Out of My Mind (4 page)

I stick my Wolves cheer pin on my shirt for solidarity and all that, even if I won’t be performing with them.

Not today, but soon.

The drive through Mickey D’s is interesting. I guess I can’t decide what to order fast enough so Taylor does the honors. She gets me coffee and a breakfast sandwich. The coffee tastes bitter and hurts my tongue. I wonder if she’s testing me by ordering something she knows I dislike.

No, friends don’t do stuff like that. It’s more likely my taste buds have flaked out along with my brain cells.

I scribble in my notebook.

Old normal: loved coffee.

New normal: hate coffee
.

By the time we get to school everyone is heading for first period classes. I go to the office and Mrs. Anderson gives me a revised class schedule.

I scan my class list, fighting the urge to shred it into tiny strips. From AP track to classes for dummies, yep, that’s me.

Mom said I could move up as I recover. Not easy to move up mid-year, I argued, but my folks, teachers and doctors don’t want me pushing it and hurting my fragile brain.

“Catherine, you look great!” A cute Asian girl breezes up to me.

“Thanks.”

I draw a blank on her name. Completely. Crap.

“Like how they repainted the C Wing?” she asks.

“Yeah, it looks great.” I hadn’t gotten that far.

“Guess they had an explosion in the Chem lab over the summer. Are you in Goodman’s Physics class?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s see.” She glances at my schedule and smiles. A fake smile.

I should know. I’ve got that one down.

“Let’s see yours.” I grab her schedule and see AP next to most of her classes. I also catch her name: Clarisse.

“You’ve got Rimmer for Lit. He’s great,” she says.

I hand her back her schedule.

“Hey, I finally got on cheer this year. I’m so excited!” Clarisse squeaks, her voice jumping two octaves.

“Congratulations.” My voice is tight, but I smile to cover my emotions.

I’m temporarily inactive, opening up a spot for Clarisse. Lucky girl.

“Are you excited about any of your classes?” I ask. Since she’s sticking with me, I assume we know each pretty well.

“I’ve got Goodman for Physics. He’s a riot.” Clarisse and I wander into the commons. Kids rush to make it to class before the final bell rings. The echoed chatter of hundreds of teenagers bounces off the inside of my head. Good thing I’ve got a bottle of Ibuprofen stashed in my backpack.

“You’re coming to practice, right?” Clarisse asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” My voice sounds foreign to me, unnatural. I’m totally faking it, trying to act enthusiastic when I really want to scream.

My spot. She’s got my friggin’ spot on Cheer.

“Awesome,” Clarisse says. “I can use some pointers from a veteran like you. See you later.” She smiles and bounces off.

I stare at her as she’s swallowed up by the swarm of students.

A veteran? Ugh.

I want to die.

Been there already, stared death in the face. I chose to live, to fight my way back.

I’m still fighting.

First I have to prove to everyone I can master the basic classes so they’ll put me back in AP where I belong.

The next bell rings and I find myself standing alone in the commons. I have Lit first period in C202. I glance up, but don’t see any signs for classrooms. Damn. If they made any changes over the summer, even a fresh coat of paint, it could completely throw me off.

I’m screwed. Nothing looks familiar.

Except J.D. Pratt. He’s walking towards me with that smug look on his face. He’s wearing a black band T-shirt, jeans and skateboard shoes, and his brown hair flops across his forehead partially covering his eyes.

He looks confident and aloof.

I’m jealous as hell. I could use a hit of confidence right about now.

“Hey,” he calls out to me.

He has
got
to be kidding.

I turn and practically sprint in the opposite direction. I spot the C wing. Room 202 is on the second floor, right? I climb the stairs and pause on the landing. J.D. hesitates below, studying his schedule.

Then he glances at me, smiles, and heads up the stairs in my direction.

I race to the second floor, my feet pounding in sync with my heartbeat. What is wrong with me? Am I afraid he’s going to hurt me again? No, there’s nothing more he can do to me. He’s already stripped me of a functioning brain. My dignity.

My life.

Still, I’m nauseated by thought of being near him. It reminds me of what I was before and how broken I am now.

I rush into the second floor hallway and look both ways. Panic floods my chest. I’m lost in my own school.

I head left, walk faster, and sense he’s behind me. Now he’s stalking me? Why, to taunt me some more like yesterday when he said I was partially responsible for my accident? I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until…

I catch myself. I can’t afford to lose it and make a scene at school, not if I want to slide back into my “old normal” life. I’ve worked so hard to convince everyone I’m okay.

But when I see J.D. Pratt, resentment and rage whips through my chest and my self-control quickly unravels. I reach for my moonstone choker in the hopes that touching the milky white stone will help me stay grounded.

I spot Room 202 and relief courses through me. I head into class and kids greet me as I walk between the rows of desks. They say the usual stuff like how glad they are that I’m okay and how great I look. Yeah, right. One guy asks what it’s like being in a coma. His girlfriend pokes him and he apologizes.

I offer my rehearsed smile, but don’t keep eye contact with any one kid for too long. Can’t risk being pulled into a HULU. Talk about unnatural disaster.

I sit in the back, take a deep breath and keep the winning smile on my face as if to say: “It’s me! I’m back!”

As I sit there listening to the pre-class chatter, my panic subsides. I’m safe.

Then the door swings open and J.D. Pratt struts in. There’s only one empty desk left in class and it’s next to me. My heart pounds in my chest. What now? I open my notebook and pretend I’m absorbed in my schedule. Not exactly a lie since I might forget it five minutes from now.

J.D. heads down my row and flops down next to me. Anger floods my cheeks. I can’t stand being anywhere near him. I won’t make it through the next five minutes much less an entire class period.

I jump up and march to the teacher’s desk. “Mr. Rimmer?”

“Yes, Catherine?”

“Could you…”

What? Make J.D. Pratt disappear? Rewind my life?

“What’s wrong, Catherine?” he asks with a concerned frown.

I happen to know he has three daughters. I’ll make that work for me.

“J.D. Pratt. I’d rather not be sitting near him.” I intentionally tear up. Didn’t know I could do that on cue.

“He should probably sit up front, anyway,” Mr. Rimmer says.

I glance at Rimmer, who offers a smile, more of pity than anything else. Whatever. If that’s what it takes to get rid of Pratt, I’ll take it.

“Mr. Pratt, switch seats with Mr. Hoffman please,” he says.

“Thanks.” I head back to my seat.

J.D. stares at me as I walk down the aisle. He doesn’t move. I sit down and study my silver ring, a Celtic knot design. I need to focus on something so I can block out the creep sitting next to me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see J.D. turn to face me.

My heart jumps into my throat. Is he going to try talking to me again?

He’s a cruel, evil boy
, Taylor said yesterday after she confronted him and was verbally thrashed.

“Move, Pratt.” Greg Hoffman is standing beside my desk effectively blocking my view.

At least I think he is. I make the mistake of glancing to my right. J.D. levels me with those angry turquoise eyes. If I keep looking at them I’m most definitely going to regret it.

“Move, jerk.” I turn away in time to avoid a HULU.

Thank God. A Pratt HULU would no doubt involve setting fires or shooting rabbits with a BB gun. I’ll pass on that, thank-you-very-much.

I focus on the weave design of my ring. Where did I get it again? I think it was a gift.

I hear a scuffling sound then, “Enough!” Mr. Rimmer orders from the front. “Pratt, up here. Now.”

A few seconds pass.

“You okay?” Greg asks me as he slides into his seat.

I venture a glance. He’s blond, blue-eyed and handsome. There’s something comforting about Greg Hoffman. He’s a leader, a confident guy who’s definitely in charge. It’s obvious why I liked him, but is he still interested in me? A brain damaged whack job?

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good, well…” He focuses on his notebook, shifts in his seat. He seems nervous. “I’m glad you’re back.”

I chuckle. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You still have the headaches?”

“Sometimes. How did you know?”

“Your mom told me when I visited you in the hospital.”

“You…visited me?”

“More than once.” He smiles.

Oh, my God. He is totally interested or he wouldn’t have come to the hospital. Awesome! One of my three goals is within reach. He’s
so
going to ask me out.

“Turn to page twelve,” Mr. Rimmer says.

Greg shoots me a smile and opens his book.

Things are definitely getting back to normal. Yes!

* * *

It figures Rimmer would put J.D. up front where everyone could stare at him. J.D. fisted his hand trying to ignore their whispers.

He almost killed her. He should be in jail. Can you believe they let him back in school?

Right. He was the sonofabitch that almost killed their prom queen.

Bullshit. She didn’t look that bad, not as bad as when he sneaked into her hospital room in the middle of the night.

He had to. He’d hoped that on some level, even in a coma, she’d hear his apology. He’d barely gotten it out when her old man caught him and hurled J.D. across the room. The guy would have beaten him bloody if security hadn’t showed up.

J.D. noticed Bryce Sommers motion a thumb’s up to Greg “the dick” Hoffman. J.D. glanced over his shoulder. Greg was doing his I’m-such-a-caring-guy act on Princess Catherine. And she was buying it.

Yeah, everything was back to normal. For them.

Catherine smiled and scribbled something in her notebook. They say brain injuries change a person. Not so in her case. She was still her conceited, self-absorbed self.

The perfect match for Hoffman.

J.D. saw right through the prick, the kind of guy everyone thinks will be a CEO of a major company, and ten years later they’re surprised to be reading about the cops digging up dead bodies in his back yard.

Greg and the Princess deserved each other.

“Mr. Pratt? What’s so interesting in the back?” Mr. Rimmer is hovering over J.D.’s desk.

Everyone stopped talking and stared at J.D. like he was standing there in nothing but his boxers.

“Sorry,” J.D. said.

He wasn’t sorry. He was pissed. At so many things, starting with how the entitled, like Greg and the Princess, always got their way and with little effort.

While J.D. fought to stay alive.

Even the Princess survived what could have been a fatal head injury. Instead, she woke up as perfect as before—okay, with shorter hair—with everyone spoiling her.

J.D. shifted in his chair, the pinch of bruised ribs making him wince.

“Let’s start with chapter one. Who wants to read?” Mr. Rimmer scanned the class and pointed to the back. “Ah, yes, Mr. Hoffman.”

Unbelievable. The jerk had no doubt raised his hand, trying to make a good impression on Princess Catherine.

J.D. pulled a pencil out of his jacket pocket. Drawing was the only thing that relaxed him, well, the only legal thing. He wouldn’t do weed anymore, not with his little brother looking up to him the way he did.

J.D.’s life might be screwed, but he was going to make sure Billy got a chance. His brother would always know the truth, the real J.D.

Everyone else saw the other guy, the fringe criminal. Stoner. Loser.

J.D. kept his façade firmly in place: black T-shirts of bands none of these upper class geeks followed, like Sonic Youth and Iggy Pop; naturally torn jeans (not the kind you paid for); and a worn, black wool jacket. He’d created his tough reputation to set his boundaries.

Boundaries no one dared cross.

Sure the stoners offered to sell him nickel bags at lunch, to which J.D. would say he had his own supplier. Who needed that crap, or alcohol, for that matter? J.D. saw what it had done to the old man since Mom left.

The whole mystique of J.D. Pratt protected him from having to deal with these entitled brats. Or it had until the accident.

Now teachers were gunning for him, kids acted like he was a pedophile, and the local cops were always on the lookout, hoping to nail J.D. for illegal skateboarding.

His senior year would be hell.

Yet Catherine had stepped right back into her charmed life. Only this time she had it better. Teachers and students felt sorry for her, rushed to help the poor girl who’d almost been killed by the loser, J.D. Pratt.

To think he’d actually felt sorry for her in the hospital connected to all those tubes, purple bruises discoloring her face.

Unable to breathe on her own.

“Mr. Pratt, you still with us?” Rimmer said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, read the next paragraph.”

J.D. had no idea where they were. He’d been thinking about other things.

Thinking about her.

“Well?” Rimmer pushed.

J.D. flipped a few pages. Kids snickered behind him. Catherine was probably one of them. Yeah, well, wait until she got the news from Burke. J.D. had a feeling she wouldn’t be laughing then.

It’s third period and I’m ready for lunch. Not hungry, but bored and a little anxious.

I doodle in my notebook. Yawn. Glance out the window. The meds make me sleepy when I shouldn’t be, and keep me awake until two or three in the morning.