Dream Where the Losers Go Page 2

  She crept forward, so alert her joints felt about to snap. Whoever the other one was, he seemed to be seated, nursing his foot and muttering to himself. It wasn’t an intelligent monologue, nothing like Hamlet—just a long string of swear words, slowly and meticulously phrased, as if pronouncing them with the utmost care was keeping everything in place, containing the hurt until it subsided. From the sound of his voice, he seemed to be fifteen or sixteen, around her own age. Quietly she stood, trying to silence her breathing as she listened to the boy feel his way through pain. After a while he stood and began to move forward, swearing every now and then, and she followed at a short distance, holding the small rock in her hand.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THERE WAS A KNOCK on her door. “Skey,” said a female voice. “It’s time to get up.”

  “Yeah yeah,” mumbled Skey. “

  C’mon,” said the voice. “It’s your first day back at school.”

  “Yeah yeah,” said Skey. “I heard you.”

  The rock lay in her hand, warm as flesh. Sitting up, Skey stared at it. All night she had followed the boy through the darkness of her dreams. This rock kept him close, she was certain of it. The night she had left the rock in her dresser drawer, she hadn’t heard him, but last night she had encountered him as soon as she entered the dark tunnel. It was this rock that connected them, it had to be.

  Should she take it to school with her or leave it here? What if staff sprang a room search on her while she was gone and went through her stuff? Would they take it? But if she took the rock to school with her, would she lose it? Finally, Skey decided to keep the rock in a front pocket of her jeans, checking first for holes. Then she positioned herself in front of her mirror and applied her makeup. Not the heavy metal, headbanger face most of the girls here wore—Skey sketched herself in thin delicate lines, a face for the cover of Seventeen.

  OPENING HER BEDROOM door, Skey entered the unit’s common area. To her left were four bedrooms, the unit TV and stereo and the washroom; to her right, the office and kitchen area. Directly opposite were five more bedrooms. Quickly, she passed the couches and pool table that sat in the middle of the unit, picked up some toast and juice sitting on a kitchen counter and joined two girls, Ann and Monica, at one of four small tables. Several girls sat haphazardly at the other tables—a lunch-and-supper seating plan was posted by the fridge, but at breakfast a girl could sit where she wished. Quietly envious of Skey’s impending freedom, Ann and Monica didn’t say much. Most of their attention was focused on Viv, a new girl who was still in her room, yelling at staff. Admitted three weeks ago, Viv was still going through the adjustment stage, throwing her weight around and emphasizing herself with threats and volume. Today she seemed to be refusing to get up.

  “You gonna run?” Ann mumbled through a mouthful of toast. As usual, her eyes were shifting nervously, her body jerking every time Viv banged or yelled. Carefully Skey slid her eyes across Ann’s face. Ann was thin, thinner than Skey, and she didn’t have to work at it. But her long black hair was ratty. She needed to wash it.

  “No,” Skey said shortly. She hadn’t considered going AWOL. She wanted to leave this place for good, not get dragged back by cops.

  “I dunno if I could go back to my old school,” said Monica. “Not if everyone knew I lived here. Why didn’t you ask for a new school?”

  Monica had gained seven or eight pounds since her admission last summer, and she kept eating. As the pale blond girl started her second bowl of cereal, Skey pushed aside her own half-eaten toast, plain with no butter. Standing up, she said, “I have to brush my teeth.”

  “Hey, Skey.” Ann twisted a strand of her long limp hair, her sharp wrist bones shifting under her skin like a dance. Fascinated, Skey stared. All of Ann’s bones were like that, rippling the surface. Beautiful.

  Catching her gaze, Ann grinned, her teeth startlingly white against her dark skin. “If you get some stuff,” she said, “share it, eh?”

  “Yeah yeah,” said Skey.

  She brushed her teeth, then followed staff down the three flights of stairs that led to the lockup’s side entrance. As the woman’s key slid into the lock, Skey’s entire body tensed. What if the key got stuck; what if the lock didn’t turn; what if she was trapped in here forever? With a groan, the door swung open, and she could smell the November wind, the leaves and the cold, cold air. From inside the door, it looked like another world out there, the life of a different person blowing by.

  Smiling slightly, staff handed her two bus tickets. “You’ll be back by 4:30?” she asked.

  “Yeah yeah,” said Skey.

  “Got your lunch?” the woman asked. “Have a good day.”

  “Do I have to?” asked Skey. “Or can I take a break?”

  THEY WERE IGNORING her or waiting for her, it was hard to tell which. Through the bus window, Skey watched Rosie and Balfour smoking in the student parking lot. Her heart splattered, rain hitting glass. How she wanted to get off the bus, raise her head with a knowing smile, let the wind lift out her long dark hair and saunter over to them as if she had never been gone and was still part of them—part of their invisible force field that ran Wellright High, ran it with smirks and sneers, whatever the occasion demanded.

  But she couldn’t. Face pressed to the glass, Skey couldn’t find the vibe, the attitude, the correct brain wave that would place her back in May of last year, before everything changed, and she was pulled out of the real world into the inside of her head, where nothing fit together and very little made sense. Staring out the window, she swallowed and swallowed. Birds kept flying up her throat, birds of heat and salt. Their cries filled her head. Dropping her eyes, she rode the bus for another block, then got off and entered the school by the tech wing’s door, an entrance that couldn’t be seen from the student parking lot.

  Incredibly it had all remained the same. To the right and left, rows of lockers opened and slammed, kids shoved stuff in and pulled things out. Fluorescent lighting flickered overhead, and here and there Skey could see erratic gaps where guys had taken running leaps and poked out a ceiling tile. In the middle of the surrounding mayhem, she stood with one hand to a wall, tracing the shape of a concrete block. So, the school was still here, and so was she. That much came together. For now.

  She started toward the locker the principal had assigned her, thinning herself down, weaving in and out of the flow of bodies and voices. Coming into the school, she had pulled up her jacket hood and now she kept it up. No one recognized her, no one called out. Last year these had been kids she knew; she had dropped into their jokes and laughter as if she owned it, as if it would always be hers. Now it was like walking through a magazine that had suddenly come to life in all the expected images, but they were too vivid, startling her with color and sound.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned into the hall that led to her locker then froze in fear as she saw Gillian and Pedro leaning against the wall directly opposite her locker. No question about it this time. They were definitely waiting for her.

  Gillian’s mother was one of the office secretaries. Either Gillian had wheedled the locker number out of her, or she’d somehow gotten into the school’s database. It wouldn’t have been that difficult; she had accessed information for the Dragons before. That was why they had decided to include Gillian as a fringe member—she was adept at leaving casual fingerprints all over the school office.

  Skey began a casual drift backward. She had thought she would be able to handle this, find the same old face and drag out the same old laugh. But that face and laugh belonged to the self she had lost last spring, a self she could no longer reach. Somehow she had made herself believe that part of her, that lost self, had been left behind here at Wellright High, wandering these halls like a ghost and waiting for her body to show up so they could connect and she would be whole again, the same old Skey Mitchell.

  But the lost self wasn’t here. Skey couldn’t feel her anywhere. That meant she was stuck being the pale, quiet, nothing-to-s
ay, not-worth-noticing, very fucked-up, locked-up head case, except now she would be displaying it to her friends. No, former friends. They wouldn’t give her five minutes like this. Jigger wouldn’t. No one would.

  Skey turned and headed for homeroom. The halls were thinning out now, students rushing to beat the warning bell, but still she kept her hood up and her head down. Coming down a stairwell, she scanned ahead for anyone who might be waiting in the hall outside her homeroom, then realized too late that she had forgotten a small open area behind the stairs. As she stepped off the bottom stair, sudden hands reached out and pulled her in. Frantically, Skey fought the scream that surged through her. It was always like this now—someone touched or spoke unexpectedly and the scream started, low in her gut. She had to fight so hard to keep it quiet.

  “Skey, how ya doin?!” At least a foot taller than Skey, Trevor grinned down at her. He placed a large football hand on her shoulder, and she saw he was still wearing the Rolex watch he had “borrowed” from an uncle’s dresser drawer last Christmas. His favorite joke was that he wore it all the time and his parents never noticed. Behind him, San fluttered her fingers in a wave. A triangle of gold sequins glimmered at the corner of her mouth.

  “Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?” Backing against the wall, Skey tried out a laugh. Trevor followed, closing in.

  “What they give you to eat in that place?” Taking her lunch bag, he opened it. “Bread and water?” he said incredulously. “Got any Ritalin?”

  He was so close, Skey could feel his breath on her face. She could also feel the shakes coming. “I’m not on anything,” she said quickly.

  “Tuna fish!” Sniffing one of her sandwiches, Trevor made a face. “No one’s gonna want you if you smell like this,” he drawled.

  “Not even Jigger,” added San, pushing past him and draping herself over Skey’s shoulder. A heavy cloud of Eternity settled around them both.

  “Lay off, San,” Skey hissed.

  Trevor and San exchanged knowing grins. “Jigger’s still interested,” cooed San. “You haven’t turned into a nun, have you?”

  “Give me some air, would you?” Panicking, Skey gave the other girl a slight shove.

  “Don’t get pushy,” Trevor said immediately.

  “I just want to breathe,” Skey mumbled.

  She could feel their eyes on her, watching for changes. Dragons’ eyes. Skey had seen them watch other kids like this, kids on the outside, prey.

  “Hey, what’s with you guys?” she asked, smiling weakly.

  “We just wanted to welcome you back,” Trevor said. The warning bell rang, cutting him off, and he waited for it to finish. “Wanted to let you know everything’s still the same with us,” he continued easily.

  And you, Skey, are you the same? The question wavered, unspoken, but Skey felt it as if it had been carved into the air between them and she was tracing its meaning with her finger. Then came the answer, also unspoken and carved into the air.

  I didn’t tell. I didn’t tell any of the Dragons’ secrets.

  Trevor’s lips parted in a wide grin. “Enjoy your tuna fish sandwich,” he said.

  San fluttered another wave. “See you at lunch.”

  They left, tearing up the stairwell. As Skey watched them go, the hallway began to fade out around her and the dream tunnel moved in. Relieved, she welcomed the darkness. Finally she could be alone, without name, without face, without expectations. Maybe she would find the message here, the meaning that would explain everything. It would tell her what to do, who she needed to become.

  But as she reached out to touch the tunnel wall, she realized she could still see the school hallway. The real world hadn’t completely faded and the two realities overlapped. Several kids walked by, glancing at her. One stopped to stare. With a hiss, Skey pulled out of the dark tunnel and bent to retrieve her lunch from where Trevor had dropped it. Then she gave a cold glare to the kid who stood close by, watching her. A short kid—first year twerp.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  Skey threw all her focus into staring him down. Reddening, he shrugged and turned away. Alone beside the staircase, Skey paced her breathing until she could no longer hear it coming back at her off the walls. Then she lowered her jacket hood and walked grimly toward what was expected of her.

  Homeroom was already in session. She had missed the national anthem and morning announcements. Kids sat talking at their desks, and the homeroom teacher, Mr. Pettifer, was looking over some notes. Hesitantly, Skey stepped through the open doorway and waited. Sensing her presence, Mr. Pettifer looked up. “Skey,” he said with a smile. “Come in. We have a seat for you in the front row.”

  The front row. Everyone’s eyes would be on her back. Swiftly, Skey scanned the room and saw several empty seats, the closest by the wall, three desks from the back. She walked over to it.

  “How about here?” she asked.

  Mr. Pettifer nodded. “Fine.”

  A sigh heaved through Skey. Now, finally, everyone’s eyes would let her go. They would stop watching. Quickly, she slid into the seat, angling her body so the desk caught her butt as her knees buckled. Seated, she was breathing open-mouthed as if there wasn’t enough air, staring at the place where the classroom’s front wall met the ceiling—a thin line of darkness where two planes met, intersected and opened into another dimension. This time Skey let go completely. Instantly the classroom disappeared and the dark tunnel surrounded her. But she kept her head, didn’t stretch out a hand to feel her way along the wall—not with a classroom of kids watching her in the real world. Instead, she slipped her hand into her pocket and closed it around the rock.

  Immediately she heard the boy, so close she could have reached out and touched him. It was his breathing she heard first, short and rasping. Not as if he had been running—it was fear she heard scraping at his throat. He was muttering, “Someone’s here, I can feel it. Someone’s close.” A long series of swear words followed. “Someone’s after me,” the boy whispered. “Someone’s going to find me.” Then there was only silence, the two of them waiting each other out in the dark, Skey holding the rock to keep them close and breathing as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t bolt and leave her alone.

  She came out of it to find Mr. Pettifer’s face leaning in on hers. “Skey,” he said, observing her carefully. “I’ve set up an appointment for you today with Ms. Renfrew in the Counseling office. It’s at 12:30, so you won’t have to miss any classes.”

  Alarm shot through Skey and she asked, “Why do I have to go to the Counseling office?” Staff were already coming out of her ears. The last thing she needed was more therapy.

  “We’ve got to figure out what you’ve missed so you can catch up,” Mr. Pettifer said mildly. “Ms. Renfrew will contact your teachers to see where you need the extra help.”

  “Oh,” mumbled Skey. Well, it would be a way to avoid her lunch-hour session with San and the rest of the gang. And Jigger—if he really wanted to talk to her.

  “Are you feeling well?” Mr. Pettifer was still scrutinizing her closely. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” Glancing down, Skey noticed she had pulled the rock out of her pocket and was cradling it on her open palm. Fear flashed through her. Had Mr. Pettifer seen the rock? Would he think it was a weapon, like lockup staff would, and take it away?

  “It’s just a rock, nothing important,” she muttered, closing her hand over it and clenching tightly.

  “What rock?” asked Mr. Pettifer.

  He hadn’t seen the rock. Had he simply not noticed it, or was the rock not real? If it wasn’t real, then she, Skey Mitchell, was completely, certifiably crazy.

  But maybe it made sense that Mr. Pettifer couldn’t see the rock. After all, it had come out of her own private dream. It belonged to her mind, her heart. Why would it be a surprise that something that meant everything to her couldn’t be seen by other people?

  “Sorry,” said Skey, shoving the rock back into her pocket. “My mind wanders, y
ou know. Sometimes it gets lost, and I have to go looking for it.”

  “Aha,” said Mr. Pettifer, nodding as if he understood.

  NOT EVERYONE STARED. Some of the kids didn’t know who she was—they were new or hadn’t heard. Very few knew all the details. The teachers would have been told she was in a lockup for treatment. Acting out. Behavior problems. Self-destructive.

  It helped that the place hadn’t changed. Except for the tech wing, the school was old, high-ceilinged with dark-framed windows along the outside walls. Classrooms were cavernous and shadowy, filled with small rustling noises, the voices of students, the scratching of pens across paper and chalk on the boards. There were the familiar smells—varnished wood, erasers, pencils, running shoes. Everything still the same.

  She could have asked for a different school, but San had been on the phone day after day, bugging her, saying the Dragons wanted her back, just like old times. Jigger hadn’t called once, but San said he was still interested. Over the summer she had come during visiting hours, out of place among other guests in her designer clothing, sun-bleached hair and deeply tanned skin. Visit after visit, she had brought Jigger’s picture and let Skey hold it in her pale sunless hands. Jigger had sent it, San said, because he was at the family cottage for the summer and couldn’t come himself. No, he couldn’t actually give her the photo—he only had one copy and needed it back. But when Skey touched his picture, Jigger said he could feel her. He wanted that connection.

  Between Skey’s hands, Jigger’s picture had felt vivid, electric. She hadn’t been able to look at it directly, had skittered her eyes around the edges until San took it back with a sigh.

  “He really loves you, Skey,” San had said repeatedly. “He’s waiting for you.”