Prism (4 page)

“Let’s go searching!” Zeke clapped several times. He had that kind of instant adrenalized energy—quick to come and quick to wear off. Joy’s enormous eyes moistened and I gazed at her. She caught my stare and shook it off.

We managed to stand and began to walk forward.

“Bucky’s gonna get sued for this.” Zeke was calling our illustrious school by its popular endearment.

“Buchanan
was
the president who never did anything,” I quipped.

“You know who’s probably worrying about me right now?” Zeke asked as I looked at our surroundings. More and more endless cave, dark and unpromising.

“Your parents?” Joy offered.

“Leslie,” he answered.

An image of Leslie splashed into my mind. But she wasn’t smiling openmouthed as she usually did. Instead she was glaring, her face and body wretched. This is what happens when you’re afraid. You see and remember things as being distorted…terribly frightening. Pictures flutter through your mind and your breath catches. If people are around you, they look at you strangely.

Joy touched my back and I jumped.

“Whoa,” she said.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “just freaking myself out.”

“You looked like you were having a seizure, only the kind where you don’t roll around and stuff.”

I nodded.

“I’m doing that, too, Kaida,” Joy offered sympathetically. “Freaking myself out.”

“You guys are weird.” Zeke snorted.

I felt my face go hot. “You never do that? You never think
about something scary and get freaked out? You’re not scared right now? I don’t think so!”

“Calm down—”

“You’re not freaked?”

“Of course I’m freaked!” he shouted. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, so shut up, okay? You sound possessed or something.” He quickened his pace and I wondered if maybe I
was
possessed.

“I grant you permission to perform an exorcism,” I said. My voice was like porcelain, white and breakable. I felt like a ghost.

“God, leave me alone!” he groaned.

But he sounded terrified.

“You were the one who came up with the idea,” Joy reminded him.

“Thank you so much for bringing that up.”

“Just saying.”

“Of course you were.”

They bickered for another five minutes while I felt my chewed nails. I’m a nail biter, I admit it. And who could ask for a better time to bite them—except my hands were gross and dirty. My thumb was okay. As I raised it to my mouth, bright flecks appeared on my hand. I rotated my wrist, fascinated by what I was seeing. Then I pulled my hand to my side and the bits of illumination fell to the ground as if I’d dropped them. Joy and Zeke were still going at it.

“Guys!” I interrupted.

“What?” they yelled in unison.

“Look at the ground!” They instantly stopped fighting. No one spoke.

“That’s light,” I told them.

“It’s on my leg,” Joy whispered. Her leg was starting to streak with a vibrant pink. The kind of coral associated with dawn.

“My shoes.” Zeke lifted his feet, the light then spreading to the ground.

“My arm.”

“The ground in front of me.”

The flashlight was no longer our only source of light.

“Forward?” I suggested.

“I second it,” Joy agreed.

“Third it,” Zeke answered.

We waited a brief moment before charging ahead. Not walking but running. Racing. The light grew as we progressed farther, becoming wider and brighter until it was blinding. But we didn’t stop. We kept running. A deafening buzzing started to sound, like radio static; no, more like the obnoxious kind of feedback that comes when a microphone is held too close to a speaker. I couldn’t hear the sound of my own feet. I couldn’t feel my feet moving. Because they weren’t moving.

There was a blinding flash of light as if my entire world was exploding. Suddenly we were flying. My whole body
was flying…falling…plunging down into an endless abyss. It was the kind of sudden vertical fall that sent your head spinning and your stomach jolting and shot a shivering pain into your body from your temples to your toes.

This morning’s wake-up song was something by Metallica.

Ha ha,
I thought,
my brother’s idea of a practical joke—except it was coming from the radio
. I croaked and banged my alarm clock, of course missing the stop button and just hurting my hand.

Exit: light

Enter: night

Take my hand

We’re off to never, never land!

I smashed my fist on my clock again. It still didn’t stop screeching.

I finally got out of bed and pressed the stop button. I felt sore, my arms and legs stinging with pins and needles. I tend to put my arms behind my head when I sleep. It’s an awful habit. I was also unusually sweaty.

I went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, thinking about the multiple man-looking-in-mirror literary clichés.

“She looked into the mirror,” I said aloud. “Staring back at her was a groggy adolescent with dried drool on her face.”

I turned on the hot-water tap and waited for it to heat up. In the meantime, I brushed my teeth, noticing that I was out of toothpaste and mouthwash.

Yuck.

When I looked in the medicine cabinet for a spare, it was just about empty, holding a bar of soap and my rosewater perfume.

Where are my Advil and Benadryl—and my toothpaste?

I was confused and I knew why. I had a very vivid nightmare last night. It was still impacted in my brain as I washed my face. My skin appeared to be flaking around my eyes and nostrils. I looked at the bathroom countertop and found a tube of moisturizer marked Coyote Cream, with a howling coyote silhouette.

How’d I get this?

I shrugged as I studied the tube. I always enjoy reading the backs of cosmetic products. They’re usually pretty funny.
Like on the back of shampoo, you’d think they were describing some elite eco-environment.

It read:

Coyote Cream is a soothing moisturizer with aloe vera and desert botanicals. Apply daily or as often as desired. The calming mixture helps quell rashes and dryness. The secret is the essence of the New Mexican desert, the Land of Enchantment’s mystical and herbal cures.

Wouldn’t something from a desert make my skin drier?

As I tentatively applied the cream to my face, I was reminded of the Carlsbad Caverns and my class trip. Maybe that was where my Advil and Benadryl had gone. Maybe Mom had already packed my medicine even though the trip was a little over a week away. That would be typical of my over-preparing mother.

I wondered if they had assigned the van groups yet. I was praying that by some stroke of luck, I’d be with Maria.

“Anyone but a jock,” I said, slathering the creamy lotion on my face.

The jocks in my grade were mostly all right, just boring. Roger Patterson…Zeke Anderson.

I squeezed more moisturizer onto my face, applying liberally. Zeke. Why did I keep thinking about him?

Abruptly, my mind flooded with a heavy darkness. A crash. A storm. A cave. I dropped the Coyote Cream and stood upright, paralyzed.

No. Absolutely not. Impossible.

“Dude, what are you doing in there? Last night’s dinner was plain old macaroni,” my brother shouted while pounding on the bathroom door.

I opened the door and he began to crack up.

“What’s on your face?” He laughed. “Looks like butter or something. Did you have trouble eating your breakfast? Not that big of a deal, Kaida. Just put the fork in your mouth.”

“What are you talking about?” I touched my cheek and remembered the Coyote Cream. Like me, Jace was still in his pajamas. Flannel pants and an Iron Maiden T-shirt.

“Look…uh, where was I last night?”

He squinted, his eyes the same gray color as the bathroom tile at school. “Kaida,” he began sternly, “who got you drunk? Seriously. If it was freaking Maria, I’m gonna kill her!”

“I wasn’t drunk. I don’t drink. The only thing I drank last night was water, Jace—”

“Vodka!” he roared. “Bet you drank vodka!”

There are a million translucent beverages. But to my brother there was only one.

“What are you talking about, Jace? I drank water. Wahtur.”

Jace was still skeptical.

“So I was home last night? I didn’t just get back from, um, the hospital, or anything?”

He gave me a strange look. “What?”

“Never mind.”

“You didn’t just get back from…” He waved his hands, motioning for me to finish his sentence.

“Like the hospital or something.”

He continued to stare at me. Then he knocked my head with his fist. “Get out of the bathroom. I gotta brush my teeth.”

I obeyed. “But really I was home—”

“We have vodka at home, too.” He bent down and picked something up. “Is this yours?”

It was the Coyote Cream. “Yeah, I guess.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you an idiot?”

“I’m getting a no for that one.”

“Then why are you using this crap?”

“It’s not crap—it’s all natural.”

He read the ingredients. “Never heard of this brand. Where’d you get it?”

“I found it in the bathroom.”

“Well, just in case…” He squeezed out all the contents in the toilet, then wrapped up the tube in tissue and dropped it in the trash. “Stick to the old brands, okay? Don’t want any trouble, right?”

I was too stunned to respond.

Jace said, “I’ve gotta brush and dry my teeth.”

Dry my teeth?
I thought. But before I could ask him about it, he shut the door in my face. Just like that, without another word.

“Mom?” I said, looking up from my breakfast. Waffles with chocolate syrup—my mother was in a jovial mood.

“Mmm?” she answered. My mother wore acid-washed jeans and a black T-shirt. I kind of preferred she’d just stick to a dress or something.

“When’s my class trip?” I stabbed my waffle and something oozed out of it.

“In about ten days.”

“Did you pack my—”

“Soo-zee, don’t cry,” Mom cooed to my younger sister, who was sitting in her high chair. My sister had the fine blond hair and flawless skin that only graces the very young.

“I had the weirdest dream,” I said loudly, trying to grab my mother’s attention over the screaming infant.

“Do,” she said between hushes, “tell.” She scooped up my sister and started bouncing up and down, dancing around the kitchen and singing all sorts of maternal jingles.

“Well, it started off like—”

“Morning,” my mom sang out. “It’s mor-nin’ and we’re not so hah-ah-ah-ppy! Go on, Kaida,” she urged, her voice still musical.

“You know, it’s not that important, Mom. The waffles are good.”

“Thank you.” Mom huffed. Suzanne continued to wail, her face wrinkled like a golden raisin. “Stop crying, little miss.”

“Mom, do you want me to take her for a minute?” Suzanne’s habit was to wake up at three in the morning. Everyone except for Mom wore earplugs to sleep.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

But Mom looked exhausted. I got up and carefully took Suzanne from her arms. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” I opened the door, knowing exactly who’d be there.

“Well, good morning to you too, Sue!” Maria twittered in response to my sister’s shrieking. She was wearing a cotton minidress with suns dotted across it.

“Nice dress,” Jace remarked as he descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. “Looks like acne.”

“To match your face,” Maria responded cheerfully.

Just get married already
, I thought with annoyance. They were always doing this. Good for Maria, though; she was unflappable. She let herself in and grabbed Suzanne, lifting her body into the air. “Woooo!” she said, turning to me. “You about ready to get going?”

“About ready? I’m fully ready.” I grabbed my messenger bag and noticed that, remarkably enough, Suzanne was quiet. Maria went into the kitchen and gave Suzanne to my brother, and as we left the house, her screams started once again. “Kaida, I gotta hand it to you.” Maria sighed as she looked at the sky. “You’re a good sister.” She bent down to tie her shoe. It was the quilted puffy kind and neon green.

“My mom’s so exhausted. I worry about her sometimes.”

“Worry?”

“You know, about her getting sick or—”

“
Stop
it, Kaida! Why do you want to ruin the day first thing in the morning?”

I had no comeback. It seemed that I was putting everyone in a bad mood.

Such is life when one is blessed with a winning personality.

We were almost at school. Maria had turned perky again. “Want to pick up Iggy? He’s just a few houses away.”

“Not in particular, no.”

“Well, too bad, ’cause I already told him we would,” Maria said. “You’re in a mood. What d’you have against ol’ Igg?”

“Nothing.” I had wanted to be alone with Maria to tell her about my dream, but that wasn’t going to happen.

When we arrived at a blue stucco house, Maria yelled, “Yo, Igg!”

Iggy peered out from his open bedroom window. He
looked like he had just gotten up. His red hair was a ridiculous afro.

“If you’re in your pajamas, we’re not waiting for you to change,” I shouted.

“Change? I’ve been up for an hour,” he said at normal decibel level. Even though his bedroom was on the second story, the distance up wasn’t really that high. We could hear each other easily. “Wait up.”

He descended in a matter of seconds.

“Did you dye your hair?” Iggy asked me as he closed his front door.

“Two weeks ago,” I answered.

“Really?”

“Really. Thanks for noticing.”

But that was Iggy…boys in general, I think. Iggy played the violin with Maria and me in orchestra. He was extremely talented, but it seemed to be the only thing he was focused on. He tended to space out for major periods of time. Like, say, months….

“It’s looking kind of purple,” he told me.

“That’s what I was going for,” I retorted.

“Iggy, you’re looking pale today,” Maria said pointedly.

“Thanks, guys. You’re great friends.”

Bucky High lurched into view, its brick walls looking as prisonlike as ever. Zeke Anderson was leaning against an entry door, with Leslie Barker at his side, laughing and touching his arm. As Maria, Iggy, and I approached the building, Zeke
glanced at us briefly, his eyes narrowing as they fell on me.

We locked eyes for a fleeting moment. Then he nodded in a typical jock salute and picked up Leslie, throwing her over his shoulder as she giggled.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted them as I walked up the stoop.

“Hey,” Leslie snorted, “how was your weekend?” Zeke put her down and she brushed something invisible off her jeans.

“It’s Monday?” I wondered out loud.

Leslie raised her eyebrows. “You’re serious?”

We stood there awkwardly. We might as well have been twiddling our thumbs and talking about baseball. Why were we talking? I turned around and met the confused stares of Iggy and Maria, still on the bottom of the steps. I had rushed ahead of them to greet Zeke and then wondered why.

“Bye?” I said like it was a question, and raced into school, my face hot. I felt a clamp on my shoulder and flinched.

“Kaida?” It was Maria’s tanned hand that gripped my shoulder in a way that said either
We’re concerned
or
What the hell?
Iggy stood a few paces behind her. The “foyer,” as the administrators called it, was constantly packed with students, be it class time or not.

“Not like I have a problem with friendliness or anything, but…” Maria removed her hand from my shoulder and slung her arm around my neck. “Did you like…like ditch us over the weekend for the Zekester and his other half?”

“I was just saying hi, Maria—you should try it sometime,” I joked. We had a word for this, the feeling of knowing that
something should make sense and yet not being able to find that sense.

Confuzzled.

We started strolling to our lockers. They were red, which meant you were in tenth grade and not allowed to complain because you were not yet in the dreaded eleventh grade.

“Iggy thinks you’re leaving him for Zeke.” Maria sighed.

“I can’t leave Iggy because I’m not currently with him—a minor glitch in that theory, huh?”

“So you do like Zeke! Is that why you went all…how does my dad say it?” She cleared her throat and spoke in a baritone voice. “Moony over him.”

I laughed and shoved Maria into the freshmen lockers. They were yellow.

“Denial, denial,” Maria tsked.

“Honestly, it’s not that.” A brown-haired freshie looked up at me cautiously. She blushed and turned away. Poor kid. Was I ever that scared of high school?

“What is it then, my dear?” Maria teased.

“He was in my dream last night.”

“O-kay. So now you just dug yourself into a deeper hole. Like, a pit so perilous no amount of rope could get you out of it. A hole so—”

“Can you let me finish—”

“Do I really need to?” She snapped the strap of my cami-sole beneath my shirt and made a run for it. Strap-snapping is my ultimate pet peeve, and Maria knew this all too well. I
wanted to hit her, but she was too quick on her feet.

I took off after her. When I’m running, I’m about as perceptive as a potted plant, and I collided with someone. Shock waves fired up my body.

I looked up and saw that the person was tall, about a head and a half taller than I was. He had silken wavy black hair and eyes the size of tea saucers—a very winning combination.

“Um, sorry.”

I scanned his face. Nope. No recognition, and I was surprised. I had a built-in radar for good-looking guys. I walked past him. I felt like my nose was broken, and it already had a bump on it. Nothing tragic but plainly evident.

“You’re just going to walk past me?” the guy called after me. “You seemed like you were in such a rush when you smacked into me!”

Cheeky, he was. How very endearing. I didn’t turn around.

When I got to my locker, Maria was wiping beads of sweat off her face. They were iridescent, like tiny prisms. “Slow,” she huffed. “You’re slow today.”

“You’re no athlete yourself, dearest.” I opened my locker and shoved books in and out of the space:
Englchemiforeign-langualgebra
. All my subjects blended after a while.

Down the hall I saw Mrs. Mimms lighting a cigarette, a wavy band of smoke trailing from her face. I nudged Maria. “Mrs. M is um,
smoking
.”

She turned to look at Mrs. M, then squinted her Eurasian
eyes at me. “I don’t get it, but some people can’t get enough of it.”

I said, “That’s nicotine for you.”

She looked at me like I had six heads. “Nicole who?”

“Maria, can you
stop
?” I snapped my head back. “You’re not allowed to smoke indoors and she’s a teacher—”

“Um, Kaida. Since when are you not allowed to smoke indoors?”

I crossed my arms and saw Mrs. M blithely light up Joy Tallon’s cigarette, as casually as if she were picking up a dropped book.

“Am I in the twilight zone? Not only is that weird, it’s totally illegal.”

“Okay, Kaida, let us review,” Maria told me. “A) it’s not illegal, and B) since when did you care what’s illegal and what’s not illegal?”

I scratched my scalp. It was dry. It could use a good deep conditioning. “What have I ever done that’s illegal? And don’t say like, vandalize the school. Because everyone draws on their lockers.”

She pulled up close to me and whispered, “Coyote Cream. Jace told me in the kitchen this morning I’d better keep my eye on you.”

“What?”
Why had she been talking to my brother about me?
“Okay, that’s definitely not—”

“Shut up!” she said. “Let’s just talk about this later.”

The last bell trilled and I couldn’t find Maria.

“Hey,” a tentative voice sounded behind me.

I turned around and faced the gangly, Gumbyesque figure of Zeke Anderson. “Sorry for acting weird this morning,” I said, noticing that Leslie Barker and her mousy friends were staring at me.

“Yeah, no…it’s fine,” Zeke answered.

Yeah, no.
What an odd sequence of words. And yet, right now, they were a succinct summary of how my day had been.

“I mean you weren’t really acting weird.” He started to touch my shoulder and then decided no, and pulled his hand back. “Look, can I walk you home?”

Leslie’s eyebrows shot up. I’d never noticed them before, but they were arched.

“Sure, walk me home. But I live on Agatha Street. Don’t you live—”

“Far away, but I think I need to talk to you.”

“Your girlfriend looks like she’s going to kill me. Or kill me and then you.”

“I’ve explained it to her. Got all your stuff? Need to stop by your locker?”

“No, I’m all right.”

He turned and waved to Leslie and a jealous smile formed with her pale lips.
Not to worry, Les, he’s all yours
. “Let’s just go straight home. Straight to my home, I mean.”

We shot out of school until we were alone. “Okay…so don’t get me wrong.” He squinted as he looked up at the glaring sun. “You were kind of in my dream last night.”

“Context, please.” My heartbeat was a galloping horse.

“It was weird. Really, um—”

“Vivid,” I interrupted.

Zeke gave me a sideways glance. We were on a street lined with stores. He stopped walking and leaned against the wall of a bagel store. “Yeah. Vivid. Really vivid. How did you know that?”

“I think I had the same dream.”

A few cars whooshed by. I stared at the sidewalk, then began to cross the street.

“Kaida, watch out!”

Zeke ran and pulled me out of the street, but another person wasn’t so lucky. I heard a screech and a scream and then a loud
thump
! In the middle of the road lay an injured man, vibrant red liquid splashed over his face and arms as if he’d been doused in ketchup. My hands went numb and my fingers felt like sandbags as I took out my cell phone and tried to dial the digits. But I couldn’t get my mind to cooperate.

In the meantime, Zeke had whipped out his cell phone. “Omigod!” He dialed three digits. Presumably 911. Suddenly he took my phone away from my ear and dialed. “What the hell!” he stammered as he redialed. “It’s—it’s not connecting.”

“Try again.”

He did. “Nothing.”

“Try my phone again.”

Once again, Zeke redialed. “It’s like…nothing!”

As I looked around, I saw cars coming and going. Although the passing traffic avoided the body, the vehicles continued on their way, oblivious of a bleeding body in the middle of the street.

Slow down, you idiots
, my brain yelled out.
Yield!
There were a few people on the street. “Someone!” I sputtered ineloquently. “There’s a man! A hit-and-run!”

Zeke flailed his arms. Everyone says when someone is hurt, you should scream. Nobody says that it’s nearly impossible to do this. When something bad happens, it’s hard to find your voice. It gets lost between your stomach and your feet. Somewhere in your thighs maybe.

Eventually we did scream, but no one came to help. We were screaming and jumping up and down, but everyone was ignoring us.

About five minutes later, a van pulled up—or something that looked like an ambulance, but snow white without a siren or any other typical ambulance markings. Instantly, the insane traffic had grounded to a halt, cars keeping a big distance from the accident scene. Pedestrians had suddenly disappeared.

Just me and Zeke and a dying man.

Four men dressed in bleached white garb got out of the vans. They had white hats on their heads and white aprons
across their bodies and wore surgical masks on their faces. They looked like they had arrived from the morgue and were ready to do an autopsy except the man wasn’t dead yet. I could tell because I heard moaning and his legs were still twitching.

They picked up the body with their latex gloved hands and put it inside the back of the van. There wasn’t a gurney, and no one made any attempt to stop the bleeding. It looked to my untrained eyes as if there had been no medical intervention whatsoever. As the last of the men closed the hatch of the vehicle, he glared at the two of us.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

“Me?” Zeke said. “Nothing, sir.”

I was rendered absolutely speechless.

“Keep walking,” he barked at us.

Immediately the two of us took off at a fairly decent trot. When we were safely away from the scene, I stuttered out, “W-what was that?
Who
was that?”

“I have no idea!” Zeke answered. “Maybe we should talk another time.”

Without waiting for my answer, he took off like hunted prey. I stood stock still, my mind back on what had just happened. Throwing that poor man into the ambulance like he was a sack of garbage—like he wasn’t human at all. My head pounded as hard as my heart was beating. What was going
on
? Did I fall and hurt my head? Was that the reason behind my weird dream? But what about Zeke’s dream?

Was I dreaming now?

More like having a nightmare. I closed my eyes and saw only red. Those horrible men had started off dressed in white, but within seconds they had become soaked in scarlet.

They weren’t afraid of blood, it seemed.

Or of death, for that matter.