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He hadn’t felt this good about himself in a long time. And even though he couldn’t think of anything to say, it was okay, there in the dark. The two of them, awkward, silent. The warmth of her back on his hand in the chilly evening. The fact that she trusted him. That she wasn’t afraid. That she didn’t run away screaming. She let him touch her, for crying out loud.
Incredible.
He hardly noticed when the other guys took off, heading to their respective homes. It was all he could do to keep his concentration on avoiding stones and glass.
When he pushed her up her driveway to the step, he knew it was over. For the moment, at least. But it was enough for now. It was hope.
Janie hopped off the skateboard and opened the screen door.
He set her shoes on the step, hesitated for a moment, then picked up his board and left her there without a word. Just a nod. Totally at a loss.
He was at the road when he heard it. “Thanks, Cabel.” Her voice was thin, soft in the air. “That was sweet.”
Freaking music, it was. Enough to make a guy a little bit crazy inside.
Cabel thinks about that day a lot lately.
He sits back up on the hotel bed and then goes into the bathroom. Splashes water on his face and just leans over the sink, his head butting up against the mirror, thinking. Thinking about how, back then, he had no idea just how complicated this thing was going to get.
3:13 p.m.
While the rest of the seniors of Fieldridge High are at the theatre watching Camelot, Cabel wanders the hotel, then heads outside and walks to the nearby shopping mall. He takes in a movie—it’s a tough call choosing between Capote and Return of the Living Dead 5, but after the nightmare on the bus, horror is not sounding good today.
He grabs dinner at the mall’s food court and hangs around the music store until he gets kicked out for looking like a no-good teenager. What is it with adults anyway? They’re so scared and suspicious all the time. Hell, Cabe thinks, we’re just trying to get by, like them.
He wanders down to the Chapters bookstore and browses the sci-fi and fantasy section. Thinks this whole thing with Janie and the nightmares feels a little sci-fi, too.
And then he pauses.
Looks around the store, and moves to the self-help section.
When he sees a shelf of books on dreams, he grabs a few, finds a chair, and settles in. Hours go by as he reads, studies. Fascinated. At closing time, Cabel purchases the books. He walks through the darkness back to the hotel.
He pretends to be asleep when the guys come in after eleven from the theatre. Doesn’t want to answer any questions about where he’s been all day. Besides, his brain is full. He’s exhausted and still confused. Troubled. But his anger is fading.
It doesn’t seem like Janie can help it, or she would have tried to hide it on the bus. That’s the conclusion he comes to, anyway.
He drifts off to sleep.
October 15, 2005, 4:03 a.m.
Cabel’s in a shopping mall. In the center courtyard, there is a kiosk with a short line of people. He gets in line behind the others. Sees a giant wooden box on the floor. Two people climb in and lie down. The vendor running the kiosk closes the top on them, and then pushes a button. The box slowly descends into the floor as the line of people watch in silence.
“What’s happening?” Cabel whispers to the person in front of him.
“It’s a game,” the girl says. She turns to look at him, and Cabel realizes it’s Janie.
“Like a virtual ride or something?”
“Sort of.”
Cabel shrugs and watches. The box surfaces once again and the lid opens. Only one person gets out—a sobbing woman. She points to the box and cries out, “He’s dead!”
Immediately the paramedics are there. They remove the dead man and the kiosk worker signals for the next people in line to get into the box.
“This is not cool,” Cabel says to Janie.
“It is what it is,” Janie says.
The next couple goes down and when they surface, the man gets out. He is sobbing, pointing. “She’s dead!” he cries out. People have to help him walk away.
Cabel’s sweating now. “Come on, Janie,” he says. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t,” she says. “If you get in the line, you must stay for the ride. See?” she points to a sign that says exactly that.
Soon it is their turn.
“Please, Janie,” Cabel pleads. “Come on! We can just go. Do you see what’s happening?”
“We can’t control what’s happening, Cabel,” she says. She looks at him with sorrow in her eyes. “There’s no controlling it. It is what it is.”
The kiosk worker signals Janie and Cabel to enter the box. Up close, Cabel can see it’s lined, like a coffin.
“No, Janie—no. We don’t have to do this!”
Janie gives Cabel a sorrowful look. She hesitates, and then she says, “It’s okay. You stay. I’ll go.” And then she squeezes Cabel’s hand, brushes his cheek with her fingertips. Smiles a sad, crooked smile.
Cabel watches her step into the coffin. “Wait! What will happen?” But he already knows.
Janie waves. “It’s okay,” she says, sincere. “It would have been me anyway.”
The kiosk worker closes the lid on Janie.
Cabel is frantic, watching the box being lowered. “Stop!” he cries. “Stop! Let me in!”
But it’s too late. Cabel lunges for the box as it disappears into the floor. Cabel falls to the tile, unable to speak or scream or cry. Finally he gasps. “Coward!” he says to himself. “Janie, no! Come back! I’m sorry!”
The wait is endless, but finally the box returns to the surface. The lid opens.
Janie is dead.
Cabel rolls over in the bed. “No,” he whispers.
4:55 a.m.
He sits up. “Sheesh,” he says, awake now. He looks at the clock, disoriented. Forgets for a moment where he is. The other guys in the room are sleeping soundly. Cabel takes a deep breath and settles back down on the pillow. He feels his heart still racing. Tells himself to calm down, and after a while, he does. But he can’t get back to sleep. Finally, he dozes off again, restless.
8:24 a.m.
Cabe ignores the others as they get ready for a final session of Shakespeare before everyone heads back to Fieldridge High. When they are gone, he takes a long shower and slowly gets ready for the day. Thinking. Thinking about Janie. About the dream. About all sorts of things and how they relate to his life . . . and to Janie’s, too, probably. Shame. Disappointment. Loneliness.
He pulls up the comforter and sits down on top of it, trying to figure her out. And knowing that even though he doesn’t understand her, he needs to know what happened . . . and what could happen. There’s no way he can just let her go or keep silent, like he did on the skateboard night. No way he can look at her again without demanding answers.
11:31 a.m.
Cabe hops up off the bed, hungry and resolved, and grabs his jacket. Slips his shoes on. Thinks about what Janie must be going through right now, this minute. Wonders if she skipped the morning play to catch up on sleep. He imagines her, stuck in a room with three other girls and their collective dreams all night. He’s sure Janie really needs food by now.
And . . . well.
It’s not going to deliver itself.
Read ahead for an excerpt from Lisa McMann’s
crash
One
My sophomore psych teacher, Mr. Polselli, says knowledge is crucial to understanding the workings of the human brain, but I swear to dog, I don’t want any more knowledge about this.
Every few days I see it. Sometimes it’s just a picture, like on that billboard we pass on the way to school. And other times it’s moving, like on a screen. A careening truck hits a building and explodes. Then nine body bags in the snow.
It’s like a movie trailer with no sound, no credits. And nobody sees it but me.
Some days after psych class I hang around
by the door of Mr. Polselli’s room for a minute, thinking that if I have a mental illness, he’s the one who’ll be able to tell me. But every time I almost mention it, it sounds too weird to say. So, uh, Mr. Polselli, when other people see the “turn off your cell phones” screen in the movie theater, I see an extra five-second movie trailer. Er . . . and did I mention I see stills of it on the billboard by my house? You see Jose Cuervo, I see a truck hitting a building and everything exploding. Is that normal?
The first time was in the theater on the one holiday that our parents don’t make us work—Christmas Day. I poked my younger sister, Rowan. “Did you see that?”
She did this eyebrow thing that basically says she thinks I’m an idiot. “See what?”
“The explosion,” I said softly.
“You’re on drugs.” Rowan turned to our older brother, Trey, and said, “Jules is on drugs.”
Trey leaned over Rowan to look at me. “Don’t do drugs,” he said seriously. “Our family has enough problems.”
I rolled my eyes and sat back in my seat as the real movie trailers started. “No kidding,” I muttered. And I reasoned with myself. The day before I’d almost been robbed while doing a pizza delivery. Maybe I was still traumatized.
