The Impossible Knife of Memory(8)

The page started to dissolve into the desk and I closed my eyes.

A knife ripped through the veil between Now and Then and I fell in ripping . . . Daddy holds my hand. A strange woman steps in front of us. She is Trish and I have to love her now . . .

ripping . . . Trish screams louder than sirens, louder than a helicopter . . .

ripping . . . Monsters crawl out of the video game. Daddy’s blood fills the couch and drips on the floor . . .

Ms. Rogak’s voice pitched up an octave. “Don’t any of you understand what Homer is saying? Please, I’m begging. Anybody.”

Had she been emailing Dad? Had she twisted his head around again, was that why he was getting worse? What if she was at the house, manipulating him, lying to him, breaking his rusted heart into pieces?

I have to get home. Now.





_*_ 11 _*_

Finn was at his locker, just like Topher said he would be. “Hey.” I tapped his shoulder.

His head snapped around, surprised.

“Um,” I said. “This is awkward, but I don’t have a choice.”

He grinned. “Sounds awesome already.”

I swallowed hard. The panic was getting worse. “No jokes, please. I need a ride. Home. I desperately need a ride home.”

“Okay. Meet me here at two thirty.”

“I need a ride home right now. It’s an emergency.”

“But I have physics.” He frowned. “Are you okay? Do you want to go to the nurse?”

“Yes, no, yes, I mean . . .” I pushed the palm of my hand against my forehead, trying not to lose it in front of this guy and the three hundred strangers in the hall. “Nothing is wrong with me. My dad is sick and I need to get home and you have a car and I thought, maybe . . .”

The bell rang so loud I jumped, and then it rang and rang and rang, the halls emptying. Finn said something, his mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear him.

“Never mind,” I said, hurrying away.

*

I walked as fast as I dared; don’t run, don’t want them to notice. Down the halls, past open doors that all sounded the same; teachers launching into a lesson, kids, restless. Past the auditorium, out the heavy metal doors. Cut straight across the grass around the flag pole, right through visitor’s parking and into the student lot.

“Miss Blue!” someone shouted.

I started jogging.

Every step closer to home made me more anxious. Is she at the house? What does she want? How do I stop this? “Hey.” Finn grabbed my elbow to stop me, two rows

from the pumpkin orange tree. “I’ll drive you.”

I turned. “Thought you had Physics.”

“I already know it. Ever heard of Maxwell’s Demon? Second law of thermodynamics. Cool as shit. Give me those.” “What?”

“You’re shaking. Give me your books and put on your

hoodie.”

He did not mention the fact that there was no wind

and the sun was warm. I handed over my books and set

my backpack on the ground, then struggled into my sweatshirt, and tried to stop shaking, stop sweating, stuff down

the explosion that was clawing its way up my spine. I poked my head through the neck hole and fumbled

my hands into the sleeves. “You don’t mind if you get in

trouble?”

“Trouble is my middle name.” He stood soldier straight

and bowed. “Finnegan Trouble Ramos, at your service,

Miss Blue.”

“Stop calling me that.”





_*_ 12 _*_

I didn’t notice too much about his car. It had a windshield, doors, steering wheel, seat belts; that was all I needed. He put the key in the ignition, the engine turned over. He shifted into gear and the wheels rolled.

The gray closed in on me as he was pulling out of the parking lot, right after I gave him the directions. I fought the gray with Dad’s tricks: Say the alphabet. Count in Spanish. Picture a mountain, the top of a mountain, the top of a mountain in the summer. Keep breathing. It took a few minutes but I won. The gray pulled away from my eyes in ribbons and whispered that it would be back soon.

“You zoned out a bit,” Finn said.

“Can you drive faster?” I asked.

“I’m doing the speed limit.”

“Nobody does the speed limit.”

“I do because I am a good driver,” he said. “I’m so good that when I drove my mom to her podiatrist appointment last Saturday, she fell asleep.”

“Why couldn’t she drive herself? Did her foot hurt?” “That’s not the right question.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to ask ‘Why did she fall asleep?’

The answer was ‘Because I was a good driver.’ Get it? I was so good she was bored.”

“Oh,” I said. “Was that a joke?”

“I thought it was.”

“Not really.”

“Damn.” He put on his turn signal, checked all of his mirrors twice, and eased into the next lane. My right knee bounced up and down as I fought to keep myself from grabbing the wheel and slamming the accelerator to the floor.

The light ahead turned yellow. Finn braked so that the car came to a stop a full second before the yellow turned red. The streets in all directions were empty.