Pieces of a Mending Heart (18 page)

             
He laughs slightly, putting the bracelet back into my pocket before grasping my hand again. Little tings of electricity shoot through my skin, and I feel definite smugness that I’m holding his hand. If the people in this school can’t see what kind of person Tristan really is, they don’t deserve our attention.

             
“No, Katie. Sorren and I never dated. She’s, well… she’s been my friend since we were toddlers. I’ve only ever seen her as my childhood friend. That’s why I’m so shocked she never tried to contact me,” he says, sadness weighing his words down.

             
I give him a sad little smile and squeeze his hand before tugging him towards our first period class. About fifteen minutes into the class, I raise my hand, asking to use the bathroom. The hallways are painted a dull yellow, which doesn’t cease to remind me of the smoke-stained walls of my father’s study back in Chicago. My tiny black high-heeled shoes thwack against the gray tile as I make my way to the girls bathroom at the end of the hall.

             
As I open the door, I’m greeted by a familiar face. Malaya stands before me, big lips freshly coated with pink gloss.

             
“Hi, Katherine,” she says, voice brimming with false niceness.

             
“Malaya,” I say, voice matching her fake tone.

             
“I think we started off on the wrong foot… why don’t we just forget all words exchanged between us and start fresh,” she continues, smiling like a Girl Scout trying to convince you to buy twenty boxes of cookies.

             
I wish the world worked that way. Being able to start anew with no biases, hostility, or leeriness would probably bring about world peace. If Malaya thinks I’m going to disregard her nasty demeanor and hurtful words, she’s out of her mind. But I can at least try to be a friendly acquaintance, because enemies are really the last things I need at the moment. Yes, acquaintanceship is okay, but I’ll tread lightly.

             
“Of course. I really don’t want to miss Gov, so would you excuse me?” I say, inching past her.

             
She smiles, white teeth contrasting against her dark skin. “Sure. I’ll see you around!”

             
I hear muffled sniffling noises e
choing in the tiny bathroom so
I crouch to see what stall the crying girl is hiding in. The room is silent, empty of occupants except for me and the crier.

             
“Hello?” I say in a cooing voice usually reserved for the horses when I’m trying not to spook them.

             
The crying stops and I realize she must not have heard me enter the bathroom. Scenes of “Moaning Myrtle” from Harry Potter flash through my mind, and I suppress an extremely inappropriate laugh.

             
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, standing in front of the stall. Unexpectedly, the door flies open, smacking me in the shoulder before slamming against the wall.

             
My eyes meet Sorren’s, whi
ch are a peculiar shade of blue,
and I gasp when I see the anger on her face. Her eyes are makeup free, but framed with thick, dark lashes that any Covergirl would die for. My mouth hangs open slightly, showing my shock, and I snap it closed, immediately on the defensive. Her posture is different than it was in the parking lot, emanating strength and hardness.

             
“Just
leave me alone
,” she enunciates the last three words, sounding desperate.

             
“I just want to see if you’re alright,” I say, becoming angered at her change in character. Maybe she has an alter ego…

             
She tries to push past me, but my hand shoots out to grasp her arm, instinctively trying to offer her some form of comfort. A suction-like feeling spreads through my arm, gluing my hand to
her in an unnatural way. I feel a soft nudge in my mind, telling me to relax, and my eyes shut.

* * *

             
I’m standing in a darkened hall,
pressed against cool bricks. A girl races past me,
wearing old-fashioned clothing: a light blue dress, short wh
ite gloves, and a hat that
tipped to one side. I feel trapped, like my mind is detached from the
body it’s in. I hear thoughts
overlapping my own. Attempting to calm down and listen to what the voice is saying, I say a quick
prayer and take a deep breath.

             
I
start walking down the hallway
and the thoughts get louder as I concentrate on them. “
Where are you? Please tell me you’re alright. Dear God, let him be alright.”
I hear in my head, and the voice sounds like my own, if not for the southern twang.

             
I
open the door, and the smells of cigars and whiskey hit my nose. Music is playing, but not from a stereo. A band is playing in the corner of what looks like a bar in someone’s basement. The men around me have blurred faces, but their clothing is from the roaring twenties era. Men play cards on the floor, wagering cigarettes and chewing tobacco.

             
“Katherin
e!” I hear a voice call, and I
turn my head, relief spreading through th
e body at the sight of… Sorren?

             
“Cassandra! Where’s Tristan? Is he
alright?” the girl
ask
s
in succession, my voice sounding foreign thanks to the thick accent. The thoughts swirling through my head were jumbling together, making
my brain actually hurt.

             
The rushing girl is me. She looks like me, straight down to the slightly crooked bottom teeth. The girl looks like she’s from a different time, just like everyone else in the room. She exudes strength and sassiness and sports a southern accent, but she is me. Her eyes graze past my own and it is in that moment that I know I was once the girl standing before me.

“He’s outside with your brother. We’re tryin’ to find a way to git ‘im and you up North, in
case this don’t blow over,” Sorren
says, voice shaking.

             
“What was he thinkin’ comin’ to a place like this right now?!”
she
exclaimed, draw
ing attention to her and Sorren.

             
“Adrian said to meet ‘im here outside. What in the Lord’s name are you doin’ here? It’s dangerous for you, too!”

             
Katherine’s eyes roll, which makes me smile
knowing this is exactly the reaction I would have if someone had asked me that question today.

             
“Who cares what I’m doin’ here! Let’s git outside
and drag that boy home,” Katherine said, grabbing her friends
forearm. As
soon as the body’s hand touched Sorren
’s
skin, I was jolted back into the present.

* * *

             
My mind felt like it was being sucked through a vacuum, the sensation unpleasant. I open my eyes and find myself sitting on the bathroom floor with my head against the wall under the sink. Sorren is a few feet away, staring at me with an expression no less than terrified. She saw it too, then? The vision? What was it, exactly? I feel a ting of frustration for having this extra burden tossed on
to
my shoulders right now.

             
“What the hell
are
you
, some kind of freak
?
!
” she asks with contempt I’m not accustomed to being the subject of.

             
“I should ask you the same question!” I reply because I’m not exactly sure how to respond.

             
“You did see that, didn’t you?”

             
“No, I’m sitting over here ‘cause the view’s
great,”
I say, gesturing to the graffiti filled door a few feet in front of me.

             
“Shut up
Katherine
! Tell me what you saw!” Sorren yells, and I shush her before a teacher catches wind of our conversation and steps in.

             
“It looked like a… speakeasy. You know, those illegal bars in the twenties?” She nods, looking more frightened with my every word. “It was you and me talking about-”

             
“Tristan and someone named Adrian. Yup, got that. Seriously, what are you? Some kind of psychic? I had a dream just like this
.
Last night, I dreamt that you and Tristan were sitting at an old kitchen table- with me- eating corn.
What the hell?!
That is
not
a coi
ncidence!” she cries
, tears forming in her eyes.

             
I climb to my feet, carefully avoiding smacking my head on the sink. “Sorren, don’t. We’re obviously supposed to work it out together-”

             
“How do you know?
If you’re supposedly just as confused as I am, how do you know this isn’t some sort of freaky ghost telepathic thing…” she cuts herself off, looking aggravated.

             
Just then, a girl walks into the bathroom. I catch her eye and she smiles, mouth full of red rubber bands. It’s the smiling girl from my English class, from the back row. I smile back, but it’s contrived and she knows it. A look of confusion passes over her face as she looks at Sorren’s crying form and my shaking hands. Without a word, she walks back into the hallway, sending me a silent “
hope everything’s okay
” look with her eyes.

             
“Look, this obviously isn’t the place to chat about this. Why don’t we get together after school and talk then?”

             
She scoffs. “You’re seriously going to walk through the halls and act like none of that even happened? Do you not
feel
anything
?
I’m legit about to piss myself right now!”
             

             
That caught me off guard. I’ve never thought of myself as unfeeling. It’s sort of ironic, actually.

             
“Do you want me to take you to the nurse? Maybe she’ll send you home?” I ask, attempting to act like I wasn’t seriously shocked by her accusation.

             
“Hell no, I’m not going anywhere without you. Right now, I know you’re as crazy as me. So either you ditch with me willingly or I will rip this mirror off the wall, smash it and we’ll both get in school suspension. Either way, you’re explaining this. Now,” she says, trying to look rough and tough but the tears flowing from her eyes admit how afraid she still is.

             
“Okay. We just walk out?” I ask, unsure of how to proceed. I don’t want to make a bad impression with my semi-new teachers, and ditching barely a month into their classes is a horrible idea. But I want to know what’s going on as much, if not more
so
, than Sorren does.

             
“If you want, call your parents and have them give their permission to let you leave. The principal will let you do that, if you say you’re not feeling well. And that wouldn’t be a hard lie to pull off, ‘cause you’re kind of green, Kath,” she says.

             
The nickname surprises me, and apparently her, too. But I take her advice and call Rachel, telling her I don’t really feel well and that I’m coming home after fourth period. I feel bad about lying to her, because I’m really leaving right now, barely second period, but there’s more important matters on my hands.

             
We get in Sorren’s car and I send a quick message to Tristan, my fingers fumbling with the keys. I hate text messaging.

             
S
kipping rest of day.
I’m fine.
Call me when you’re out of your last class.

             
I figure he’ll check his phone during the class change, so I plop it back in my pocket, not wanting to be tempted to ask him to skip with
us. School is important to him
and skipping would dig at his conscience. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Part of me knows this vision ends badly, although I don’t know how. And I want Sorren and me to figure it out before we involve Tristan.

             
“Okay, so what do you know that you’re not telling me?” Sorren asks after she orders two coffees from the Starbucks drive-through window. I had asked her why bother stopping for coffee, and she said she needs some extra energy.

             
I debate telling her about my encounter with God, but honestly, feel very protective of it. I don’t even know this girl, but
my heart is telling me I can trust her. However, my stomach is churning.