doesn’t cooperate. It starts off ordinarily enough: in Trig I watch Mimi Wilder pop her zits between problems. In English, I’m forced to listen to a debate between Ashley Green and Kayla Conroy on real nails versus nail tips. By the look on Mrs. Huggan’s face when they start talking, I’m sure they didn’t get the subject approved by her ahead of time. But it’s lunch that makes the day unbearable. Enter Tori Thompson and life will always go downhill.
I’m swirling orange strings of spaghetti around on my plate, wondering how the school could even manage to ruin pasta, when it happens. Dwayne Fischer, linebacker on the football team, stops in front of our table. Michelle makes a little squeak (she does that near anyone with a Y chromosome), but Dwayne stands right in front of me blinking his blue eyes and running sausage fingers over his shaved head. I have time to exchange a quick, questioning glance with Cass when all of a sudden, Dwayne gets down on one knee. He grabs my right hand, making my fork skid across the table and onto the floor. My heart starts slamming around and for a split second I can’t believe someone like Dwayne is actually holding my hand. But when he looks back over his shoulder to his lunch table full of guys the size of water buffalo, fear burns through my insides: something bad is going to happen.
“Sylvie,” he says loudly. He looks down to his free hand, where he’s written something in pen on his palm. His voice is the monotone of someone who’s a bad reader. “I know it seems unbelievable, but I have a thing for you. Will you hook up with me?”
I stare down in confusion at his hand holding mine and can barely breathe. “Uh ...”
“Just kidding. ‘Cuz with the way you pass out all the time, you’ve got to be so dead in bed. And I’m not into” —here he squints at his palm— “necro ... necrophilia,” he says and drops my hand. Laughter erupts behind him at the water buffalo table. I can hear them hooting. Everyone at my table is dumbstruck. Then snap, crackle ... I pop out of my body. I hover over Dwayne’s left shoulder. I can see the wax in his ear.
Tori Thompson comes from behind Dwayne, holding her phone up, taking a video. “What an actor! Looks like we know who to cast in the lead of this year’s A Christmas Carol .” She pulls five dollars out of her pocket and gives it to Dwayne. Then she looks at me. “What? You didn’t really think he was serious, Psycho? Did you?”
But, of course, my limbs have loosened without me in them. My body slides down my chair, my head hanging.
Tori points to me, her eyes glittering, a hyper laugh bubbling up. “Whoa! Psycho’s at it again!”
There’s a moment of silence when everyone near us seems to hold their breath. Then there’s some giggling and some gasping. I see Mimi Wilder run toward the cafeteria doors where Mr. Paige is engrossed on his iPhone. Cassie swears at Tori, who’s still laughing, and Sam gets to work at shaking me. Hard.
Sam holds me up for a second until I’m back inside myself. My limbs tingle. Nausea rolls over me. My body jerks back to attention .
Cassie lets out a long breath and turns to me. “Welcome back.”
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be me.
Holding back tears, I say to Tori, “I’ll get you when you least expect it. I will.”
“Yeah. Keep dreaming, Psycho.” She spots Mr. Paige with Mimi and scurries back to her table of the week.
No one at my table says a word. They’re too shocked. They all pat my shoulder or reach for me, but I shake them off so I don’t start blubbering. I swallow back a raw feeling in my throat and stare at the cold pasta on my plate until the urge to cry passes.
Mr. Paige comes up with Mimi, looking annoyed. “Sylvie? Are you okay? Mimi told me you fainted.” Mr. Paige is anti-social and doesn’t like ‘teen energy’. He avoids unnecessary interaction with students at all costs. He’s the chemistry teacher but he’d much
I’m swirling orange strings of spaghetti around on my plate, wondering how the school could even manage to ruin pasta, when it happens. Dwayne Fischer, linebacker on the football team, stops in front of our table. Michelle makes a little squeak (she does that near anyone with a Y chromosome), but Dwayne stands right in front of me blinking his blue eyes and running sausage fingers over his shaved head. I have time to exchange a quick, questioning glance with Cass when all of a sudden, Dwayne gets down on one knee. He grabs my right hand, making my fork skid across the table and onto the floor. My heart starts slamming around and for a split second I can’t believe someone like Dwayne is actually holding my hand. But when he looks back over his shoulder to his lunch table full of guys the size of water buffalo, fear burns through my insides: something bad is going to happen.
“Sylvie,” he says loudly. He looks down to his free hand, where he’s written something in pen on his palm. His voice is the monotone of someone who’s a bad reader. “I know it seems unbelievable, but I have a thing for you. Will you hook up with me?”
I stare down in confusion at his hand holding mine and can barely breathe. “Uh ...”
“Just kidding. ‘Cuz with the way you pass out all the time, you’ve got to be so dead in bed. And I’m not into” —here he squints at his palm— “necro ... necrophilia,” he says and drops my hand. Laughter erupts behind him at the water buffalo table. I can hear them hooting. Everyone at my table is dumbstruck. Then snap, crackle ... I pop out of my body. I hover over Dwayne’s left shoulder. I can see the wax in his ear.
Tori Thompson comes from behind Dwayne, holding her phone up, taking a video. “What an actor! Looks like we know who to cast in the lead of this year’s A Christmas Carol .” She pulls five dollars out of her pocket and gives it to Dwayne. Then she looks at me. “What? You didn’t really think he was serious, Psycho? Did you?”
But, of course, my limbs have loosened without me in them. My body slides down my chair, my head hanging.
Tori points to me, her eyes glittering, a hyper laugh bubbling up. “Whoa! Psycho’s at it again!”
There’s a moment of silence when everyone near us seems to hold their breath. Then there’s some giggling and some gasping. I see Mimi Wilder run toward the cafeteria doors where Mr. Paige is engrossed on his iPhone. Cassie swears at Tori, who’s still laughing, and Sam gets to work at shaking me. Hard.
Sam holds me up for a second until I’m back inside myself. My limbs tingle. Nausea rolls over me. My body jerks back to attention .
Cassie lets out a long breath and turns to me. “Welcome back.”
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be me.
Holding back tears, I say to Tori, “I’ll get you when you least expect it. I will.”
“Yeah. Keep dreaming, Psycho.” She spots Mr. Paige with Mimi and scurries back to her table of the week.
No one at my table says a word. They’re too shocked. They all pat my shoulder or reach for me, but I shake them off so I don’t start blubbering. I swallow back a raw feeling in my throat and stare at the cold pasta on my plate until the urge to cry passes.
Mr. Paige comes up with Mimi, looking annoyed. “Sylvie? Are you okay? Mimi told me you fainted.” Mr. Paige is anti-social and doesn’t like ‘teen energy’. He avoids unnecessary interaction with students at all costs. He’s the chemistry teacher but he’d much
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