only miss one day of class. Here’s the info and permission slip for your parents to sign. Cost is two hundred and twenty bucks, plus money for meals. You in?”
Janie grins. “I’m in.” She takes the slip of paper from Mr. Durbin and darts out the door before she’s late to her next class, glancing as she runs at the list of students who will be on the Fieldridge team. Janie’s the only one from her class who is going.
Excellent, she thinks.
Dopey, Dippy, and Dumbass are the same as always. Janie actually likes PE now, since Cabel got her into working out. Although she could do without Dumbass. She also adores her self-defense class she’s taking twice a week. Sometimes Cabel lets her practice on him.
Not really very often, though.
Not after she landed his ass on the floor.
PE is coed again, and Dumbass Coach Crater likes to use her as an example for why they no longer play guys versus girls with contact sports. It’s because she cracked Cabel’s ’nads in a basketball game last semester. On purpose.
Today, Dumbass makes them do the state-required strength tests, and Janie takes the class record for the girls in the flexed-arm hang. Dumbass notices her muscular arms and shoulders, and calls her Buffy as she’s hanging there. She rolls her eyes and wishes he’d stand right in front of her. If she ever sees him on a dark street, she’ll teach him to sing, she decides.
Study hall is quiet. Janie only gets sucked into one dream, and it’s a weak one. Not a nightmare. When she realizes it’s a sex fantasy between two fellow seniors who she really doesn’t want to see naked, she doesn’t stick around. She pulls herself out of it.
Smiles triumphantly.
Cabel’s watching her, and she gives him the thumbs up and flashes a smile. He grins back.
Janie finishes all her homework for the weekend, so she jots down a few notes about Durbin and Wang.
Correction: make that Happy and Doc.
And then she sits there. Staring into space.
Thinking about Miss Stubin and the green spiral notebook. Feeling a sense of . . . well . . . dread.
On the way home from school Janie makes a quick dash into the grocery store to pick up some things for her house, so her mother doesn’t starve to death, and a few personal items for the weekend. She packs an overnight bag. Toothbrush, shampoo, and the massage oil and candles that she got from Captain. She shoves it all in her backpack and heads over to Cabel’s, leaving her mother a note on where to find her if she needs anything.
They work out, shower, and then lounge side by side in the giant beanbag chair and talk about the day. But Janie’s having trouble keeping her mind on topic. She grows quiet, thinking about the green notebook and the assignment from Captain.
Cabel notices.
“Where are you?” he says after a while.
Janie startles. Smiles at Cabel. “I’m sorry, sweets—I’m here.” But she’s not really there. She’s going over the Durbin/Stubin dream in her head, now more convinced it was a nightmare and not really a visit from Miss Stubin.
Cabel sits up quietly. Watches her face. Clears his throat.
Janie sees him suddenly, the one guy she wants to be with—and is with for the whole weekend—hovering over her. She shakes the thoughts of creepy nightmare Durbin from her brain and tilts her head to the side, grinning. “Oops. I did it again.”
Cabel gives her a quizzical look. “I am totally not getting enough attention here.”
Janie thumbs his cheek. Pulls his face to hers and kisses him, her tongue darting across his teeth playfully until she coaxes him to play along.
A surge of something—love?—makes Janie’s skin tingle. But it scares her, too, when she thinks of her future, always with this dream curse hanging over her. She never thought she’d be with someone. Never imagined someone would sacrifice so much to deal with her strange problems. Wonders when Cabel will get tired of it all and give up on her.
Desperately she pushes that thought aside. Her lips are hot against his neck.
She tugs at his T-shirt and slips her quivering fingers under it, re-exploring Cabel’s nubbly skin. Touching the scars on his belly, his chest. She knows that Cabel feels the same way she does, sometimes—like no one would want to be with him because of his issues. Maybe the two of us really could last, Janie thinks. Misfits, united.
Cabel’s fingers trace a slow path from Janie’s shoulder to her hip as they kiss. Then he slips his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Presses against her. “That’s a little better,” he whispers in her ear.
“Only a little?”
The winter dusk of late afternoon falls into the room. Janie reaches for her blouse and slowly unbuttons it. Lets it fall open.
Cabel pauses and stares, not sure what to do. He closes his eyes for a moment and swallows hard.
She reaches between her breasts and unhooks her bra.
And then she turns her face slowly toward him. “Cabel?” She looks into his eyes.
“Yes,” he whispers. He can barely get the word out.
“I want you to touch me,” she says, taking his hand and guiding it. “Okay?”
“Oh god.”
She pulls a newly purchased condom from her pocket.
Sets the package on the skin of her belly.
Reaches for his jeans.
Cabel, momentarily rendered speechless, helpless, and thoughtless
except for wanting her, sighs in shudders as he touches her skin, her breasts, her thighs, and then, as the light fades from the window, they are kissing as if their lives depend on their shared breath, and urgently making love for the first time, with their eyes and bodies, like it’s the only chance they’ll ever have.
In the evening, as they lie together in Cabel’s bed, she knows it’s time. Before she reads the green notebook, before what happens, happens, she needs to say what she feels. Because he is the only one who matters.
She practices in her mind.
Forms the words with her mouth.
Then tries them, softly, out loud.
“I love you, Cabe.”
He’s quiet, and she wonders if he’s sleeping.
But then he buries his face in her neck.
February 1, 2006
Janie spends the school week swapping sexual innuendos with Mr. Durbin, trading confusing glances with Mr. Wang, and bantering spiteful barbs with Coach Crater.
Cabel tracks down the whereabouts of last semester’s Chem. 2 class. He’s working madly behind the scenes, not saying much about it. Controlling his feelings about the creep being near the woman he loves. Knowing if he says what he’s really thinking, the tension grows between them.
“So,” he says carefully, “it’s you and six other students on this trip, plus Durbin. And who’s your female chaperone?”
Janie glances up from her chemistry book. “Mrs. Pancake.”
Cabel scribbles in his notebook.
“Four girls. You have a room together?”
“No, I thought I’d sleep in Durbin’s room,” Janie says.
“Har, har.” Cabel scowls at Janie, and then tosses her chemistry book aside and tackles her. He buries his fingers into her hair and kisses her. “You’re asking for trouble, Hannagan,” he growls.
“And you would be . . . ?” Janie asks. She giggles.
“Trouble.”
ON HER OWN
February 5, 2006, 5:15 a.m.
Janie, sprawled out on Cabel’s couch, finally finds Miss Stubin on Janie’s own terms.
She’s on the bench. Miss Stubin is there, next to her. It’s dusk. Perpetual rain.
“I’m going on an overnight trip with the teacher who we think is the sexual predator. Some of his former students are going too—they may be victims,” Janie says.
“What season is it?” Miss Stubin asks.
Janie looks at her, puzzled. “Winter. It’s February.”
“Wear a bulky coat to disguise the shaking in case you get sucked into a nightmare. Drape it over you. You’re taking a school van?”
“Yes.”
“Grab the backseat. And if you get sucked into a dream that’s unimportant to the case, pull out of it. Don’t waste your strength. You can pull out of them now, can’t you?”
“Most of the time—the regular dreams, anyway. Not always with nightmares.”
“Keep working at that. It’s very important.”
“I want to try pausing the dreams. Panning the scene. How did you do that?”
“It’s all about focus, just as you focus to pull out of dreams, Janie. Just as you focus to help people change their dreams. Stare hard at the subject and talk to them with your mind. Tell them to stop. Focus on panning first—that comes most easily. Then pausing the scene. Who knows, perhaps you’ll be able to zoom and rewind someday—that really comes in handy when solving crimes. And keep studying the meanings of dreams too. You’ve read books on the subject, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Your work will be easier the more you can interpret some of the strange aspects that naturally occur in dreams. This, too, will help you immensely. Study my notes, see how I’ve interpreted dreams over the years.”
Janie nods, then blushes, remembering Miss Stubin can’t see her. “I will. Miss Stubin?”
“Yes, Janie?”
“About the green notebook . . . ”
“Ah, you’ve found it, then.”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“Does Captain know about it? About what’s in it?”
“No. Not the notebook.”
“Does she know anything about how dream catching works?”
“Some,” Miss Stubin says guardedly. “We talked a little over the years. She’s certainly someone you can talk to when you need to.”
“Does anyone else understand this besides you and me?”
Miss Stubin hesitates. “Not that I know of.”
Janie fidgets. “Should I read it? Do you want me to? Is it horrible?”
Miss Stubin is silent for a very long time. “I can’t answer those questions for you. In good conscience, I can neither encourage you to read it nor discourage you from reading it. You must decide without my words swaying you either way.”
Janie sighs and reaches for the old woman’s hand, stroking the cool, paper-thin skin. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Miss Stubin pats her gnarled hand on top of Janie’s soft one. She smiles wistfully and slowly disappears into the misty evening.
7:54 a.m.
It’s Sunday morning. And it’s time. It’s been ten days since Janie found the green spiral notebook.
She slips back into bed with Cabel for a few minutes. He’s just dozing now, not dreaming, and she holds him tightly, taking in whatever she can from him before she goes.
“I love you, Cabe,” she whispers.
And goes.
Back to her room two streets away.
8:15 a.m.
With the notebook resting ominously on Janie’s bed, Janie procrastinates.
Does her homework first.
And pours herself a bowl of cereal. Breakfast—one of the five most important meals of the day. Not to be skipped.
10:01 a.m.
She can’t stall any longer.
Janie stares at the green notebook.
Opens it.
Reads the first page again.
Takes a deep breath.
10:02 a.m.
Takes another deep breath.
10:06 a.m.
Picks up her cell phone and hits memory #2.
“Komisky,” she hears.
Janie’s voice squeaks. She clears her throat. “Hi, Captain. I’m sorry to call on a—”
“It’s okay. What’s up?”
“Um, yeah. The dreams . . . Did Miss Stubin ever show you what was in the files?”
“I’ve read the police reports she’s made, yes.”
“What about her other notes on handling dreams and stuff?”
“I glanced at the first few loose pages in the file, but I felt like I was invading her privacy, so I put everything away as she requested.”
“Did you two ever . . . you know, talk about her ability?”
There is silence.
Plenty of it.
“What do you mean?”
Janie cringes silently. “I don’t know. Nothing.”
Captain hesitates. “All right.”
“Okay.”
There is a nervous sigh.
“Captain?”
“Janie, is everything okay?”
Janie pauses.
“Yeah.”
Captain is quiet.
Janie waits. And Captain doesn’t press it.
“Okay,” Janie says finally.
“Janie?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s a whisper.
“Are you worried about Durbin? Do you want out of this?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
“If something else is bothering you, you may say it, you know.”
“I know. I’m . . . I’m fine. Thanks.”
“May I give you some advice, Janie?”
“Sure,” Janie says.
“It’s your senior year. You’re too serious. Try to have some fun. Go bowling or to a movie or something once in a while, okay?”
Janie grins shakily. “Yes, sir.”
“Call me anytime, Janie,” Captain says.
Janie’s throat is closed. “Bye,” she finally says.
Hangs up.
10:59 a.m.
Janie takes a deep breath.
Turns the page.
It’s blank.
11:01 a.m.
Turns the blank page.
Sees the familiar scrawl.
Smoothes out the page.
And then her stomach lurches, and she slams the notebook shut.
Puts it back in the box.
Into the closet.
11:59 a.m.
Janie calls Carrie. “Do you feel like going bowling?”
She imagines Carrie shaking her head and laughing, telling Stu, coming back to the phone. “You are such a dork, Hannagan. Hell yeah, why not. Let’s go bowling.”
NITTY-GRITTY
February 13, 2006
The names and schedules of Chem. 2 students are burned in Janie’s brain. But the problem is, most science nerds don’t sleep in school. And even if they did, the issue remains of how Janie can be in the same room with them when—if—it happens. It appears impossible.
And seeing how it’s winter, it’s futile to creep around outside their bedroom windows at night. She has high hopes for the chemistry fair. It’s all she has to bank on.
Cabel tries making a connection with each student on the list. He has more of them in his classes than Janie does. But they remain aloof, associating him with the popular Hill crowd, because of his past ties to Shay Wilder. He’s frustrated.
There are eighteen Chem. 2 students in all this year. There were thirteen Chem. 2 students last year. All thirteen graduated and went to college, Cabel discovers, some of them as far away as southern California. Doggedly, Cabel tracks them, in case their lives changed somehow in the nine months since graduation. He spends hours each evening on the computer, checking their blogs, their Facebook and Myspace pages, looking for any wild tales they may have thought they were keeping semiprivate.
And together, they have a whole lot of nothing.
The one and only lead Janie has at the moment is Stacey O’Grady from first semester of Chem. 2. She’s in Janie’s study hall. Stacey has horrible nightmares, if she sleeps at all. Which is rare.
But lots of people have horrible dreams, and it doesn’t mean anything, as far as Janie can tell. Even if the dream is about a rapist. Janie knows that a dream about being chased by a rapist could possibly be literal, but more likely it’s a hint of an underlying fear in some other part of your life. The fear that something’s catching up to you, or that you can’t run fast enough, or that you’ve lost your voice and can’t scream—all could simply indicate being overwhelmed with school or home pressures or feeling helpless to change things. Being a senior could do that to many people.
