Fractured Light by Rachel McClellan Read Free Book Online

will wish I hadn’t.”
    “Why’s that?”
    Why am I saying so much? More answers lead to more questions. Trying not to appear too frantic, I glanced around for a way out of this conversation mess. I wasn’t on my game today.
    My savior came in the form of a three hundred pound linebacker who looked like he’d just eaten a dozen powdered doughnuts. White dust sprinkled the corners of his mouth. Wow. I thought guys like him only existed on the Disney Channel.
    “Hey C. Where were you last night?”
    Christian turned around. This is my chance. I quickly dove in line with other students on their way to first hour.
    I moved fast, maneuvering my way in and out of them like an Indy race car driver. My muscles screamed for more of a release, but I refrained from pulling any stunts like I had earlier. I didn’t stop walking until I reached my government class.
    I was the first student in the room, even beating Mr. Allen. A television high up in the corner of the room was quietly tuned to the local morning news. I ignored it and opened my book. I pretended to read, but stopped when my exceptional hearing heard the chipper news lady say, “Her body was found at approximately 5:00 a.m.”—the reporter pointed to the side of a country road—“by a man on his morning run. According to the man, the woman’s throat had been cut, but authorities have not yet confirmed cause of death. Because the woman had no identification, the police have asked us to notify our viewers of her description in hopes someone may come forward to identify her. The deceased woman is described as 5’7”, 130 pounds, midthirties, with red hair and blue eyes. She was found wearing a short black cocktail dress, black nylons, and one red high-heeled shoe.”

T HE REPORTER CONTINUED TALKING, BUT ALL I COULD HEAR was a sudden buzzing in my ears. I found a shoe. A red shoe. On my front porch.
    The humming continued, causing an instant headache. I breathed deeply and waited for the pain to pass. Over the high pitch ringing, the muffled sounds of students filled my head as they filed into the room, but I could no longer distinguish one sound from another. The walls around me shifted and my eyes lost focus. Then, as the teacher stood to take his place in front of the class, I bolted. I’d never freaked out before, but if these were the beginning signs of a major freakapalooza, I’d prefer to do it without any witnesses.
    Walking quickly, yet cautiously, my hand against the wall, I headed for the double doors at the end of the hallway. My vision failed, making everything around me look like a scene from Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.”
    “It’s just a shoe!” I yelled at myself. “A freaking shoe! Calm down!”
    A garbage can sprung at me from nowhere, and I stumbled. Behind me, a gentle touch pressed against my back.
    “Are you all right?” I heard a male voice ask, the sound slightly distorted. Please, heaven, let it be a teacher. I turned around slowly, my eyes searching for clarity. I couldn’t see distinct features, but by the way his hair fell to the side of his head, I knew it was Christian.
    “I’m fine,” I said.
    “You don’t look fine.” He kept his hand on my back.
    “I just have a headache. I’m going home.”
    “You can’t drive in your condition. You can barely walk.”
    “I can walk fine.” And it was true. My muscles could’ve ran a marathon with the way they were feeling, but it was my vision and hearing that made the rest of my body behave like a theme ride massacre.
    “You just ran into a trash can. Let me take you home. I won’t take no for an answer.”
    Against my better judgment I agreed, and even let him hold my hand all the way to his car—for stabilization purposes only, of course. During the mile drive to my house, I kept the conversation light (mainly because I couldn’t understand half of what he was saying), but when we reached my house, I turned him away despite his protests. I didn’t need to be babysat.