Henry Franks(17)

“Scarface?” she asked, looking at Henry. “I’m sorry, he’s a jerk sometimes, but he’s not as rude as he tries to pretend to be. He does have a slight problem with persistence, though.”

Henry shrugged, and then brushed the hair out of his face. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m not allowed to date,” Justine said. “Not football players, not pre-med students at Coastal College, not twenty-something teachers or the guy that sells pretzels at the mall.” She laughed. “Well, I’m exaggerating about most of that, but still.” She smiled. “My parents have made it perfectly clear that I’m not to date until I’m a senior, and then only in groups, if I keep my grades up. So persistence isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Though, even if I could date, it wouldn’t be Bobby Dixon. But it is rather pointless, don’t you think?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he shrugged again and simply closed his mouth.

“So,” she said, “you never really told me about your dream from last night.”

“What?” he asked, still trying to absorb everything else she’d said. Too many words in too little time, leading to such a random statement.

“You looked terrible all day, didn’t even say hi when you shuffled past me in the halls,” she said. “Not that you noticed I was there. Don’t you walk into walls staring at the ground all day?”

“I don’t … ”

“I can’t really picture you talking with a shrink,” Justine added with a smile. “You don’t say much.”

“Is it my turn to talk yet?”

She laughed, then nodded. “Your turn.”

“No one-word answers,” he said. “It’s on a sign in her office.”

“That’s a start, at least.”

“I waved.”

“When?”

The blue straps of her tank top were wide enough to hide her bra, while leaving long stretches of tan skin exposed up her neck and down her shoulders. Beaded with sweat, she glistened in the sunlight. Henry ran his fingers through his hair, unable, as always, to figure out where to rest his eyes.

“When?” she asked again, leaning into him with the turns the bus was making on its journey home.

“After second period. You walked by me.”

“How do you know?”

“Pink nail polish.” He looked up in time to watch a smile crawl across her face.

“What will you do when I change colors?”

He shrugged. “I check in the mornings.”

She turned to face him, her smile as wide as he’d ever seen it. A slight blush spread across her skin and for a moment he not only forgot to breathe, he forgot how.

“You had a dream?” she asked, the words barely spoken out loud. He found himself leaning closer to her to hear.

“Dr. Saville says it’s a part of the process,” he said. “I have these dreams, about people I don’t know, places I’ve never been.”

“Are they from before the accident?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Ever have the same dream over and over again?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Seem real, don’t they?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mine are always like that.”

“Last night?”

“I have a daughter,” he said, hiding behind his hair. “Her name’s Elizabeth.”

Her mouth dropped open and for a moment she didn’t speak at all. “For real?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“In the dream.”

“Aren’t you my age?”

“Sixteen,” he said, moving his hair out of the way to look at her.

“How do you know she’s your daughter?”

Henry sighed. “She calls me Daddy.”

“Well, now I know why you don’t think it’s from before the accident.”

“Just felt so real. Then I woke up.” Henry turned and looked out the window as they passed the hospital. Police cars blocked the entrance where a local news van was parked, the antenna stabbing into the sky.

“It’s not as creepy as it looks,” she said, her voice soft.

“What?”

“The hospital.” She pointed out the window as they left the facility behind. “My dad’s cousin is in there.” She shook her head with a quick smile. “I’ve only met him once; he’s a lot older. Used to live in Waycross, I think. He’s been there as long as I can remember.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, turning to face her.

She shrugged. “My dad visits him every so often. He dragged me along once. Wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be from all the barbed wire, you know?”

The bus came to a stop and Henry followed Justine down the steps to the street.

“Almost as good as a breeze,” she said while swinging around in a circle, her hair flying out around her face.

“Almost.”

“Do you dream about dead people a lot?”

“Lately.”

“Been in the news.”

“What?” he asked.

“Dead people. Lots of dead people around town.”