DAD.
The word exploded in my brain.
It couldn’t be.
But it was. It was Dad. He’d seen me.
My dad was alive.
SMMMACK! SMMMACK! SMMMACK!
I was banging on the door with my fists now.
“WAIT!”
My own voice, piercing and raw.
People were staring at me now. The guy with the garlic breath edged away. His face looked curdled. His eyes were darting nervously from me to the window.
The station was out of sight. Grimy subrail walls sped by, illuminated by the dull glow of an occasional lightbulb.
“Next stop, Deerfield!” the conductor’s voice blared over the speakers.
A dream.
Is it possible to have dreams when you’re wide-awake?
Of course.
Stress. That’s what it was.
Stress was making me see things. Like the guy in the blue shirt.
Maybe I was going crazy.
My friends definitely thought so. I could see that in their stunned expressions.
The train was slowing again as we approached the Deerfield Street station. One stop short of my own.
I felt humiliated. I had to get out. I was close enough to walk the rest of the way home, no pain.
When the doors opened, I slipped out. I sped through the station at a dead run, took the stairs three at a time, and dashed outside into daylight. Bright, clear daylight.
I was running across Deerfield at the corner of Orpheus when I heard a familiar voice cry out, “David!”
Heather. What was she doing here?
Honnnnnnk!
A car swerved by me, its brakes squealing.
I jumped back, colliding with a streetlight.
Heather raced up to me. “Are you okay?”
No. I couldn’t tell her. It was crazy. I needed to be alone.
“Fine,” I grunted, turning away. “See you.”
“David, what is wrong with you?” Heather asked.
“Nothing!” I snapped. “Why are you following me around?”
“Uh, I live in your building, remember? I have to walk in this direction.”
“You didn’t have to get off a stop early.”
“Excuse me for being concerned? I just saw the quietest guy I know—you—banging on a subrail door and screaming like a maniac. So, being your friend, I ran after you, just in time to save your life from a speeding motorist, and this is the thanks I get?”
What luck. Just when I need privacy, a little bonding time with my sanity, I am tailed by the motormouth of Franklin City Middle School.
“It was a joke,” I said.
“Yelling ‘wait’ to the empty subrail track?”
“To shake up the commuters. Make them think I’m a total filbert, so they’ll move away and give me room.”
“Liar.”
I turned in the direction of Wiggins Street, toward home.
“Face it, David,” came Heather’s voice behind me. “You need to talk. You’re having a tough time…I mean, psychologically, with your dad and all—”
I stopped in my tracks. “What does my dad have to do with it?”
“Nothing…I’m just saying…you haven’t been yourself since…you know…”
“So isn’t that my business? Isn’t it my business if I’m stressed out and seeing things and needing time alone?”
“Seeing things? Like what?”
“You really want to know? You want to be my shrink? Okay, Heather—like my dad! On subrail platforms, on the street, at the Granite Street station! Okay? Happy?”
Stop.
What was I saying?
I wanted to reel in the words. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to put my life into reverse, go back to school, and never go near the subrail system again.
But I couldn’t. And Heather was not going to let this go away.
“You saw your dad?”
I felt nauseated now. Smothered. As if the street noises had been sucked away, leaving only the sounds of my brain, churning and rumbling like an oncoming train.
I saw nothing but Heather’s eyes, looming closer.
“I’m listening, David. Go on.” She was touching my hand now. Half of me wanted to recoil, but I felt my fingers gripping hers.
I did go on. I told her everything, all the details. Hoping that would ease the pain and confusion I felt.
Heather looked stone-faced at me the whole time. When I was done, she leaned back against the wall of a building and sighed. “Who-o-oa…”
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” I said. “Ever.”
Heather nodded.
“I know, I know. You think I’m crazy.”
“No, I don’t…” Heather said softly.
“You don’t?”
“I just have one question. How much sleep are you getting?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I read somewhere that you need a lot more sleep when you reach adolescence. Which could possibly be happening to you. I mean, it’s a difficult time of life, especially for guys. Look how it warped Max—”
She didn’t believe me. I wanted to kill her.
I ran off and let her babble to herself.
When I reached our apartment building, she was nowhere near me. I stepped inside, walked across the vestibule, and pressed the elevator button. The number 12 lit up on the metal plate above the door.
That’s where the elevator was. Twelve. Top floor. By the time it came down, Heather would be waiting beside me.
I decided to take the stairs to my apartment, which is on the fifth floor. The building’s stairwell is behind a locked metal door, opposite the elevator. I ran toward it, fumbling for my keys.
With a loud ca-chunk, the door flew open, clipping my arm.
A man with a greasy beard and a long, ragged coat leaped out.