She goes back to her desk and picks up the
phone and is speaking in hushed tones before I register what she's
doing.
"No, really. I just need a minute."
I can't say how long I'm sitting
there, but it seems like only moments before the nurse is there,
along with Stride Right.
Really? They had
to bring him?
They each loop an arm around me and we
shuffle to the nurse's office, the weirdest three-legged race I've
ever been in. My bag appears on the floor beside me, along with the
unfinished test.
Thankfully Stride Right splits the second
I'm off my feet.
"I'll call your mother to have her come get
you." Becky's eyes are close to mine. "Did you tell her about the
other day?"
Marbles roll around inside my skull. "The
other day?" Crap, I shouldn't have said that out loud. Now her eyes
are all buggy and she's scribbling in my chart, which is alarmingly
thick.
"Biz, how many headaches have you had this
month?"
"This month?" I'm more concerned about this
week. "I don't know, half a dozen." Give or take a dozen.
"Six?" She's still writing.
All this counting makes the marbles spin
faster. Suddenly I'm looking at the ceiling and my head's on
something squishy.
"Do you have your medication with you?" I
point at my bag, entranced by a water stain on the panel next to
the overhead light. "Sorry, I forgot." Becky reaches for the light
switch and we fall into muted darkness.
Something else is in my bag. Something I
needed to do. That I was excited about.
"What is it?"
Oh god, was I grunting out loud?
Becky hands me a paper cup of water and I
down a pill. Magic pill. Pill that will stop the thumping and the
spinning and the—
Darkness.
"Biz?"
I don't need to open my eyes to know who
that is. "Hi, Mom."
"The nurse tells me you came in earlier this
week. Why didn't you tell us it's been so bad?" The cot shifts
beneath her weight and I try to slide over to make room.
"It's not that bad." I force an eye open to
show her that I'm just peachy, but there's two of her. I close my
eye.
"Will you please let me take you to the
hospital?"
I struggle to sit up but strong arms hold me
down. I open my eyes fully and Becky smiles down at me. I go limp.
"I don't think it's necessary."
Mom and Becky exchange worried looks.
"Fine, I'll give you the doctor." At least
that'll buy me a little time to get my game-face on. He'll poke and
prod and ask his usual questions, but he doesn't have any high-tech
gear in his office. Most likely he'll up my dosage and tell me to
stay home for a couple days, just like he has every other time I've
seen him.
A voice in the back of my head warns that I
can't fool him forever.
Mom smiles. "I thought you'd say that. He
has an opening in half an hour. I called on my way here."
Shit. I walked right into that.
Becky helps me swing my legs over the edge
of the cot and she and Mom pull me to my feet. I wobble, but manage
to grab a filing cabinet before toppling over.
Becky grips my arm. "Should I get Mr. Walker
back in here?"
I shake my head. "I can make it." I glance
at the clock and suddenly I remember what I was so excited about
earlier. My pictures. "Do you think we can stop by Turner's class
on the way to the car?"
"I think he'll excuse you from whatever you
have due today," Mom says.
"I know, but I really want to show him the
pictures from the accident." We shuffle into the hall and I wave my
hand limply at Becky.
"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
I give her my best are-you-kidding-me look,
which loses its effect considering I can barely see straight. "You
think I'll be here tomorrow after the doctor dopes me up?"
"Okay fine. But can you leave the card
thingy or do you need to show them to him?"
I smile. "I can leave the card thingy."
We make our way slowly through the empty
hallway. Mom brushes her knuckles against the closed door, then
raps a little louder when no one answers. After a moment Turner
appears in the doorway.
"Biz! We wondered where you were." He looks
at my mom, then back at me. "Is everything okay?"
"I have to go to the doctor and—" I glance
over his shoulder and my breath catches. Cameron's watching me, his
jaw tight, shoulders tense. I didn't realize he was in school
today. Man, I must really be out of it.
Mom finishes for me. "She insisted on
bringing you her pictures before we leave."
I struggle with my bag. It falls to the
floor with a thump, and I follow, landing gracefully on my knees,
again. My camera's on the bottom. I pop out the card and hold it up
for Turner. "I saw an accident last night. Well, I didn't see the
accident, but I got there right after it happened. Anyway, I wanted
to see what you think."
I catch Cameron's eye but I’m unable to read
his expression.
Turner closes his fingers around the card.
"I'll look at them tonight." He reaches for my arm and helps me to
my feet, then looks back and forth between me and Mom. "I talked to
that cop about the man you saw at the game and—”
“
What man?” Mom grips my other arm,
her fingers digging harder than she probably meant to, and I
flinch.
“
Just someone I’ve seen at a few
games. He gave me the creeps and with those girls missing everyone
keeps telling us to tell if we see something weird. So I
did.”
Turner gives a quick nod. “She did better
than that. She took a picture of him. Now the police—” A chair
squeals on the tile floor inside the classroom, and Turner glances
over his shoulder. “The police are looking into it.” He releases my
arm and moves us into the hallway. “Take care of yourself, Biz.
It's not the same in here without you."
Chapter 26
Mom has this red camera thing from when she
was a little girl where you put a paper circle with tiny pictures
into a slot, then look through these goggles and click a button to
see a each new picture. The moments in between are completely
black, then light shines through the film, showing a new
snapshot.
That's how the rest of my day goes.
Click, we're at the doctor's office, me
lying on a paper-covered bed while Mom hovers nearby.
Click, a ginormous needle is coming at me,
the doctor's concerned eyes never leaving my arm.
Click, we're back in the car and I'm tugging
my hat lower and lower over my eyes. Flickering now, when I don't
seem to have any control over my body, would be beyond bad.
Click, I'm in bed, an ice pack on my head
and every light source banished to the closet. Even the digital
clock.
Looks like I'll be here for awhile.
*****
When the fog finally lifts I tug the covers
off my head and take a deep breath. The air in my room is hardly
fresh, but it's better than under the covers. A sliver of light
peeks between the edge of the curtain and the wall, so it's either
still afternoon, or it's tomorrow. And my phone's blinking its
little heart out.
I push the covers back further and roll to
the floor to get my phone. It's tomorrow. There's a bunch of texts
from Amelia, but I skip those when I see one from Cameron.
"You okay?"
That's it. No, ‘I'm sorry I haven't talked
to you in a week', or ‘What have you been up to?'
"Beyond shitty. Thanks for asking."
I guess I should be happy he still cares
enough to text. I didn't think my comments last week were that out
of line, but a week of silence has had me wondering if he not only
didn't want to date me, but didn't want to be my friend either.
I crawl to my knees and push into a sitting
position, and my head nearly teeters off my neck. I remember the
doctor saying something about strong side effects, and while I
couldn't tell you what they are, something tells me extreme vertigo
is one of them. I drag the phone into bed with me and press the
speed dial for Home.
Dad answers on the second ring.
"I'm up but I can't move."
"Be right up."
Moments later he's at the door with a plate
of toast and water. "I was getting worried."
"Is Mom at work?"
"She'll be home soon." He sets the tray on
the floor next to my bed and sits gently next to me. At first I
think he's moving slowly for my benefit, but he winces as he
straightens his shirt.
"She doesn't need to miss work for me. We're
fine—"
"It's almost five."
I lost a whole day?
"She told me about the man at the
games." That’s it. Not
why didn’t you tell
us?
Because he already knows.
“
I didn’t want you guys to
worry.”
“
You mean you didn’t want us to keep
you from coming and going as you please.”
I squirm under the covers. Dad rarely gets
upset with me, and I never know quite how to behave. “That’s not
the only reason.”
“
Then why?”
“
Because I didn’t want to accuse some
random guy of being the boogey monster when he might just be
someone’s dad.”
He rests his hand on my arm. “You did the
right thing by telling Mr. Turner, but I wish you would have told
us sooner. You showed me your photos and never said a thing.” He
closes his eyes for a brief moment and his lips set in a firm
line.
My heart clenches. He’s on my side and I’ve
made him feel like I don’t trust him. “I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t know
why I didn’t tell you.”
His eyes open and he smiles. “I’m not going
to ask you to promise me you will next time, at least keep me in
mind.”
“
I will.”
“
Now,” he pats my arm, "have you
checked your email?"
My phone is still blinking in my hand. "I
saw I had some messages."
"Mr. Turner called about the photos of the
accident that you left with him. He emailed you last night but
called when he didn't hear back this morning."
I open my email app and scroll to Turner's
message.
Biz, these are phenomenal. I know the
paper will publish these, but you need to send them right away.
They won't be relevant in another couple days.
Dad's watching me when I close my phone.
"What did he say to you?"
A huge smile smooths away whatever pain was
etched on his face. "He explained about the paper and said they
were on deadline. I gave him permission to submit them on your
behalf."
"You did?" Headache be damned, I launch
myself into Dad's arms, willing away the loop-de-loops spiraling
behind my eyes. "He said he'd call this evening once he got the
paper." He glances at his watch. "Should be here any minute."
I'm stunned. No, I'm beyond stunned. I'm
flabbergasted. "They're really printing my pictures? For real?"
He nods.
My pictures are actually going to be
published.
Dad snuggles next to me while I nibble on
the toast. I force down some water, then lean back on the pillows,
waiting for the thud at the front door announcing the paper's
arrival.
I stop myself from wondering aloud if
they'll really be in the paper at least half a dozen times. If they
aren't there… well, I'll be exactly the same as I was an hour ago.
No one knows Turner submitted them, so no one would know if they
were rejected.
I shudder at the word. I know it's a part of
an artist's life, but I wish there was a way to skip the grunt work
and land in my own studio with clients lined up around the
block.
Dad elbows me. "I can hear your gears
grinding."
"I'm just anxious. I gave him my entire
memory card. I trust him to pick the best ones, but what if I get
printed in the paper and it's some whack picture of a tire or
something?"
Dad chuckles. "You took a picture of a
tire?"
"Well, no. I'm just saying. I wish I'd had
some kind of say in what was presented."
"I think you'll forget about that when you
see them in the paper."
"You're right."
When it finally arrives Dad rushes
downstairs, returning a few minutes later with the paper displayed
proudly in front of him.
He was right. I did forget my worries about
what photo is printed. The right half of the front page is filled
with three of my photos: a large one of the EMT working on the
little boy while his mother watched, horrified, and two smaller:
one of the kids leaning against the car, the other a wider shot of
the accident. But I'm not looking at my photos. I can't tear my
eyes away from the picture in the article next to mine.
It's Cameron's sister Katie, with pigtails
and a missing front tooth, smiling beneath a headline that the
police have formally linked her kidnapping with the recent
disappearances.
Chapter 27
I stay in bed the rest of the weekend.
Amelia arrives Saturday evening with three orders of cheese fries
and the latest Johnny Depp movie, and I'm grateful for the brief
distraction from all the shit going on in my head. Cameron can't
possibly blame me for where my pictures were printed, but he just
started talking to me again.
When the movie ends Amelia gives me a
hug, fills up my water glass, then lets herself out.
Have I mentioned what an awesome best friend she
is?
She may not completely understand what I'm going
through, but she supports me anyways. A pang of guilt stabs me.
There has to be some way I can return the favor.
The heavy fog in my brain is descending
quickly—the carb overload only a temporary fix—so I send Cameron a
hello text before passing out.