Connected: Book 1 Connected Series Page 2

  “Who was it this time?” I asked.

  “I think it was your father.”

  My face instantly flushed. “Wh— What?”

  “Your father, he was at your house. He was older, though.” Her brow wrinkled. “At least, I think it was him. It was kinda cloudy.”

  “Weird.” The only dreams I had of my father were nightmares—the nightmare, the one that kept coming back.

  She tilted her head at me sideways. “Do you ever miss him?”

  I cringed.

  “Sorry,” she said, a guilty expression on her face. “It’s just, you were so young when he… I mean, when you were…” She wrapped the chain of her silver necklace around her finger and brought it to her mouth. Her somber eyes focused on the chain. “Em, I—”

  “Let’s drop it, okay?” I turned away and stared out the grimy window. The streets were the same as last year, lined with gas stations and colorful Tex-Mex cantinas. “It’s all right.” I always found it hard to stay mad at her. Plus, it wasn’t her fault she had weird dreams.

  She smiled. “This is going to be a good year for you, Em.”

  “You think?” I asked, though it came out more like a laugh than a question.

  “Yes,” she replied decidedly, as if she were totally certain of it. “I have a feeling.”

  “I don’t want to see The Look.” I shuddered at the thought, hunching over more than usual. It was more a matter of when than if.

  Roz took my hand in hers and rubbed it. “You’ll see. It’ll be good.”

  * * * *

  In English class, I noticed an unfamiliar face in the back corner, undoubtedly a transfer. While Cannondale was small, it was growing. Every year it seemed we assimilated some other small town, at least in terms of school districts. This year we swallowed Manchez, a rural community on the east side.

  The new boy looked back at me, and for a moment I froze. But his expression wasn’t critical and judgmental. In fact, a hint of smile appeared on his face. Must not have heard about me, I thought.

  I stole a glance at him from my seat. His hair was longer than most boys, but not long enough to be a total outcast. A basic t-shirt and jeans made up his wardrobe, nothing flashy or trendy at all. And although his smile was brief, it was genuine. He’s kinda cute.

  “Check out the delinquent from Manchez,” the girl behind me whispered to her friends. A few hushed giggles followed. “He stole something, didn’t he?”

  “No, he burned down a building,” another girl said.

  “I can hear you.”

  I assumed it was the new boy, though he sat two seats back and two rows over.

  The chatter ceased. I thought they were done until the girl behind me whispered even more quietly, “Wasn’t he in juvie?”

  “Yeah, and you’re about to find out why,” the new boy threatened. “Go ahead. Keep talking.”

  There was no way he heard that. I barely caught it myself.

  I was about to glance back again when the teacher cleared his throat. I took out my notebook and nearly dropped it on the floor, my hands were so slick from sweat. They felt unusually hot, too, and the perspiration was so bad it was practically dripping off. I frantically wiped my hands on my jeans.

  “My name is Mr. Dominic,” he began. “This class will probably be your most difficult one…”

  Something about Shakespeare, sonnets, and writing, but it was hard to focus. My hands would not stop sweating; the heat radiating from them pulsated with every beat of my heart. I took a couple of deep breaths and listened, hoping the distraction would help.

  “...Romeo and Juliet. Oh, and your first homework assignment is due tomorrow.” A unanimous groan filled the room while he distributed the handout.

  The papers shuffled back towards me in slow motion—it was almost like watching an accident in progress. I wiped my hands on my jeans once more, but the moment they left the absorbent denim, they were wet again. Why won’t it stop?

  I got the handouts, took one out, and passed the rest back. Then I noticed my hand was black, smeared with ink from the freshly printed pages. Great.

  “Yuck, these are all wet.”

  I winced at the sound, its whine more familiar to me now that she wasn’t whispering. Like an idiot, I turned around.

  Behind me sat Angelica Lillian, my biggest fan. She preferred to be called Angel, which was funny because I suspected she was secretly a demon.

  “Ew, Sweaty Emmy. God, you’re gross,” she exclaimed, in her irritating high-pitched voice.

  And there it was: The Look, in all its horrible glory. Pure disgust. I covered my face with my hands, before I remembered the ink on them. The room broke out into laughter, the perfect soundtrack to the whole gruesome event. I quickly thought of an exit strategy as I wiped my face with my shirtsleeves.

  “Could I go to the bathroom, please?” I asked Mr. Dominic, avoiding his eyes.

  “Use the restrooms between classes,” he said.

  Clearly he couldn’t see the small pool of water on my desk, or maybe he didn’t care. I slumped down in my chair, feeling smaller than an insect while the teacher presented useless trivia about Shakespeare in a futile attempt to engage interest.

  The bell finally rang. I gathered my things and kept my eyes on the floor, hoping I could leave unnoticed.

  “Are you okay?” A girl’s voice spoke.

  I wondered if someone saw my hands and actually cared enough to ask. But then I realized the question was directed at Zoe, the girl who sat in front of me.

  “My dog died yesterday. He was fourteen years old,” Zoe said before she broke out in tears.

  Zoe’s friend hugged her. “I’m so sorry.”

  I squeezed past them, my hands hotter than ever.

  * * * *

  The rest of my morning wasn’t much better than English class, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was exhausted. That familiar smell of the cafeteria assaulted me when I entered—a mixture of bitter marinara, mystery meat, and industrial cleaner. I rushed through the line, which was easy to do since most of the food looked pretty gross. Sandwiches seemed like a safe bet, so I grabbed one of those. Then I plopped down next to Roz at our table.

  “That bad?” she said. I must have looked pretty horrible to be spared the sarcastic tone and suck-it-up look. She actually seemed concerned.

  “You said I would be fine.”

  “What happened?” Her tone turned defensive. In the history of our friendship, she’d been more than a little vocal to my tormentors, like Angel. Her social status afforded her that privilege, and I was grateful for it.

  “My stupid hands again. Why did summer have to end?” I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite. The flavors of mediocre lunchmeat and cheap cheese on stale bread blended together. I washed it down with a sip of milk.

  “Was it awful?” Roz asked, rubbing my back.

  I relayed the whole bizarre incident to her.

  She hugged me. “Try to relax, Em. It’s going to be all right.”

  I managed to smile half-heartedly for her. Then I noticed the new boy from English class enter the lunchroom. He kept his head down while he walked, allowing me the opportunity to properly check him out. His chestnut brown hair was made of long layers, extending down an inch or two above his shoulders. His body was lean and muscular—not bodybuilder strong, but defined in all the right places. I held my breath as he approached our table. To my utter horror, he dropped one of his books, and it fell right by my foot. Before I could stop myself, I picked it up.

  “Oh, you…uh…” I stammered out.

  He smiled at me and I saw his eyes up close. The color reminded me of that powerful green you see in the leaves after the first rain in a drought, as if the trees themselves were letting out a collective sigh of relief. I shifted my focus down and noticed his hands when he took the book from me. I almost did a double take—his calloused fingers had visible dirt underneath the nails. While they were undoubtedly strong hands, I had to wonder what he did in hi
s spare time that made them look so worn.

  “Thanks,” he said and made his way to a table in the far corner of the room.

  The whole book transfer took less than a second but felt like an eternity. Roz didn’t even notice and just started back up like nothing happened.

  “So do you have any idea who hit you last night? Maybe remember something new?”

  “No, I told you I didn’t see anything,” I said.

  “But you said it was a red sports car, right?” Roz stowed away the remnants of her sandwich. “We should check out the parking lot sometime, try to find it.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I replied, a little distracted with the new boy’s table. An older boy had sat down across from him and had struck up a conversation. My heart raced when the new boy glanced in my direction. Even from across the room his eyes were unmistakably brilliant. Though I couldn’t be sure he saw me, I looked away just in case.

  “Did you go to the nurse yet?” Roz asked.

  “What?” The question caught me off guard, until I remembered the direct order I was given. “Oh, no. I forgot.”

  “You better go. You heard what Dad said.”

  “Fine, I’m going.” I gathered my stuff with a pseudo-dramatic sigh. “I am so going to the park after school…”

  She flashed me a knowing grin. “Need some duck therapy, huh?”

  Roz was the only person who knew I talked to ducks on a regular basis, though she rarely accompanied me to the park. She never got into the whole duck feeding thing.

  “Catch you later,” I said. “Oh, and I’ll text you if the nurse tells me I’m dead.”

  * * * *

  I approached the nurse’s office but hadn’t entered when I heard, “Emily, is that you?”

  The new nurse had given a presentation in gym class earlier, but I sat too far away in the bleachers to really see her. Viewing her up-close shocked me. All of the prior nurses I’d ever known were decrepit hags. And they were all so angry, as if your very existence pissed them off. She was the opposite—relatively young, attractive, and she actually appeared to be happy. Her long black hair was tied back, and from her warm complexion and slight accent, I guessed she was Hispanic.

  She walked out from behind her desk to greet me. It was clear from the lines on her face she smiled and laughed often. But there was another layer to her warmth not so identifiable, more of a feeling than anything physical.

  “My name is Judy,” she said. “You’re here for an examination, right? You had an accident?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, confused.

  “Don’t act surprised. There are a limited number of reasons students come here.” She smiled. “Oh, and I did get a call from Allen…I mean, uh, Mr. James.”

  Dad called. I should’ve known. “Do you know him?”

  “We went to school together. It was great catching up.” Her smile became warmer somehow. “So what happened?”

  I wasn’t about to tell her I got hit by a car, thought I was dying, and then got up and walked away. I didn’t need someone in her position thinking I was crazy. “I was…sort of injured yesterday.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Injured? Could you be more specific?”

  What do I say? I can’t possibly tell her…

  “I’ll do a basic examination, to see if you have any possible internal injuries.” She grabbed a clipboard from her desk and wrote some notes.

  Phew, thank God she didn’t ask me to explain.

  She had me raise my arms, touch my toes, and bend my knees. She asked me if anything hurt, and I told her it didn’t. Then she did the strangest thing… Starting at my head, she held her hands about two inches from my body and moved them downwards. It was almost as if she were feeling some kind of invisible force field around my body. She never touched me, but it was weird just the same.

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued on, doubling back upwards and finishing by my head. Her lips parted to let out a soft gasp. She coughed afterwards to try to cover it up, but she still seemed rattled. “You’re fine, no injuries.”

  I was about to ask how she arrived at that conclusion, but then I stopped. Why should I argue? It was the truth, no matter what unusual methodology she used to determine it.

  I wasn’t sure what to say next, so I mumbled, “Uh, thanks.”

  “No problem. You’re always welcome here, Emily. Come back soon.”

  I felt this strange sense of familiarity with her, as if we were already old friends. But then it was more, like an inner peace―my whole body felt perfectly calm.

  I left her office bewildered, turning over what happened. What was she doing with her hands?

  * * * *

  I couldn’t get into my locker at the end of the day—the stupid thing refused to open. It took three attempts before it let me in.

  I grabbed my stuff and was about to close the door when I noticed the new boy at his locker down the hall. So distracted with him, I didn’t notice Angel close her locker. Yep, the one right next to mine.

  “Freak,” she said and then sauntered off, followed by a small herd of giggling girls.

  Seriously? Her locker next to mine? God had to be laughing at me. I slammed my locker shut before hurrying off to catch the bus.

  I collapsed next to Roz on the aging bench seat. “School sucks.” I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

  Through the gaps between my fingers, I noticed my schedule sticking out from my backpack, taunting me. I yanked it out. “And why do we not have a single class together? Am I being punished or something?”

  “I know, right?” Roz said. She pulled a knee into her chest and adjusted her other leg underneath in a configuration that looked wildly uncomfortable, but was her preferred sitting style. “Last year it was like all of our classes were the same.”

  “Show me your schedule. There’s got to be something I can switch.” She fished it out from her bag, nearly dropping it when the bus hit a pothole. “Study hall, then we’ll have gym together,” I noted.

  “Cool.” Her smile faded when she got a good look at me. I wondered if my outward appearance could possibly be worse than what I felt inside. “Did something else happen?”

  “Guess who has a locker right next to me?”

  “Not…” she began.

  “Yeah. The demon.” It was our code name for Angel, so we could talk about her openly without one of her little spies reporting. Her clique grew stronger every year, and I couldn’t be sure her followers weren’t listening in.

  “That does suck,” Roz agreed. “Still, everything happens for a reason.”

  “What?”

  Roz folded her arms against her chest. “Well, maybe you’ll actually put her in her place this year.”

  Me confronting Angel? I couldn’t even imagine it. “Yeah, like that’ll happen.”

  “You never know. You could even be dating before me.”

  I snickered. Her sixteenth birthday fast approached, the age at which Dad reluctantly agreed she could date. “What do you have left, a week?”

  She glanced to the side, calculating the days. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “And how many boys are lined up?”

  “Very funny, Em,” she said, though I noticed she kept her eyes on me, as if she were afraid that looking around at the busload of drooling boys surrounding us would only drive home my point.

  I wasn’t afraid to look. One black haired boy who appeared Italian gazed wistfully at Roz and then looked away, his hands balling into fists. In my mind I could see this poor tortured soul breaking out in a soliloquy, trying to determine whether a date with Roz was worth risking his fragile pride. “I wonder if they held some kind of a tournament, to see who gets to date you first.”

  She laughed. “Don’t I have a say?”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. The tournament was to see who would get rejected first. Officially, of course. All the offers before don’t count.”

  The bus pulled up
to our stop. The Italian boy looked determined yet torn, his hands still in tight fists. I could tell he wasn’t really up for it.

  “Bye, Roz,” he called out as we left.

  She smiled at him and waved.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m accompanying royalty. You only need to work on your wave.” I did my best impression of a Queen Elizabeth II wave.

  She laughed. “Now you’re being silly.”

  “Catch you later, Roz.”

  She responded with a half-way decent royal wave.

  I smiled. “That’s it.”

  My smile faded when I turned to my house. I moved at a snail’s pace up the porch stairs, dreading the casual conversation awaiting me inside. My day was horrible enough without having to discuss it.

  The earth tones of the décor inside appeared even more drab than usual. My house wasn’t exactly what you would call homey. Everything that could possibly personalize it was locked away in albums and closets. All that remained were strategic accents, carefully placed and color coordinated.

  My mother was working on a Sudoku puzzle, lounging on the love seat. I wasn’t surprised to see her home so early, considering the time she put in last night. “How was your first day?”

  I didn’t say a word. I dropped my stuff on the floor and collapsed face-first onto the adjacent couch. My body spilled half off the cushions, but I didn’t care.

  “It’ll get better,” she said.

  “Seems to be the popular consensus,” I mumbled into the couch. Eventually, I sat up, rubbed my face, and glanced over at my mother. I could usually gauge her day by the length of her hair. It was short today, which meant she had a good day. Her dark brown hair was naturally wavy, and if the waves were still there at the end of the day, the length was shorter. If, however, her hair came down past her shoulders, it meant she nearly strangled someone. She had a lot of off-days at her job.

  “Oh, you’ll be fine.” Did she roll her eyes?

  I was about to head out for the park when Lauren joined us from the kitchen, an energy drink in her hand.

  Not fast enough, I thought.

  “You look like crap,” Lauren greeted me. “First day was that good, huh?”