I'll also see you yesterday, but I won't be
changing a thing.
Chapter 13
I wake up before dawn to study for my trig
test. The last time I flickered on back-to-back days I ended up in
the hospital, and since I'm determined to repeat last night, I
better ace this test on my own.
But really? Trig? Who
decided this was important information for adulthood?
After half an hour I toss the book to the floor and grab my
phone. I start to text Amelia, then remember it's still dark out.
She'd kick my ass if I woke her up, especially after a night of
drinking.
Maybe food will help.
I trudge downstairs and find Dad sitting at
the kitchen table.
"You got in late." He doesn't exactly frown,
but the wrinkles around his eyes are deeper than normal. He studies
me over the rim of his coffee cup as he takes a sip.
"How are you feeling? Can I get you
anything?"
"Don't change the subject." He sets down his
cup. "I know you don't like to hear it, but I worry about you Biz."
He shakes his head as I open my mouth to protest. "With your
headaches… you need to take better care of yourself. Staying up
late and drinking—"
How does he know I was drinking?
"—are only going to make your symptoms
worse."
"I wasn't—"
He cuts me off with a look. "You forget who
you're talking to. I wish you'd trust me. Drinking is only going to
make it worse." The clock ticking over the stove suddenly sounds
like a hammer drilling into my skull. Dad's normally watery eyes
are clear, focused, and boring into mine. Like he's trying to tell
me something without actually telling me.
I blink and my gaze drops to the floor.
"I don't mean to pry, I'm just—"
I look up. "Worried about me. I know. Can't
we talk about something else?"
He smiles. "How's Robbie?"
Ugh, wrong topic.
"We broke up last week."
His face falls. "You seem to be taking it
okay…"
"Yeah, well…" I bite my lip. Telling him
about Cameron will make it more real than it already is. It's not
like he can take away what's happened, but telling your parents
makes it… official.
He watches me, his lips twitching. There's
that damn patience again.
But this time I'm not biting. It's too
soon.
"How's school?"
I shrug, and he lets out an exasperated
sigh.
"Biz, I'm trying here. I want to know what's
going on in your life. I feel like…" he shakes his head. "I don't
know. I guess sometimes I'm afraid that if I don't make the effort
now it'll be too late and then I'll have missed my chance."
My heart clenches. Why do I fight his
efforts to be a good dad? I have friends who'd kill for this kind
of attention from their parents. I lean forward and place my hand
on his. "Dad, you haven't missed anything. I just don't have
anything interesting going on in my life." Besides flickering and
making out with Cameron and strange men knowing too much about
me.
His eyes narrow slightly and I shrink away.
"Do you ever…" he stops. His head dips and he rubs the stubble on
his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
That's okay. I can play the patience game,
too.
He tries again. "With your headaches, how do
you feel? I mean, I understand that there's pain and light makes it
worse, but does anything else happen?" He's looking at his hands so
doesn't see the look of pure panic that's frozen on my face.
I clear my throat. "Like what?"
"I don't know." He flexes his fingers. I
can't tear my eyes away from them. "Any other side effects?" He
continues stretching, pushing his arms above his head and rolling
his shoulders.
Exactly like I do when I'm fighting the
weight that crushes me just before I flicker.
"You mean like an aura?" I'd read that some
people who get migraines have visual disturbances that distort how
they see things.
"That's one thing." He straightens his
fingers, then lays his palms flat on the table. It's like he wants
to tell me something, but either can't or doesn't know how.
Either way, he's got me completely freaked
out.
He takes a quick breath. "Do you ever have…"
his fingers twitch, "a weird feeling in your hands or feet?"
I look up from his fingers to find him
looking me in the eye, gauging my reaction. I snap my mouth
closed.
He can't know.
He continues. "Because if you do, you can
tell me." The corners of his eyes sag, followed by a frown that
makes him look sad, desperate.
For a second I consider telling him
everything. The lights, the tingling, the flickering. I long to
have someone on my side, someone I can share this… condition… with,
to not have to endure this by myself. But despite what he says, I
don't know how he could understand.
My gaze flits all over the room. He'll break
my resolve if I let him stare at me much longer. As much as I hate
to, I push back my chair and stand up. "Thanks Dad. But really,
there's nothing to tell." I turn away, but not before his face
falls. I straighten my shoulders and try to push the guilt away,
but it clings to my chest, crushing my lungs.
Once I'm out of view, I bend at the waist
and force a breath. I need to focus right now.
I return to my room and flip open my trig
book. Surely if I stare at it long enough the funny little words
will start to make sense. They have to because—I check the clock on
my nightstand—I'm leaving in an hour to flicker.
Fifty-eight minutes later I shrug into my
jacket and leap down the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding
with Mom. "Whoa, sorry. I'm just going for a drive." I peek in the
living room. "Where's Dad? He was up earlier."
She touches the side of her face, much the
same way I do when I have a migraine. I wonder if I picked that up
from her, or if she even realizes she does it. "He went back to
bed. Said he wasn't feeling well."
My shoulders slump. The ache in my chest
hadn't exactly left, but now it's back in full force. "Is it
serious? Does he need to go back to the hospital?" I know that's
not it but I can't not ask.
"It's probably just a reaction to all the
drugs they gave him. He should be back to normal by tomorrow."
Normal for Dad isn't what I'd wish on
anyone, but it's the best we can hope for.
"Please be home in time for dinner."
"I will." I brush my cheek against hers and
step into the blinding sunlight.
*****
I'm gonna miss the zoo.
Cam had picked me up at four and I wanted to
repeat every second of our date, but it's already noon. When I
flicker I go back eighteen hours. I've stopped trying to figure out
the significance of that number—the best I can come up with is it
has something to do with my age. I'm seventeen years and eight
months, which is pretty damn close to eighteen. If the time frame
shifts it's too subtle for me to tell.
At least this way I'll get to eat again. I'm
starving.
The car practically drives itself, turning
at the end of my street and following the curve of the river. A
niggle of worry works its way into my belly, but I push it aside.
Yes, it's noon. Yes, the sun is practically at its highest point in
the sky. But that's why the Strand is the Strand.
The trees soar high over the road, arching
ever so slightly at the top. Something to do with the path of the
sun and them angling to absorb the most nutrients.
Yeah, I actually paid attention in
biology.
The arch is important because it means the
light still passes through the trees even though it normally
wouldn't in a regular row of trees. I have to drive on the east
side of the road for it to work, but fortunately that's the
direction I'm already heading. Yes, I liked geology, too. Anything
having to do with people and our physical surroundings. Math and
English, not so much.
I round the next bend in the road and the
Strand winks at me. A breeze stirs the leaves near the highest
point, but that won't affect me. I'm more concerned with what's
holding them up.
Two seconds later my fingers twitch. The
tingling numbness sweeps through my hands and I fight to keep my
foot steady on the gas. My eyelids flutter but remain open.
Martinez's comment about my pupil dilating flashes through my mind,
but it's gone just as fast because I'm sinking into my seat. My
arms fight to let go of the steering wheel but I will them to hang
on. I can barely see over the top of the dashboard. My head's so
heavy…
Then it lifts and I'm nearly hitting the
roof of the car. Almost…
I cling to the steering wheel, fighting for
breath as my eyes roll back and—
I'm choking on a fry. There's already a
drink in my hand so I take a big sip and cough again.
Cameron drops his burger into his lap and
reaches over to pat my back. Concern darkens his eyes and I nearly
forget the food lodged in my throat. "Are you okay?"
I take another sip. "Yeah," I croak. "I'm
fine."
He smiles and his hair falls over his
eyes.
Better than fine.
Chapter 14
Flickering has its consequences. Most
notably a pounding, piercing, vomit-worthy explosion that happens
when I get back to the point before I flickered. It's Sunday
morning and I'm on my bed studying when the pain hits me out of
nowhere. I usually check what time I leave so I can at least be
ready for it, but that doesn't lessen the severity.
I push my book to the floor and bury
my face in the pillow.
It was worth it, it
was worth it, it was so totally worth it.
It sucks now
but I chose to flicker and I have to deal with it. Besides, who
else gets to relive a night like that?
My phone beeps.
I can't.
It beeps again.
And again.
I drag myself out of bed and grab my phone
off the floor. It's Amelia and she just acronym-ed all over my
phone. I choose to call her instead of texting so I don't have to
open my eyes. "So it went well?"
"Ohmigod! He's so effing hot! Did you see
him last night?"
I pull the phone away from my ear. "Yes, I
saw how hot he was." Both times. It's weird how no one else
deviates from what they did the first time. Only me. "So what
happened after we left?"
She sighs dramatically. "We hung out for
awhile and he put his arm around me. Thank you so much for leaving
the blanket! I told him I was cold so he pulled it around us…" she
trails off and I'm grateful for the quiet. I really am happy for
her, I just wish she wasn't so loud about it.
"Did you kiss?"
"Yeah, when he drove me home. Holy crap he's
hot. And you still totally have to do the interview. He's really
excited about it and of course I'm going to his games."
I smile. "That's awesome, Amelia. We'll
definitely go Tuesday." I'm happy she's so excited and it's fun to
be feeling this at the same time as her.
"So what about you? I saw you guys making
out before you left. Did anything else happen?"
I think back to last night. I had debated
changing things but it was already perfect. I can't imagine wanting
anything different. "He just drove me home."
"And…?"
"Not much. But it was awesome." I've shared
more with her about other guys, but I want to keep Cameron to
myself.
*****
I spend the rest of the day in my room,
alternating between sleeping and trying to study. Mom calls me down
for dinner, but I can't eat. I force down a couple bites of
apple—there's some theory that it helps migraines but I don't know
if it actually does anything—then crawl back into bed.
There's a text from Cameron waiting for me.
"Thinking of you." I'd hug the phone if it wasn't so damn small and
completely unhuggable.
"Me too. Going to sleep soon."
"Wish I was there."
I'm melting. I'm literally melting into my
bed right now. "Good night."
I plug in my phone and flip off the light.
I'm not letting trig destroy my good mood.
*****
Morning comes too soon. The ice pick in my
ear has been replaced with a knitting needle—the pain is just as
severe but in a more specific place—and it feels like half my brain
leaked out overnight. I roll out of bed in search of another apple
and coffee. And my meds.
I fumble in the dark in the medicine
cabinet. Bottles of lotion and hair stuff fall all around me,
landing on my feet. "Shit!" I jump and hit my head in the open
cabinet. "Are you kidding me?" I say to no one.
Or I thought no one. Mom is standing in the
doorway, the light from the hall casting her face in shadow. "I
wasn't sure if you'd go to school today. How are you feeling?"
I shrug. Same old, same old.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay home?"
She moves closer and places her cool hand on the back of my
neck.
I purr against her. "Can't. Trig test."
"You can't make it up?"
I can't even explain how grateful I am to
have understanding parents. Someone seriously needs to punch me the
next time I'm bitching about them worrying too much. But they
aren't understanding about failing grades. "I'm already cutting it
a little close in that class. I don't think I can miss today."
Her fingers knead my neck, working on a knot
wedged just beneath the base of my skull.
"That feels good."
She places her other hand on the side of my
face and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Just don't overdo it. I'd
rather you have to take this class over than end up in the
hospital."
I shudder.
With one last squeeze, she releases me and
steps into the hall. "Black coffee?"