34

ALORA

MAY 16, 2013

“You need to finish your lunch,” Aunt Grace says, glancing at the half-eaten cheeseburger I wrapped and tossed on the truck’s dashboard.

We’re back in Willow Creek after spending most of the morning at the medical imaging center in Athens. It took forever for someone to call me to the back, and another hour to perform the scan. I wonder if they’ll find a tumor. Then again, finding nothing won’t be much comfort, either, but I won’t know for a few more days. Just what I wanted, more waiting and wondering.

“Worrying won’t help. You need to keep your strength up.”

I ignore her. Arguing with Aunt Grace is pointless. She doesn’t understand forcing food down my throat will probably make me puke. She’s old school—eating always solves problems. Or at least lessens them.

I wish I could talk to Sela, but we’re still on the outs. Despite everything that’s happened to me, she walks right by me at school as if I’m invisible. Just like everyone else. Even though the police investigated and declared that I’m not to blame for Trevor’s accident, everyone still thinks I’m responsible. They’ve been saying that it’s really convenient that I can’t remember Trevor supposedly stopping and letting me out somewhere, which is what the police chief concluded. If Trevor said I’m to blame, then that must be the truth.

I stare out the window and frown. It’s too bright and cheerful for my mood. I bet if I rolled the window down, birds would be chirping a Disney tune.

Aunt Grace slows and pulls into the parking lot of The Gingerbread House.

“Why are you stopping here?” I ask.

Aunt Grace gives me one of her are you serious looks. “Because I’m tired of your moping.”

“Aunt Grace, I don’t . . .”

She holds up a hand. “Let me finish.” She sighs and her face softens. “I know you don’t want to go through all those tests, but if something’s wrong, we need to know so we can get it fixed. You’re all I’ve got left in the world and I’m gonna do what it takes to make sure you’re all right.”

“But what about the bills?”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re more important.”

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but instead a choked sob slips out. She leans over and holds me close, stroking my hair. When I’m done crying, I look up, hiccuping.

“Now, don’t you feel better?” she asks, smiling.

“I guess so.”

“That’s my girl. Keeping that stuff bottled inside is toxic. You could give yourself an ulcer, worrying about things all the time.”

“That would be better than a brain tumor.”

“Not funny,” she answers in a flat voice. “Now come on. There’s nothing some cupcakes won’t fix.”

When we walk in the store, Mrs. Randolph gasps. “Well, well, look who’s decided to grace me with her presence.”

Normally I’d have a retort, but my mind is blank, thanks to the tumor I more than likely have. “I know,” is all I can think to say.

Aunt Grace goes straight to Mrs. Randolph and begins to chat with her. Aunt Grace is probably spilling my business while Mrs. Randolph shares the latest gossip. The joys of small-town life.

I wander around the shop, inspecting the spread. The smell of fresh bread, warm cookies, and cakes welcomes me like an old friend. My traitorous stomach doesn’t care. It churns and protests. Sweat beads on my face.

Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph don’t even notice as I slip away to the restroom. I close the door and prop my hands on the sink, taking in huge gulps of air. Then I splash my face with cold water. When I feel stronger, I straighten and lean back against the door.

My hand creeps up and cups my necklace. Now that I know most of the truth about my father, it’s been a comfort, like a long lost gift from him. I hate that I have to hide it under my shirt. Squeezing it, I close my eyes. I wish everything was different.

Things began to fall apart when Trevor first hit on me. I wish there was some way I could go back in time and refuse to even meet with him that Wednesday. Then maybe he wouldn’t be in ICU, near death, and Naomi would still be alive. And I wouldn’t have this heavy guilt on top of the whole blackout business.

A too-familiar wave of dizziness washes over me. Crap, this had to happen again. I force myself to hold still and breathe slowly, but it doesn’t work. Panicked, I crack open my eyes, but everything is going black.

When I come to, I’m still leaning against the door. Maybe I wasn’t out too long this time. That would be nice for a change, instead of being unconscious for hours.

I check my appearance in the mirror. My face is colorless and dark smudges line my eyes. My hair is a mess. I try to quickly smooth down the flyaway strands and frown. It’s funny how this light makes my skin look shimmery. Or I could be imagining it. That’s possible if I have a brain tumor, right?

The air in the bakery is cooler than it was in the restroom. As I hurry to the front of the store, I expect to hear Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph still yapping, but all I can make out is the faint sounds of a television set.

The moment I get to the end of the hallway I freeze, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

It’s me, standing on the other side of the room at the cash register.

When I’m able to catch my breath, I take a few hesitant steps forward, thinking the other me will disappear. It has to be a hallucination.

It has to be.

The other Alora finishes talking with Mrs. Randolph and heads toward the door. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and faded denim capris—the same outfit I wore when Trevor first asked me out right after detention.

Oh my God. What’s happening to me?

I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I watch as she slows before reaching the door and studies the shop. I remember doing that, thinking someone was watching me. Then someone touched me. I’m standing so close I could touch her, but I’m afraid.

I look down at myself. I’m still here, but the other Alora can’t see me. She has to be a hallucination or I’m here in spirit form. I almost laugh, thinking how some of Aunt Grace’s guests would love that.

The other Alora’s face pinches as she turns back to the door. Before I can change my mind, I reach out my hand. I’m not sure what I expect, but when my fingers brush against warm flesh, a chill shoots through my body.

She yells and Mrs. Randolph rushes around the counter, asking what’s wrong. I don’t hang around. I’m pretty certain I’m going to puke.

I make it back to the bathroom and lean over the toilet for a few moments, expecting to hurl. I never do. My stomach still churns, though.

How was that possible? I keep replaying the episode in my head. Maybe I imagined it. But I remember it happening weeks ago. How the touch seemed to sear into my skin. I thought I was going nuts then, but now it’s worse. The other me felt so real.

Pressure settles over my chest and I gasp for air. Not again. I drop the lid to the toilet and sit, while lowering my head between my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I close my eyes and clasp the necklace. I’d give anything to get back to where I was. Erase the last few minutes I witnessed.

Then blackness swallows me.

The first thing I do when I come to is puke. Footsteps run down the hallway, and the door bursts open. “Oh, sweet heavens!” Aunt Grace shrieks as she rushes to me, her face pale.

Mrs. Randolph hovers in the doorway, looking horrified. Her hand flutters to her chest and she asks, “Do you want me to call 9-1-1?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should take her to the hospital myself.”

I jolt up when I hear those words. I want to tell her about the hallucination, but hearing the word hospital makes me realize I don’t want to go there. If I am dying, I’ll have to spend enough time there in the future. “I’m fine, Aunt Grace. I’m just nervous.”

She makes a tsk-ing sound and helps me stand. “That cheeseburger probably didn’t help. You need soup.”

Mrs. Randolph chimes in, “Oh yes, that’ll make everything better.”

If only that were true.

Aunt Grace escorts me back to the truck like I’m an invalid. As I wait for her to climb in the driver’s side, I can’t help but wonder if I should have told her what I saw.

I wonder what I’ll see next if the hallucinations continue.