Out of My Mind (27 page)

I come downstairs. “Wanna sit outside?”

“Sure.”

We go out onto the porch and sit in the Adirondack chairs. I glance at J.D.’s house, but only for a second. It hurts too much.

“So Greg’s like totally nuts, huh?” Clarisse asks.

“He probably wouldn’t have acted
so
nuts if he hadn’t been drinking, but yeah, he’s pretty messed up.”

“I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”

I smile to myself. “Can I tell you something? Just between us?”

“Sure.”

“I was pretending.”

“Why?” Her eyes widen with curiosity.

“I wanted to be accepted.”

“Oh.” She studies her fingers in her lap. She
so
gets what I’m talking about.

“Hang on a sec.” I rush into the house and up the stairs. I grab my Cheer pin out of my music box and smile. This makes sense. I rejoin Clarisse on the porch and hand her the pin.

“What, no, that’s your gold Cheer pin,” she protests.

“I can’t dance anymore. It’s okay, I want you to have it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

We hang out for a while and it’s nice. She seems to get me, but I sense how much she wants to belong to Taylor’s group. Some people feel more secure when they’re part of a group. I used to feel that way.

She gets a text and frowns.

“Taylor?” I ask.

“Yeah. They’re doing the mall.”

No one texted me about a mall trip. I’ve been replaced and that’s okay.

“Come with us?” she offers.

“Can’t. Homework. But thanks.”

“Well.” She stands. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” We hug and she bounces off my front porch.

I go back inside, grab the box of old photos and take it upstairs. I think about homework, I really do, but I’m distracted when I glance at my nightstand and see J.D.’s sketchbook. My heart breaks all over again. I know I should return it, but can’t bring myself to go over there.

I grab my own sketchbook hoping that drawing will ease the pain in my chest. I head out. Not sure where I’m going. I just have to think.

I’m walking toward the library and my cell vibrates. I hope, hope, hope…

I don’t recognize the number, which means it’s not J.D. My heart sinks.

“Hello?”

“Catherine?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Detective Ryan.”

I hesitate. “What’s wrong? Is J.D. okay?”

“He’s fine as far as I know. I’m calling about something else.”

“What’s up?”

“I probably shouldn’t be asking this but,” he pauses, “a buddy of mine at Seattle PD is working on a murder case. I was wondering if you could help a witness, you know, remember what she saw?”

I consider. Resist the idea at first. Then remember Goth girl and how I could have possibly prevented that horrible experience.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was out of line.”

“No, it’s okay. I can try, but I don’t have much control over them, the visions, I mean.”

“It’s worth a shot. She’s coming in Saturday at ten to work with a sketch artist.”

“Okay.”

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“Meh.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Call her,” I suggest.

“Call who?”

“You know who. I’ll see you Saturday.” I hit End and smile.

A sense of pride washes over me. Not shame, not fear.

Pride.

I can use my HULU skills to help someone, maybe even a lot of people. Suddenly I feel a little less broken.

A few minutes later I detour into the greenbelt by the library. I felt at peace when I came to this place before.

The place where J.D. first kissed me.

Clutching my sketchbook, I approach the ridge and hesitate. I need to get up there, need to see the mountains and forget about my life for a few minutes.

I toss my sketchbook onto the ridge and grab a tree root. I pull with my arms and push with my feet, but my arms aren’t strong enough.

“Damn it!”

“You should wear a helmet if you’re gonna go rock climbing.”

I spin around at the sound of J.D.’s voice. He stands there, as cute as ever, with a half smile curling his lips.

“Yeah.” I’m breathless, my heart filling with hope.

He’s talking to me. That’s a good sign, right?

Without making eye contact, he climbs up the ridge and offers his hand. “Ready?”

I nod and grab his hand. Warmth races up my arm. Is this…does this mean?

He pulls me up and we’re inches apart. He glances away like he’s uncomfortable.

“I come here to draw sometimes,” he says.

“Me too.” I’m not sure what to say.

He motions for me to sit on a rock and he sits beside me, our legs touching. The contact feels incredible. He pulls a sketchbook out of his backpack and offers a reserved, almost shy smile.

“My name’s Jesse.” He extends his hand. “Jesse Dean Pratt.”

“I’m Catherine, but my friends call me Cat.”

We shake hands and I’m grounded again. I’m home.

“Nice to meet you, Cat.” J.D. pulls me close and kisses me.

The kiss is sweet and gentle, and amazing.

Okay, so I can’t do twenty sit-ups, I’ll never make Cheer and I struggle to remember my cat’s name.

My life isn’t perfect.

I’m good with that.

THE END