OCDaniel (2 page)

“It was too messy,” I said casually, avoiding his eyes. “Figured I'd miss the date.”

Max snorted and went back to doodling. “Like you'd miss a test.”

The rest of the class went by normally, with me stealing a few more looks at Raya.

Just before the day ended, the announcements crackled to life. The entire class jumped. Most had been either dozing off or talking quietly, as we had been given a work period to finish an assignment. I had already completed mine (which Max had copied), so we were talking about football. Well, Max was—I was just listening to him and thinking about how happy I was that there was no practice that night. Max was halfway through a story about a new route he had to run, when the principal's gruff voice cut in.

“Attention, classes. I have a quick announcement for the intermediates before the end of the day.”

Principal Frost was not an overly happy guy. He looked like a cave troll and had a personality to match: dour and temperamental. Sometimes I wondered if he even went home after school, or if he just lived in his office surrounded by the piled bones of students who had gotten one too many detentions.

Principal Frost sounded even less thrilled than usual.

“As you may recall, our first annual Parent Council fund-raising dance will be happening two weeks from today,” he said, sounding like the idea of a dance was making him nauseous. “Council has asked me to remind you to get your tickets now before they are sold out. Your teachers all have tickets available. Also, the noise in the hallways at the end of the day will not be tolerated. I will be walking around this afternoon handing out detentions. That is all. Oh, and clean your shoes off on the mats!”

With that, the announcement ended. The class instantly buzzed to life, with some of the girls looking excited and some of the guys making jokes or groaning. The principal had announced the dance at the beginning of the year, but I think everyone had kind of forgotten about it. Now my mind was racing. My eyes darted to Raya, who was of course looking completely oblivious to the news and listening distractedly to her friends. Was this my chance? Would anyone actually bring a date? I looked around. There certainly seemed to be a lot of whispering.

“This sounds lame,” Max said.

“Agreed,” I said, shifting a little and glancing at him. “But are you going to go?”

Max paused. “Probably.”

Mr. Keats was shaking his head behind the desk, obviously realizing his assignment was long since forgotten. The bell rang, and he just waved a hand. “Run along,” he said. “Hand it in tomorrow.”

Max and I quickly packed our stuff up and hurried out of the class. The conversations around us were still squarely focused on the dance. Taj, one of Max's football buddies, joined us, clapping Max on the shoulder and completely ignoring me. He did that a lot—probably because he was a foot taller and literally couldn't see me.

“You gonna ask someone to the dance?” Taj asked, grinning.

Max laughed. “I doubt it.”

“No one is going to do that, right?” I chimed in.

“Why not?” Taj said. He was a big, burly kid who played linebacker. “I'm definitely going to. I don't want to be the kid sitting with you chumps while the rest of the boys are out there with the ladies.”

“Ladies?” I asked, feeling my stomach flop over.

“An expression,” Taj replied dryly. “Maxy, you need to ask someone. How about Clara?”

“She's a drama queen,” Max said.

Taj winked. “And a hot one.”

Max and Taj laughed while I hurried along beside them. So people
were
going to ask girls to the dance. Girls. Like Raya. Which meant I could theoretically ask her to go with me. I felt like I might vomit just thinking about it. Who was I kidding?

I was so preoccupied with the dance that I belatedly realized I was stepping on the tile cracks. There was no need to be reckless. I quickly adjusted my pace by three quarters so that my sneakers fell squarely on the dull white ceramic. I was a master of adjusting my stride so that no one would notice.

Up ahead a TA, Miss Lecky, was slowly walking down the hall, trailed by Sara Malvern. Sara was . . . different. She had gone to our school since preschool, but she was almost always taught separately from everyone else. She hadn't spoken once in all that time. Eight years, and not a word.

I still remembered the first day she joined a regular class. It was fifth grade, and when I walked in, she was sitting in the corner with a TA. Her eyes were on the board, and she didn't notice us walking in.

“Everyone say hi to Sara,” my teacher, Mrs. Roberts, said before class.

We did, but Sara didn't even smile.

“Thank you,” her TA said.

She didn't speak for weeks, of course. I saw her TA say things to her, but that was it. She just sat there and never responded.

It was November when she finally made a noise. She didn't talk. She screamed.

She looked off that day; flustered and sweaty and fidgeting. She didn't usually fidget. I wasn't too far from her, so I saw it all. Her TA tried to calm her down, but it seemed to get worse. Finally I saw the TA try to grab her arm to calm her down. Sara screamed. The whole class jolted, and Mrs. Saunders dropped her chalk. Sara wrenched her hand away, pushed her desk over, and ran out into the hallway.

I never saw her in a regular class again.

I'm not sure if she could speak or if she had a learning disorder or what. Actually I had no idea what was wrong with her. Her big green eyes were always foggy and glazed over like she was looking at something far away. She didn't look at anyone or even seem to notice where she was. She just went through her day like a zombie, her mind elsewhere. She always wore a bracelet with a few little charms on it that jangled around as she walked, but I never saw what they were.

The other kids all called her Psycho Sara, but I had never seen her do anything crazy, besides that one time. She just seemed distracted. I could sympathize. Sometimes I felt pretty distracted myself.

Max, Taj, and I were just passing Sara when something unexpected happened.

She turned to me, her foggy eyes suddenly looking clear and sharp.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said.

I was so stunned, I didn't even have a chance to reply. Sara just continued shuffling down the hallway, and I turned and watched her go, Max and Taj slowing down beside me. Max looked at me in disbelief.

“Did Psycho Sara just talk to you?” he murmured.

I was watching her black ponytail bob away. “I think so.”

Eight years. And she'd just said hello like we were old friends.

“That's weird,” Taj said, starting down the hall. “Maybe she wants you to ask her to the dance.”

Max broke out laughing and gave me a little push toward the front doors. “Let's go. You can ask her out tomorrow if you want.”

I just laughed awkwardly and followed him out, but my skin was still prickling everywhere like it was on fire. It was weird enough that she had talked to me. I hadn't thought she could even speak.

But what was worse was the strange feeling I'd gotten when she'd looked at me. It was like she was the only person who had ever
actually
seen me. But that was impossible. It didn't even make any sense.

Max and I stepped out into the cool fall air, and I tried to forget about Sara Malvern.

  •  •  •  

As I mentioned, I'm writing a book. I've been writing it for about a year now and once got to the twentieth page before deleting it all. It's supposed to be a masterpiece, but it doesn't feel like one. I like writing. It's just about the only time I don't get Zaps. I don't know if it's because my brain is too busy or because I get to create my own world where there aren't crazy people. Sometimes it's the only break I get in a day, and I think maybe it stops me from completely losing my mind.

Basically the book is about a kid named Daniel who wiped out the entire human race by accident and has to find a way to bring them back before the process becomes irreversible. His day starts like this:

When Daniel woke up, the velvety morning light was shining through his navy-blue curtains like on any other morning. But there was a heavy stillness in the air that unsettled him . . . a silence that was deeper and more ominous than normal. He quickly pulled on some worn jeans and a hoodie and hurried into the hallway, looking around curiously.

“Hello?” he called. His voice carried through the house like a frantic bat.

Daniel raced downstairs, but the kitchen was empty. It was eight thirty a.m. His family should have all been there: his mother, his brother, and his sister. He tried the TV. The radio. There was nothing but static.

Desperate, Daniel rushed into the street, fear clawing its way through his belly.

The streets were quiet. The houses watchful. There were no cars or pedestrians or noise of any kind carrying on the October breeze. He slowly walked into the middle of the street, the horrible, guilt-stricken realization flooding through him. He had done this. He had killed them all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the moon, still reluctant to pass into the Earth. He froze, his eyes locked on the luminescent orb. His legs buckled and wavered.

The moon had changed since last night. It didn't seem possible, but there it was.

A part of it was missing.

I thought I would start with the action and jump backward, but I get indecisive. So I made a new plan, to just write the book and not change a single word until I have written the end. It's the only way I will ever finish.

I don't even know what I'm writing it for, since I have never showed my work to anyone and never plan to. Like I said, my writing is something I do for myself.

  •  •  •  

I didn't have too much time to dwell on Sara Malvern. After school Max and I played three hours of
Call of Duty
and ate two bags of potato chips, perched on the huge brown couches in my family room. My mom yelled at me for getting chips in the cushions twice. It was a typical Tuesday. I only had one Zap, this time in the bathroom with the light switch. I have a hard time with light switches—I don't know why.

Max decided to stay for dinner even after two bags of potato chips, because my mom was making chicken wings and she loves Max and always insists he stays. Max's dad left a few years ago, and his mom works really long hours, so he doesn't get a real dinner much. He's always happy to stick around. Max is one of those kids that is naturally comfortable around parents. He has a gift for polite conversation.

My brother and sister were there for dinner as well, but my dad didn't get home from work until late, so he always just ate leftovers wrapped in tinfoil and watched sports highlights.

“How was your day?” my mom asked Max, shoveling some salad onto my sister's plate.

We were gathered around the oak table. It had six seats because Max was at our house so much. The wood was marked with a thousand scratches and stains and nicks, but we'd gotten it from my grandma, and my mom liked it. She used really big placemats and center pieces to hide all the damage.

Max put down his wing. “Pretty good. They announced that school dance again.”

“Lame,” Steve said.

He thought everything was lame. Steve was sixteen and was way too cool for everyone—especially me. He played football and had a cheerleader girlfriend and wore baseball caps pretty much 24/7. We didn't look much alike. I was skinny with blue eyes, freckles, and hair that switched from blond to brown through the seasons. Steve was muscular and athletic, and his short dark hair matched unfriendly eyes. We didn't talk much. I would have liked to, but he wasn't as interested.

“That's not lame,” my mother said, turning to me. “Are you going?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You should,” she said. “Max, make sure he does.”

“Will do, Mrs. Leigh.” Max winked at me. “He might even ask someone as a date.”

I scowled, and my mom's eyes widened with delight.

“Really?” my mom asked. “Who is she?”

“No one,” I muttered. I felt my cheeks burning.

My little sister, Emma, giggled. She was the opposite of Steve in just about every way. Emma was nine years old, supershy, and happiest when she was in her room reading. We were very close. She used to get me to sit by her bed and read to her every single night, and we still read together most nights.

Steve snorted and wolfed down a chicken wing. “Space Cadet isn't going to get a date.”

My older brother called me Space Cadet too. And Über Nerd. Dink. Sally. Lame Wad. Pretty much everything but “Daniel,” actually.

“That's not nice,” my mother snarled. “Daniel is a catch.”

I sighed. “Thanks, Mom.”

“He is after a pretty popular girl,” Max said. “I suggested someone else.”

My mom looked concerned. “How popular?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, offended.

She hesitated. “It's just that popular girls can be so mean. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Max laughed and sat back, rubbing his stomach tenderly. “He'll be fine. Thanks again, Mrs. Leigh. That was delicious. I should probably get going, though. I ate enough for the rest of the week.”

“You want a ride?” she asked, already pushing her chair back.

“Na,” he said. “Better walk this off. We got a game on Saturday, and I want to be ready.”

I saw Max out, and he gave me a lopsided grin as he swung the front door open. He used that grin a lot when he knew people were mad at him. It usually worked, but I was still a bit sour.

“See you tomorrow, Space Cadet,” he said with a casual salute.

“That was unnecessary.”

He clapped me on the arm with a strong right hand and then started down the porch. “I know.” He stopped and looked back, shooting me another lopsided grin. “By the way, I think you are a catch too.”