CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I’m coming to and Hannah is wishing me good morning. I rub my eyes, sit up in bed, and look out the window at the bright daylight.

“That’s it?”

Hannah nods from her perch by the window. “Goes pretty fast, right?”

“It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.”

“It’s just DSR messing with our perception. You’ve been out all night, just like the rest of us.” She looks back over at me, a bit concerned. “How was it?”

“Strange. Who is that lady, anyway?”

“What lady?”

“The woman who introduced DSR, told me to work on complying … ” I trail off when I notice Hannah staring at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra nose.

“I’ve never seen her,” she says.

“Weird.” I rub my face, trying to get rid of the haze hanging over my mind. “What’s the point in showing us stuff that’s never going to happen?”

“Ah, the future that will never be,” Hannah says with a knowing nod of her head. “We have to know what we’ll be missing in order to fully let go. We have to make peace with the future we won’t have and accept the reality that is the afterlife.”

“A bit much for the first night, don’t you think?”

“You’ll get used to it. It gets better, I promise.”

“So they say.” I frown. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Six. Morning Meditation is at eight.”

I groan and flop back on the bed. “I miss sleeping already.” I pull the covers up and put a pillow over my head—my favorite I-don’t-want-to-get-up-yet tactic.

“You want to go down to the cafeteria? The breakfasts here are great.” Hannah’s voice sounds muffled but enthusiastic through my cocoon of pillows and blankets.

“Dead people eating. I don’t think I’m ever going to get my mind wrapped around that one.”

“What? All I got from that was mmmff ggrrr eeefffrrrggg.”

I move the pillow and scowl. She has a big grin on her face.

“Great. My roommate is a morning person.” This could be a problem. I hate mornings, and I have never been able to understand those who don’t.

“So you want to get breakfast, or what?” Hannah asks.

“No thanks. I just want a little alone time, I think.”

“Suit yourself.” Hannah heads to the door. “See you at Morning Meditation. We meet in the lounge. Don’t be late.”

I lie in bed for as long as I can stand it, which, as it turns out, isn’t very long. In surrender, I go to my closet and throw on some clothes.

A hollow thunk near the front door gets my attention, and upon investigating, I find the light is blinking at the message center. I take out the cylinder and see we have mail. The first letter is for me.

Desiree Donnelly,

Please report to SGA room 2108 at 09:45 today for your intake assessment with Kay Robinson. The appointment will take approximately ninety minutes. Please refer any pressing questions regarding your appointment to your advisor, Franklin Hicks. Otherwise, Kay will be happy to address any concerns during your intake.

My concerns? Let’s see:

Getting tackled.

Being chased.

Getting zapped by Gideon’s silver orb.

Psychiatric placement.

That mystery “procedure.”

Oh, and the whole being dead thing.

The other message is for Hannah and is in a sealed envelope, which I leave on the table. I drop my appointment slip next to Hannah’s message and head out into the common area, my mind set on wasting my remaining free time in the library.

Charlie’s at the foosball table, talking to two other boys, but after last night’s run-in with Hannah, avoidance is my best option. As I try to slip through the game lounge undetected, my inner klutz strikes. My foot gets tangled up on the edge of a throw rug, sending me stumbling for purchase.

I’m a trained sprinter, but I can’t manage to walk without tripping.

Charlie turns when he hears me. A big smile spreads across his face. “You okay over there?”

“Yeah, great.” I kick at the rug and silently curse my cute new sandals. “But somebody needs to fire the decorator.”

Charlie laughs. “You’ll have to take that up with Franklin.” He gestures to the two guys standing next to him. “Dez, this is Shawn.” He points to the boy nearest him. “And this is Bobby. They’re next door to you in suite seven.”

“Hey, Dez,” says Shawn, a boy of about seventeen who looks like he’s missing Southern California and a surfboard. His long blond hair is bleached almost white. He has the tan and the lean muscles of someone who spends every waking moment at the beach.

“We’ll try to keep the volume down to a pleasing level,” Bobby offers. He’s Shawn’s diametric opposite, skinny and fair with an unkempt mop of auburn curls.

“Good to know,” I laugh. “We’ll try to do the same.”

Bobby reaches up and adjusts the collar of his T-shirt.

Catching a glimpse of his bracelet, I can’t help but stare.

ERROR. PLEASE SEE SGA TECH REP.

Noticing my gaze, he slips his arm behind his back. “Noise pollution is a tremendous irritant, and a leading cause of disagreements in dormitory settings. When one is provided a placid environment, the probability of conflict is greatly diminished.” He finishes with a nod.

“Okay … ” I look to Charlie for a hint. There’s a smile in his eyes, despite the straight face he’s maintaining. “I haven’t gotten a chance to read the entire handbook yet, but I’ll be sure to brush up on all the rules,” I say.

Bobby looks concerned. “I didn’t mean to give the impression that acceptable volume parameters are Atman policy. I simply abide by these limits of my own free will and as a courtesy to others based on statistical data supporting such behavior. While I firmly support the implementation of such a policy, we are at our own discretion to adhere to self-policing for the foreseeable future, as the Atman authorities, such as they are, have not yet placed a priority on implementing any such parameters into the official bylaws or the voluminous, yet insufficient, conduct manual.”

What? How am I supposed to respond? My mind scrambles to gain a foothold. There’s an odd familiarity about this guy, but I can’t place it, which adds to my inability to form a reply.

“Right. Uh, that was very informative, and I will be sure to keep all of it in mind.”

Fortunately, Shawn saves me. “Well, we were just on our way to grab something to eat, so we’d better get going. It was nice meeting you, Dez.”

“What was that?” I demand of Charlie once Shawn and Bobby are out of earshot.

“Bobby is a super-serious super-genius. He takes a bit of getting used to.”

“You think?”

Charlie flashes that smile of his. “You ready to finish our game of foosball?” he asks, brushing his hand against mine.

My fingers tingle. I feel shaky and nervous and perfect. And confused.

What was that about not getting involved?

My vocabulary abandons me. “Umm … ”

“It’s okay. I know my foos prowess is pretty intimidating.”

I take a moment to get myself together and shove aside my feelings. Friends only. I can do that. I have to.

“All right, bring it on, Weimann.”

“You sure you can handle it? I’m not going easy on you this time.” He spins his soccer men again, but this time is careful to keep them from making a full rotation. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

Hannah steps off the elevator and spots us. Her face falls into a frown as she approaches. She holds up an apple. “I thought you might be hungry, Dez, but apparently you’re busy.”

Charlie slides around the table, but it’s too late. Damage done. “Hannah—”

“We were finishing our game from last night,” I say.

Hannah won’t look at me.

I step over to her and whisper in her ear. “It’s just a game. Nothing else, I promise.”

She plasters a smile on her face that isn’t fooling anyone. “I’ll see you at Morning Meditation.” She turns to leave.

I move to follow her, and am overcome with a feeling like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s like a crushing blow to the stomach without the physical pain, like skipping straight to the aftershock. I double over and fall to my knees, gasping for air that isn’t there. Terror rips through me.

I can’t speak.

Can’t think.

A scream builds in my lungs, but nothing comes out. The room spins and shifts, threatening to throw me into a cosmic wasteland.

I have a flash of lying next to the crumpled wreck of my mom’s car.

Did that really happen?

“We didn’t get to her soon enough, and her injuries were too severe. I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”

Hannah’s next to me.

I died yesterday. That’s what Crosby told me.

Someone squeezes my hand.

Voices I don’t recognize speak in worried whispers.

Mom screams. Dad takes her in his arms as they crumple to the floor.

Where are they?

“Somebody get Franklin. Call Kay, too.”

“No!” she wails. Her screams are primal, like a wounded animal. “Please, no!”

“Dez, can you hear me?”

Someone is there with them. There’s a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Not my Dez, Doug. Please. Please tell me this isn’t real. It has to be someone else.”

“Somebody get me a pillow.”

What’s happening?

The hand squeezes. My dad chokes on his tears, gagging on the anguish bubbling out of him like a fountain.

“You’re going to be okay, Dez. Crosby’s on his way.”

A group of my friends stand near my parents, their faces heavy with shock and sorrow as they try to console each other. Katie and Ava cling together, sobbing.

I have no idea how much time has passed.

Someone’s put a pillow under my head.

That’s thoughtful.

Can you puke when you’re dead? I don’t want to know, but it feels like I might find out.

I’m shaking.

“Dez? You’re going to be okay, kiddo.”

Crosby’s here.

I curl up in a ball and howl. There are at least a dozen people standing around me, but I don’t care.

All I can feel is horror.