radioactive.
Thirteen
The empty, late-afternoon street seemed strangely hostile, as if it, too, were hiding secrets. I pounded along the pavement, my heart keeping time with my steps. I kept my eyes forward, scared that if I looked right or left, I’d see phantoms coming out of the doorways. I had to find Davis. There had to be some explanation. Unless I was crazy. Mad. Insane. Nuts. Bonkers. Out of my mind. Certifiable. I’d never realized how many words there were for crazy before.
My parents had said he was dead. And here was proof—concrete proof. Which would leave only one explanation. That I was crazy. Enough to imagine Davis in front of me—would that be a hallucination? Oh yes, Zoe, I believe that’s what it’s called. Hallooo-cination. Say it five times fast! I mentally flashed through the few genuinely crazy people I’d encountered in my life, their hair a mess, carrying odd collections of old bags and useless items. No. That wasn’t me. I was normal. A little shaken up, maybe, but normal enough to comb my hair. And I didn’t talk to myself. Unless Davis wasn’t real, in which case, who the hell had I been talking to? And kissing?
Our apartment building loomed in front of me. Odd, I didn’t remember making the turn to get there. A little fold in time. A little blip. It meant nothing. I ran up the inner stairs, for once not caring who saw me. My breathing was ragged in my throat. I pushed open the penthouse door. My eyes flew to our corner.
Everything was gone.
No gray blanket. No backpack. No Davis.
My heart stopped.
It was true.
Then suddenly, from behind me, I heard the door open. Footsteps. I swung around. Davis stood there, smiling at me.
“Hey.” He dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud. “I didn’t know you were coming up. Sorry, I went out for a sandwich. Starving.” He pulled a sub from his bag and unwrapped it. The paper crinkled loudly in the silence. He took a big bite and chewed noisily, sliding his back down against the wall at the same time.
I stood frozen, staring at him.
He patted the floor, smiling up at me. “Sit down—wait, what’s wrong?”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whispered.
Davis stopped chewing. Then I saw him swallow with effort. “Why do you say that?” Studiedly casual.
Anger flooded me suddenly. I pulled the obituary from my bag and threw it at him. The paper fluttered to the floor a few feet away.
“What the hell is this?” I hissed. I had to know. I felt as if I were spinning in circles, looking aimlessly for something that only I thought existed.
Davis picked up the obituary. I watched him read it. Surreal, I thought, watching someone read the news of his own death. It was like the Twilight Zone , except I was living it.
“Well?” I asked as he finished and looked up. I knew my voice was harsh, but I didn’t care. “Are you dead or not? Do you know how fucked-with my mind feels right now?”
Davis laid the paper aside with exquisite care. “Zo, I’m not dead.” He spoke as if I were a live grenade. “I’m right here.”
“Then what is that, Davis? What the hell is that?” My voice was rising into a windy shriek.
“I can explain this.” He wrapped up the sandwich. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, but I can see now that I do.” He reached up for my hand. “Sit down. Please.”
Slowly, grudgingly, I sank down onto my knees.
Davis held both my hands tightly in his. “I didn’t want to ever have this conversation. I thought it was a miracle when you lost some of your memory after the crash. That way I could have—I don’t know—spared you.”
I stared at Davis, my mouth slightly open. I was paralyzed, waiting.
“Listen, just please don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?”
I nodded.
His eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and with his hand gently caressing mine, Davis began. “I’m in some serious shit, Zo. After all that grade stuff went down last spring, I got a call from a guy down in
Thirteen
The empty, late-afternoon street seemed strangely hostile, as if it, too, were hiding secrets. I pounded along the pavement, my heart keeping time with my steps. I kept my eyes forward, scared that if I looked right or left, I’d see phantoms coming out of the doorways. I had to find Davis. There had to be some explanation. Unless I was crazy. Mad. Insane. Nuts. Bonkers. Out of my mind. Certifiable. I’d never realized how many words there were for crazy before.
My parents had said he was dead. And here was proof—concrete proof. Which would leave only one explanation. That I was crazy. Enough to imagine Davis in front of me—would that be a hallucination? Oh yes, Zoe, I believe that’s what it’s called. Hallooo-cination. Say it five times fast! I mentally flashed through the few genuinely crazy people I’d encountered in my life, their hair a mess, carrying odd collections of old bags and useless items. No. That wasn’t me. I was normal. A little shaken up, maybe, but normal enough to comb my hair. And I didn’t talk to myself. Unless Davis wasn’t real, in which case, who the hell had I been talking to? And kissing?
Our apartment building loomed in front of me. Odd, I didn’t remember making the turn to get there. A little fold in time. A little blip. It meant nothing. I ran up the inner stairs, for once not caring who saw me. My breathing was ragged in my throat. I pushed open the penthouse door. My eyes flew to our corner.
Everything was gone.
No gray blanket. No backpack. No Davis.
My heart stopped.
It was true.
Then suddenly, from behind me, I heard the door open. Footsteps. I swung around. Davis stood there, smiling at me.
“Hey.” He dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud. “I didn’t know you were coming up. Sorry, I went out for a sandwich. Starving.” He pulled a sub from his bag and unwrapped it. The paper crinkled loudly in the silence. He took a big bite and chewed noisily, sliding his back down against the wall at the same time.
I stood frozen, staring at him.
He patted the floor, smiling up at me. “Sit down—wait, what’s wrong?”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whispered.
Davis stopped chewing. Then I saw him swallow with effort. “Why do you say that?” Studiedly casual.
Anger flooded me suddenly. I pulled the obituary from my bag and threw it at him. The paper fluttered to the floor a few feet away.
“What the hell is this?” I hissed. I had to know. I felt as if I were spinning in circles, looking aimlessly for something that only I thought existed.
Davis picked up the obituary. I watched him read it. Surreal, I thought, watching someone read the news of his own death. It was like the Twilight Zone , except I was living it.
“Well?” I asked as he finished and looked up. I knew my voice was harsh, but I didn’t care. “Are you dead or not? Do you know how fucked-with my mind feels right now?”
Davis laid the paper aside with exquisite care. “Zo, I’m not dead.” He spoke as if I were a live grenade. “I’m right here.”
“Then what is that, Davis? What the hell is that?” My voice was rising into a windy shriek.
“I can explain this.” He wrapped up the sandwich. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, but I can see now that I do.” He reached up for my hand. “Sit down. Please.”
Slowly, grudgingly, I sank down onto my knees.
Davis held both my hands tightly in his. “I didn’t want to ever have this conversation. I thought it was a miracle when you lost some of your memory after the crash. That way I could have—I don’t know—spared you.”
I stared at Davis, my mouth slightly open. I was paralyzed, waiting.
“Listen, just please don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?”
I nodded.
His eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and with his hand gently caressing mine, Davis began. “I’m in some serious shit, Zo. After all that grade stuff went down last spring, I got a call from a guy down in
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