The Dream Where the Losers Go by Beth Goobie Page B

couldn’t see well enough to find a wall. Sobbing, she sank to the floor and began to crawl, looking for a tunnel mouth that would take her out of this place, any way that would take her out of herself.

C HAPTER E IGHT
    A T BREAKFAST , Viv sat with Skey and Ann. Immediately, Terry’s eyes zeroed in on them, but there was no need to worry. Viv had been through more institutions than Skey had heard of. She wasn’t about to advertise her gold mine. Her chitchat was all blah blah and directed mostly at Ann, but the message was clear. Skey had been accepted. Obedience was making her popular in all sorts of places. Making sure that she nodded at all the expected points in the conversation, Skey ate her usual half piece of toast, counting calories with every chew, and drank some orange juice.
    “Gotta go,” she said, standing.
    “Have a nice day,” said Viv.
    Pulling on her knapsack, Skey followed Terry down the stairs to the lockup’s side door. Eyes narrowed, she watched Terry’s hand go into her pocket and come out with the key.
    “So, what’s the color of the day?” asked Terry.
    As the key slid into the lock and turned, Skey glanced at her own wrist. It had darkened to a purple-blue. “Grape,” she said.
    The door opened onto the smell of sky and wind, therumble of staff cars entering the parking lot. It had begun to snow, tiny specks of white blowing by.
    “Grape as in Kool Aid?” asked Terry.
    “Grape as in gook,” said Skey, stepping out. “See ya.”
    “Have a nice day.” As Terry started to close the door, Skey took a few steps forward, then paused. Clichés were not part of Terry’s usual lingo.
    “Wait,” Skey called, turning back. “My tickets!”
    The door opened and Terry stuck out her head. “Do you use these?” she demanded, her eyebrows raised.
    Skey smiled angelically. “Please don’t make me walk,” she said.
    Terry handed her the tickets.
    “I’m getting good at begging,” said Skey.
    “Comes in useful,” said Terry.
    A S J IGGER DROVE into the student parking lot, Lick walked by, his head bent into the wind. Every bit of his exposed skin was as red as usual, this time from cold instead of heat. Leaning against Jigger, Skey watched Lick draw abreast her window and smiled to herself. That boy, Elwin Serkowski, had a lot of inner heat.
    At that moment Lick glanced up, caught her glance and stopped. Under the weight of Jigger’s arm, Skey watched him shuffle about in one spot, then lift his head and start trotting after the car. Instant panic gulped her. What the hell did Lick think he was doing? As Jigger turned into a parking spot, Lick came to a halt beside the driver’s door and knocked lightly on the window. Skey ducked slightly.
    “ Who is that?” Shutting off the ignition, Jigger stared through his window. “Looks like someone grabbed his neck and had a turkey pull.”
    Pasting on a polite smile, Lick continued to take up space in Jigger’s window.
    “It’s...um, Elwin,” Skey said and swallowed hard.
    “Elwin,” Jigger singsonged softly, still staring at Lick. Without warning he erupted, shoving open his door, grabbing Lick’s jacket and slamming him against the car. Then he leaned into Lick, glaring into his face.
    “Jesus, Jig,” said Skey. Tentatively she slid to the driver’s door and peered out.
    “Shut up,” said Jigger, without looking at her.
    Lick blinked rapidly, trying to hold Jigger’s gaze. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m not worth the effort.”
    “Huh?” Jigger demanded. “
    I’m part of the lowest order of beings,” said Lick. “Speck of dirt.”
    “Tell me about it,” snapped Jigger. He jerked the speck of dirt, side to side.
    “I mean, if evolution worked on me for another millennium,” said Lick, “I wouldn’t get close to your body type. It’s not like I’m running a challenge to the hierarchy of the species here.”
    Jigger’s mouth twitched. “So?” he said.
    “We’re working on a Shakespeare project,” said