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book, Carrie, and goes on chronologically to this short story collection, Nightmares and
Dreamscapes, which was published in 1993. Stephen King wrote a lot of books after
that, but they aren t here. They are probably at our house in Charleston. I thumb through
them all, flipping through the pages, looking for my dad s writing in the margins; little
notes about things, signs that he existed. Sometimes just seeing a page earmarked makes
my stomach hitch up. Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and
becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn t magically go away, even when you stop
officially mourning. I do not want that hole to get any bigger. I do not want to lose
anyone else.
I thumb through the books pretty quickly and find nothing. I slide the paperback into its
place. There are other books here and I should go through them too, but I can t be late
for school. I pull out an H.P. Lovecraft collection of short stories. On the cover is this
monster hiding in the far back of this horrifying cavern that looks straight from hell. The
cavern is beneath a tombstone.
Creepy, I mutter.
I find a couple phrases in the margin. The first one is: Leave Risk Sixty.
The second is longer: A Baa Ebbed Fly Tight Vigor Trolls. Total gibberish. I tuck the
book under my arm and bring it downstairs with me and say to the room, Great.
Thanks, Dad.
Downstairs, Betty s left a note on the fridge:
Early shift. Take your pain medicine. Do not sell it at school. JUST KIDDING! Sort
of.
I drop my spoon on the floor. Crud.
It clanks. I pick it up and stand, woozy. I have to steady myself by placing a hand on the
fridge. I throw the spoon into the sink. Metal hits metal. All my organs seem to shudder
inside me. I am instantly cold as I peek out the window. There s nothing out there, just
shadows. I try to uncurl my fear and pour some Cocoa Puffs. The crunch of chocolate
balls is strangely tasteless in my mouth. I check to make sure my ankle bracelet is still
safely fastened. It is.
There is nothing to worry about, I announce.
The refrigerator hums in happy oblivion. That s the only answer I get.
Pixie Tip
Pixie eyes turn up a tiny bit at the ends.
Nick has driven me to school for the last week, which is nice because it means we get to
spend more time together and I get to make sure that he has not been murdered by any
evil pixie kings. Truth is, though, neither of us are all that good in the morning and we
both kind of spend the whole car ride grunting and stretching and yawning.
He parks his MINI and grabs my bags for me. Sometimes having a slightly sprained
wrist is good. It s healing well, though. The splint is off and it s just wrapped now.
Do you have to take all your books home every single night? He asks, hauling my new
book bag over his shoulder since the last one died a fiery death.
Yep. I smile at him.
He leans over so he can whisper in my ear. You are lucky you re so cute, baby.
I wave to Paul and Callie, who are going out and are both in our art class. They have
matching Mohawks died green, which is really sweet in a retro way. Jill and Stephanie
are holding hands and looking very much like morning people. They are so in love.
Lovebirds are all around us, basically, but none of them have to worry about their other
half being murdered by pixies because of who they are& .or aren t.
I walk closer to Nick, put my good arm around his waist. We reach the glass doors at the
front of the high school. He opens it for me. Suddenly there is heater-warmed air and
lots of noise. He keeps holding the door so that Paul and Callie and Jill and Stephanie
can get through too.
We are so late, Jill says. She gives me a thumbs-up. Love your jeans. Nice.
Thanks, I say as I see Issie zipping up the ramp to the second floor toward Devyn. Her
gauzy blouse sways with the movement.
Issie! Devyn! I yell.
Devyn turns around and waves, smiling. He s wheelchair free just the metal braces that
connect to his forearms! Cassidy s standing next to him.
Nick s hand death-locks around my forearm. He doesn t have his wheelchair! Zara, he
doesn t have his wheelchair at all!
He lets go of me and vaults over the railing of the ramp. Nick s arms wrap around Devyn
and he swings him around in a big circle with the force of his hug. People scatter out of
the way. One of Devyn s braces falls off his arm and hits the ramp. Issie leaps over it as
she runs up. She lunges right into the group hug. She s screaming, she s so happy.
We knew this was coming, but to see it& to actually see him without his chair? The
feeling is heart-stopping good. I pick up the brace as I trot up the ramp.
No wonder you didn t want a ride today, Issie s saying. She keeps patting him on the
back. No wonder! Did you drive yourself?
Nope. Cassidy drove me.
Right! Cassidy interrupts, fiddling with her sparkly pink barrette.
She she drove you? Issie sputters.
Yeah, Is. I wanted to surprise you all. Devyn smiles at me. What do you think,
Zare?
Handing him his brace I say, I think this is one of the most beautiful things I ve ever
seen in my entire life.
And it is.
Now I can finally start doing the things I want to do, Devyn says.
That stops me. Like what?
Devyn just smiles. Cassidy clears her throat and gives him her own little hug. I am so
psyched for you, Dev.
Issie s backed up against the wall. Her hand is on her throat. She looks away.
Thanks, Devyn says.
They pull apart and Cassidy starts scratching at the back of her neck. I knew this would
happen.
The way she says it stops me short. It s almost eerie, but she whirls off before I can say
anything.
We are all late, she says over her shoulder, still scratching. Congratulations, Devyn!
Let me know if you need a ride home.
We all head toward our first period. For a tiny bit Nick doesn t talk about protecting and
pixies and pain. For a tiny bit his shoulders relax and he smiles, and it is that very
moment that I realize how hard all of this is for him.
Tears spring to my eyes and I m not sure why. I think it s just that I don t want Devyn to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
