Break Away (Away, Book 1) Read online

  “You’re going to do it, then,” Linda stated, watching my hard expression. “You’re going to make him pay.”

  I nodded. “I just don’t know how I’ll be able to pretend everything is still sunshine between us so I can mislead him and strike when he least expects it. Just the thought of seeing him again…” I curled my hands into tight fists.

  She sighed with a shake of her head, and with that sigh, she told me everything she wanted to say but couldn’t, because she knew I wouldn’t listen. Once an idea flourished in my head, the roots couldn’t be unearthed. They were there to stay, clawed into my brain. I could, in fact, be found on the last pages of any dictionary with the word “stubborn” to my left.

  Linda produced her smart phone and started typing, her elbows anchored on her knees, and the top of her shoes closer to my crossed legs, I noticed. Was she that disgusted by the couch? Poor old fella.

  And there I was again feeling sorry for inanimate objects.

  “Good, there’s reception here.” She smiled, her eyes glued to the small screen.

  “It’s a storage room, Linda, not a jungle.” I rolled my eyes. “Who are you texting by the way? Your friend here is in great need of advice, you heartless traitor. I’m desperate.”

  She chuckled. “I’m not texting anyone. I’m checking out my email to see if I got any response from Iowa. You know how big it is for me to get into their creative writing program.”

  “Oh, come on, are you serious? Your parents used to work there, you have it already.”

  “No, I don’t.” She glanced up at me. “And anyway, if you want to keep your emotions on a leash when you’re in front of him, think of something nice he might’ve done—because there has to be something, even if it’s just one little thing.” She lowered her eyes to the screen again. “Thinking of nicer things won’t work if he’s not in them, so don’t try that,” she said, as if she’d guessed my thoughts.

  “Ugh, I guess it’s the only thing I have. It’ll be hard as hell, but I can make up those nice things if nothing comes my way. I have a pretty good imagination, after all.”

  The bell rang, the strident ring muted by the door as if we were under water in a submarine. Footsteps tapped a muddled rhythm outside.

  “Forget what I said. I'm pretty sure Bio is going to mess up my imaginary skills for the day.” I stood up grudgingly. “I'm doomed.”

  “Wait,” Linda prompted already on her feet, frowning at the smart phone on her hands. “There’s something going on.”

  “Of course there's something going on. Aren’t you listening? We’re headed to Bio-hell. My head will be so scorched I—”

  “Dafne,” she ignored me. “Remember what you told me yesterday, about those three people who fell into coma out of the blue?”

  I stopped brushing the dust off of my jeans and narrowed my eyes at her. Her tone had edged on apprehension, close to the one she’d used when telling me Peanut’s belly had swollen, fearing her dog’s heart disease had worsened. She only used that tone when something bad was coming, and I didn’t like it. “Yeah?” I said, worry lacing my voice.

  “They say it’s getting worse. It’s on MSN news.” She told me as she read the information. “The cases have increased, and they think it might be a virus, but it’s not a sure thing.”

  “A virus?”

  She nodded stiffly. “Too many hospitals have reported people in coma, a weird type of coma, and the facts are always the same—people suddenly falling asleep while watching TV, or listening to their iPod, or reading a book, just out of nowhere—at least that’s how most witnesses saw it, though it became obvious they weren’t sleeping. Poor people,” she added with a sad sigh.

  Surely the amount of cases weren’t that high and Linda was blowing things out of proportion, like she always did when she got too worried or excited about something. Though excitement was out of the question right now. “How many?” I asked doubtful, worry sharpening my voice.

  “They still don’t know the exact numbers, but”—she paused and looked up at me—”It’s…it’s all over the country.”

  CHAPTER 6

  All over the country. Linda’s words tailed after me the rest of the day, echoing through my head, the fear clenching my chest and stomach.

  Worry had fluttered wildly inside of me after we’d left the storage room, squeezing my heart to a prune while I walked down the hallway, headed to what used to be a purgatory of study abuse on a regular day. But it hadn’t been one today. Whatever Mr. Truman might’ve said during the class, it’d never reached my ears. My mind could only focus on those words. All over the country. All over the country. Why was I so obsessed with this, with something that might’ve been nothing more than a huge coincidence? A person falling into coma, or a weird type of coma, whatever, wasn’t something unheard of. It was really common in the medical field. Maybe the way these people had fallen was, indeed, weird, but a virus wasn’t a trigger for worry. At least not for me.

  I wasn’t one of those people, like Linda, who stressed over everything and meditated to keep their body away from a nervous breakdown. A virus wasn’t worse than a war, poverty, or selfishness. Usually it only took a lab, or several labs, to find a cure and then release it out in the world. I knew it sounded rather easy and simple to do, but it wasn’t. None of that was. But wars and terrorist attacks took a whole lot more to undermine. Their roots were too intertwined into human nature, and more than a physical action, as piercing one’s skin with a vaccine, it was a mental action. A grueling inner labor. A battle with the mind. And not everyone was willing to lunge themselves into that inner battle. And that was a reason for worry—deep worry.

  There was no medical solution for that.

  Knowing this, I shouldn’t have pondered on those words so much. I shouldn’t have plagued my head with images of people falling unconscious. But I did, and I couldn’t stop that worry from lacing itself with fear. And I couldn’t stop that fear from eating me whole when I spotted those same people reading in the hallways and outside school, their eyes glued on the pages, oblivious to its surroundings.

  I didn’t like to read. I couldn’t lose myself in a book like Buffy did, so I didn’t really understand that fascination millions of people had with the written word. The thing that I did understand though, was that look. That enthralled look over gazing at something magical, soul-stirring. The same look I had when looking at a breathtaking Monet painting or a captivating Auguste Rodin’s sculpture.

  But the look some of these bookworms had wasn’t the same one. Their eyes were glazed over with something that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, tightening the skin beneath. It was as if they were on a trance, not deep, but edging one that might’ve not been considered healthy. And I couldn’t stop wondering how many of them was I going to see after spring break, because I was almost certain that this odd behavior I’d been noticing for a while now, and that I’d assumed was the result of a contagious bug floating in the air—which might’ve not been that far away from reality—was related to those enigmatic cases in the news.

  Somehow, something inside of me had always sensed it, and just like I’d sensed it before, I knew things were going to get worse, and that no lab would come to the rescue this time. That little voice in the back of my head told me this was out of our hands.

  I flinched.

  “I know. This is getting creepier,” Linda said, as if backing up my reaction. She frowned at the girl sitting in the middle of the staircase, obstructing everyone’s flow like a statue, and threw a look over her shoulder at the Star Wars geek a few steps up, edged on the same spot he’d used yesterday. She turned to look at me. “Creepy as in a Stephen-King-kind of way.”

  We circled around the statue-like girl and kept climbing down the stairs, stopping until our feet reached the crammed parking lot. A truck was vibrating behind my black Mini, the driver shouting something about going to Los Cabos at the guy half-opening his car next to me. A group of buzzing people a few slots awa
y was smiling and bragging about their vacations, too, names like Florida and Mexico mixed in the laughter. Friday air was charged with rapture, the soft breeze almost purring in delight. Spring break fever sizzled everywhere. With the sun pouring gold-blinding light on me and the steamy warmth frizzing my hair—like I’d said, the weather here was bipolar—picturing bright beaches and salty zephyrs blowing at my face was inevitable, even if minutes ago my arms had been dotted with goose bumps all over—the chills a ghastly reminder of the daunting events.

  My black Bad Samaritan shirt stuck to the thin droplets of sweat on my back, and I couldn’t stop thinking with a pang of annoyance of how from all days, I’d picked this hot one to wear black. But that wasn’t what threw me out of balance in that sun-drenched stance. The contrast between both sights—the jumpy crowd seething around and the becharmed ones curling within themselves—was too hard to digest.

  A conflict of emotions surged in me, my body confused over feeling excited or afraid, over feeling hot or cold. The thrill of the vibrant students was contagious, even the cars pulsated eagerly, their roars adding a notch of cheer in the triumphant air. Flowers blossomed to bright colors around. Trees flickered in farewell waves. Yet, that intuitive part of me wrapped my insides with ice, frosting the walls of my stomach and heart to a brittle shape of dread. Something wasn’t right. Something odd was happening, and nobody seemed to notice.

  “You’re not listening to me, aren’t you?” Linda’s voice broke into my mind, cracking my foggy thoughts. I turned to look at her and leaned against the Mini’s polished door. “Surfing away?” she added annoyed, crossing her arms over her chest, her thin eyebrows pulled in an arc.

  I sighed. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a wicked-cool playground, only that it’s surrounded by a high-voltage electric fence, waiting to scorch us.”

  “You’re still worried about those guys.” She motioned her head to the two bookworms on the staircase. I glanced at the one cross-legged on the sidewalk. “Do you really think all of this has to do with the people on the news?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” I settled my eyes on another one sitting by a tree. “I still don’t see why, though.”

  Linda followed my stare, paused for a moment, and her shoulders sagged. “Even with all this frenzy they don’t stop,” she said bewildered. She looked at the girl with the thick book under the shadow of the imposing oak, and she straightened. “Hey, that’s one of the girls we saw in the hallway reading yesterday.” She brought my attention to a brunette who was opening the door of a small Chevy a few steps away, narrow glasses hanging at the bottom of her thin nose. I remembered her right away. The girl with the purple book. “Since she’s not carrying any books or stopping like an addict to read one…I guess this thing is not as bad as we thought. Maybe we’re seeing stuff that isn’t there.” She turned and looked at me reassuringly.

  Linda was right. The girl didn’t look entranced at all. Her eyes were wide open, not glazed over and at half mast. A sparkle of joy lighted them alive. She blended into the vibrant crowd. But, “What about the others? They’re still the same way.”

  “We don’t know if the rest is still the same, Dafne. We’ve only spotted a few.”

  “Yeah, but…” I hesitated, trying to pull out a good argument, but didn’t find any. I let out a breath. “Yeah, I guess…”

  “Besides, we seem to be the only ones worrying over this. I think that what everyone is seeing is just people, well, reading—and there’s nothing wrong with that. The written word is fascinating. Maybe they’re clutching the books a bit too obsessively, but that happens when you love something, right? You hold on tight, whether it’s a book, a movie, a song—or a painting.” She added, looking at me pointedly. “Don’t tell me you don’t get dreamy-eyed with a Bonet.”

  “Monet.”

  “That one, yeah. I’ve seen how you space out when you look at his paintings in that arty book you have. You almost look as if you want to step into it.”

  “Yeah, but…” It’s not the same thing, I continued inwardly. I wanted to tell her that my dreamy-eyed expression had nothing to do with that glazed look, that even if I loved to lose myself into that symphony of soothing colors, it wasn’t an obsession, only a heart-swelling journey. But half of me was already considering Linda’s words. What if I was, indeed, seeing or sensing things that weren’t there? What if these people had just decided to pick up a book and read it? What if I was the one who’d blown things out of proportion this time?

  “I really do think it’s only a coincidence,” Linda prompted, deciding to fill the silence I’d cast over us. Smiley and teasing shouts fluttered in the background. “Those people in the news fell into coma doing nothing—none of them were working or overexcited or anything. They just fell, all of them doing meaningless things.” I opened my mouth to add something but she cut it with a pointed tilt of her head. “And I know what you’re going to say but just one of them was reading—the woman you told me yesterday. The rest were watching TV or listening to music. I think a few of them were at the cinema, too—but not reading.”

  I shook my head with a sigh. “I don’t know, Linda. There’s something weird with them, I…I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel it in my gut.”

  “Well, I’ll give you that. If you wouldn’t have told me, I think I would’ve never noticed anything.”

  Because people don’t open their eyes to the realities of others. We are too busy with our own.

  How many times hadn’t I slithered by that shy boy at my old school and hadn’t bothered in saying “hi” or giving him a smile? He’d always wandered school alone, with no friends filling his empty sides, slumped. The blue in his eyes had been overshadowed by a dark storm of sadness. A sadness that had weighed my heart down every time I’d spotted those sullen pools in the hallway. I’d known he avoided the crowds, hanging out in the bathroom during lunch time, and I’d known that those sullen pools had gotten deeper, fathomless, and out of reach over the days. Guys hadn’t bothered him. Girls hadn’t spoken to him. No one had showed any sign of awareness in his presence. He’d been like a ghost—a ghost no one had taken their time to acknowledge.

  Until one day.

  Mrs. Morrison, our English teacher, strode into the classroom, halting everyone’s frantic chatter. Her lips were pressed tightly, and her face was paler than usual. I thought she was sick—an upset stomach perhaps. She had the same look a person had before throwing up. But then, her words broke through the narrow space of her mouth, and the light in the room seemed to dim. My breath caught up in my throat for a few heartbeats.

  His name was Sam. Sam Collins. He liked playing the electric guitar, going to wild concerts, and he dreamed about having a band someday. Possibly landing a record deal later on as well. Everyone in school seemed to know him, as if he’d been part of every group, every social circle. An article in the school newspaper was everything that had taken to finally acknowledge him. And his death. A death that had been given by his own desperate hands in solitude.

  And that smile I’d always wanted to give him would forever remain in my lips, unused.

  Maybe all of this persistence had something to do with the remorse I couldn’t seem to push away. I didn’t want other names haunting the depths of my mind. “I know reading isn’t an evil-starred thing, and that everyone has their own obsessions to handle, but this is different, Linda. There is something wrong with them, and I don’t know how to prove it, but it’s all connected with those people in the news.”

  “Dafne, I understand…”

  “Don’t give me that I-get-it-but-you’re-crazy tone. I know what I'm saying,” I said. “You’re the one who’s always arguing we should ‘grasp the inner nature of things intuitively,’ to trust our third eye or whatever they teach you on those meditation classes. Well, I'm doing it now and look what you’re doing…”

  “I wasn’t trying to…”

  “You agreed with me on this before. You saw all the weirdness—still
see it. So why are you backing down all of a sudden? Is it because you’re afraid?” I asked her. “Believing a lie is simpler, I guess—safer.”

  “Please, don’t start with your psychological archery,” she said with an exasperated sigh.

  “My what?”

  “You always do that when you want to break through someone’s armor with the arrow of your tongue.” She lowered her eyes, her foot tapping the ground impatiently.

  I swallowed back a laugh. “Did the arrow hit the center?”

  The tapping increased, the tip of her shoe beating the ground as if running for its life. In her mind though, I figured she was running away from the words about to tear loose from her mouth. She halted her leg shaking and uncrossed her arms. “Maybe I just wanted to enjoy my spring break without a bee in my bonnet.” She groaned, looking at me. “Is that a crime?”

  Oh. “Of course not,” I told her ashamed for pushing her so hard. “I forgot about your cruise trip, I’m sorry.” Her parents had been saving up for the last three years to go to Bahamas as a family. Linda’s older sister was going to join them in Florida for a week of battery reactivation and fun under the sun—what everyone looked to when given the chance to get off of the working wagon. And Linda had been excited over sailing turquoise waters bordered by sugar-white beaches and splaying palm trees. She needed the break. Her heart was still too dented because of the bitter hailstorm Brad had caused inside of her, and soaring above the ocean while soaking up some vitamin D was positively the best therapy for her.

  I, on the other hand, was adding more turbulence in her head with my worries and ruining her whole experience. So much for being a good friend. “I wanted to know I wasn’t alone in this, that’s all.” I added with a sharp tinge of regret in my tone.