Feathermore Page 3
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A small shake woke me from the light sleep I had fallen into. Nate was gone, and Claire was looking at me with concern.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” she said. I opened my mouth to tell her, but would she even believe me? Could she possibly? “Do you want me to walk you to the Nurse office?”
I shook my head and looked at my watch. “I’ll be okay,” I said as I picked up my lunch sack and books, and we walked past the cafeteria and back toward our lit class. I hurried in and sat down in the far left corner. By now it would not have been a stretch to complain of a headache. It seemed that the dam holding the force of what I had been resisting all morning just crumbled. Usually, the voice was always fleeting, but its effects lasted quite a while and sapped me of any vigor. All I could do was rub my temples, sigh, and wish I could be in my bed.
The fluorescent lights above us were not helping—forcing me to squint, adding to the pressure in my forehead. I wished darkness would wash over me. As if on cue, the light bulbs around my seat went off with an audible clicking sound. Weird. Mr. Gatley sent one of the girls in the front row to tell the maintenance man about it.
I reached for the small pocket of my bag, where I kept a few Band-Aids and some ibuprofen, after all, I was accident prone. I threw two of the tablets onto my tongue and washed them down with a squeeze from an apple juice carton I grabbed from Claire’s bag. She let me off with just a scowl. I half smiled and rested my head, which felt heavier than ever, on my left hand—yet another symptom of my need to be always vigilant. “Better heads up than heads rolling,” I always said. But why couldn’t I ever just let my guard down even a little?
It was odd that after the morning’s strange events and the last booming intrusion by the voice, I was starting to think that maybe I should try to communicate with it. Perhaps the voice that was warning me over and over about that unpronounceable thing might shed a little more light on what it meant.
Yup, I was definitely going off the deep end. Was I really contemplating a conversation with a voice in my head? As if it weren’t bad enough being the only one hearing it!
It wouldn’t hurt, right? I would still try when I got home. I was usually alone until Mom came home from work at five thirty. That would give me enough time, though Claire was most likely going to hang out after school. It seemed that Mom had gotten a bargain: two girls for the price of one.
The rest of the day went smoothly and without further mishap. It looked as though luck was on my side—I found myself in three other classes with Avan. He seemed to be taking it in stride, and actually spoke to me again as we walked together to our last period, biology. He had kept a safe distance from me.
With my head resting on my arms, I opened my eyes and watched the way Avan took notes and listened in class. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was sitting across the room from me, but I could swear that I heard his heart beating. Strong and steady. His eyes met mine, and his heart beat faster—or was it mine?
Before I knew it, Claire and I were walking home, feeling the light breeze move pleasantly around us. I babbled about Avan for a moment, but only until I realized Claire wasn’t listening to a word I was saying. As usual when they were apart, she was already texting Nate. I let out a low sigh, and resigned myself to walk in silence.
Finally, in the peace and calm of home, though my head felt quite clear, I told Claire I was going to take a shower and a nap—the perfect excuse to have some alone time and try to evoke the voice. I abandoned Claire, who needed no looking after while lounging happily downstairs, her eyes glued to the TV. I couldn’t understand her fascination with those reality shows. There was no real anything; it was all scripted, and everyone knew it.
I wanted to see if the voice would come. I wanted to try to provoke it, wanted it to know that I heard it loud and clear. In my room, I made sure Claire was still babbling away on the phone, with the TV on, before I closed the door.
I lay on my bed with my ankles crossed and my eyes closed. What now? I lay there, but the only voice that came to me was Claire’s muffled chatter from downstairs. Come on, voice—talk.
“Hi,” I croaked out loud. “Oh, how stupid,” I whispered to myself, embarrassed at the thought of being heard. I cleared my throat and continued softly, looking at the closed door. “Can you hear me?” I closed my eyes and waited for an answer, but none came. At least the voice was keeping quiet. Should that mean anything? “If you can hear me, I have heard your warning and I understand.” I didn’t really have a clue; I just needed it to stop. “You don’t need to keep repeating yourself over and over again.”
Silence.
I held my breath. Had it heard me? Was it that easy? I opened my eyes, uncrossed my legs, rolled onto my side, and enjoyed the first real quiet time I had had all day.
The comfort of the sheets, and the peace of mind my little experiment gave me lulled me into a meditative half-awake, half-asleep state. I imagined again the moment when our hands met, and the thrilling sensation that had coursed through me, changing me. It had felt as if a thousand lightning bolts had erupted all at the same time. I became aware that it felt as though I was getting used to being in a new skin. There was an especially strange sensation wrapping around my shoulders, but I didn’t find it unpleasant. I dreamed of limitless, beckoning skies. There was a soft whisper. “She will soon be coming. Ki-sikil-lil-la-ke.” It was soft and low, and so clear. The vision faded, and I opened my eyes. I had finally understood correctly.
3. in the night