Flicker (20 page)

With the morning light, I realize Amelia
brought more than just entertainment last night and I make a
half-hearted attempt to do some homework. Who knows when I'll have
to retake the Trig test, but at this point I don't care. I've been
slacking in my other classes and I can't fail them all.

Around dinnertime Mom knocks on my door.
"Are you up to eating? Dad made mashed potatoes for you."

My fingers press the back of my skull,
testing for tenderness. A slight pinprick of tension radiates from
each spot I touch, but I wouldn't call it pain. At least not pain
as I know it. I slowly sit up.

Mom's used to this ritual, the inch-by-inch
evaluation of my body that I have to do before getting out of bed.
I've fallen down the stairs more times than I care to mention
because I bolted out of bed at the first sign of feeling better.
She waits patiently while I turn my head from side to side.

Nothing.

"Huh, I guess I'm okay." True, it's
been days since I flickered, but the empty feeling I always get
after a migraine seems more pronounced, more hollow.
Maybe it's more than the headache
, a
little voice insists. I push it away. I refuse to accept that I've
been wallowing because of a boy.

My heart twinges.

Crap.

I follow Mom downstairs and join Dad at the
table. He looks more worn out that usual, the lines around his face
deeper than I ever remember seeing them, his lips pursed to mask
the pain.

I reach across the table to touch his hand.
"I guess I'm not the only one who feels like shit."

"Biz," Mom warns from near the stove.

"Well…" No wonder Mom looks so beat.
Worrying about and taking care of both of us is probably not how
she envisioned spending her weekend, not to mention her entire
life. I twist in my seat to face her. "How are you doing? This
can't be fun for you."

She sets the bowl of mashed potatoes and a
chicken dish on the table and sinks into her chair in one motion.
"I'll survive, but thanks."

Dad serves himself, his wary eyes giving me
a warning. "We were worried about you. Your mother decided to drag
you to the hospital if you didn't get up this evening." Something
in his eyes tells me that he wasn't part of that plan. I don't
fully understand why he's always sided with me and resisted the
hospital, and until tonight I've never thought to question it, but
for the first time I'm curious why he doesn't have the same fears
for my safety as Mom.

"Well I'm happy to report that my headache
is gone." I eye the chicken and my stomach growls. "Now I'm
starving."

Mom smiles, happy her daughter is feeling
like herself again, but Dad keeps a close eye on me throughout
dinner. As I inhale my weight in chicken and potatoes, a small knot
of uncertainty sits in the center of my gut, warning me that the
side effects of this particular headache are far from over.

*****

Seems I'm not the only one happy my
headache's gone.

"Biz, welcome back." Bishop hands me my
half-finished test as I enter his classroom and shuffles me back
into the hallway. "They're expecting you in the library."

Great. At this point I'm so far behind that
I'm already worrying about the next test and I haven't even failed
this one yet. The same urge to flicker seizes my body, but I wait
for it to pass. I need to let my body recover.

The librarian fusses over me when I arrive,
but I haven't forgotten her snotty attitude last week. My
sickness—or whatever you want to call it—is not why I want people
like her to be courteous to me. I sit at the table in front of her
desk, but only because it's required.

It's amazing how much easier it is to take a
test when you can actually read the questions. That, and the fact
that I remembered enough from last week to look up the answers. I
breeze through the answers in twenty minutes. The librarian isn't
paying any attention to me so I waste the rest of the period
pretending to struggle over the answers. With five minutes to spare
I push back my chair.

"I'm finished," I announce, "so I'll take
this to class."

She scribbles a hall pass for me and I
return to Bishop's classroom. Heads turn when I enter. Amelia gives
me a questioning look and I give her a small shrug in response. I
hand Bishop my test and sit down just as the bell rings.

"Biz, please stay a moment," he says.

I smile at Amelia as she passes. "Talk to
you later," we say in unison, then laugh. I stop in front of
Bishop's desk. "What's up?"

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, but
I'm worried about how much you've missed the past week or so."

My stomach sinks.

"I understand my class isn't the easiest and
I'd hate for you to fall behind. I'd like you to come in during
lunch tomorrow so I can help you catch up."

Ugh, really?
"Do I have to?"

His frown deepens. "This isn't meant to be
punishment. You're a smart girl, whether you think so or not, and I
hate to see students fail because of a…" he trails off.

Now I'm getting pissed. "A what?" I cross my
arms over my chest.

"An illness." He says it so matter-of-factly
that I almost believe that's what he was going to say. "Tomorrow at
lunch. After you eat, of course, but don't dawdle."

"Fine." I turn to leave, wondering how else
my headaches can ruin my life.

I arrive at Turner's class after the bell
rings. An excuse dances on the tip of my tongue but it isn't
necessary because the entire class applauds when I enter the room.
I look around in confusion, a warm heat spreading up my neck.
Turner is at his spot in front of the board, clapping louder than
anyone else, the front page of Friday's newspaper taped behind
him.

Well, one side of the paper. It's folded in
half to hide Katie's picture, but the end of her pigtail peeks
out.

I whip around to Cameron. His hands are
moving, but there's no happiness in his eyes. Only complete, utter,
agonizing despair. I silently plead for forgiveness, but he isn't
looking at me. His eyes haven't left the newspaper.

"There she is, the woman of the hour."
Turner ushers me to my desk as the room falls silent. Like they're
waiting for me to say something.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble.

The kid behind me kicks my seat. "Don't
point it out the one time he doesn't care."

Turner's still smiling at me. "When I gave
this assignment I admit I hoped some of you might get your pictures
published in the paper, but I never imagined one of you would make
the front page!" His excitement is contagious; several whispers
reach me.

"So cool."

"Lucky she was there."

"Wish my pictures were good enough."

I know everyone's happy for me and I wish I
could be excited, but the one person I actually want to be happy
for me is sulking on the other side of the room.

Turner points at the paper. "I'd like to
highlight why these are so good. Biz incorporated several of the
elements I've talked about this semester, including a few I planned
to introduce this week." He gives me another smile and I lower my
head. I've never handled complements well, especially not in front
of the entire class. He goes on about lighting and angles and
effective use of cropping, but I'm only half listening. I can't
stop thinking about the overly-lit school picture of Katie smiling
at the chalkboard.

I don't think Cameron's blinked since I
arrived.

A couple kids pat me on the shoulder,
snapping me out of my daze. I look up and can't believe Turner's
face hasn't split in two yet.

"Tomorrow we'll go over your next
assignment. Please leave your projects on my desk as you
leave."

I catch Cameron as he hurries to the door.
"Cam, wait."

He pauses but doesn't look at me.

"I'm sorry."

He seems to consider this, then continues
into the hallway.

I match his pace. "Cam, I wish they were
never published. To make you think about her for the entire class…"
I don't want to bring up Katie, not when he's finally willing to
talk to me again, but it's kind of hard to ignore her.

He turns to face me. Students stream by on
either side of us. "Don't be sorry. It's awesome you got
published."

"But…" I hang my head. "I wish…" I don't
know how to say what I'm feeling. "I know that getting published
has nothing to do with Katie, but I feel horrible for reminding you
about her."

He touches my arm and the tension in his
face relaxes. "Biz, it'd be impossible for anything you do to
remind me of Katie. That would mean I'd stopped thinking about her
in the first place."

"Oh." Talk about feeling self-absorbed.

His hand moves up my arm and slides to the
side of my neck. "Thank you for worrying, but this is something I
have to deal with." We stop at his locker and he hesitates. "Do you
have to go to your last class?"

I've missed several days but what's the
difference at this point? "No."

"Can we get out of here?"

I nod, hating myself for feeling so grateful
that he wants to spend time with me, but not enough to stop me from
rushing to my locker to get my coat.

Chapter 28

We're sitting in Old Berta but haven't left
school yet. I'm kinda worried he'll drive by the Strand. This is
the best—or worst, depending on how you look at it—time of day for
me to drive through there and flickering when he's finally ready to
talk is not how I plan to spend this afternoon.

"Where to?" I ask, trying to sound
casual.

"The boat ramp?"

Ugh
.
"Sure."

He starts the car and turns out of the
parking lot. You'd think someone would monitor the lot so kids
don't ditch last period, but no one stops us. Cameron keeps flexing
his hand against the gear-shift like he's thinking through what he
wants to say.

I want to hurry him along in case I flicker,
then at least I'll be prepared for whatever he needs to get off his
chest, but he hems and haws until we're halfway to the Strand.

He clears his throat. "I'm not really good
at this, so I'm just gonna say it." I start to panic, but then he
places his hand over mine and my nerves settle. "Last week sucked.
A lot. I've never gone that long without talking to you and it was
like someone cut off my arm or something. I shouldn't have gotten
so mad at you when you were just being honest."

"I am sorry I upset you."

"I know you are. And I'm sorry I didn't talk
to you sooner. With all this crap at home, and the police calling
to ask if we’ve remembered anything new. One cop even asked if I
had anything I wanted to tell them, like I’ve been lying all these
years." He gestures through the windshield with his hand. "It
wouldn’t have been so bad if I'd had you to talk to."

"You know I'm always here for you." I want
to rejoice at his words, to leap across the seat and wrap my arms
around him, but any relief I feel is gone the moment it sweeps
through me.

We're almost to the Strand.

He squeezes my hand. "I know. That's why—"
He gives me a sidelong look. "Hey, are you okay?"

No.
My
fingers are tingling. My toes still feel normal but it'll only be a
couple seconds before—

"Biz? What's wrong?"

I cling to Cameron's hand, my mind
scrambling for a way to avoid flickering. "I'm fine, I
just—"
What? What?
Pinpricks
stab my toes and I dump my bag on the floor. "Oh crap!" I double
over, burying my head beneath the dashboard, pushing my things
around on the floor. This has worked before, but it's hit or miss
how quickly I need to react to prevent the heaviness from
descending.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I dropped my herfelator." I mumble the last
word—I can only think so fast with my head between my knees. I
count to ten, keeping my head down until I'm certain we're past the
Strand, then slowly straighten, holding my notebook proudly in
front of me.

Cameron shakes his head. "Just when I think
I'm starting to understand you."

I shove the notebook back in my bag. Without
thinking I ask, "What do you mean?"

He waves a hand at me. "Does this seem
normal to you?"

I start to color. "I dropped my
notebook."

"You weren't even holding it."

Figures he'd be all attentive and notice
things like that.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed that
there's something… different about you?"

Don't panic.
Different doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Lots of
people try to be different, hate being part of the crowd, blah
blah. True, I'm not one of those people and would give my left
kidney to be like everyone else, but that's beside the
point.

I give him a wary look. "Different how?" I
really don't want to have this conversation but I need to know what
he's thinking so I can figure out how to deal with it.

"I don't know, things like this. Spazzing
out for no reason, like when you jerk in class. Most people do that
when they fall asleep, but you're never asleep. You just suddenly
twitch out of nowhere. Everyone wonders if maybe you've got
epilepsy like your dad but just haven't told anyone."

"People talk about me? About the—" what did
he call it? "—jerking?"

"Yeah." His mouth snaps shut, like he was
about to say more but stopped.

"Tell me."

"It's nothing. Just some of the guys being
stupid."

I feel like the car is closing in on me.
It's getting harder to breathe. "Do you… do you make fun of me,
too?" Please say no. I can't bear it if Cameron isn't the friend he
thought he was. “And what about Amelia? Does she make fun of
me?”