Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(31)

I stand alone and quiet as he leaves. His words play like a record in my head, again and again. They hold no meaning; he can’t be right.

His red taillights turn at the end of the driveway, and then he’s gone. Soaking and cold, I turn to go back into the house. Just before I slip inside, I remember the leaf and let go of it. It flies away, snatched out of my fingers by the greedy wind. I watch it soar over the corn stalks until I can’t see it anymore.





Thirteen

Four days without seeing Fear. Four days without his games, his tests, his watchful presence. This is what I’m thinking about as Mrs. Farmer drones on about the different kinds of poetry there are. I keep thinking of Fear. There have been stretches of time over the years he’s stayed away, of course, but recently he’s been a constant presence. The fact that he’s gone pokes at something within me. Speculation fills my head. He’s up to something. He’s found something. And the most insistent possibility: something happened to him. He did break the rules by healing me. Could he be out there somewhere, dying, helpless, alone?

You don’t care, my little voice reminds me. To affirm this, my numb wall stretches taller.

“There’s free verse, as well, which has become more popular in modern times … ”

Sophia, her head bent down in concentration—the pic-

ture of a model student—is writing a note. Her pencil scribbles across the paper furiously. As I watch, I suddenly recall the piece of paper I found on my windshield. ARE YOU HER? Was Sophia the one who put it there? Judging from the tense line of her shoulders, whatever she’s writing right now is intended for me. She looks exhausted again. I know her mom works nights at the clinic and her dad left them when they were small. Besides the babysitter, Sophia has no one to help her watch Morgan during those long hours.

When Mrs. Farmer isn’t looking, Sophia is quick, tossing a crumpled-up ball over her shoulder. It lands on my desk with a soft rustle. I debate whether or not to open it at all, but I figure it’ll appease Sophia for a time if she thinks she’s hurt me.

I unfurl the lined mess. You’re not normal, she’s written. They should lock you up and throw away the key.

Maybe.

The handwriting doesn’t match the other note.

Sophia and one of her friends laugh softly under their breath. They glance back at me, expecting a reaction. I sniffle for effect, and this pleases them. The two girls turn their backs, whispering to each other about nothing that interests me. Humans are cruel. Sometimes worse than the Emotions and the Elements.

It strikes me how I’m thinking like I’m not human, myself. Like I’m not one of them.

“For those of you who’ve forgotten, your portfolios are due this Friday. Make sure you finish, guys. They’re a big part of your grade!” Mrs. Farmer calls. I glance at Joshua, who’s hiding behind his hair.

Joshua. He hasn’t spoken to me since he left my house, so angry and sad and suspicious, but throughout the lecture he’s struggled not to glance over his shoulder. He wants me to think he’s not affected by what happened yesterday, but in truth, he blazes with yearning. He yearns to understand, he yearns to know me. In many ways, Joshua reminds me of Fear.

When the bell rings and it comes time for lunch, he catches up with me in the hall, giving in to his desires. “We need to work on the portfolio,” he says sharply. He’s still irritated. He knows I’m hiding something.

I nod, spinning the combination on my locker. “I know. I don’t have time today; my dad wants me home right after school. But we can start talking about it at lunch tomorrow if you want.”

“What’s wrong with lunch today?” he counters, challenging me. He brushes his hair out of his face. I wonder why he doesn’t just cut it.

We walk again. “I’m going to the library to do research.”

“Research for what?”

He steps in front of me, stopping our progress in the middle of the hall. Kids part around us like a wave, some bumping into us, changing and evolving to the disturbance without thinking about it.

I arch my neck to look up at Joshua, studying his resolute expression. His scent drifts to my nose, a mixture of pine and hay and soap. “My past,” I say.

Joshua absorbs this for a moment, pursing his full lips. “Okay.” He nods. “I’ll go with you. We have to stop at my locker first, though.”

Where’s the timid boy I’ve known most of my life? He disappeared so quickly, and the Emotions that used to always surround him are now absent in this new assurance he’s found. “I never said I wanted company,” I inform him with raised brows.

Now he reddens. So a part of that shy boy is still there, I see. He’s a strange combination of grins and blushes and silent contemplation. “If you want to be alone … ” he begins to say, stopping in relief when I shake my head.

“It’s fine. Let’s go, then. We have twenty minutes.”



Browsing through the papers every day during lunch hasn’t given me any of the answers I’ve been looking for. I’m halfway through the year 2000 and I still haven’t been able to find a copy of the newspaper Fear showed me.

“You know,” Joshua says as we rifle through the yellowed documents, “it seems like I’m always helping you with your projects and we never actually work on the project we’re getting graded on.” His lunch rests by his elbow, and as he turns a page he sinks his teeth into an apple. Crunch.