“If you could enter anyone’s dream and sleepwalk in their body, who would it be?” Wes asks as he squints up at me, his head resting in my lap. We’re lounging on the empty football field, near the goal line. We’ve cut all our classes for the day, and I couldn’t care less. Between the warm wind, the spring-awakening grass, and my super dreamy new boyfriend, there’s nowhere else I want to be. I shift slightly to block the sun from his eyes.
“Living or dead?” I ask.
“Either,” he replies.
I consider this. “George Washington.”
“George Washington? Seriously?”
“Why not?” I ask as he frowns.
“I mean, okay, he was the first president and all, but of everyone in history to choose from, why a soldier who couldn’t tell a lie and had bad teeth?”
I smile. “To see if he really slept everywhere they say he did.”
Wes groans but can’t hide his grin for long.
I lean down and kiss it. “What about you?”
“Easy,” he says. “Freud. I mean, if he had that many crazy theories about people’s thoughts and desires based on their dreams, his must’ve been freaking awesome.”
“You’re freaking awesome,” I singsong. As soon as the words escape into the ether, I cover my face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Wes sits up and pulls my hands down. “You’re freaking awesome too,” he says, smiling broadly. He tackles me. I scream, and he tickles me until I cry uncle. As my giggle-gasps subside, I look up into his face hovering above mine. It’s no longer playful or warm but dead serious. Hungry. I lick my lips and swallow hard. I start losing track of the public area we’re in.
Then he kisses me. He kisses me and kisses me until it’s so obvious where things are headed that we have no choice but to stop. He collapses beside me on the field, and I rest my head in the space between his chest and shoulder, staring up at the blue sky and the foamy clouds as they float by.
“We can do it, you know,” he says wistfully. “I mean, not with dead people, obviously. But anyone alive that we have access to and can dose with Dexid—they’re ours. And the more pills we take, the better we can control them. Last night proved it.” He twirls my hair with his fingers. “Did you notice that when one of us was inside Gigi, the Burners stayed away? I don’t think they can come near us when we’re in a dreamer. God, this is great!”
I feel him tighten in the same way he did when we kissed. “We can follow the dreamer’s mind and lead their bodies. Be anyone. Go anywhere. Do anything. Sarah, we are so…”
“Screwed,” I say at the same time as he says, “Powerful.”
“What? Screwed?” Wes untangles his legs from mine and sits up. Reluctantly, I do the same. “You’re joking, right?” He laughs the way sane people do when confronted with the rantings of a crazy person. I look away from him and contemplate a newly sprouted blade of grass.
“We’re warped,” I say. “What we did last night—if we really did do it—was pretty messed up.”
“If we really did do it?” he scoffs, completely ignoring my introduction of morality into the conversation. “What do you mean if? You saw Grady yesterday, and you were inside Gigi last night. I hate to break it to you, kid, but we’ve got superpowers. No amount of denial is going to change that, so why not fight the good fight?”
“The good fight?” I laugh. “Which part of the night was that? When we invaded a defenseless girl’s privacy, or when I nearly scalped her?”
“Have you forgotten yesterday?” he says sharply. “The photos, the shrine? The hair missing from your head?” He reaches out and runs his hand over the significantly shorter section of hair just above my neck. I pull back.
Truth be told, I haven’t let myself think too much about Gigi and what she did to me the day before or how I upped the ante last night. Ever since I woke up this morning, all I wanted to do was find Wes in real waking life and kiss him. A lot. Of course, I knew it was only a matter of time before the topic of Gigi and what we did came up. What I didn’t anticipate was the utter glee with which Wes would recollect it.
“No, I haven’t forgotten anything,” I say. “But do you really think what happened last night was…”
I trail off, uncertain how to finish the thought. Am I unconvinced that it was real or that it was deserved? My blue-sky afternoon with Wes starts to feel overcast, and I fear he’s going to run for cover. But to my surprise, he puffs out a long breath and pulls me to him.
“Okay, Sarah, okay,” he whispers into my hair. “Let’s not fight about this. We all process things in our own time. I’ll give you yours.” He kisses the top of my head and springs to his feet. Though he grins down at me, there’s no hint of the smile in his eyes. “Listen, I’ve got a scheduling issue I’m supposed to fix with the program office before the end of the day. See you later?”
“Sure,” I say with as much indifference as I can fake. “I’ve got a team meeting I should go to anyway.”
Wes grabs his things and leans down to give me a kiss. It’s soft and sweet but lacks the barely restrained lust that’s characterized our previous ones. As he throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, he winks at me, then walks away. And just like that, the boy who couldn’t keep his hands off me can’t seem to put enough space between us. He’s halfway across the football field before I can even wonder whether or not I want to run after him.
I sit on the grass for a while, not liking the loneliness his absence creates. After a few minutes, I gather my things and head toward the athletic center. Though I had every intention of skipping this meeting when an afternoon with Wes’s eyes and lips and hands was the alternative, now that our clandestine encounter’s been redacted, a little distraction seems like a good enough idea. It’s likely Gigi will be there. She is our captain after all. But whether I’m ready to admit this to Wes or not, the triumph of last night has bolstered me a bit. Getting a little power back feels good.
As I swing open the doors of the girls’ locker room, Kiara and Amber are waiting for me. A piece of paper reading LAX MEETING CANCELED is tacked to the bulletin board. The sick feeling of consequence punches me in the gut. I start to back away, but Kiara’s hand shoots out and holds me tight.
Saying nothing, Gigi’s groupies lead me along the rows of lockers. Though there’s no mean-girl giggling, neither do they look triumphant. A mixture of anxiety and confusion marks both their expressions. And that makes me more nervous than anything else.
It’s equally unnerving to see the locker room empty. Missing is the tangy, oppressive smell of steamy sweat; the community of girls lined in front of locker doors in various unselfconscious states of undress; the cacophony of smack talking and laughter echoing off the tiled walls. Unlike Hollywood’s version of the locker room as sacrificial altar, mine has always been a safe haven in which I either prepare for battle or boast about my scars. Now it seems like the vacant ruins of a world from which I’ve been removed. I wonder if Hollywood has it right.
I move cautiously, half expecting Gigi (clad in a ski mask and toting a butcher’s knife) to jump out at any time. But aside from the constant trickle of a leaky faucet, the gelatinous squishing noise that our sneakers make against the damp floor is the only sound. When I reach the end of the row, I turn toward the open area between the lockers and shower stalls.
I freeze.
Before me is a frail girl in sunglasses and a hoodie pulled up to cover her head. She stands slightly hunched with her arms crossed tight at her chest. At first, she doesn’t look at me. I’m not even sure she knows I’m here as she whispers something to herself, rapidly and with barely a pause for breath. Her head shakes from side to side, a slow pendulum at first. But the movement grows until she’s thrashing it about, like a child as he tries to shake off a bad dream.
Then she stops. Without looking directly at me, she takes off her sunglasses and pulls down her hood to reveal a black eye, uneven close-cropped hair, and a bald spot on the side of her head.
Amber gasps.
“Oh my God,” says Kiara.
“Did you think this was a fashion statement?” Gigi snaps at her friends, who have clearly and typically followed their leader’s orders without questioning the why or what for. They’ve simply delivered me because Gigi asked. In this moment, I find these two way more sickening than their mean-girl master. But that may be due, at least in part, to how pathetic Gigi looks. I want to say something, to return to the Sarah from two days ago, the one with remorse. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m frightened and, to be honest, completely fascinated by the sight of what I’ve done. My dream came true. I made it happen. Gigi’s the proof.
“It’s real,” I whisper in awe to myself.
Gigi sprints toward me, stopping just short of making actual physical contact. Kiara drops my arm as she and Amber take a step back.
“What did you say?” Gigi demands, her voice shrill, her words fast and jumbled together. I say nothing, only stare. Her eyes are beady as they dart around, searching my face, my body, for something. An answer? A clue? Gigi’s crossed arms tighten, and her hands pulse as they grip her biceps. She looks utterly unhinged. Then she closes her eyes and takes a cleansing breath. It’s a ritual I’ve seen her do a thousand times when faced with a particularly tough opponent just before she eats her for lunch.
When she opens her eyes again, she’s the tough, uncompromising, game-day thug I know. Staring me down, the fury of a bull spitting out from her flared nostrils, Gigi thrusts her face up in mine.
“How did you do it?” she demands through locked jaws. “Did you drug me? Sneak into my room? Tell me, Sarah, because it was you. I saw the note. I know. I know it was you.”
I open my mouth to speak, but what on earth can I say? She’s right. It was me. I did this to her. When I don’t say anything, she goes on.
“You know, I never should have bothered with you. From the first day of peewees, my mother told me to steer clear.” She nods manically. “Oh yeah, she’d heard about you. Every parent had. Creepy little Sarah Reyes who didn’t have a daddy and couldn’t have sleepovers. They knew something was up but obviously not the full extent, otherwise this,” she says, wagging her pointer finger between us, “you and me, never would have happened. But you were good with a stick, so I gave you a chance.” She begins to run her fingers through her hair but stops when she remembers it’s almost all gone. In a flash, Gigi’s lecture loses its language as rage tightens her features, and her hands shoot forward. She shoves me backward, knocking the wind out of me before I have the slightest chance to defend myself.
“Gigi, wait,” Amber says as Kiara puts her hand on her captain’s shoulder. Gigi knocks it off, and her lieutenants stand down. She pins me to a locker. Her face is inches from mine.
“I made your crappy life tolerable,” she yells. “I pretended you weren’t a total weirdo. What a mistake that was. I bet Jamie’s accident last year wasn’t even an accident at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you who actually broke his nose.”
I flinch. Without intending to, Gigi’s delivered a serious blow below the belt. And she sees it. Her ranting instantly quells, and her face lights up like she’s just been accepted to Amherst. “Oh my God. You totally did it. He covered for you. You didn’t just do this to me—you did it to Jamie too!” She cackles like a mean-girl Wicked Witch of the West as she loosens her grip. “Did you blame it on your sleep? Was that your bullshit defense then too?”
I turn my head, but Gigi grabs my chin and yanks my face to meet hers. In the background, Kiara and Amber look at each other, uncomfortable and unsure. “How do you do it?” she demands. “How do you get away with everything? Why do I get detention for showing everyone the freak show you really are and you get…people watching you sleep? Tell me, Sarah, tell me, or I will make you pay in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“How?” I hiss. “By defacing me in all your pictures of us?”
Her face lifts in triumph. “I knew it!” she cries. “You were in my room last night.”
I drop my eyes. Crap.
Gigi smiles, savoring this bit of power at last. “You think you’re so special. Well, I’ve got news for you. They call every reject ‘special’ now. It’s just a pretty way of saying you do not belong, you are not normal. And I’m going to make sure that everyone finally knows it.
“Amber,” she barks. “Record this.”
Gigi’s frightened lap dog fumbles with her phone and begins videoing my confession.
“Tell me how, Sarah,” Gigi says in the contrived whimpering tone of a wounded innocent. “How did you get into my room last night? How did you keep me still while you violated me? I was supposed to be safe in my bed, safe while I slept.”
She was supposed to be safe in her bed? Safe while she slept? I don’t know if it’s imagining the audience that’ll be suckered into believing this shift in her persona or the sheer hypocrisy of her accusations after what she and Josh did to me at the clinic just two nights before, but I’m done. Wes is right. Gigi is no innocent. Any guilt I have about what happened last night vanishes. I might not be a victim, but neither is she. I lean forward and speak so only she can hear. “Not your room. I didn’t break into your room. But that was a nice kitchen. Did the water ever boil?”
Gigi drops her hand like I’m on fire and stumbles backward. Kiara moves toward me but doesn’t come between us, confused by Gigi’s sudden retreat.
I take a step forward. “You didn’t think you were alone in that big empty house, did you?” I whisper. “There was something else there too. Wasn’t there? Something in the shadows. It’s waiting for you. Watching you. Coming for you.”
Gigi’s eyes are unblinking and wide. For a moment, I feel strength in this small victory. I’m a fool not to realize it will be short-lived.
With no preamble, my tormented tormentor screams and charges at me full force. Grabbing my hair by the roots, she slams my head back against the locker door. I try to lift my arms to protect my aching skull, but Gigi is relentless. Once again, I’m trapped, unable to defend my body as my brain scrambles, valiantly but fruitlessly, to help. All I can do is watch through blurred vision as she wraps her middle and pointer fingers around the bottom of my hoop earring and tears it out.
I cry out, and Gigi lets me fall to the ground. I steady my upper body on my right arm as my free hand clutches at my bleeding lobe. The sticky warmth of blood trickles through my fingers, and I watch it drip onto the tile beneath me.
Kiara and Amber just stand there, gaping. Though they haven’t added to the blows, Amber’s phone is still recording, and neither has tried to help.
Gigi towers over me, shaking, breathing hard, spent. My stomach clenches. Then she kneels beside my bloody ear and, her voice trembling, whispers, “Stay away from me, you freak.” She turns and leaves me crying as Kiara and Amber follow her out.