Luka, page 12
My teeth grind harder. Summer is drunk and jealous and filled with vitriol. There’s no reason to stand here and listen to it. “Come on, Tess.”
“Yeah,” Summer says. “C’mon Tess. Why don’t you go ahead and tell Luka about your little episode.”
Her hand goes stiff in mine.
“She’s baiting you,” I whisper.
“I need to know what she knows.”
“No, you don’t.” I’m positive nothing good will come of it. With that truth firmly in mind, I lead Tess down the path, back to the party.
22
A Chasm
I spend the better part of the night on our beach, waiting. But Tess doesn’t show and the beach slides away and my dreams turn into fuzzy, slippery things. Pleasant, arousing things. Starring a version of Tess that isn’t Tess but a fantasy of my own making. Until a loud and persistent buzz pulls me awake.
With a reluctant groan, I fumble for my phone as sunlight filters through the blinds. It’s midmorning. Somebody has included me in a group chat with a string of messages. The majority of them are lewd and reference a post on social media. Normally, I’d ignore them. But someone in the chat addresses me specifically.
Is she crazy in bed too, Williams?
Sitting up, I slip on my glasses and open a mostly unused app on my phone and find the photograph the messages are referencing. Summer, wasted on Bobbi’s couch, her devil costume covering much less than it should. Confused, I scroll through the comments.
Ten down, the conversation turns away from Summer. Toward Tess. I grip my bedsheets, fighting the urge to go next door, drag Pete out of his room, and shove my fist in his face. This originated with him. He told Jennalee Fisher, of all people, about Tess’s breakdown and now the entire student body is abuzz.
I pull up Tess’s number. My thumb hovers above the call button. Her presence online is nonexistent. While the comments reference her, nobody can tag her. Does she know what people are saying? I shove my fingers into my hair, tempted to take a screenshot of Summer in all her inebriated glory and send it to my mother. Maybe then she’ll stop fantasizing about her son getting together with Danika’s daughter. But then she’d look the picture up herself. She’d read the comments about Tess.
Swallowing a growl, I leave my phone on the bed and take a shower to cool off. When I’m done, I sit on my deck and wait just like I did in my dream. Tess doesn’t join me. At eleven, I send her a simple but vague text.
Doing okay?
She doesn’t respond.
The comments on social media get worse.
My anger mounts.
Forty minutes later, I’m all out of patience. I need to make sure Tess is okay. She likes to hike. I’ve seen her walking off into the woods on numerous occasions. Maybe she’ll go on a hike with me. Maybe we’ll finally get some time alone without my icy mother or our drunken peers interrupting us. I cross my lawn to hers and knock on her front door. A woman answers with a dish towel in hand. Miranda Eckhart, stay-at-home mother of two, with the same dark hair as Tess. The same fair skin with freckles across the bridge of her nose, too.
She takes me in, her expression morphing from surprised to pleased. “You’re Luka. The boy next door.”
“You’re Mrs. Eckhart. Tess’s mom.”
“Oh, brother. Mrs. Eckhart makes me sound ancient. Please, call me Miranda.” She tosses the dishtowel over her shoulder and shakes my hand. “It must have been some party you went to last night. Tess is still sleeping.”
Sleeping.
It’s almost noon.
Every weekend since they moved in next door, Tess has been out on her deck before I’ve poured my first cup of coffee. I picture her in her room, scrolling on her phone under the covers, reading the comments, and this visceral, protective need rises inside of me.
It must show on my face because Tess’s mom invites me inside with a welcoming nod. “Come on in. I’ll just pop upstairs and see if I can rouse the sleepyhead.”
I step inside their foyer. Mrs. Eckhart hurries up the stairs. My phone dings with another message from Jared, quickly followed by two more. I turn it off and slide it into my back pocket. When Tess’s mom returns, she comes halfway down the steps and invites me up with another friendly nod.
Tess’s room is at the end of the hall.
She’s out of bed, dressed in a pair of rumpled jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her hair pulled up into a messy knot, a flush in her cheeks as she stands in front of a door on the far side of her room, leaning against it as it clicks shut.
Her mom shoots me a smile and leaves us alone.
I remain in Tess’s doorway, waiting for her to meet my eye. Invite me in. She does neither. And I’m left to wonder what’s going on in her head. She was so quiet on the drive home last night. She didn’t come to our beach while we slept. She ignored the text I sent. And now she’s avoiding eye contact.
She takes a seat on her bed.
I rub the back of my neck. “I was gonna go on a hike. I was thinking you might want to come?”
Tess picks at a fray in her jeans and leaves my invitation hovering in the air.
I take a tentative step inside. “You okay?”
“I remember the dream, Luka.” Her words are sharp. Exasperated. And one hundred percent confusing.
I frown. “Dream?”
“From last night. With Summer.”
“Summer?”
She looks at me, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We met up last night. We shared a dream.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Yes, we did. We were at Bobbi’s. You and Summer were there and …” A strong blush sweeps up her neck as her words fall away.
I worry for a moment that she really is losing it. We did go to Bobbi’s. Summer was there. Is Tess so turned around that she thinks last night was a dream? “And what?”
“She told me you were using me to get information.”
Her words slap me across the face. I give my head a shake in an attempt to rattle the shock away. “Tess, I don’t know how this dream thing works, but trust me, I didn’t have a dream about Summer last night.”
An incriminating heat rises in my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I blushed. But here I am, doing exactly that as I think about the dreams I did have last night. They certainly didn’t involve Summer.
I cross her room and sit beside her on the bed. “It had to be a regular dream.”
She stares at a journal on her nightstand, fingers pressed against her temples. Like she’s trying to sort out what’s what. Then—very abruptly—she stands.
I stand with her. “What is it?”
She goes to her desk and opens an internet browser on her laptop. For a confused and dreaded second, I think she’s going to find all the nasty comments online. But she doesn’t log on to social media. She begins typing strange words into the search bar.
I step behind her chair. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why are you searching for carbon monoxide poisoning?”
“It’s something from my dream last night.” She hits enter. News results load. The two at the top are from a local news station not more than fifteen minutes from Thornsdale. Tess clicks on the first and a picture of a woman with two children fills the screen.
“Please tell me what’s going on,” I say, unable to keep the impatience from my voice.
“It’s them.”
“Who’s them?” I squint at the photograph. And it clicks. “Were they in your dream?”
Tess doesn’t answer. She just slumps back in her chair like a rag doll.
I scan the article, reading parts of it out loud. “Woman found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. Survived by her two children, who were in the car with her. Amazingly, they survived, though doctors do not understand how. The children have no brain damage and no trace of monoxide in their blood system. Doctors are declaring their survival an anomaly.”
“I dreamt about them,” Tess says, the tremble in her voice growing more pronounced with every syllable. “That same man from the pep rally was there and he had the woman in some sort of trance. I grabbed the children and got them out, but I woke up before I could help the woman. And now she’s dead.”
I swivel her chair around and place my hands on the arm rests. “Tess.”
“This is crazy. This is so freaking crazy.”
“Tess.”
“I did not save those children. Because if I saved them, then that means—” She digs her fingers into her hair, clasping her head.
For once, I know exactly what she’s thinking.
If she saved those children—if the actions she took in her dream somehow impacted their life in reality—then she might have been able to save the mother, too. But the mother is dead. “Tess, look at me.”
She looks up, her eyes a navy-blue sea of chaos.
“This isn’t your fault.” My words are low and vehement, confident and sure. A life raft I need her to take hold of before she drowns in the tumult. “Do you understand me? You had nothing to do with that woman’s death.”
She wasn’t there, in that garage. She was here, in her room. Sleeping. She can’t take on the misfortunes of strangers. She certainly can’t hold herself responsible. If she does, she really will go crazy.
“Then how do you explain the dream?” she asks.
I glance back at the screen—the woman and her two children. It kills me that I don’t have an answer. It kills me even more when she pushes me away and walks to the other side of her room. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Tess,” I say.
She turns around, the storm in her eyes a full-blown hurricane. “My dreams are telling me one thing. You’re telling me something else.”
Foreboding rolls through my stomach.
“That man with the scar said you’re dangerous company. Summer said you’re using me for information.”
“They’re just dreams.”
She flings her hand toward her computer. “That keep coming true!”
Silence echoes through the room.
I stand there, my heart beating heavily, my stare pained as she sinks onto her bed, an invisible chasm widening between us.
23
Monday Woes
By Monday morning, the rumor mill spins like a cyclone. Not just about Tess and the cruel stream of comments online, but about Jennalee and Pete. Apparently, he snubbed her earlier this morning. The only reason I know is because two girls who cheer with Bobbi and Summer sidled up next to me at my locker to ask about it, as if my connection to Tess gives me inside information to her brother’s love life. I shrug them off and shut my locker.
If Pete’s here, then so is Tess.
I spot her across the bay, talking to Leela, and all the desperation I felt yesterday in Tess’s bedroom comes flooding back. Something unwanted—something beyond my control—has shoved its way between us.
She grabs a folder from her locker.
And the temperature plummets.
Behind Leela, a greasy-haired man materializes out of nowhere and lunges.
With a loud gasp, Tess reels back, slamming into the lockers behind her.
The man vanishes.
Leela shoots an alarmed look over her shoulder as though expecting to find a psycho with a knife. Instead, her wide brown eyes meet mine as I stride toward them, blood pounding in my ears. I arrive in time to hear Leela say, “See you in class then.”
I lean against the locker as if nothing alarming just occurred. As if my nonchalance might shield Tess from the curious stares.
“Please tell me you saw that,” she whispers.
With a nod, I discreetly scan the area. The temperature has returned to normal. Three girls gawk nearby. As soon as my attention lands on them, they look away. My desperation grows. My frustration, too. “I don’t understand why he goaded you like that.”
“Not exactly a good start to the day,” she mutters.
“That’s three times now.”
“Three times?”
“Three times something supernatural has tried interacting with you. First in Lotsam’s class, then in Ceramics, and now this. It’s like they’re purposefully trying to get your attention.” I peer at the floor like I might find an explanation hiding beneath someone’s foot. “I don’t get it.”
“They’ve never tried to interact with you?”
“Never. I see them, but they don’t seem to notice me. With you though ...” I shake my head, an inescapable feeling of dread stretching wide in my chest. It’s the same dread I used to feel whenever Tess marched into battle. This acute sense that she isn’t safe. “Maybe it’s because you have such a strong reaction. Maybe the answer is learning how to ignore them.”
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“I can help.” The thought chases away some of my desperation. Here is something I can actually do. And in so doing, I can show Tess that I’m on her side, despite whatever forces are conspiring to convince her otherwise.
“What about the dreams?” she says. “Can you help with those?”
“I think you need to figure out a way to ignore those too. Shut them out.”
“What if they’re real?”
After the briefest of considerations, I shake my head. “Even if they are, there’s nothing you can do about them.”
Tess looks doubtful.
I double down, determined to convince her. “All this stuff? It’s like it’s purposefully trying to make you go insane.”
“Or look that way.”
“Neither of those options is safe.”
In first period, the greasy-haired man returns. Tess goes rigid beside me. I press my hand against her knee beneath the table, hoping to keep her still. Hoping to keep her steady. She sits ramrod straight. The man lurks behind Lotsam for a moment, then disappears.
After Ceramics, I escort her to third period; I’m late to class. With a couple minutes to spare, I ask to use the restroom and wait for Tess in the hallway before fourth. When I see her, her face has gone strained and pale.
At lunch, Leela waves from a table.
“I told Leela I’d sit by her,” Tess says.
“Mind if I join you?”
It kills me when she hesitates. She casts a long glance toward the table where Summer sits. Every single one of them stares at us. “Are you sure they won’t mind?”
“I don’t care if they mind.” I motion for her to lead the way. When we reach our new spot, I pull out a chair for Tess and sit down beside her.
Leela—who’s in a much better mood today than she was at the party on Saturday—fills the space with chatter, making my fondness for her grow. Her social media presence is more prominent than most. She must have seen the comments—and she definitely noticed Tess’s odd reaction this morning in the locker bay. And yet here she is, being a kind, supportive friend.
I add a comment or two to help Leela keep the conversation afloat. Tess is mostly quiet as she picks at her food. The harder people stare—the louder they whisper—the more she withdraws, forcing me to consider the very frustrating possibility that my presence is making everything worse. Would Tess be better off if I stayed away?
The question tortures me as we dump our trays and I’m cornered by Mr. Ridley. Tess slips away like she’s eager for space.
I don’t see her again until final period.
We sit next to each other, but she doesn’t say a word, the chasm between us growing at alarming speed. When the bell rings, Lotsam asks if he can speak with me for a moment. Tess takes a step toward the door like she’s going to leave without even a glance in my direction.
I take her arm before she can go. “Can we talk?”
We step to the side as students file past. She looks dead on her feet. Like one good breeze might knock her to the ground.
“Tess, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. You can trust me.”
“I have an appointment with Dr. Roth.”
The last of our classmates file from the room.
Lotsam clears his throat.
“What are you going to tell him?” I ask her.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’ll be able to help.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.” I give her hand a squeeze. Her fingers are icicles. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”
She nods despondently and exits the room.
24
A Fishy Deal
I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, waiting for the phone to ring. Wondering if it will. Is Tess telling Dr. Roth about the dreams? Is she telling him about the pep rally, ceramics class, the locker bay? Is she telling Dr. Roth about me?
I drag my hands down my face and sit up.
My brain is waterlogged—flooded with too many thoughts and questions. I need to get them out. I need to put them on paper, where I might be able to view them more objectively. I sit at my desk and begin jotting everything down in an unused notebook. All that I know. In my best attempt at chronological order.
My mother failed her first pregnancy screening and underwent a procedure that fixed the problem. Eight months later, she failed another. Only this time, she decided not to fix anything. I was born. I was healthy. I was normal. Until I started pointing at things nobody else could see. Until I started obsessing over a girl I’d only ever dreamt about.
The summer after eighth grade, we moved to Thornsdale. My father purchased the Edward Brooks Facility and for an entire year, I had appointments with Dr. Roth, the out-patient psychiatrist. For an entire year, I lied to him about my symptoms. For an entire year, I perfected the art of faking normal.
This past September, Tess showed up. Out of nowhere. Without warning. This girl from my dreams. Who went to a party in Jude, participated in a seance, and ended up in a hospital. Now she’s here in Thornsdale, going to the same facility, seeing the same doctor.
