VOLT: YA Fantasy

by Dawn Brazil

  “Come on, girl. It’s your rightful place.” She extends her hand and wraps it around my shoulder. I take a deep breath and stand. She backs up as I walk to the front.

  I sit in total silence, not glancing at anyone, not smiling at anyone. My eyes don’t stray from the urn. It captured my attention moment I got to the front. I’m not trying to be rude to the others, but I don’t feel like conversing, smiling, or pretending at all. So I don’t.

  I watch the urn through the whole ceremony. It’s gold, red, and black—and gaudy. My mother would not have picked it. I’m assuming my Aunt Sheryl did, based solely on the large gold and black hoops she wears that touch her shoulder.

  She and Doc Sullivan asked me to pick the urn, but I couldn’t. I didn’t care. She isn’t really in it, so it doesn’t matter to me.

  Tears don’t come, but I do laugh—twice. It sort of spills from me like how you hiccup out of nowhere. No one says anything about it, though. After the ceremony, my aunt hands the urn to me.

  I glance at her, tears streak down her cheeks. She grabs me and pulls me into her arms. She doesn’t release me for a while, and the urn digs into my hip. I don’t say anything and instead return her hug.

  “If you need anything, child, don’t you hesitate to call me. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I smile to reassure her—or myself. Or us both, most likely.

  “Well, I hope you like this fancy school you’re going to. I heard the doctor had to pull all kinds of special favors to get you in. Don’t go messing up this opportunity. My brother would be so thrilled to see you follow in your mother’s footsteps.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  For a few seconds she doesn’t say anything. She’s looking at me like she might be able to tell if I’m still crazy with a quick inspection. Maybe I should cross my eyes and stick my tongue out to give her something to think about. “Alright then. Call me sometime, child.”

  “Yes… I will.” I won’t. I back away, still holding her gaze, then turn and walk out of the funeral home. I don’t stop to speak or greet any of the frowning, smiling, nosy faces I past. My hands tremble as I dig the car keys from my purse. I drop them and bend to collect them. My trembling fingers fumble as I hit the remote. I scramble into the car and take a deep breath. San Diego. I did it. I start the engine and pull away from my parking spot.

  Then, breathe… Denver. That was hard.

  I glance behind me. A sheet of rain pummels the people standing out front. As I’m turning to look forward, I see it. Them.

  Watching in the shadows are three tall figures. My heart stills. I’m certain they are Mom, Dad, and Chris. I brake hard enough to give myself whiplash, then glance around to make sure I’m not about to be clobbered by another driver. No one’s there.

  My eyes wander back to where I saw them. They stand together with rain scattering around them, holding hands. I ache to be with them. I want so badly to not be alone. I blink a few times and they dissolve into nothing. Whispers of loneliness creep up my spine and I have to take a deep breath because everything around me fades like I’m going to pass out.

  I don’t, though.

  Eyes forward, life forward… I drive away from my old life—onto something new. On to something maybe better, but most likely just different. But different isn’t necessarily bad.

  Chapter 61

  My first class is algebra. I want to shout a thank you to the registrar gods. Math is by far the easiest subject for me. Weird, since you have to use logic, and logic has not been part of my life for a long time.

  I walk into the brightly lit auditorium and a sweet, musty smell emanates around me. It doesn’t take long to decide where to sit. I stroll to the last row, go over three seats, and settle in.

  This feels right. I’ve been itching for classes to start since I arrived three days ago. I drop my bag in front of me as other students filter into the auditorium and find a seat.

  While I wait, I people-watch. Someone crashes into the seat beside me. I glance over, but can’t see his face because it’s buried in his hands on his desk. I laugh softly. He must have had a long night.

  There have been too many parties to count in the few days I’ve been here. I haven’t attended any of them. That’s one thing I’m going to have to start doing again. I used to love a good party.

  My roommate descends the stairs close to where I sit. Her hands are in a bag of donuts, and she’s munching as she glances for empty seats. Once she’s seated, a guy beside her points and they both turn and lock eyes with me. It’s her boyfriend. They both wave and smile. She throws her hands over to the empty seat beside them.

  Why not? I snatch my bag from the floor and stand. The guy seated beside me jerks to attention, like he might have been asleep and I woke him. Our eyes meet and I’m going to be sick.

  Or I’m already sick. San Diego. Am I crazy again? I fall back to my seat and close my eyes. I’m trying to inhale and exhale to calm myself.

  It’s not working.

  I don’t think my heart will ever beat normally again.

  San Diego.

  Joe sits beside me.

  Chapter 62

  My friends scrunch their faces and stare, probably wondering why my butt is still in the seat I said I’d vacate. They don’t know I used to be crazy.

  Might be still.

  I dare a glance over and Joe hasn’t disappeared. He’s staring at his book and scribbling notes into the margins. I face forward again. My mind pushes so many thoughts at me, I can’t tell what’s the right thing to do, or think, or say. Or feel.

  I swallow hard, pull my book from my bag, and then catch my roommate’s eyes. I motion to Joe beside me with the tilt of my head. She smiles big and nods.

  The professor walks in and starts his lecture. Everyone dissolves into laughter at something he says. Not me. I can scarcely hear his words above the panicked beat of my heart roaring in my ears like an untamed tiger.

  VOLT isn’t, wasn’t, can’t be, real. I repeat this mantra often. I made it up to cope with a bad situation. Joe has always been real, though. I know that.

  He doesn’t know me, though. The thought of him leaving this class, walking away, seeing him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and not speaking, an accidental touch on the shoulder or scrape of a knee, will be torture.

  I have to drop this class.

  I sneak in a few more peeks at him. San Diego. Was he this handsome in VOLT?

  Does Doc know Joe goes here? How could she not? She’s his aunt. She set my freaking class schedule for me. Maybe she’s the aunt he lives with… she never told me. Why would she do this to me? Is she deliberately trying to sabotage me? I thought she cared about me.

  “Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Joe says beside me. My head snaps around to him. “Do I have something hanging?” He points to his nose. “I mean because you keep staring.”

  Is he serious? Is this some kind of pick-up line? Is he flirting? No. He thinks I’m weird. He always thought I was weird, though. San Diego, I don’t know what the Houston to say.

  I’m shaking. The trembles tear through me until I collapse my arms around me. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Not one bit,” I say without thinking.

  Joe laughs loud. The professor stops talking and squints at us. Joe points to me and a surprised laugh falls from my lips.

  “Are we quite finished up there?”

  “Yes,” both Joe and I answer at the same time.

  Once the professor goes back to the board, Joe leans over and whispers. “Are you stalking me, then?”

  “Of course not.” I don’t stare at him while I say this, and it’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to do since I’m supposedly not crazy anymore. He doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t steal another glance at him, though every muscle in my body is rigid and I want nothing more than to gaze into his big brown eyes forever.

  He was this beautiful in my dream. This tall, masculine, confident man. I remember. My heart
thumps at my thoughts. I bite on my bottom lip to stop the quiver.

  As soon as the professor releases us, I slam my things into my bag and start for the end of the aisle. Joe is still seated, so I have to scoot by him to get to the end of the row. He lets me by without a word. I hurry up the steps and scramble past other students who linger by the entrance. Behind me, my roommate and her boyfriend yell my name.

  I keep moving.

  I take a deep breath as soon as I step out of the building. It’s like someone has been suffocating me for an hour and a half. The afternoon sun greets me and I take another deep breath. A light tap on my shoulder stops my descent down the cement steps of the Math building.

  I turn and Joe’s smiling at me. All my internal organs tremble. “Wow. I thought the first time I saw you outside VOLT, you’d give me a kiss, not run away.”

  My mouth falls open and I stare at him, unable to recover from his words.

  “Joe,” I whisper like I might be dreaming. He smiles, grabs my arm, and we descend the steps. My heart is thunderous in my ears still. I don’t take my eyes from him as we make our way down the steps. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to talk to me, because I’m sure I’ve lost the power to speak.

  When we are clear of the building, under a shade tree in the courtyard, he pulls me around and gives me a once-over. His expression is difficult to read. His lips have a slight curl at the end, but his eyes are serious. I reach up, run my finger along his chin. I feel this. Him. And the stubble on his chin is new. I like it.

  His mouth tilts into a full smile but his eyes are still guarded. I return his smile tenfold.

  “That smile,” he says.

  “Have you seen Ferris?” If he’s here and he remembers me, Ferris must, too. His smile fades and he kicks at the gravel beneath our feet.

  “Joe… I—I…” I can’t finish my sentence because I know.

  “He’s gone. He’s been gone for a while,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “I visited his grave yesterday.”

  For a second, I’m numb. Unable to process that he is gone forever. I grab Joe and he wraps his arms around me. I bury my head into his chest as an ache rises up my throat and leaves a tightness in its wake. The tears come easily now. I’m thankful for the comfort his arms wrapped around me brings.

  “I’m going to miss him so much,” I say. I swallow hard. “Do you think you can take me to see him?”

  Joe pulls away from our embrace. He gathers my chin in his hand and brings our eyes up to meet. “Of course I will.”

  “Florida. This is going to be so hard. I convinced myself you and Ferris were still okay in VOLT."

  “Funny, I convinced myself that no one curses using states.” I roll my eyes and smile up at him being him.

  My smile fades. I shake my head. “To think of him as gone is so much harder than thinking he doesn’t exist in the real world. It was so easy to pretend you were both still there. And he was safe and happy.”

  “No more pretending for us, Sam. No more.” His jaw works back and forth and I know he has something to say, so I stay quiet and give him time. “I learned some things about how VOLT came to be.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, seems it was a drug-induced form of psychotherapy. A new experimental thing that my mom, another doctor, and my sperm donor were working on. It’s been discontinued. I have no idea how we three ended up there.” I run my hands through my hair.

  “I don’t think I really care anymore how we arrived there or what that place was. I’ve taken what I need from that experience. I’ll never forget it, but I’m moving past it.”

  My bottom lip trembles and I catch it between my teeth. Joe does the same. I reach for him and we cling to each other. “I think we gave Ferris some crazy adventures in the end. I think we made him happy. He was happy, right?”

  “Yes, I believe he was happy. We did that for him. He saved my life. I was meant to find him.” He glances away from me for a few seconds. “Ferris warned me to stay away from our sperm donor. Now, after everything, I will for sure.”

  I allow his words to penetrate and a sour sickness rises inside me. I kick these thoughts away because I don’t need or want to know the hows of what happened. “Everything’s so different. What happens next?” I ask like we’re still in VOLT and Joe’s in charge of where we go.

  “Next?” Joe looks thoughtful, like he’s trying to figure out what I mean. I nod. “We do something most people our age do all the time. We live. We go see Ferris… and then the two of us learn to live again.”

  “I like that plan a lot. What do we do right now?” My stomach flutters as I stare up at him.

  He pulls us apart a fraction, tilts my head back and says so softly I can barely hear, “First, I kiss you because I’ve been wanting to taste these lips for a while.”

  His eyes dance across my face. He inches closer until finally his lips press against mine. For a second, everything is silent—no walking people, no birds chirping, not even my beating heart can be heard. Nothing exists outside of his lips on mine. It’s everything I always secretly hoped it would be.

  I feel less alone in the world, knowing I have Joe. Fighting demons, even those created in my own head, isn’t as hard when you have someone to fight with you and watch your back.

  I hope he feels the same. If his kiss is any indication, I’m sure I’m that for him, too. The world isn’t set right with our kiss, but this day is. I know not every day will be perfect, though, but it would be nice. I can’t guarantee my crazy won’t show sometimes, but Joe has seen my crazy and stuck around.

  “Joe, do you think we’ll ever go back to VOLT?”

  “We don’t need to.”

  I nod. No, I guess we don’t. I stare at the brightly lit sky and wonder if baby piglets will ever sprout from the cottony fluff for me again.

  I smile to myself. I hope not. But maybe.

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  Keep reading for a peek at part 1 in the serial novel series, Mass Hysteria: Panic. All books in the Mass Hysteria series are currently available to order from all major online retailers.

  Mass Hysteria: Panic

  Chapter 1

  The single slip of manila paper says only two words: “your next.”

  Right away, a few things are apparent: this person’s command of the English language is severely lacking; the scrawl is most likely that of a teenage boy or a toddler of any gender; and thirdly, this note is different from the others. I glance around the brick pillar at the front of our house. The street is silent—not one person is outside from where I stand.

  I ball the paper up and toss it in my purse.

  I slide into the car beside Stacey and we head to the restaurant—in absolute silence. Silence has many forms. The form we exhibit is awkward—at least for best friends.

  We both know why we’re going today. Stacey doesn’t agree with my sentiment for the day, though. I’ve read that if you toss a being outside their natural habitat, one of two things will happen—they will rise to the occasion, or die.

  I’m a fighter. I should be able to master the social landscape of female teenagerdom, but it seems I can’t. I flounder—a lot. I cannot explain my high intellect and my innate ability to elicit cringes or gasps of shock when I speak.

  Today, that changes.

  Once we’re at the restaurant, Stacey says only four words: “This is ridiculous, hon.”

  I disagree and we head inside to meet the other girls.

  We arrive mid-joke. So, I time my laugh to spill from my lips at the perfect moment.

  Except, the sensation rises from my abdomen like gravel tumbling through my mouth. Stacey turns, her lips pursed tight. The other girls stop giggling. Their purrs of laughter are in deep contrast to my piercing cackle.

  They frown in unison�
�everyone but Stacey. She has an ‘I’m sorry I got you into this mess, hon’ look on her face. Though lacking in most social skills, I’m able to read their expressions: ‘What the hell was Stacey thinking, bringing the schizoid?’

  I’m painfully aware something is off with me. On a scale of weirdness, I’m not Pinhead. I’m more Carrie, without the powers. I’d change this perception of oddness I convey, but I don’t know where to begin to work on myself. That’s why I’m here today.

  Glancing around the table, I attempt a quick recovery. Dogs. Girls like dogs. “I have a dog. He’s the cutest little Pomeranian.”

  My words are met with oohs and awws, but Stacey shakes her head once, slightly. I don’t know why she does it. I’ve hit a chord with these girls. I block her shaking head and the bombardment of senseless information streaming through my mind, and continue talking. “He’s a handsome little fur ball.”

  “I love dogs,” one of Stacey’s friends says. “My Jax is too freaking cute.”

  “My FeFe is too adorbs. What’s your dog’s name, Elizabeth?” Melissa, the closest girl to me asks.

  “Norman Bates. He’s a—”

  “You named your dog Norman Bates?” Melissa asks.

  “Yes. He—”

  “Like, isn’t that the crazy dude from that movie? The one who cross-dressed like his mom and like killed everyone?” someone else asks.

  “Yes, it’s—”

  “It’s kinda weird… well, a lot weird that you named your dog after a homicidal maniac,” Melissa says. No one speaks after her comment. They all stare in opposite directions.

  I almost laugh at their reaction, but stop myself. A rush of thoughts hurry through my head: Melissa’s eyes are the color of her heart—black. She’s a modern Cruella DeVille. She’ll trample over her own mother to get what she wants, which is always materialistic and selfish. She’s also beautiful, and she hates me but loves my best friend Stacey.