M.I.N.D. (17 page)

“You know what you have to do,” his father says. “And not just because you're afraid Crissy might know something.”

“Cassie,” Zack corrects. “But it's not like I stole it. It was just lying there on the dining room floor. I thought I would give it to Amanda. She's the girl I drove home from the carnival.” A warm feeling flows through him. “I really like her, except she has this loser boyfriend, so we're just friends. I keep waiting for them to break up, but it never happens. They fight all the time, but she always gives in.” His voice catches. “And now she's in a coma. I was hoping to give it to her when she wakes up.”

“It looks expensive,” his father says, examining the bracelet in his lap.” He looks up at Zack. “I'm sorry, son. I know you're saving it for her, and I know you're hurting. But it's not yours to give. You have to return it.”

“What about the cops? They'll be all over me!” I feel Zack's mouth pull into a frown. “I still don't understand how Cassie knew about it. The way she was looking at me, it's like she was reading my mind. She's out to get me, Pop. What did I ever do to her?”

He's talking about my psych presentation. I picture myself leaning over, fingering the locket around my neck.
Pretty, isn't it? Funny about the things we find. They always come back to haunt us.
Except he's not talking about the locket. He's talking about some bracelet he found, a bracelet he was planning to give to Amanda.

“You asked for my advice,” his father says. “You have to own up.”

“What if I mail it to the club anonymously? I can write a note. I'll tell them the truth, that I found it but after talking with my dad, I decided not to keep it. And that I'm sorry,” Zack adds, his cheeks heating up. He ducks his head. “I don't want to cause you any more grief, Pop. I've put you through enough already.”

“Look at me, Zack.”

Slowly Zack looks up. “What?”

“I want you to know, I never doubted you for a moment. I never once considered that you could be guilty of that horrendous crime, let alone steal a car. Even before you volunteered your DNA, it never even crossed my mind. You didn't put me through a thing, you hear?”

I perk right up. Zack volunteered his DNA?

“If it hadn't been for Josh,” he says, “I wouldn't have been in that mess in the first place.” I feel his face darken. “You remember Josh Melone, right? That jerk I worked with?”

“He was just telling them what he knew, son. And now they know the cap's not yours. Your DNA didn't match. The police won't be back.”

“I hope not,” Zack says, sighing heavily.

His father motions to the afghan. “Can you hand me the blanket? I'm feeling a little chilly.” Then he nods. “All right. Mail the bracelet. I guess it's okay. If your mother were here, God rest her soul, I think she'd agree.”

Zack springs to his feet. He picks up the afghan and spreads it across his father's knees. “Can I make you some tea? How about a sandwich?”

“No, I'm fine. I think I'll just watch a little TV before my nap. And Zack?”

“Yeah, Pop?”

“You're a good boy, son. Your mother would be proud.”

It's time for me to go. I've learned what I set out to learn. Zack wasn't the hooded figure in the corridor. And he wasn't the driver in the hit-and-run.

DNA doesn't lie.

Though for me, the real proof was in his feelings, not his molecules. When he mentioned the police to his father, all he did was frown. Sure, he was a little nervous, but mostly he was annoyed. Where was the guilt that gnaws at your insides? Where was the dry mouth, the sweating, the churning in the stomach? But there was no mistaking his feelings for Amanda. No mistaking the shame he felt for causing his father grief.

And yet, I still believe that Amanda was involved. Which makes no sense, since she was with him at the time.

Unless she wasn't.

They fight all the time, but she always gives in.

Vardina said they'd left the carnival earlier that evening. What if Amanda went out again? What if she made up with Brendan?

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

Was Leanne right all along? Is Brendan the
you
in the
we?

***

“Cassie, are you all right?” I open my eyes. It's Ethan, and he's looking down at me on the solarium couch. “Can I do something? Do you want some water?”

Great. He probably thinks I zone out all over the place. (Though lately, I kind of do.) “What are you doing here?” I ask, slowly sitting up. The couple who were here earlier are gone, their Styrofoam cups overturned on the table.

He sits down next to me. “I don't want to fight, Cass. I couldn't leave things the way they were, so I came back. I saw you lying here, and I got worried.” He peers at my face. “You look terrible.”

Um, thanks? “I'm fine,” I say. “Just another headache.” I pause, debating whether I should mention the lurker in the corridor. Fact is, I'm not even sure he
was
a lurker. But what if he was? I don't want to worry Ethan for nothing—he has enough to worry about—but what if it was Brendan?

“I have to tell you something,” I dive right in. “There was someone hanging around Amanda's room. He was wearing a hoodie, so I couldn't see his face. He took off when he saw me.”

Ethan stiffens. “And…?”

He's on alert, I think. I choose my words carefully. “He looked suspicious. I just thought you should know. He was really creepy, Ethan. It was like he was scoping things out.”

His forehead creases. “Drop it, Cass. Your imagination is in overdrive.”

Creased forehead = worry. Or am I imagining that too?

I lean back on the couch. There's something he's not saying. Something he knows. But how can I question him without making him angry? We all know how that turned out, back at school. He practically called me a cold-blooded bitch. Not that I blame him. Amanda is his sister—it's only natural he'd get defensive. At the very least, I need to know what time she got home from the carnival, but if I ask him, I risk alienating him out of my life forever.

I would ask Zack, but ever since the psych experiment, he won't even look at me. After trying to hang him, I don't blame him either.

“You're right,” I tell Ethan. “It's just me being paranoid. I have a thing about hospitals.” At least it's the truth.

He stares out the window, and a silence falls.

“I thought she was improving,” he says after a long moment. His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear. “I…my parents…we had so much hope.” He looks back at me, his eyes misty. “I guess you know about the concert. I shouldn't have gone. How could I do that?”

“You didn't know,” I say. “You can't beat yourself up.” I take his hand. He doesn't pull away. “What exactly did the doctors say?”

“They said she's never going to wake up,” he answers bitterly. “Brain-dead, they said. They want to take her off the ventilator. Let nature take its course. I told them to forget it. EEGs, CAT scans, MRIs—they're just machines. What if the readings are wrong? Doctors make mistakes all the time. What if they're missing something?”

I don't say anything. I just hold his hand.

“She's not gone, Cass. I can feel it. I just can't prove it.”

An idea begins to gel in my mind. Except it's insane. I can't jump into someone who's comatose. But how do I know? Have I ever tried?

And even if Ethan is right, it doesn't mean she's going to recover. But what if she
can
get back? What if I was wrong? I hope to God I was. Wrong about everything.

“What if there
is
a way?” I say over the pounding in my heart. “A way to find out for sure?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to swallow them back. Never mind that the idea is insane. Or that I have no idea what will happen to me if I do get into her body—her severely impaired body. He'll never believe me. Hell, he might even use the B word. A few of them, in fact. Bananas. Bonkers. Batty. Not to mention a few bricks short.

“What are you talking about?” he says, staring at me.

Shouldn't I at least try to make him believe me? I hate to be melodramatic (or toot my own horn), but what if I'm Amanda's only chance?

Though why shouldn't he believe me? This is the guy who touts alternate universes. The guy who argues that a person can exist in two places simultaneously. (Fine. He didn't say he believed it. But he didn't say he
didn't
. Huh. Maybe it
was
Zack in the corridor.)

I take a deep breath. “Remember that girl you saw at the concert? The one who looked like Amanda?”

His mouth drops open. “How did you know that?”

“Because I was there. But in a quantum way.”

“Cassie, are you sure you're okay?”

“It's like astral projection,” I forge ahead, “except I land in another person. My psyche left my body and entered yours. I didn't mean for it to happen,” I quickly add. “I wasn't spying. At least not on purpose. I was thinking about you and you were thinking about me, and I couldn't control it.” Then I blush. I don't tell him that my feeling for him was strong. I'm not
that
brave.

He gives me a blank look. “I don't get it.”

So I tell him everything, from the beginning. Well, not
everything
. I omit a few details, like my virtual make-out session with Zack, and I steer away from anything that has to do with the hit-and-run.

“Don't you see?” I say when I'm done. “I'll talk to Amanda. If I can jump into her body, it means she can hear me. Even better, it means she can think.”

“You spoke to Vardina,” he says. “She saw that girl too.”

“She didn't tell me, Ethan. I haven't seen her since Friday.” In person, that is.

“So she texted you. You probably forgot.”

Evidently he needs more convincing. “She didn't text me, e-mail me, or call me. If you don't believe me, just ask her.”

He pauses. “Are you saying you read my mind?”

“Ethan, you're not listening. I don't read minds, I share bodies.”

He sits quietly for several seconds as though deep in thought, then pulls me to his chest. “God, Cassie,” he says. “Cassie… Cassie…”

He believes me! Not only that, I'm in his arms, and it feels wonderful. I breathe in the scent of his sweater, all male and musky. That reminds me, I still have his sweatshirt. I've been reluctant to give it back, thinking I might need it some day as an icebreaker. What if, sixty years from now, I find myself moving into the room next to his at the nursing home? There I'll be, sweatshirt in hand, rapping on his door with my cane. “I was cleaning out my closet in the old house,” I imagine myself saying. “I thought you might need this.”

He rests his hands my shoulders. “How's your head?” he asks. He stares into my eyes like he can see inside.

“It feels like a train wreck,” I say. “But don't worry. These headaches never last long. So what do you think? Should we give it a try?”

“Maybe another MRI,” he says.

I look at him, confused. “I thought you didn't trust them.”

“I'm not talking about Amanda. I'm talking about you.” He looks toward the door, as if expecting men in white jackets to come barging in and carry me away.

Like I said, insane. Not just the idea, but everything. My M.I.N.D., my thinking he'd believe me, my whole existence. Maybe I'd better give him back his sweatshirt right now. He might end up in a nursing home, but I'll be in an institution.

Fifteen

Growing Pains

“I never even got to see her!” Leanne complains as she turns onto my street. “They said she was too busy. How busy can you be lying in a hospital bed?”

I stare out the passenger side. All the windows in the car are down, the late afternoon air warm and balmy. Sitting on his front porch, a neighbor waves. I wave back.

“Are you even listening to me?” Leanne says.

I turn to look at her. Cora, Cora, Cora. It's all Leanne can talk about. How Cora's entourage went through her purse, looking for what? How they treated her like a groupie and not the hero she is. How they made her wait forever only to tell her that Ms. Wood wasn't seeing visitors after all.

“Can you forget about Cora for one second?” I say. “You haven't mentioned Amanda once. I just don't understand you.”

“She's a vegetable. What more is there to say? And before you get all weird about me not visiting her, let me remind you that you didn't either.”

“Ethan didn't want me to. He said I should come back when I'm feeling better. I think he was afraid I'd zone out again.” Either that, or I'd start chanting voodoo. “And for the record, I don't like you calling her a vegetable.” I take a slow breath. If I got mad every time she said something upsetting, I'd be mad at her all the time. Come to think of it, I
am
mad at her all the time. Or she's mad at me. And I don't know how to close the growing rift between us.

“Fine,” she says. “She's asleep. Permanently.”

“And just so you know, brain death is not the same as a vegetative state. Someone in a vegetative state is awake but not aware.”

“That describes most people,” she says.

She pulls into my driveway, and I'm instantly met with the scent of gardenia. After the boating accident, my mother ripped out all the lilac from the yard. A good thing too, otherwise every time I'd leave the house, I'd think I was about to zone out.

Leanne shifts into park, then gives me a smug smile. “Speaking of people in vegetative states, didn't I say it was Brendan?”

“I wouldn't gloat just yet. We still need proof.”

She slams both fists on the steering wheel. “Why are you so stubborn? Why are you always defending that scumbag?”

“Leeny, I'm not defending—”

“Did you forget about Valentine's Day?” she says, her voice rising. “Carly's party?”

“No, of course not. I'm just saying—”

“And then at school, there they were, the happy couple strolling arm-in-arm down the hallway. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was disgusting. And he just looked at me like I was garbage. Ha. After what he did to me, calling
him
garbage would be a step up.”

“I thought you said nothing happened.” My words come out in a hush. Is she saying what I think she's saying?

She doesn't answer.

“Oh my God, Leeny. You need to go to the police. Oh my God.”

“You don't get it,” she says bitterly. “No crime was committed.”

It takes a few seconds, but then understanding sets in. She didn't punch him, and she didn't run off. She hooked up with him, in the full sense of the word, and then he snubbed her. “
You
were the one flirting at the carnival. He wasn't flirting with
you
.”

“I knew that bitch would be trouble,” she sneers.

“Vardina isn't the guilty one here,” I shoot back.

“You're doing it again. Acting all judgmental. FYI, I wasn't flirting with him, I was fending him off.” Slouching in her seat, she folds her arms across her chest. “It's so unfair! You make one mistake, and it keeps coming back like a bad tamale. Now he acts like I'm his personal plaything. I'm
always
fending him off.”

My mother peeks through the living room curtains, my cue to come in. I look back at Leanne. “So why did you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. Heaven forbid, I wouldn't want her to think I'm judgmental. “Why did you do it?”

She forces a laugh. “Beats me. Maybe because he was there. Josh was mad and I was hurt, and Brendan was being all sweet and attentive. I felt…appreciated.”

Funny how all her problems seem to start with Josh. “I don't understand you. Josh is such a bully. Why do you put up with it? Seriously, he won't even let you pick out a prom dress. I mean, God, he
suffocates
you.”

She plays with the lint on her skirt. “He loves me,” she says. “Is that such a bad thing? Seeing how everyone else ignores me.”

“What are you talking about? Who ignores you? You and Josh get invited everywhere!”

“That's just it. Me and Josh. It's Josh they like, not me.” Her mouth turns down. “I'm the girl everyone forgets about. Including you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try living in
my
shoes,” she retorts. “See how
you
like being at the bottom of the pecking order. Like with Amanda. She was the pretty one, the popular one, the one you idolized like a rock star. You made me feel like a third wheel.”

I shake my head. “That is so untrue. I never excluded you!”

“My point exactly. I was the pity friend. It was always Amanda this, Amanda that. It still is, except now it's even worse. And it's the same thing at home,” she says, giving me her pouty look, the one that makes her look like a two-year-year-old. “You're always whining about your mother, but at least she knows she has a daughter. My mother sure forgot. It's like my sisters wore her out. Is it my fault she had four of us?” She laughs, but her laugh is hollow. “And now she's talking playpens. Explain
that
one to me.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Go ahead, say it. Tell me I'm wrong again. Or just yell at me for not telling you about Brendan. You're always mad about something.”

Something catches in my throat, and for a moment I can't speak. “Am I so bad?” I say quietly. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm a terrible friend. How could I not know how she really feels? I know what it's like to feel like an outcast. Are we so different? “Oh, Leeny, why didn't you ever say anything? Not that I'm mad,” I quickly add.

“Because it's stupid. Most girls would give anything to have my life. I have a boyfriend who's a senior, and I go to all the best parties. People are always telling me how lucky I am, his being on the team and all. When they're not ignoring me, I mean. He's the only reason they talk to me at all.” Her voice trembles. “Except he treats me like shit.”

“If people don't talk to you, it's because they don't know you. There's more to life than just being his girlfriend, Leeny. You deserve better. Someone who appreciates you.”

She looks at me, suddenly dry-eyed. “What are you saying?”

“You're breaking up with him, right? I just assumed—”

“Are you crazy? After all the time I invested in him, you think I'm going to dump him? Do you know how many girls would kill to go out with him? And what about prom?” She narrows her eyes. “You'd better not tell anyone about me and Brendan.”

“I can't believe you said that. You think I'd blab?” I pause, knowing she's not going to like what I'm going to say next. “He could still find out. You should tell him before he hears it from someone else. And then do yourself a favor and tell him to take a hike.”

“How's he going to find out? It's not like Brendan can go around boasting about it, not without Josh bashing in his head. Not that I'd mind. The bashing part, I mean. But since I have no intention of saying anything, that's not going to happen.” Her lips twist into an ugly curl. “That's where the hit-and-run comes in. Some people would even call it karma.”

I frown. “Not karma. Revenge.”

“Oh, please. You make it sound like a dirty word. What about
your
vendetta? You're even more obsessed than I am.”

“If I'm obsessed, it's because I'm trying to help Amanda. Or did you forget the part about her being stuck?”

“Right. You're helping her move on to the next plane. I get that. What I don't understand is why. She deserved what happened to her. Who did she think she was, snubbing us like that? No one told her to get involved with that creep. No one forced her. And if she's such a saint, why didn't she go to the police right away?”

“No,” I say.

“No, what?”

“I can't do this. I just can't.”

Call me judgmental, call me a bad friend, but this is where I draw the line. I can forget about the secrets—seeing how I have a couple of my own—but not about this. How could she say that Amanda deserved what happened? How could she be so cruel? I rush out of the car and slam the door behind me. And I don't look back.

***

To my surprise, my mother isn't waiting for me in the doorway. She's not in the hallway either, and she doesn't follow me upstairs to my room. An hour later, as I'm lying on my bed, too depressed to do anything, mad at the world at large, she knocks on my door. “Cassie, sweetheart, may I come in?”

She's asking? Something must have happened. She's not usually this restrained. “Enter,” I say with dread.
Amanda
, I think. They've pulled her off life support.

“Is it Amanda?” I whisper.

“I heard about her…development,” my mother says. She sits at the edge of my bed. “I'm so sorry, Cass.”

I breathe out with relief. So it hasn't happened. Not yet, anyway.

My mother stares out the window. She has that faraway look, like she's remembering her own loss. Maybe she is. I can't believe it's been six years. Six years since the boat capsized and my father drowned. She turns to me and smiles sadly. “I know I've been hard on you, sweetheart. It's just that I've been so afraid. I can't imagine losing you too.”

“Mom. Nothing's going to happen to me. I promise.” But how can I say that? How can I know for sure?

I'm expecting a lecture, but she gives me a smile. “I like what you've done in here,” she says, motioning to the empty space above my bed.

I wait for the
but
. Instead, she rests her gaze on my face and says, “I've been worried about you, Cassie. Lately you've been acting so strange. I didn't say anything about the canopy because I thought it was just a phase. But now I realize it's worse than that. Much worse.”

“Mom…”

“You're growing up,” she says. “You're growing up, and it scares me.”

***

The next morning, in recognition of my new maturity, my mother informs me that from now on I'll be making my own lunch. (Okay, I confess. I'm going to miss the smiley faces. But not the sprouts.) Problem is, due to an altercation with my flat iron, I'm running late. Bottom line, I'll have to buy lunch. Sure, I can always take it out to the bleachers, but I still have to make the cafeteria walk of shame. It's either that or starve.

So here I am, venturing into the cafeteria, all alone. I feel like I'm wearing my bra outside my shirt and everyone is staring. I pass the band table, the jocks, and the hipsters. Staring straight ahead, I push my way to the back, where the smell of pizza and corn dogs can practically knock you out of your trainers. By some miracle, the pizza line is the shortest, so pizza it is.

I'm paying the cashier when Vardina sees me and waves me over, once again saving me from loserdom. She's sitting next to Stephanie. Huh. I had no idea they were friends. After actually
being
them, you'd think I'd know them better.

I'm putting down my tray when we hear a crash at the checkout. Brendan is standing over his tray on the floor, looking at it like he can't understand how it got there. The cafeteria cheers and he takes a bow.

“He's buzzed,” Vardina says with disgust.

“Ew,” Stephanie says as he picks up a handful of fries from the floor. “What a douche.”

“Why would she even go out with him?” Vardina, of course, is referring to Amanda.

“Maybe she had something to prove,” Stephanie says, busily unwrapping a Twinkie.

Vardina gives me a sympathetic look. “You must be totally freaking. You guys used to be so tight.”

Stephanie shakes her head. “Poor Ethan. I guess he'll be spending every day by her bedside until it, you know, happens.”

Scary how fast news flies. The whole school's been talking about Amanda all morning. Someone said she was already dead and that the cause was officially an overdose. Someone else said they froze her in the hope that one day there'll be a cure for brain death. Where do they get this stuff? I set them straight on both counts. Naturally, I didn't tell them the whole truth, that she's stuck somewhere on the astral plane.

“He's totally bummed,” Vardina says. “Obviously he's not coming tomorrow. Which I perfectly understand. Hey, do you want to?” she asks, doing that thing with her eyebrow.

It takes me a moment before I realize she's talking to me. “Do I want to what?” I ask. Vardina's really sweet, but I have to say, talking to her can be like connecting the dots without a pencil.

She gives me one of her toothy smiles. “The country club is having a dinner,” she says excitedly. “It's for the board members and their families, but my parents said I could bring a friend, since I'm an only child and all. Hey, so are you, right? We have so much in common!”

Wait. She considers me a friend?

“Excuse me?” Stephanie says. “What am I, a sidekick?”

“You're already coming,” Vardina says, looking offended. “I just thought Cassie could use some cheering up. Besides, you have to sit with your parents. Who am I going to talk to, my mother? You didn't seem to mind when I asked Ethan.”

“That's different,” Stephanie snaps. “I can spell it out, if you want.”

Vardina turns red. “Steph…”