M.I.N.D. (11 page)

Zack and Amanda?

The love of my life and my old BFF?

I knew Zack was a player—I was going to be the one to reform him—but this cuts into me like a knife through the heart.

I look over at Brendan, but he's just standing there, his face expressionless. He doesn't even look surprised. I have a sickening feeling he's about to explode.

I take a calming breath, and something occurs to me. That carnival was two days before the bus crash. The Saturday of the hit-and-run. If Amanda ditched Brendan, then she wasn't with him when he supposedly took his joyride and killed that little girl.

But that's impossible. Call it boo-loony, call it intuition, but I can't shake the feeling that Amanda was involved.

You have to turn around! We have to go back!

My head starts swirling and the knife plunges deeper.

Guess who was there for her when she ditched you?

What if Brendan wasn't the driver? What if it was Zack?

I feel like I've been living in a house of mirrors, and every one of them has shattered. Not only is my crush a bully, he's a potential murderer.

He turns around, about to head for deeper water, when suddenly Brendan lunges at him, delivering a blow to the small of Zack's back. Zack lets out a sharp cry and bunches over, but Brendan doesn't stop and the hits keep coming. For the slighter of the two, he's pretty tough. Of course, it helps when you take your opponent by surprise. When he lands a strong left hook on Zack's neck, Zack gasps and crumbles to his knees.

Brendan steps back. Looking pleased with himself, he heads for dry land. Wobbling like Jello, Zack pulls to his feet and scrambles after him. Barely inches from where I'm standing frozen in fear, he grabs Brendan's arm and whirls him around, cocks his free hand, and slams it into Brendan's face.

Brendan staggers, knocking me over. I land with a
thump!
on my back, my legs like sticks in the water, my head and upper body flat out on the mossy slope. Soggy leaves and clumps of earth are patched on my chest, and with horror I realize that things are crawling in my hair. Oh God, my hair. I probably look like Oreo when he's been caught in the rain.

I want to get up, but every time I so much as flinch, I slide deeper into the water. I wish with all my heart I was home, safe in my bed. Wish I hadn't agreed to come here in the first place. Wish upon a star, I think crazily, staring up at the sky. If I hadn't come, Zack wouldn't be dying from internal injuries, and Brendan's head would still be intact. I wouldn't be in this pickle now, numb with fear, getting sucked into the abyss of the river. Zack groans and I turn my head, dimly aware of him rubbing his neck. Brendan is spewing profanities. Okay, so maybe no one's dying, and truth be told, the water's pretty shallow. But it's still cold. And scary.

Zack takes off toward the path, and it's instant replay. He's no more than five feet from the dock when Brendan hooks him from behind, blindsiding him with a kick to the thigh. Zack's legs give way and down he goes. Brendan pins him to the ground. “Be a shame if your windpipe got busted,” he says, his voice dripping with hatred. Zack lets out a whimper.

A small crowd gathers. “Somebody do something!” I hear Leanne scream. “Josh, stop him! He'll kill him!”

“So let him,” he says. “The guy's an oxygen thief.”

“What's the matter with you? Stop being such an asshole and get in there!”

Did she just call him an asshole? Way to go! Yay, Leanne!

“Forget it, Leanne. I'm wearing my new Knicks shirt.”

“Josh, just do it!”

I'm so proud of her, if I wasn't so frozen with fear I'd hug her.

“Shit,” Josh says. He grabs Brendan by the nape and pulls him off Zack. “Say your prayers, sweetheart,” he says, swinging back an arm. “Time to say good night.”

“No, don't!” I cry out. Josh is a human meat grinder. Even a scumbag like Brendan shouldn't have to die like hamburger. But then I think about Amanda and how she was that day on the bus. Even if she was freaking out because of that hit-and-run, it's not Zack I blame for what happened to her. She was stoned out of her mind and it's Brendan who got her there. Hard to believe how much she changed in just one year. She used to be a happy, active teenage girl. She used to be my friend. He's responsible for what happened to her, sure as if he'd bought a gun and shot her, and I want him to pay.

Want him to suffer.

Make that a Big Mac, and don't forget the fries.

“Cassie!” Leanne shouts. “Cassie, where are you?”

Gee, Leanne, nice of you to remember me. “Over here!” I yell back.

Her gaze falls to where I'm lying half on the slope, half in the water, my arms and shoulders plastered with mud. “Somebody help! I think she's hurt!”

“Huh?” Josh utters, obviously distracted. I'm imagining what it would be like to be him, specifically to feel his fist connect with Brendan's nose, when suddenly he turns his head in my direction.

I sense it even before it comes.

Lilac.

No. Oh, no. Not here with my legs dangling helplessly in the water. Why is this happening? It's not like I really wanted to be Josh Melone. And yet, without so much as a plea, a prayer, or a mantra, the overly sweet scent of lilac fills my nostrils, and before I can even sneeze, I'm in his body. I know I'm in his body because Leanne is yelling in his ear, “What the hell is the matter with you? Take him out already!”

Whoa. This fantasizing-about-being-someone-else thing sure is powerful. And dangerous. You don't even have to be aware you're doing it. What happens if you're asleep? Or worse, driving a car? (As
if
.) You're cruising along, you spot Cora Wood on the corner, you honk, she waves (again, as
if
), you tell yourself you'd give anything to be her, or at least look half as good as she does in that halter, and the next thing you know you're wearing a stop sign.

Before I can properly assess all my newly acquired testosteronic parts—specifically the gross protuberance bulging in my jeans; is that weird or what?—the distraction gives Brendan the opening he needs and all hell breaks loose. He takes a swing, and an explosion like thunder rips through Josh's head. Spasms of pain radiate in his skull. Silver dots parade before his eyes. The earth is spinning and it hurts like hell, and since I've never been a masochist, for a moment I consider bailing.

I let the moment pass.

Yeah, I want to punch out Brendan's lights, but it's not just that. And it has nothing to do with wanting to feel unstoppable. Invincible. Strong as a tank.

Nothing to do with wanting to feel that surge of power coursing through my veins, igniting my blood like fire.

Nothing to do with feeling helpless, like when my father's boat capsized and my leg was trapped under the bench. Nothing to do with knowing that he was floating somewhere in the river, his lungs filling with water. Nothing to do with Dead Man's Landing looming down at me as I lie here now, unable to even flinch.

No, it has nothing to do with any of that.

Or so I tell myself.

More intense than the pain, adrenaline is pumping through Josh's body. He hoists a terrified Brendan into the air, then tosses him down like a rag doll. Brendan lands with a thud on his back, the scent of fear oozing from his sweat. Josh scrambles on top. Veins bursting, pulse ticking like a bomb, he pulls back an arm, aims, and crashes his fist into Brendan's chin.

I can tell you right now, it's not pretty.

Looking a little dazed, like he's just realized he's in the girls' locker room and he's stark naked, Brendan slowly sits up. He wipes at his chin, examines his hand. Recoils in horror at the sight of his blood. “You overgrown gorilla, what did you do to my face?”

“Get a grip,” Josh says. “Be grateful I didn't push your nose through your ears.”

His chest swells to Terminator proportions, and a sweet yet strangely metallic taste fills his mouth. Must be the sweet taste of victory, cyborg style. Personally, I'm filled with remorse. I feel like I should comfort Brendan, even if he is a creep. Or at least offer him a Band-Aid.

Teetering over to Josh, Zack raises his hands as if to say,
Don't shoot!

“We're done here,” Josh says, straightening his shirt. “You can both go home to your mommies.”

Well, that's a relief. I've had enough violence to last a lifetime. All I want to do is climb into my bed and try to forget this day ever happened. I'm about to will myself back into my body when Leanne yells, “Oh God! Cassie! She's in shock!”

All eyes swivel to where I'm lying unconscious on the slope. Unfortunately, Josh is one of the gawkers, and the intensity of his gawking is blocking my escape.

In hindsight, I can see this probably wasn't the best time for me to go out-of-body. The earth under my back is slowly giving way and I'm sinking down the slope. True, the water here isn't deep, but don't people drown in their baths all the time?

“Josh, help her!” Leanne yells. “Get her out of there!”

Oh, no! There goes my chin! Any second now the water will start trickling up my nose. Or maybe my hair will whip around my neck like seaweed, strangling me, preventing me from taking my last precious breaths. Wonderful. This is how I'm going to be remembered. I'll be known forever as the girl with the seaweed hair.

Um, Josh? Can you please unfocus?

Hello, anyone? Somebody get me out of here!

“Don't worry, I've got her.”

Ethan sounds different in Josh's ears, like he has a cold or maybe allergies. Wearing flip-flops, striped swimming trunks, and a Spiderman T-shirt, goggles resting on top of his head, earplugs dangling around his neck, he gathers me up and lifts me out of the water. So what if the entire A-list thinks he's a geek? So what if he acted like a first-class jerk? Right now he's my hero. I've never been happier to see anyone in my life, even though it's not really me who's doing the seeing.

He places my body down on dry ground. Leaning over me, he gently strokes my face with his fingers. (Actually, I'm just assuming he's being gentle.) At the moment, not only am I wishing I could feel it, I'm thinking there's no other person I'd rather be than myself.

“I'm sorry I called you an asshole,” Leanne says to Josh. He looks back at her and frowns, and
zap!
I'm back in me.

I smile up at Ethan. Cutest geek I ever did see.

Ten

I'll See You in My Dreams

“Hey,” Ethan says. “Welcome back.” Kneeling over me on the bank, he smoothes the hair away from my eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Cold,” I say.

A handful of kids are standing around. Brendan and Zack, thankfully, aren't among them.

“Wow,” Vardina says, taking a step back. “You really must be wasted. You're not going to hurl, are you?”

“She's not drunk, you idiot,” Leanne says. “It's her switshetshela.” She peers down at my face. “It is…isn't it?”

I know what she's thinking, but I can't exactly blurt out what happened, not here in public. “Yes, Leanne. All perfectly normal.” If infiltrating someone's body can be considered normal.

I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness overtakes me and I fall back down. “Okay, show's over,” Ethan calls to the others. “You can all go back to your cages.”

One by one they leave, looking disappointed. Well,
excuse
me. What were they expecting? A full I-tried-to-make-toast-while-taking-a-shower seizure? Only Leanne and Josh remain, and of course, Ethan, who's busy fixing a fleecy towel over my thawing body.

“Is it okay if I go for a walk?” Leanne asks me. “I mean, as long as you're okay…” She looks up at Josh.

“Whatever,” I mutter. Typical. Whenever Josh is around, I'm history. His arm draped around her shoulder, hers around his waist, they stroll along the path in the direction of the woods. “They're like a broken neon sign,” I say to Ethan. “First they're on, then they're off, then they're on again.”

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he says with mock seriousness.

“Some course. More like the San Andreas Fault.” I try to sit up again, this time slowly. The towel slides down, and suddenly I feel shy.

“Easy does it,” Ethan says, holding on to my arm.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask, aware of his skin against mine. “I mean, it's just that this is a sophomore thing,” I start to babble. “But I'm glad you came. I mean, there's no hard rule or anything. I mean, even Josh—” I stop abruptly. “Of course. The vigil.”

“Except there was no vigil,” he says, frowning. He glances around. Everyone is packing up, getting ready to leave. “Looks like the party's over.”

“That's me, a real buzzkill.”

“Don't worry about it. It was pretty lame to begin with.” He gives me a curious look. “So what's this shela-godzilla thing?”

“Switshetshela. It's my…condition. It's Xitsongan for epilepsy.”

“Right. The seizures. But why go clear across the world for a name? Why not just call it what it is?”

Why, indeed? I explain how I hate saying the E word. How I think it sounds gross.

“At least it's pronounceable. And it is what it is.” He looks closely at my face. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine. Really.” Then I grimace.

“Maybe we should go to the ER,” he says, all concerned.

“Look, I know my own body, and I'm not going to the hospital.” Immediately I regret sounding so harsh. It's just that it's a sensitive issue. “It's only a headache,” I say.

“Press your thumb against the roof of your mouth.”

“Sorry?”

“I'm serious. It works whenever I get a headache.” He takes my hand and raises it to my mouth. “Go ahead, stick your thumb in.”

I do it with misgiving. “Now what?” I sound like I'm wearing a retainer.

“Breathe slowly, in through your mouth, out through your nose.” He demonstrates, and the two of us start breathing in unison.

“Very Zen,” I say. “Except for the thumb.”

We sit like that, breathing with our thumbs in our mouths, until I can't stand it anymore and I break out laughing. Then he starts laughing, and we're both laughing, and we laugh until we're all laughed out.

“Better?” he says.

“Better,” I say, and, surprisingly, it is.

His face sobers. “I can't remember the last time I laughed like that.”

I nod with understanding. “How are you holding up?” I ask softly.

“I'm fine. But my parents…”

“Ethan?” I say when he doesn't continue. “What's going on?”

He sighs. “My mom spends all day at the hospital. She's afraid that if she leaves for just one second, Amanda will slip away forever. My dad's the opposite. He doesn't stay long, and he works really late. Says he's catching up with paperwork, but I know the truth. He can't deal.”

“That's got to be rough on you.” I feel like I have to touch him. Instead, I play with the bracelet on my wrist. “What about the MRI? How were the results?”

“No change,” he says. “What about you?”

“No change,” I say.

He looks down at the ground. “I'm sorry about what I said. You'd never steal anything, let alone Amanda's locket.”

At least not knowingly. “You were upset,” I say.

“I was a jerk.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“You're not mad?”

“Not anymore.”

He smiles, and my heart skips. And then I get nervous. I don't know how to do this. Don't know how I should be acting. I look toward the river. We're completely alone. “I should probably find Leanne,” I murmur. “She's my ride home.”

“A lot of woods back there. She could be anywhere. Why don't you try calling her?”

“There's no signal,” I say. “We're in a dead zone.” I doubt Leanne would pick up, anyway. She's probably lying naked somewhere on a bed of leaves. I hope it's poison ivy. Serve her right for abandoning me.

“There's reception in the parking lot,” Ethan says. “Why don't we check if their cars are still there? But I'd be happy to take you home, even if you do find her.”

“I'd like that,” I say, my pulse speeding up. He eases me to my feet, and I hand him his towel. Self-conscious under his gaze, I slip into my clothes.

He pulls his jeans up over his trunks. “You're still cold,” he says, handing me his sweatshirt. “Here, I insist.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my eyes downcast. It's way too big, so I push up the sleeves. It smells fresh and woody, like pine in winter.

I step into my sandals, and we head off. As we continue up the path, his fingers interlace mine. I almost forget about the river. Barely notice the moon and the stars. We don't say much, but it's not awkward. It feels natural, like the way my hand feels tucked in his. I'm glad we're taking the long way back.

It's funny how your world can change in an instant. Not funny ha-ha. Funny crazy. One minute I'm obsessing over Zack; the next minute I'm holding Ethan's hand.

One minute you think someone is the most adorable creature in the world; the next minute you think he's a murderer.

“Here we are,” Ethan says at the clearing. “The car at the end of the universe. Everyone's gone.”

I try calling Leanne again. I get a signal, but she doesn't answer.

Ethan grins. “Now you're stuck with me.”

“Scotty, beam me up,” I say, thinking how lonely his battered old Toyota looks all by itself in the lot. We stop at the passenger side. “A true gentleman,” I say softly, as he reaches for the handle.

“The door sticks,” he explains. “Not that I wouldn't hold it open for you anyway. Unless, of course, you don't want me to.”

“I don't mind. You can open it.”

We stand at the door, unmoving.

“I had a dream about you,” he says.

“Really? What about?”

He removes his hand from the door.

Smiles shyly. Makes the lean.

I close my eyes, and his lips meet mine. They're soft and gentle, warm and familiar—definitely not rubbery, the way Zack's lips felt on Stephanie's. He tastes sweet, like mint chocolate cookie dough. But the best part? It's really me he's kissing.

***

On the drive home we talk about random things, like why skin is considered an organ, why donuts have holes, why yawning is contagious. We talk about school, and about college. I tell him I have no clue what I want to do with my life. He tells me he got accepted to Yale, but now everything's changed. He might take off a year. Stay home. Get a job.

I'm aware of him next to me as he speaks. Aware of everything about him. The happiness in his voice when he talks about his life before the accident. The way his chin quivers when he talks about Amanda. I talk about my father, and about my epilepsy. I tell him about my mom, how she's driving me crazy.

“That's what moms do,” he says. “They care.”

“Yeah, I know. I should be grateful. Except I don't feel grateful. I just feel mad all the time. Crap,” I say as he pulls into my driveway. All the lights in the living room are blazing. “I was hoping she'd be asleep. She's going to have a zillion questions. I'm supposed to be staying over at Leanne's.”

“Just tell her you changed your mind. She'll understand.”

Actually, I changed bodies. And no, she won't understand.

I reach for the door, wondering if he's planning to kiss me again. Wondering and hoping. “Well, good night. I, um, had a really good time. Except for the almost drowning part.”

I pull on the handle. Door's opening… One foot's on the curb…

“Cassie, wait,” he says. “I almost forgot.”

I close the door and spin around. “Yes?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the locket. “I want you to have it. I think Amanda would like that. Here, let me put it on for you.” He wraps the chain around my neck. Reaches behind, fastens the clasp.

I stroke the pendant, then let my hand drop.

Don't, I tell myself.

Not here. Not now.

“Ethan, can I ask you something?”

“I'm all yours,” he says, smiling.

“Remember that carnival at the mall? Do you know if Zack brought her home?”

His smile dies. “Why are you asking?”

“I'm trying to make sense of what happened tonight. I think it's what Zack and Brendan were fighting about.” Besides the fact that Zack hooked up with his girlfriend. “Did you talk to her when she got home? Did she seem upset or anything?”

His mouth tightens. “Where are you going with this?”

I hesitate, then say, “I keep thinking about that day on the bus. She kept yelling that we had to turn around. Had to go back.”

He shifts in his seat. “Yeah, well, they say she wasn't exactly in a lucid frame of mind.”

“That hit-and-run,” I say slowly. “The little girl who died was named Rose. I think this locket belonged to her mother.” I swallow. I can't say the rest of it. Not out loud.

“You're not serious,” he says. “Tell me I'm not hearing this. You think Amanda had something to do with that hit-and-run?”

“I'm not saying for sure. It's just a feeling I have.”

“A feeling,” he repeats. “You have a feeling that my sister is a criminal? Unbelievable. Amanda is in a coma and you're maligning her? What is wrong with you? ” He glares at me in the dimness. “This is what you were getting at back at the hospital. Why do you care so much about that hit-and-run anyway? You didn't even know that girl. What if my parents hear about your accusations? Don't you think they're going through enough?” He stretches over my lap and reaches for the handle. “Your mother's waiting for you,” he says coldly.

I don't trust my voice to reply. Fighting back tears, I climb out of the car and run to the house. The front door flings open. As if things aren't depressing enough, my mother is standing in the doorway. The riot act is written all over her face.

***

“Where were you?” she growls, clutching her bathrobe to her body. “I just got off the phone with Leanne's mother. She said the two of you went out.”

“You called her house? At this hour?” I guess I should be happy she didn't barge in their front door.

“You didn't answer your cell. You left me no choice. And then I find out you weren't even there! She told me you went to that party at the river. You lied to me, Cassie.”

“If you know where I was, why did you ask?” I shake my head at her ridiculousness. “I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed.” I push past her, into the hallway.

She storms after me, a woman with a mission. “Don't you walk away from me!” she snarls, grabbing my arm. “You said you were staying over. Did something happen? Are you hiding something? The truth, Cassie.”

“Mom. Nothing happened,” I say with forced patience. Welcome to the Spanish Inquisition. “I decided to come home. Since when is that a crime?”

“Since you decided to lie to me! What were you doing in that car?”

“I can't believe this. You were spying on me?”

Her mouth flattens. “Who was that boy?”

“That
boy
is Ethan, Amanda's brother. And we were just talking! His sister is in a coma, remember?”

“If anything, that should that tell you what I went through tonight! I was sure you'd been in an accident. I thought you were bleeding to death on some deserted road. You know the rules. You have to call me when you go out. Well, you won't be going anywhere for a while. You're grounded. And that means no friends over either.”

I clench my jaw. It's not like anyone is lining up outside my door, but still. “You can't ground me. I'm sixteen!”

“Two weeks,” she says. “One for not calling, one for lying.”

“Fine. You're right. I'm sorry. So am I still grounded?”

“Make that three weeks. An extra one for attitude.”

I'd protest, but she'd probably ground me for life. Not that it would make any difference. It feels that way already.

I stomp upstairs to my room and slam the door behind me. I throw myself onto my bed. I stare up at my canopy, then at the walls. Plastered over every square inch are posters of my favorite rock stars. Lately my mother's been making noises about tearing them down. Says they're inappropriate. Ha. She'll probably replace Cora Wood with Tinkerbell. Wearing a black satin bustier, Cora is staring down at me as if to say, “Are you really going to let her get away with this?” If I wasn't so mad, I'd start crying.