If Janeʼs assistance was unexpected, then Jamesʼ was downright startling. It was generally his goal to speak as infrequently as possible, and he never did so voluntarily.
“Fine,” Ashley spat at me in a quite literal fashion. I had to wipe the moisture from my face.
“You and your little freak friends get your way this time, but I swear that I will pay you back, Harper Donovan. And that moment when I do? Youʼre gonna wish I had just broken your ugly face.”
It wasnʼt intentional, but it turned out that yawning was a fairly appropriate and awesome response.
As was typical with local weather patterns, an hour later the temperature was racing past 40 degrees, turning the ice incrusted streets into tiny rivers and the picturesque snow covered landscape into a muddy mess. Once Ms. Ryder finally showed up and downed two large cups of coffee we were on our way back home.
I got a second wind as we trudged along the Interstate and had a very long and animated discussion with Jane about our favorite singers. It was nice to find someone else who knew more about Damien Rice and Regina Spektor than the Lady Gaga. I practically came unglued when she showed me where Ryan Adams had scribbled “To Pottsie - Try the tacos, Love Ryan” on a napkin after she met him at a Mexican restaurant in Atlanta.
Talley offered to give me a ride home once we finally found ourselves back at school. The sun shining through the windows had created a greenhouse effect in her car. The gentle warmth, coupled with the hum of tires on pavement, acted as a lullaby. I was more asleep than awake when Talley cut off the engine in front of my house.
“Iʼm sorry I got upset with you this morning,” she said. “I just want to help. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“Of course.” I could tell Talley anything. Just not this. I couldnʼt tell her about the homeless man and what he was going to do to me. I couldnʼt tell her about how I had panicked and almost let it happen. I couldnʼt tell her how afraid and humiliated I was. And I certainly couldnʼt tell her about Alex.
Talley leaned across the gear shift to give me a hug. I leaned in and rested my head on her shoulder, embracing the security and comfort she offered.
There were tears in Talleyʼs eyes when she finally let go. “Are you sure youʼre alright?” I shook my head, unable to speak. I should have asked her if she wanted to come in. I really needed to thank her for giving me a ride, but I felt an ocean of tears threatening to spill over.
I went directly to my bed, crawling in without bothering to take off my soiled clothes. No matter how furiously I fought against it, the tears came with an accompaniment of sobs that shook my entire body.
It took longer to fall asleep than I would have imagined, but eventually exhaustion took over. I expected to dream of violent encounters in snow filled woods and four-legged beasts stalking their prey. Instead, I dreamt of a boy with grey eyes and dimples.
Chapter 8
Iʼm not really much of a dreamer. Most nights when I go to sleep thatʼs all I do, sleep. My brain doesnʼt turn into some big, bizarre movie theater the moment my eyes close. If I do dream, I rarely remember details.
This dream was different. I remembered everything. I remembered how the air smelled of honeysuckle and dirt. I remembered the green of new leaves, the yellow of a hundred daffodils, and the murky brown-blue color of the lake. I remembered the feel of the breeze tickling my neck. I remembered the way he looked as he leaned against the gnarled trunk of an old oak tree, arms and ankles crossed, head cocked so that his bangs hung down over his right eye.
The lake was less than fifty feet wide here, so I was certain Alex was watching me from the opposite shore. I raised my hand in an awkward wave.
“Hi,” I said, feeling like a complete dork.
Alex looked over his shoulder as though he was expecting there to be someone standing behind him. When he realized he was alone, he looked back at me, startled. I saw his mouth move, but was unable to hear anything he said.
“I canʼt hear you,” I called back.
Again, I saw his mouth move, but heard nothing.
“Alex!” I yelled as loudly as I could manage.
He was shaking his head as he continued trying to talk to me. I could tell he was yelling, but all I could hear was the splash of the water on the shore and the tree branches as they rubbed against one another.
I donʼt know how long we stood there, struggling to be heard by the other, but my throat was growing sore, which bothered me. I had figured out that I was in a dream already, so wasnʼt I supposed to be impervious to pain?
Eventually, Alex had enough and tried another approach. I watched as he tore off his shoes, socks, and shirt. His hands hesitated at the waist band of his jeans. I was ashamed to realize I felt disappointment when he decided to leave them on.
The world had been very peaceful until the moment Alex put his foot in the water. In the blink of an eye, the sky turned black and the wind grew violent, tangling itself in my hair and thrashing my body with my clothes. The lake churned and swelled, pulling Alex under.
My scream was lost in the thunder.
I was about to do something really stupid, like jump in after him, when his head popped up out of the water. As a wolf, he was able to swim against the current, back to shore.
The storm continued to rage on around me. Debris flew in the air as a nearby tree came crashing to the ground. Something jabbed me in the back, just above my right hip. The pain was so sharp I let out a yelp.
My eyes flew open. It was dark, and it took me a few calming breaths to realize the figure standing by my bed wasnʼt Alex.
“That is one nasty bruise,” my brother said, flipping on the lamp by my bed. A soft, white light burned into my retinas. “Did you and Talley get into it over who was going to get to marry Billy Lomac again?”
In first grade Billy Lomac was the epitome of cool. He wore his hair in spikes and always shared the candy bar his mom tucked into his lunch box with whomever was his girlfriend that week. The only fight Talley and I ever had occurred when he dumped me for her.
By the ninth grade, he was the schoolʼs most notorious pothead and roughly resembled Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Iʼm pretty sure the only way I would fight Talley over Billy Lomac was if she tried to date him.
“I told her, he was mine first,” I said, pulling my shirt down so the bruise was covered. I vaguely remembered feeling a rock embed itself into my hip when I was thrown to the ground.
“No, really. How did you manage to come back from some boring play looking like one of those refugee people from the news?”