Luka, page 8
“So what? Because you aren’t perfect your parents regret their decision? They think people like us shouldn’t be allowed to live?”
I stop abruptly, taking Tess’s wrist to stop her with me. I understand her anger. I felt it plenty myself. But after confronting my mother with the truth yesterday, I know now that such anger is unfounded. My mother is no more the bad guy in this scenario than the fragile life the doctors ended before my own came into existence. “If my parents regret any decision, it’s listening to the doctors the first time.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—“
“It’s okay.” I let go of her wrist and we stand in the thick of an awkward silence. I slide my hands into my pockets and ask a niggling question. “Have you ever asked your mom about her pregnancy screening?”
“I’ve never thought to.”
Right.
Neither had I.
We resume our slow-paced walk. “After I overheard that conversation, I knew it didn’t matter if the things I saw were real or not. I had to find a way to hide it. It took a while before I could tell the difference between what everyone could see and what only I could see. Sometimes it’s obvious—like at the pep rally and in class. Sometimes it isn’t so clear. You have to look for tells.”
“Tells?”
“Little things that tell you what you’re seeing isn’t…” I search for the right word. “Human.”
“Like eyes that are all white?”
I give Tess a slow, singular nod. “Once I was able to differentiate, I trained myself to ignore things. The summer before sophomore year, I told Dr. Roth the hallucinations were gone.” All the way gone. As in, over a year gone. The dreams, too. “My parents were relieved. Dr. Roth had his doubts, but his doubts didn’t matter. I wasn’t showing any signs of abnormality, so he had no choice but to dismiss me.”
We walk a few more steps.
“Do you trust him?” Tess asks. “Dr. Roth?”
I consider before answering. Do I trust him? I’m not sure. But I’m also not sure trust is at the heart of Tess’s question. I think safety might be. “Sometimes I felt more like a science experiment than one of his clients, but I think he sincerely wanted to help. And thanks to my very existence, my father is passionate about keeping the government away from patient files. The staff at the facility knows this. Dr. Roth would lose his job in a heartbeat if he shared your case with anyone.”
I was hoping to put Tess at ease. Instead, fear and anxiety swim in her eyes—riptides dragging her out to sea. I want to pull her ashore, but I don’t know how. Nor can I stop looking at her. Cataloging every detail as we walk beneath a dark canvas of sky glittered with stars, my fingers tingling with the memory of her soft hair. Only it isn’t a memory at all. It was a dream. I can’t decide what’s more outrageous—sharing hallucinations with Tess or learning truths about her while I sleep.
“This is going to sound crazy,” I say, shaking my head. “Or maybe not, considering. But the reason I came to the facility is because of a dream I had last night.”
She comes to a sudden halt.
I stop, too. “You were in it. We were on the beach. And you told me you were going to the—“
“Edward Brooks Facility.”
We stare at one another in the wake of her words.
“I had the same dream,” she finally says.
She had the same dream.
She pushes all ten of her fingers into her hair. Expels a disbelieving breath. Her eyes are bright. Her cheeks, too. “How is any of this possible?”
I have no idea.
A low-hanging wisp of a cloud sweeps in front of the moon, making the night go darker. I want to tell her about the other dream. The recurring dream. But I must tread carefully. Tess looks beyond skittish. I don’t want to scare her away. A boy who has dreamt about her for the past ten years would absolutely scare her away. So I bite my tongue, then survey the nearby lawns for signs of danger before we start walking again.
“What do you think it is?” she asks. “The things we see.”
“I have a couple theories.”
“Like?”
“Do you believe in God?” It’s the same question I asked Dr. Roth two years ago, during our very first appointment.
She responds the same way he did. “Do you?”
It’s an evasive maneuver. Answering a question with a question. I shoot her a knowing smile. “I asked you first.”
She twists her mouth to the side. “Honestly?”
“Always.”
“I don’t know.”
Our houses come into view as we round the bend in the road. I wish they were further away. Miles and miles away. I could walk like this with her for the rest of the night.
“Why?” she says. “Do you think God has something to do with this?”
I shrug. “When I was a little kid, we went to church.”
“Really?”
“My grandparents didn’t approve. They thought my dad was putting us in unnecessary danger, but my parents were pretty devout for a while there. Sometimes, the pastor would talk about a spiritual realm.”
“A spiritual realm?” Skepticism soaks her voice. “You mean like angels and demons and stuff?”
“I know it sounds weird,” I say. “But it’s better than my other theory.”
“Which is?”
“The doctors are right. We’re both crazy.”
16
An Angel in Ceramics
I arrive early to school the next morning hoping Tess might arrive early, too. But when I step inside Lotsam’s classroom, it’s empty. I take a seat and scrub my bleary eyes. Last night did not involve a lot of sleep. Which makes two nights in a row.
“Hey there,” a familiar voice croons in my ear.
The muscles in my shoulders tie into knots.
“Deep in thought?” Summer loops her backpack over the chair to my left. A chair she foregoes for the table directly in front of me. I catch a whiff of expensive perfume as she sweeps her hair over one shoulder, props her shoes on the chair, and sets her elbows on her knees, giving me full view of her cleavage thanks to the deep V of her top.
“Always,” I answer, looking away—toward the spot where the white-eyed man materialized yesterday morning. If not for that incident, would I have gone to the Edward Brooks Facility last night? Would I know the things I know about Tess now?
Two more classmates shuffle inside. Lotsam follows. I wait for him to say something to Summer. Like get off the table. But he doesn’t say anything. He’s too entrenched in the stack of newspapers he’s holding.
“You look like you had a rough night.” Her attention lingers on my hair. She stretches out her hand like she might tussle it.
I lean back before she can.
A flicker of disappointment flits across her brow. She forges past it. “So … will you be gracing us with your presence at Bobbi’s Halloween party this weekend?”
Despite the hints she dropped at dinner, despite the hints my mother has continued dropping since, I’ve made no suggestion that we go together. I have as much interest in attending Bobbi’s Halloween party as I did the Homecoming dance. Thankfully, Jared saves me from having to answer. Not so thankfully, he takes the seat to my right.
“I’ll be there,” he says, his eyes taking in the view. Lingering unashamedly.
I want to tell him the seat is taken. But then he’d ask who I’m saving it for and as soon as I told him, Summer would start breathing fire. Tess doesn’t need that kind of attention, especially not when the student body is already buzzing.
Summer uncaps her lip gloss and applies it to her bottom lip. “What are you going as?”
“Your boyfriend,” Jared replies.
She rubs her lips together and rolls her eyes like she isn’t enjoying Jared’s attention. She starts playing with her necklace, sliding the small heart-shaped pendant back and forth along its chain as she launches into a story about last year’s Halloween party, wherein Matt and Gris dressed up as matching butt cheeks and ended up getting into a fight on Bobbi’s front lawn. Jared chimes in—both of them so caught up in the story, I don’t think they notice that my attention keeps returning to the door.
The second Tess walks in with Leela, I look at Summer, not even remotely sure what she’s laughing at. My goal? Put Tess at ease. Last night, she caught me breaking inside Dr. Roth’s office with her file in hand. I need to give her some time and space so she can catch her breath. Even so, I find myself glancing in her direction as she and Leela find a seat across the room.
Throughout the entirety of first period, I keep my gaze on Lotsam. By the time Ceramics rolls around and the teacher calls us over to the pottery wheel for a demonstration, I’m hoping Tess has adequately caught her breath, because I can’t stay away any longer. As nonchalantly as possible, I edge around my classmates until I’m standing directly behind her, relishing the subtle scent of strawberries in her hair. A scent I’ve come to associate with her. I shift closer until there’s nothing but the smallest sliver of space between us.
Unlike most of my classmates, I’ve never had a sip of alcohol. Ingesting a substance that would impair my judgment doesn’t seem like a wise choice, given my secrets. I don’t know what it feels like to be intoxicated, but I imagine it’s something like this. Being this close to her? I can’t think straight. I don’t even care to.
Until a sudden, silent explosion of heat snaps me into sobriety.
Tess must feel it, too. She jerks in response, her head swiveling from the demonstration unfolding on the pottery wheel to the corner of the room, where a ball of brilliant light hovers.
Afraid Tess will respond the same way she did yesterday, I take her forearm and hold her steady. If she doesn’t learn how to stop reacting to the things only we can see, the target on her back will grow bigger.
I can feel her trembling.
I want to reassure her. Comfort her. Tell her it’s okay. Whatever this is, it’s not a threat. I’m not sure how I know, only that I do. But then the light begins to move. It glides in our direction. My grip on her arm tightens. I shift forward until I’m standing between Tess and this strange phenomenon floating in front of us, almost as if … it wants something. My mind races. But before I can pin anything down, the light evaporates.
To my left, Jennalee stifles a yawn. The teacher’s voice drones on.
I let go of Tess’s arm, then slowly and quietly, expel the breath in my lungs.
Our teacher finishes his demonstration.
The class disperses.
I want to stay beside Tess. I want to appoint myself as her personal bodyguard. But she shuffles off to her table with Leela, away from me. I claim one of the pottery wheels. The excuse to do something with my hands comes as a relief. I form the wet hunk of clay in front of me into various renditions of a vase, keeping Tess in the periphery of my vision.
I wish I knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling. The lack of knowing fills me with restless energy. So much of it that when she leaves the room, I decide to go after her. If anybody notices, so be it. I have to make sure she’s okay. I stand from the wheel as it continues to spin. I rinse and dry my hands, then step out into the hallway, where she hunches over the drinking fountain.
I stride toward her.
At the sound of my footsteps, she whirls around, then wipes her bottom lip.
“Are you okay?” I ask, coming to a stop in front of her.
She doesn’t answer.
“Tess,” I say. Gently. Carefully. “Look at me.”
When she does, her eyes teem with chaos.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, slower this time.
She bites her lip and my frustration swells. It’s like last night never happened. Whatever trust we established vanished with that ball of light. I say her name again, this time like a question mark.
She pulls at her sleeves. “Are—are you okay?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never …” My words fall away. I don’t know how to finish the statement. I’ve never … witnessed something like that before? Of course I have. This is, however, the first time something like that seemed to witness me.
“Never what?” she says.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“That thing.” I shove my hand toward class. “It was almost as if it was trying to interact with you.”
Her facial expression melts with … relief. “You saw it.”
“Of course I saw it.” Why else does she think I grabbed her arm?
“What do you think it was?” she asks.
“I’m not sure.”
“If you had to guess?”
“An angel.”
She laughs—a choked, unamused sound. “An angel? In our ceramics class?”
It’s preposterous, I know. My father would be horrified if he heard me say it. Ninety percent of the population would be horrified alongside him. Angels don’t exist. But what else could it be? “Do you have a better explanation?”
She seems to search for one, then frowns. “If your theory is right, then that means everyone else is wrong.”
A student walks toward us.
I pull her to the side, impatiently waiting for the kid to pass. When he does, I lean in and whisper, “Just because a lot of people believe something doesn’t make it true.”
We’re standing close again.
Only this time we’re face to face.
I want her to look me in the eye. Instead, her attention jumps from my lips to my nose—twitchy, like a frightened rabbit. And if I take one wrong step, I’m going to scare her away.
“Okay,” she concedes with a shaky breath. “So let’s say it was an angel. Why couldn’t anybody else see it? Why was it even there in the first place?”
Her questions don’t come with answers.
There are too many maddening unknowns.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
Tess shakes her head. “This is crazy.”
“I know.”
“Up until twenty minutes ago, I didn’t even think last night happened. I thought it was a dream. For all I know, right now is too.”
“You must have very realistic dreams.”
“In first period, you acted like nothing happened. You ...” She trails off, exasperated. Or maybe hurt.
My regret is immediate. I didn’t feign indifference to hurt her. I feigned indifference to protect her. The last thing she needs is Summer Burbanks making her life miserable. “I’m a good actor, remember? I’ve been doing it for years and I didn’t want to draw attention to us.” I lean against the wall and finally catch her eye. Finally see the truth. She genuinely doesn’t know what to believe. “I’m real, Tess. This isn’t a dream.”
“Dream Luka would probably say the same thing.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name.
The sound of it intoxicates me all over again.
I take her hand and set her palm flat against my chest. “You can feel my heartbeat. Would that happen in a dream?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Two more students step around the corner.
Annoyance grabs me by the jaw.
Why is it so hard to get a moment alone with her?
I let go of her wrist. “I think we should meet up after school. Get a head start on our history project.”
She blinks. “O-okay.”
“My house or yours?”
“Yours,” she blurts, so adamantly I cock my head. She blushes, then tucks her hair behind her ear. “My brother’s into angry music. We’d have a hard time getting anything done.”
One corner of my mouth turns up into a crooked smile. Tess is coming over. To my house. Away from our nosy classmates. Just me and her.
The school day can’t end fast enough.
17
Confessions
I drum my fingers on the ledge of our second-floor guest room window, trying to conduct more research while I wait for Tess, looking with frequency from the car parked in the Eckhart’s driveway to their front door. Ten minutes have passed since she arrived home. Ten minutes have passed since she walked inside with her brother Pete.
I chew my thumbnail.
Click on another blocked link.
Look again at her front lawn.
Just when I begin to think Tess is going to stand me up, her front door opens.
She steps outside.
Tucking my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I tell myself to relax and walk slowly down the stairs. I should let her knock first. But Tess doesn’t knock. I watch on the security camera as she shifts on my front stoop with her backpack hitched over her shoulder. She’s dressed in the same clothes she wore to school—a large hoodie and ripped jeans. Her hair is long enough now to pull up into a messy bun and her face has that just-washed quality it always does. She glances toward her house, but before she can change her mind and scurry away, I open the door.
Tess startles.
I cock my head. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to knock.”
“You were watching me?”
“Maybe.” I open the door wider in invitation.
She takes it hesitantly.
And finally, we’re all alone. Inside my foyer. Her nerves palpable as she peeks past me toward the kitchen.
“Looking for somebody?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. Nor does her gaze settle. It hops all around, from the dark polished floors to the copper-colored wallpaper to the wide staircase to our hanging chandelier. I can’t imagine any of it impresses her. Her house must be equally as grand, just like every other house inside our gated community.
I peer at her. “You rarely say what you’re thinking.”
Tess finally looks at me.
I have her full attention.
“I can tell you have a million thoughts racing through your head, but you keep them to yourself.” Maybe this is part of her appeal. She’s impossible to pin down. This girl who is one way in my dreams—fierce and frank and unafraid—and another when I’m awake—shy and observant and inscrutable. “You’re very mysterious.”
