The Space Between Heartbeats (3 page)

WEDNESDAY, 8:45 AM

I arrive at school over an hour late, just as the second period bell rings. Barrington High is a typical suburban California high school, a cross between an alpine lodge and a strip mall. The central building has a green tiled roof and covered walkways that lead to the swimming pool and athletic fields. The only high school in the area, it is home to around nine hundred students and has a parking lot twice the size of the local airport’s.

The corridors are empty and thankfully no one spots me as I sneak in through the back entrance and hightail it to American history before Mrs. Spencer arrives. I dump my bag on my desk next to Amber and Penny. Amber’s eyes are bright, her makeup flawless. Penny’s wearing a new red plaid shirt and skinny jeans, her black hair braided over one shoulder.

I give my hair a sniff, wishing I’d set my alarm so I’d had time for a shower. I smell like grime and pine needles. I tug my shirt up so it’s covering my chest a little better, dreading the moment my friends realize I’m still wearing the same outfit I had on the night before.

“You guys won’t believe the morning I’ve had,” I begin.

Amber doesn’t even acknowledge me. She’s too busy assessing her hot pink nails. Penny finishes off a text, then slams her phone down.

“So . . .” Penny gives Amber a “tell me everything” grin.

Amber blushes. “It was good.”

“What was good?” I lean forward.

“And . . .” Penny waves her hand, gesturing for Amber to go on.

A smug grin spreads across Amber’s face. “Okay, it was amazing. He’s a really good kisser. I think I like him.”

Penny lets out a little squeal. “I
so
hooked you up.”

Amber giggles. “Have I mentioned how much I love study group?”

“Who did you hook up with?” I ask in a teasing, playful tone, desperate to hide that I can’t remember anything that happened at Matt’s house.

Amber looks away from me.

“What?” I throw my arms up.

She sniffs and clears her throat.

“Okay, is this because I didn’t call you this morning? Because, for your information, I can’t find my phone.”

Amber shakes her head and runs a finger through her hair, making sure her perfect auburn locks are in order.

I roll my eyes. Whenever I piss Amber off, she makes me work double time to figure out what the problem is. Turning to the sweeter of my two friends, I give Penny a pleading look. “Pen, help me out here. Did I do something last night? I don’t remember doing anything wrong.” I refrain from adding,
“Actually I don’t remember anything at all.”

Penny checks her phone again, then opens her textbook as the teacher walks in.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. Glad to see most of you have your books out already.”

I ignore Mrs. Spencer and turn back to Penny. “She’s got you in on this, too? Give me a break. I can’t fix this if I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whisper.

Penny scratches the side of her nose, then pulls out a pen, looking toward the front of the class.

“Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot,” I mutter before slumping back in my seat.

My mind races with all the things I could have done. Unfortunately, my slate is hardly clean. Amber once ignored me for three weeks when I made out with a guy she liked from the soccer team. I eventually got her to forgive me, but I’ve never told her we hooked up again after her birthday party in the backseat of his car. Did I let that slip last night?

I glance up at Mrs. Spencer as she begins her tirade on the quality of our homework assignments. “You’re juniors now and there is no excuse for sloppiness or incomplete work.” The class lets out a collective groan when she threatens to make us repeat our last essay.

I shoot Amber an exasperated glance, but she doesn’t respond. I twist toward her and make one more attempt to placate her. “Hey, have you decided what you want me to buy you yet?” A light bulb clicks on in my brain. We were supposed to go shopping today. I lick my lower lip and paste on a sweet smile. “I was thinking tomorrow would be perfect for an LA shopping spree, what do you think?”

So our trip is delayed by one day, no big deal. Besides, nothing gets Amber talking faster than fashion. If anything can break her out of her frosty mood, it’ll be this. Unfortunately, she is too busy pretending to listen to the teacher to acknowledge me . . . which means she’s super pissed.

I sigh, knowing a lost cause when I see one. I check the time and then make a quick decision. Standing, I grab my bag and walk to the front of class.

“Mrs. Spencer, I’m not feeling very well. Can I go see the nurse, please?”

She’s so busy writing on the white board, she barely turns to acknowledge me. I take her brief nod as an okay and turn to leave, firing Amber a morose look as I walk out the door. She ignores me and dips her head to start copying Mrs. Spencer’s scribble.

Tears scorch my eyes as I make my way down the empty corridor, wondering what I could have possibly done to piss off my friends. I take a deep breath and swipe the tears away, steeling myself. I’ve learned the hard way that tears never solve anything.

As I pass by the stairs, a voice drifts up from the bottom of the stairwell. I let out a sigh of relief.

Trent.

Finally, I can get some answers.

I rush down the stairs and whip around the corner only to stop dead in my tracks. Trent is leaning against the white brick wall, his muscular arms wrapped around a blonde. Lauren Peters.

“I don’t want to get caught,” she says breathily, though she looks as if she’s in no rush to leave him.

“We won’t.” Trent touches his nose to hers. “No one comes around here during class time.”

I’m too shocked to move.

Trent’s hand comes to rest on her hip, his lips skimming her neck. “You looked really hot last night.”

Lauren giggles, the sound like fingers on a blackboard in my ears. “You have a girlfriend, Trent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but come on. Have you seen you?” He kisses her and she lets out a soft moan, her long nails gliding through his messy black hair.

Lauren pulls away and her teeth brush over her lower lip, her eyes feigning fear. “What if Nicole finds out?”

“She won’t,” Trent promises. “Trust me.”

“Oh, really?” I demand as Trent leans down to kiss her again. I rush forward and punch his shoulder . . .

And my hand passes straight through him.

I stumble back with a gasp, as Trent shivers and rubs his arm, his face pale.

“Are you okay?” Lauren touches his cheek, her forehead wrinkling.

“Yeah.” He shudders again, then smiles down at her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He puts his hand on her lower back and leads her through the door to the courtyard outside. It clicks closed behind them.

It’s a struggle to breath, but I force air in through my nose and approach the door with shaky steps. My arm quivers as I reach for the handle.

My fingers pass through the metal.

“What the hell,” I whisper, gazing down at my trembling hands. A shard of a memory starts to come back to me. A thump. The crunch of branches. The smell of pine needles and wet earth.

The chirping of a bird makes me jump. I spin around to see where the noise is coming from and a stabbing pain shoots through my head. I clutch my temples, and my knees buckle. I drop to the linoleum floor and squeeze my eyes shut. The searing agony is overwhelming. And why the hell is there a bird inside my head?

“Help me,” I whimper, but no one is around to hear my cry.

My breath catches in my chest. The corridor is spinning. I fall onto my side and fight a wave of nausea. And then the ceiling rushes toward me. My lungs fill with a scream before everything goes black.

WEDNESDAY, 9:03 AM

When I next open my eyes, birds are soaring through the air, chirping loudly. They swoop and dive, screeching and chittering at each other. Large trees loom above me, the scent of pine thick and intense. Broad, rough trunks punctuate the forest floor, and a squirrel scurries past in the undergrowth. Sunlight wrestles its way through the green pine needles and I squint against the glare.

A rock is digging into my lower back, and I realize with a jolt that I’m lying on the ground in a wooded area, my arms stinging from nicks and scratches. I grimace, my fuzzy head trying to orientate itself.

Last I remember, I was in the hallway and . . . Sourness hits my tongue.
Trent.
Instantly, tears line my lashes. I shake my head to ward them off and a sharp twinge ricochets down my neck. I gasp, my lips quivering as pain racks my body. My head pounds like someone has taken a hammer to it, and my leg feels like it’s on fire.

With slow movements, I reach up to the back of my head and gingerly investigate. There’s a large lump. And it’s wet. When I pull my hand away, my fingertips are red.

Blood.

I jerk at the discovery and then scream, the full force of my injuries coming into sharp relief as my sudden movement sends a frenzy of pain coursing through my system. The left side of my body feels as though it’s been pounded and kicked to a pulp. My left elbow is swollen and throbbing. I try to move it, but the pain is excruciating.

Panic punches through me, cutting off my air supply and making me dizzy. My brain fights for control, urging my emotions to settle.

“Just stop.” The words wisp out through my parched lips as I try to bring my breathing back to a normal rate.

“Now think.” I can hear my father’s voice in my head. Whenever I got angry as a kid, he would say, “Stop. Breathe. Think. Now what’s the best way to handle this?” It’s surprising how comforting the memory is, and finally, slowly, I come back to myself.

A sour, vile tang hits my nose. My stomach muscles seize and I fight a wave of nausea, sucking in a slow breath, but that only makes the smell worse. The stench near my head finally registers—vomit.

Suddenly, the rest of my morning feels like a bad dream.
This—
this pain, this confusion—is reality. Terrifying, mind-numbing, hysteria-inducing reality.

“Think,” I say aloud, and then I see it: an image of me tumbling down an embankment—darkness, the crunching of branches, the thwack of my body hitting the tree stump. I must have fallen after Matt’s party. I’d been drinking . . . oh, shit, how much had I had? I carefully turn my head to look up the steep slope, but can see only tree trunk after tree trunk surrounded by brown, lifeless earth. My bag lies next to me, ripped and battered.

This doesn’t look like Matt’s backyard, so something must have happened after I left. I must have fallen down an embankment on my way home, and no one was there to help me.

But what was I doing walking home by myself?

Hopelessness threatens to engulf me, but I fight to push away the panic.

“No . . . Stop . . . Breathe . . . Think.” I can hear the desperation in my voice, and in spite of myself, the tears come, sobs racking my battered body.

“Help.” I try to scream, but the word barely makes it past my cracked lips.

I try again, louder, and pretty soon I’m screaming the word over and over. I cry out until my voice is hoarse and the birds have gone quiet.

But still no one comes.

Maybe I can drag myself up the hill and see if there are any houses or stores nearby,
anything
. I twist, ready to execute my plan, when a pain fiercer than anything I’ve ever experienced flares up from my knee. It is so intense, stars scatter across my vision. The forest around me starts to shift and swirl, engulfed by a thick, black fog that eclipses my senses. It kills the light and the air, sucking me into a black abyss. I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them again, I’m lying on my bed, just like I was this morning.

I jerk up, pain free. I’m dressed just as I was before. My bag is sitting beside me and I’m having a major case of déjà vu.

My mom’s voice echoes from downstairs. “Yes, hi. It’s Mrs. Tepper here, Nicole’s mother.”

Well, at least I know I’m not having the same dream; this morning she was calling my name, but now it sounds like she’s on the phone. I lurch off the bed, snatch my bag, and stumble down the stairs. My gaze brushes over the pine tree in the backyard, but I dip my head and look away. I already have enough to worry about.

I make a beeline for the kitchen, following my mother’s voice.

“Mom. Thank God.” I toss my bag onto the island, terror clogging my throat.

Mom looks down at her black pumps as she circles the counter, nodding her head, phone pressed to her ear. “Yes, but has she come into school today?”

“Mom.” I jump in her path and wave my arms, but she stares straight through me, her lips dipping with a tight frown.

“No?” she asks, still not acknowledging me. “Okay, thank you.”

My chest restricts, a tight knot growing behind my rib cage. If she can’t see me . . .

I go to grip the edge of the island, trying to keep myself upright, but my fingers pass straight through the marble. I jerk back with an appalled gasp, staggering away and nearly banging straight into my pacing mother. And that’s when I realize, with horrifying certainty, what I am, why my hand went straight through Trent, why everyone has been ignoring me, why I woke up in the forest
and
at home.

“I’m a ghost,” I whisper, my eyes rounding. I grow light-headed from fear, terror racing through me and threatening to pull me to the floor. But if I am a ghost . . .

Am I dead?

“No, I went back to my body,” I reassure myself. “I was still moving. I’m alive.”

I fight to remain in control. This can’t be happening. How is this even possible?

Stop. Breathe. Think.

My mind clicks through possibilities as I try to make sense of the impossible. Maybe this morning wasn’t a dream after all. And maybe this isn’t, either. Maybe I’m caught in between—half dead, half alive.

But if I’m half dead . . . how long do I have until I pass the point of no return? Judging by the state of my body, not long if I don’t find help.

“Mom!” I wave my arms more frantically, but she stares at the pantry door like there’s nothing blocking her view.

“Yes, I understand, but can you please contact me if anyone sees her?”

Her brows knit in worry. It’s the first time I’ve seen her worried about me in a long time.

“Thank you.” Mom hangs up the phone and fidgets with her earring. Her large blue eyes are glassy as she gazes at her phone.

“Mom.” I stand right next to her. “It’s me. I need you to hear me.”

I reach for the phone and my fingers pass straight through it.

Dammit. Fresh tears blur my vision.

“Mom, please.” My voice quivers. You would think that the people who love me most should be able to sense my presence, like some cosmic, supernatural connection. But my mom just walks to the coffee maker and pours herself another cup. The phone rings again and she unlocks the screen and presses
SPEAKER
, continuing to move around the kitchen.

“Hey, where are you right now?” A deep, familiar voice pops into the room.

“Dad! Can you hear me?” I know it’s pointless, but I yell it anyway.

Mom grabs a bunch of wilting tulips from the island and throws them in the trash. “I came home,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I thought you didn’t have a moment to spare today?” I don’t miss the slightly accusing slant to his words.

“I don’t, thanks to Jackie. Man, that woman is a pain.”

Dad chuckles. “Why are you home then?”

“I just wanted to see if Nicky was here,” Mom says, rinsing out the vase. “I thought maybe she was playing hooky again and just waiting until I left before surfacing.”

I had no idea Mom knew I skipped. Why has she never said anything?

“Look, honey, I know you’re worried, but I’m sure she’s fine.”

“She’s not fine, Mitchell.” She taps her fingers on the counter. “Yes, she gets home at all hours. Yes, she probably gets in trouble with her friends. And yes, she’s dating some loser. But she always comes home. She’s
always
here in the morning.”

Dad clears his throat. “Trudy, she’s stayed out all night before.”

Her nails keep tap-tap-tapping, the sharp sound driving into me. “Not on a school night.”

“Have you called her?” Dad’s voice is deeper than usual, wearier.

“I’ve texted and called. It just goes to voicemail.” Mom flicks her hand in the air, the large solitaire on her left hand catching the light. “There’s no point leaving a message, she never calls me back anyway.”

I lower my eyes, guilty.

“I’m sure she’ll check in eventually. I don’t think we should worry yet.”

“No, Dad, seriously start worrying, like right now,” I call across the room.

“But what if she finally did it?” Mom’s voice quakes, her knuckles press into the hard counter, her hand trembling as if she has no control over it.

Confusion roars through me.

“I don’t. . .” Dad sighs. “I don’t want to think that way.”

Mom’s eyes fill with tears, her lips wobbling as she covers her mouth and sniffs. She looks ready to fall apart.

“Mom?” I reach out to touch her, but pull back before my fingers sail right through her arm. “What do you think I did?”

“Let’s explore all the options first, okay?” Dad’s deep tenor is calm and reassuring. “I’ll give the school a call.”

“I already have,” Mom snaps.

“And?”

Her blonde curls bounce as she shakes her head. “They don’t think she’s come in.”

“Well, it might be worth going down there. Maybe her friends will be able to tell us something. If she’s run away, one of them will definitely know.”

The words hit me like a wrecking ball.

“Run away? Wait a sec, you think I’ve run away?” Concentrating hard, I put my hand on her shoulder, praying she’ll feel me, but nothing registers. She doesn’t even blink. “Mom, I haven’t run away. I’m right here and I need you guys to find me.”

Mom sighs. “I’ll talk to Amber and Penny.”

“Try not to worry. She’ll turn up.” There’s a tremor in Dad’s voice. His confidence is waning.

“Yeah, I just—” Mom’s phone beeps. She glances at the screen and grumbles. “Dammit. That’s Jackie again. I better go.”

“Let me know what her friends say. If no one’s heard from her, we’ll have to talk about what to do next.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.” She holds her breath before taking it off speaker and pasting on a smile.

“Jac-kie.” Her voice is bright and breezy as she grabs her handbag and walks out of the kitchen, back toward her car.

I follow her and make it out the door before she closes it on me. As soon as she opens the driver’s door, I scramble inside, wondering what I can do to make her hear me. I try whacking the dashboard and honking the horn, but it’s a waste of time—my fingers just swipe through them, no more substantial than air.

The phone call lasts until we reach Big Bear Boulevard. After hanging up, Mom continues cruising toward the school, her fingers drumming, her mind a million miles away. She’s just slowing the car to turn onto Maple Lane when her phone starts ringing again. She looks at the screen and sighs before answering in her fake cheerful voice.

“Hello, Gordan . . . Uh-huh.” Her smile falters as she listens, but her bright tone hides it well. “Sure, I’m free right now. I can meet you in ten minutes.” Mom flicks on the left blinker and makes a U-turn.

“No,” I cry. “Go to school. Mom, find out where I was last night!”

She brakes to let a couple of cars pass and I make a hasty decision.

“Fine. If you’re not gonna go, I will.”

I try to jump out the open window, but end up falling through the car door. I can’t feel anything as I land in a heap on the road—no thump, no bump, no pressure. My brain is telling me to register things that aren’t there, warning me that my body should feel bruised and shredded, but it doesn’t. The dichotomy makes my head pound, confusion warping my senses.

Mom pulls away and I wipe invisible dirt off my clothing. I collect my bag, and for the first time I think about how strange it is that it appears with me, even though I’m not really here. It must be because the bag is with my body, in one of the many forests that surrounds Big Bear. I sling it over my shoulder and turn toward school. I need to find out what happened to me last night. I don’t want to die completely clueless.

I don’t want to die at all.