Out of My Mind (15 page)

“He didn’t mean it,” I defend. “They ran into each other. Some kids pushed Pratt into him and Greg thought—”

Coop puts his hand up to silence me.

“Get moving Hoffman.”

There’s a kind of fire in Greg’s eyes that should melt the skin off Cooper’s face. The teacher doesn’t back down.

“Come on, it’s not his fault,” I protest. “Can’t we just forget about it?”

“She’s right,” Taylor chimes in. “Pratt started it.”

That is
so
not what I said.

I glance over my shoulder at J.D. His expression is a mix of disbelief and resignation that I’m going to let him take the fall for starting the fight.

I know he’s got so much to lose, maybe even his freedom. Yet there’s even more at stake than that.

“Is that true, Miss Westfield?” Cooper asks.

A week ago I would have jumped at the chance to burn J.D. Pratt, save my boyfriend, and solidify my position in the hierarchy at Evergreen High.

Things have changed. I’ve changed.

“It was an accident,” I answer. “They bumped into each other.”

Mr. Cooper levels me with a disappointed frown. “That’s not how it looks to me. Let’s go, Hoffman.”

Greg grabs his backpack and Cooper marches him to the principal’s office. I can hardly breathe past the panic squeezing my lungs. Is this it? The inciting incident that gets Greg benched and makes him want revenge?

I know he doesn’t think straight when he’s angry. If he torches something he potentially could hurt a lot of people. Maybe even kill them.

Yet if I tell anyone about Greg’s plans, I’ll have to explain how I know, and risk being locked away with the crazies.

“Good try.” Taylor pats me on the shoulder and heads to class.

Clarisse touches my arm as we watch Greg disappear down the hall. “He’ll be okay, maybe suspended from a few games, that’s all.”

I close my eyes, feeling utterly powerless.

The second bell rings. I’m late. Like I care.

I glance around for my backpack.

J.D. is standing there, holding it out to me. His eyes are filled with disgust, maybe even hatred.

I snatch it from him. “What are you looking at?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

I head into class, frustrated beyond belief.

I’m alone with my secret. I don’t know why I have visions or how to stop them. What I do know is I can’t allow the Greg HULU to come true.

Friday. J.D. had survived another week of hell.

It was easier getting through the day when he didn’t have to interact with the Princess. She’d treated him like he was invisible for the rest of the week, barely making eye contact, not speaking to him or asking for help with her sketch.

She didn’t draw much in class; she just stared at “Desperate Choice” for most of the class period. He wondered if she’d hit her head when Greg shoved them to the ground.

He shouldn’t wonder, shouldn’t care. She’d jumped to Hoffman’s defense even though he’d started the fight. Whatever change J.D. thought he’d seen in her was an illusion. She was still loyal to the bastard Hoffman.

J.D. fulfilled his duties, dropped off Catherine’s notes and checked in with Detective Ryan.

Apparently Hoffman was suspended from a few football games. The prick deserved to be out for the season. Hell, he could have done serious damage to his girlfriend if he’d been focused on anything but his own ego and resentment of J.D.

Why was Hoffman so threatened by him? It’s not like Catherine cared about J.D.

He went into his bedroom and locked the door, wanting to zone out by listening to Sonic Youth. Before he could get comfortable and disappear into the music, his cell vibrated. The caller I.D. read
Detective Ryan
. He debated answering. J.D. needed a day of peace. Just one friggin’ day.

He’d only bring more hell down on himself if he avoided the cop.

“What?” J.D. answered. “I’m doing my community service, did the drug tests, what do you want from me?”

“Are you home?” Detective Ryan said.

“Yeah?”

“Be out front ASAP.”

“Why?”

“Your brother’s in the emergency room.”

“What!” J.D. bolted upright. “Is he okay?”

“Get your father and meet me out front.”

J.D. jumped off the bed and whipped open his bedroom door.

“Dad!” Why was he calling for that bastard? It was nonsensical but automatic, more of a cry for God, for someone to help him. Billy was in the hospital. J.D. had to get to him.

He stumbled down the stairs and sprinted into the kitchen, past the living room, looking for something to write on.

He should leave dad a note. Dread blinded him as he opened drawers, his heart racing into his throat. The old man wouldn’t even care so why bother?

Detective Ryan’s car honked outside. Screw the note.

J.D. raced out the front door in a frenzied panic. Billy was supposed to be studying at the library with friends. How could he have ended up in the ER?

J.D. got into Detective Ryan’s sedan.

“Where’s your dad?” Ryan said.

“Work,” J.D. lied. By four he was usually at any number of local bars.

“Seatbelt,” Detective Ryan ordered.

J.D. rolled his eyes and buckled up. He had a hard time sitting still as worry ripped through his body. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it against his knee.

“You’re acting like he’s your kid,” Ryan said.

Ignoring the comment, J.D. glanced out the window. He was the closest thing Billy had to a parent. How pathetic was that?

“Why didn’t the hospital call me?” J.D. said.

“They called your father at work but the secretary said he’d gone home.”

“What happened to Billy?”

“Not sure. That’s why we wanted to talk to your dad.”

J.D. snapped his attention to Ryan. “What did he do?”

“Hey, calm down. I don’t know that your brother did anything.” Ryan eyed him. “Or did you mean your father?”

“Why are you picking me up? Is Billy in trouble with the cops?”

“Since we couldn’t track down your father I figured you’d want to be there and I know you can’t drive so…” He shrugged.

“Thanks.” J.D. stared out the front window.

“Anything you want to tell me, kid?”

“No.”

“Really? I mean, if your brother is into anything I should know about—”

“He’s a good kid, got it?” J.D. snapped. “I’m the bad one. Billy’s good.”

Crap, how did he let that slip?

“Listen, kid—”

“I’m not your kid, so just stop. Stop talking.”

Not the smartest way to talk to a cop, but J.D. didn’t care. Ryan shut up and J.D. obsessed over his brother’s condition. Did the old man even keep them on his health insurance?

They pulled up to the emergency room and J.D. jumped out. “Hey, wait,” Detective Ryan called.

J.D. raced inside, heart pounding, trying to figure out where to find Billy. J.D. half expected his father to be there, especially if he had anything to do with this.

If he did, J.D. was going to kill him and no machine in this place could bring the monster back to life.

J.D. spotted his brother in a wheelchair being pushed around the corner by a female orderly. Air rushed from J.D.’s lungs. He went to Billy and crouched beside him. “What happened, buddy?”

Billy shrugged.

J.D. glanced at the orderly. “Can I have a second?”

“Sure.” The twenty something girl gave them privacy.

J.D. eyed his brother. “Was it Dad? I swear to God—”

“No, Jesse, it wasn’t Dad,” Billy said. “Me and Kyle were skateboarding down 216
th
and a car came and I jumped out of the way. Luckily it’s my left wrist.”

That’s when J.D. saw it, his brother’s casted arm resting in a sling.

He’s going to get hurt on a skateboard.

Staring at Billy’s arm like it was a gutted animal, J.D. slowly stood.

“Don’t be mad,” Billy pleaded. “It was an accident. Hey, at least I listened to you.” With his good hand, he pointed to the helmet hanging off the back of the wheelchair. “I had this on.”

Tell your brother to wear his helmet.

The hospital walls closed in. Catherine Westfield wasn’t trying to get back at J.D. She was warning him. Somehow she knew this was going to happen.

If she hadn’t said anything J.D. might not have reminded Billy to wear the helmet and this would have been a completely different kind of hospital visit.

Detective Ryan walked up to them. “How are you doing kid?” “Why do you want to know?” Billy snapped.

“Hey, be nice,” J.D. said. “He brought me here.”

“Where’s Dad?” Billy glanced around J.D. with fear in his eyes.

J.D. squeezed Billy’s shoulder. “He’s probably with a customer.”

A customer named Jack Daniels. They shared a look of understanding.

“Skateboarding in the street is against the law,” Detective Ryan said.

“I know. I was stupid.” Billy cradled his injured wrist.

“Why didn’t you call me?” J.D. said.

Billy shrugged.

“Billy?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

J.D. crouched again. “Dude, so you don’t call me? Come on.”

A few minutes passed.

Detective Ryan eyed them as if putting together a puzzle. J.D. didn’t care anymore. His brother could have been critically injured, mentally damaged for life.

But he was okay. They were okay.

Thanks to Catherine.

Sure, J.D. might have his share of ugly secrets, but she suffered from something far worse.

I see things
.

“You need a ride home?” Detective Ryan said.

J.D. glanced up…

And spotted his dad motoring through the waiting area.

“What’s wrong?” Detective Ryan asked, studying J.D.’s expression

“J.D.?” Billy croaked. He must have seen him too.

J.D. took a protective step in front of his brother.

The old man marched up to them. “What the hell happened?”

“Skateboarding accident,” J.D. answered.

His dad eyed Billy. “That’s what they called me away for? God damn it, I was in the middle of a sale!”

“Mr. Pratt, why don’t you settle up with the hospital?” Detective Ryan suggested. “I’ll give the boys a ride home so you can get back to work.”

The old man glared at Billy.

Detective Ryan motioned for the orderly. “We’re ready to go.”

J.D. ripped his attention from the old man and stuck close to Billy as she wheeled him toward the door. Detective Ryan wasn’t dense. He’d figured out Hank Pratt abused Billy and J.D.

Whatever. J.D. needed to get his brother of here and away from the old man.

The detective escorted them through the hospital. As they got closer to the exit the tight feelng in J.D.’s chest eased. The sliding doors opened and J.D. could finally breathe.

Scared shitless. That’s the only way to describe it. And not of his dad.

Billy was hurt, could have been killed.

Take care of your little brother
. Mom’s words the day she left to run errands.

Five years ago.

It’s Saturday and I’m sleeping in. The football game wasn’t bad last night. Hanging out on the sidelines, I continued my role as Cheer advisor. I felt like my old self again.

The pleasant memory fades as the Greg HULU pops into my brain. The evil look in his eyes. Planning revenge. Lighting the bag on fire.

With a person stuffed inside.

The reality of my life crashes down on me like a cement truck. I can’t ignore it, can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Whether Greg will torch something or not, I can’t risk ignoring the HULU. I have to do something. Tell someone.

Yeah, and if you go around accusing perfect guys of terrorism that will guarantee you a padded room
.

I jump out of bed and get dressed. I’d showered last night, needing to wash off the week and the feel of Greg’s arms around me.

He found me after the game and gave me a victory hug. I welcomed it, thinking if he was still on the field that meant he hadn’t been benched and my HULU wouldn’t come true.

I need a new brain. Seriously.

I slip into a pair of jeans, the dark shirt from Zumiez, and my UGGs. I hook my moonstone choker in place, slip my beanie over my crazed blond hair, and grab my sweatshirt.

I check my “Don’t Leave Bedroom Without” list. Sunglasses. Don’t forget the sunglasses. I grab them and head out to the library hoping to do some research, see if there are other cases of psychic anomalies like me and what doctors did to fix their brains.

Other than drug the patient beyond thought.

I don’t dare research this at home. Can’t risk my parents checking my browser history and deciding I’m unstable. After all, the doctor warned us that some TBI victims become easily influenced, get lured into risky behavior and make bad choices. Someone needs to monitor them.

Us.

Me.

I’m quiet as I sneak through the house, not wanting Mom to trail me to make sure I look both ways before crossing the street. I slip out the front door and speed walk toward the library. I don’t even look at J.D.’s house. He hates me.

I shouldn’t care.

But I do.

Which only proves how messed up I am.

My cell vibrates with a Taylor text:
Greg suspended from FB!

The sidewalk shifts beneath my feet.

“Shit,” I swear. I rarely use the “S” word.

There’s no denying the bombing will happen. Everything’s clicking into place.

I get to the library and realize I forgot my card. I approach the Information desk. A young woman, with a nametag that reads “Ava,” smiles up at me.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, I forgot my card and need to use the computer.”

She recognizes me. I can tell from her expression.

She’s probably thinking,
it’s the poor girl who was hit by a car and is mentally challenged. Can’t even remember to bring her card to the library
.

“No problem.” Ava leads me to a terminal in the corner.

“Thanks.” I wait until she’s out of sight and start my Internet search on “Brain Injury” and “Hallucinations.” As I click on each link I grow more frustrated. There’s nothing about how to stop hallucinations in relation to TBI’s.