Fade
FADE
BY LISA MCMANN
Wake sequel
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and incidents are the product of the author"s imagination, and
any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSEıAn imprint of Simon &
Schuster Children"s Publishing Divisionı1230 Avenue of the Americas,
New York, NY 10020ıCopyright © 2009 by Lisa McMannıAll rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any
form.ıSIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.ıLibrary of Congress Cataloging-inPublication DataıMcMann, Lisa.ıFade/Lisa McMann.—1st Simon Pulse ed.ıp. cm.ıSequel to: Wake.ıSummary: Using her ability to tap into other people"s dreams, eighteen-year-old Janie investigates an alleged sex ring
at her high school that involves teachers using the date-rape drug on
students.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-5654-4ıISBN-10: 1-4391-5654-9
ı[1. Dreams—Fiction. 2. Lucid dreams—Fiction. 3. Undercover operations—Fiction. 4. Sexual abuse victims—Fiction. 5. Interpersonal
relations—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7. Schools—
Fiction.]ıI.
Title.ıPZ7.M2256Fad 2009ı[Fic]—dc22
ıVisit us on the World Wide Web: ıhttp://www.SimonSays.com
[http://www.SimonSays.com]
For Matt, Kilian, and Kennedy
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to:
My fabulous agent, Michael Bourret.
My incredible editor, Jennifer Klonsky.
Sammy Yuen and Mike Rosamilia, who create the Best. Covers. Ever.
Matt Schwartz for way too many things to mention. Lila Haber and Kate
Smyth for their tireless promotional efforts and for always being available. Also to Victor Iannone and the awesome sales team; to Rick
Richter, Paul Crichton, Bethany Buck, Lucille Rettino, Kelly Stocks,
Bess Brasswell, Mary McAveney, Matt Pantoliano, Emilia Rhodes,
Jeannie Ng, and Molly McLeod. Cassandra Clare, Chris Crutcher, Ally
Carter, Richard Lewis, Lauren Baratz-Logsted, A. S. King, Melissa
Walker, FanLib.com, and BookDivas.com.
All the awesome teen and adult reviewers and fans who plaster my
books all over their websites and blogs.
My parents, siblings, in-laws, and outlaws for all the support.
Shout-outs to:
Alyssa, Jamie, Hannah, Kevin, Max, Casey, Chloe, Jack, and Lili Eva
Bethel at Primlicious.com.
Scott, Michelle, Danielle, Tyler, and Morgan Bloyer. Lori Rourke, hairdresser to the stars.
Jade Corn and Cori Ashley at Phoenix Book Company, and to Faith
Hochhalter and all of the book club ladies and gents. Treehouse Books,
Anderson"s Bookshop, Changing Hands Bookstore, and Kepler"s. My invisible friends who rock: Juliana, Ashlea, Cassie, Nicole, Chelsea,
Melissa, and James Booth, and all the peeps at that one place who have
given me so much support—you know who you are. Jill Morgan at Flat
Rock High School.
And to Vickie, Sahrie, Tashia, Nikki, and Katherine, the first five MySpace friends I met on book tour. You guys rock!
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A NEW YEAR
ASSIGNMENTS AND SECRETS
POINTED VIEWS
BIRTHDAY, UNDERCOVER
THE GREEN THE GREEN AND THE BLUES
ON HER OWN
NITTY GRITTY
DURBIN DAZE
ROAD TRIP
SHOWTIME
NOT ALL RIGHT
NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
GLIMMERS
DON’T LOOK BACK
A NEW YEAR
January 1, 2006, 1:31 a.m.
Janie sprints through the snowy yards from two streets away and slips
quietly through the front door of her house.
And then.
Everything goes black.
She grips her head, cursing her mother under her breath as the whirling
kaleidoscope of colors builds and throws her off balance. She bumps
against the wall and holds on, and then slowly lowers herself blindly to
the floor as her fingers go numb. The last thing she needs is to crack her
head open. Again.
She"s too tired to fight it right now. Too tired to pull herself out of it.
Plants her cheek on the cold tile floor. Gathers her strength so she can
try later, in case the dream doesn"t end quickly. Breathes.
Watches.
1:32 a.m.
It"s the same old dream Janie"s mother always has. The one where a
much younger, much happier mother flies through a psychedelic tunnel
of flashing, spinning, colored lights, holding hands with the hippie who
looks like Jesus Christ. Their sunglasses reflect the dizzying stripes,
making it even harder for Janie to stop the vertigo. This dream always makes Janie sick to her stomach.
What’s her stupid mother doing sleeping in the living room,
anyway?
But Janie is curious. She tries to focus. She peers at the man in the
dream as she floats alongside the oblivious pair. Janie"s mother could
see Janie, if only she looked. But she never does. The man can"t see her, of course. It"s not his dream. Janie wishes she
could get him to take off his sunglasses. She wants to see his face.
Wonders if his eyes are brown like hers. She can never focus her attention in one place for long, though, with all the spinning colors. Abruptly the dream changes.
Sours.
The hippie man fades, and Janie"s mother stands in a line of people that
stretches on for what seems like miles. Her shoulders curl over, worn,
like thin pages in a well-read book.
Her face is grim, set. Angry.
She"s holding—jiggling—a screaming, red-faced baby.
Not this again.
Janie doesn"t want to watch anymore—she hates this part.
Hates it. She gathers all her strength and concentrates. Hard. Groans
inwardly. And pulls herself out of her mother"s dream. Exhausted.
1:51 a.m.
Janie"s vision slowly returns. She shivers in a cold sweat and flexes her
aching fingers, grateful that she never seems to get sucked back into a
dream once she"s successfully pulled out of it. So far, anyway. She pushes herself to her feet as her mother snores on the couch, and
walks shakily to the bathroom, stomach churning. She gags and retches,
then makes a halfhearted attempt at brushing her teeth. Once in her
bedroom, Janie closes the door tightly behind her. Falls to the bed, like a lump of dough.
After last month"s ordeal with the drug bust, Janie knows she"s got to
get her strength back or the dreams will take over her life again.
That night, Janie"s own dreams are blasted with churning oceans and
hurricanes and life jackets that sink like stones. 11:44 a.m.
Janie wakes to sunlight streaming in. She"s ravenous and dreaming
about food now. Smelling it.
“Cabe?” she mumbles, eyes closed.
“Hey. I let myself in.” He sits on the bed next to her, his fingers drawing
her tangled hair away from her face. “Rough night, Hannagan? Or are
you still catching up?”
“Mrrff.” She rolls over. Sees the plate of eggs and toast, steam rising.
Grins wide as the ocean and lunges for it. “You—best secret boyfriend
ever.”
ASSIGNMENTS AND SECRETS
January 2, 2006, 11:54 a.m.
It"s the last day of winter break.
Janie and Cabel sit in Cabel"s spare bedroom—his computer room—checking the school website for their exam grades. It"s a good thing Cabel has two laptops. Or there might be an allout fight when the grades are posted at noon. But who are they kidding.
They might have to roll around on the floor and wrestle, regardless.
Janie"s nervous.
She turned in a blank blue book for the math exam after the drug bust
went down a few weeks ago. She had a good excuse; there was still
blood on her sweatshirt, after all. And the teacher gave her a second shot
at it. Too bad it was on the day after a rough night of dreamhopping at Fieldridge High"s annual al -night fundraiser danceathon. Also too bad—it was a lock in. No escape.
Janie and Cabe might have skipped the whole dance if they could have,
but it wasn"t possible. They were on assignment. Undercover.
Captain"s orders.
“We"re looking for anybody who dreams about teachers, Janie,”
Captain
had said. “Or any teachers who are dreaming about students.”
Janie thought that sounded odd and intriguing. “Anything specific?”
she"d asked.
“Not at this time,” Captain said. “I"ll fill you in more after the New Year,
once we"ve got some things sorted out. For now, just take notes of
anything teacher/student related.”
For Janie, staying up all night isn"t the problem. It"s the dreamhopping that sucks the life out of her. And after spending six hours stuck in other
people"s dreams from her hidden location under the bleachers, she was
completely spent.
Of course Cabel was there, at the dance, slipping Janie cartons of milk
and PowerBars (she"d reluctantly switched from Snickers). The dreams
were on the fertile side, to say the least.
Too bad she didn"t pick up anything substantial. Nothing teacher/student
related. Only student/student related, to Janie"s chagrin. And when Luke Drake, the Fieldridge High football team"s star receiver,
fell asleep on the gymnastics mats, already totally plastered when he
arrived at the lock in, Janie cried, “Enough.”
“Cabe,” she gasped between dreams, “wake him the fuck up, and don"t
let him sleep again. I can"t take it.”
Luke tends to dream about himself, and it turns out he"s a bit overconfident when naked. Cabel"s seen Luke in the showers after PE
“Luke"s definitely overcompensating in his dreams,” Cabel says when
he hears Janie"s description.
Cabe may or may not have had more success in his assignment that night.
He"s a relationship builder, so his work takes more time than Janie"s to
see results. He makes connections, builds trust, and has the uncanny
ability to get people to admit the most amazing things while bugged.
And Janie plays cleanup. At least that"s how beautifully it went the first
time.
Needless to say, Janie knows she didn"t ace the second math exam either.
And today, the last day before going back for their final semester at
Fieldridge High, Janie"s stressed about her grades.
She doesn"t need to be.
She has a terrific scholarship.
But she"s funny like that.
At noon exactly, according to Cabel"s police scanner, they log on from
their respective computers and scan their pages. Janie sighs. Under different circumstances, it would have been an A.
Math"s her best subject. Which makes it all the worse. Cabel"s sensitive. He doesn"t react to his row of straight As. He feels
responsible for Janie"s face-first free-fall at the police station that landed
her in the hospital during exam week.
They simultaneously close their screens.
Not that they"re competitive.
They aren"t.
Okay, they are.
Cabel glances sidelong at Janie.
She looks away.
He changes the subject. “Time to go see Captain,” he says. Janie checks her watch and nods. “See you there.”
Janie slips out of Cabe"s house and runs across the yards of two small
residential streets to her house. Janie looks around, sees no one, so she
peeks into her mother"s bedroom. Her mother is there, passed out but
alive, bottles strewn about as usual. She"s not dreaming, thank goodness.
Janie closes the bedroom door softly, grabs her car keys, and heads back