Under Rose-Tainted Skies(11)

Except when I make it to the kitchen, there is no air and I still feel like I’m being crammed into a closet. So I keep going, forcing my legs forward until I reach the front door.

The two locks that I rely on to keep me safe turn into twenty as I scramble to lift latches, turn keys, slide bolts. There’s so much clicking. Click-click-clicking. I want to scratch away my scalp.

At last there’s a pop, and I pull the door open. The air hits me like cold water, and my whole body sighs a sigh that I’m pretty sure can be heard on the other side of town. Tension falls off me, the same way it does when you climb into a hot bath after a hard day.

It’s never made sense to me, how I can crave fresh air and be so afraid of it simultaneously. Dr Reeves tells me it’s not supposed to make sense. She says a study at her former hospital revealed more people were afraid of public speaking than of dying. Imagine that. A bunch of well-educated folk believing that talking out loud for ten minutes is more frightening than falling asleep for ever. The brain is basically an evil dictator.

‘Morning.’

I’m so deep in thought, I don’t see him. My bones leap from my body and I brace, shoulders rising, back arching like a spooked cat’s, a heartbeat away from hissing. New Boy is strolling down his driveway with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Goddamn it. Why is he always outside? We never saw the former residents of number twenty-six. Mom would often tease that they were vampires. Of course, then my mind got screwy and her living-dead joke stopped being funny. But New Boy Next Door, Luke, is like an unwanted relative, always showing up at the most inopportune times. I miss the days when I could have a panic attack in peace. Then he smiles at me and I forget why I am frustrated. His smile makes the summer seem insignificant. I can’t stop staring.

‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s going okay.’ My voice is small, barely there. He’d be forgiven for thinking I had a sore throat.

‘You heading to school?’

I nod. A lie. It’s automatic, a defensive thing born from years of saying no and then fumbling around for an excuse as to why.

‘Where do you go?’

Ah. This could get complicated. The problem with lies is they like to hang around in packs.

The countdown clock from some cheesy game show starts ticktock-ticktocking in my ears. There are two schools in our district, Cardinal North at one end of town and Fairfield South at the other. We’re slap bang in the middle. He could go to either.

‘Cardinal,’ I say, my hands balling into fists. I actually was a student there for a few weeks and they did say I could go back whenever I was ready, so that’s not totally a lie. Plus, Fairfield is some big deal in high school football and he was wearing that ring.

‘Sweet. It’ll be good to see a face I recognize around the halls.’

Crap.

‘You need a ride?’ A waterfall of gold sun is raining down on him and obscuring his features.

‘I’mnotgoingintoday.’ Conversation has never sounded so much like machine-gun fire. I choke out a fake cough, take a deep breath, and throw myself on the mercy of syllables. ‘Sick day.’ Cough-cough-cough.

‘I’m sorry. That sucks.’

‘It’s just a cold.’ I wave a nonchalant hand. ‘I’ll live.’

He opens the passenger door of a shiny black pickup truck and slings his bag in the front seat. I glance over my shoulder, ponder if this is my cue to go inside because we’re done talking, but when I look back, he’s walked up to the hedge that separates our houses.

‘So what say you, Neighbour? Are they going to eat me alive over there?’ He’s smiling, but my Spidey senses tingle. I think there’s some real concern in his question.

He’s wearing a Transformers T-shirt and the same ripped jeans he had on yesterday. The ring is gone, and a black, braided cord is wrapped around his wrist.

I think maybe the girls will write poetry about him, tattoo his name on the backs of their hands in ink and circle it with red hearts. At least, that’s what I would do. I don’t know about the guys. I haven’t really been around any since testosterone commandeered their spindly bodies and moulded them into men. TV would have me believe that the new kid always gets his ass kicked on the first day, and how he deals with that determines the rest of his school life. Or is that what’s supposed to happen on your first day in prison?

I’ve forgotten what we were talking about.

‘Hmm.’ He strokes his chin. ‘A prolonged silence. That can’t be good.’

Sarcastic slow clap. Good job, Norah. Way to make a new friend feel secure. Well, not friend, exactly. At least, not yet. I wonder if he thinks we are. Probably not after this. Unless . . .

I’m doing it again.

‘No. Not at all,’ I argue, hopefully before he’s concluded I’m ignorant. I should explain that overthinking is how I function. But of course I don’t, because I want him to think I’m normal for as long as possible. Instead, I pretend that saying no is enough. ‘Everyone is really nice. And your Transformers T-shirt is very cool.’

‘Interesting,’ he says, squinting at me.

‘What is?’

‘Fashion advice from a girl who wears a giant teddy bear sweater to go grocery-fishing on her front porch.’

Pins and needles. Red-hot. All over my body. I twist my fingers into knots, can feel the steep decline of a shame spiral tugging at my ankles.