Most everyone in the class leaves before they can notice how my left eye twitches and my hands refuse to stop shaking as I'm shoving irritation and my water bottle into my schoolbag.
A bell rings in the distance as Mr.White fumbles with a sturdy book, his cellphone and a notepad. Smoke is coming from the inside of his briefcase. Purple smoke. Its brown leathery sides expand and contract as if it were breathing.
I'm itching to take a picture, snap reality into this delusion. I'm pretty sure my mind has maxed out on messed-upness by the sight of Chase five seconds ago, hence why it's retaliating with whatever crazy vision it can concoct.
See that broom on the corner by the red, rickety chair? Take it and smash the brief with it. Use all the strength from those scrawny arms of yours and save this poor sucker's life from impending demonic possession.
I don't think there's a demon inside, Anamathea. I think it might be a fairy. One of those who wander lost by the fountain in Stratton Rose Garden park.
Shut your pie hole, Violet. No one asked you to chip in your useless five cents. According to you, stupid fairies are always the answer to everything happening around us. That's a load of crap.
I snort a laugh at those two, bickering in my burnt-out brain while I'm dwelling on my options. I could escape through the back door, ditch Earnie and walk home or face the parking lot, my car and the dude leaning against it and die by brightness. Trust me, it's a thing. Even if the wavelength is restricted to that of visible light, if the intensity is high enough, the heat absorbed will cause massive burns, which if exposed to long enough will kill.
Chase is hot, I have to give him that. I remember his voice; deep, velvety. The tingles in my skin when he reached out for my arms. His toffee blonde hair pokes out from under a black knit cap, like Nirvana wrapped in chocolate.
Professor White's footsteps take me out of my reverie. He has closed the distance between us wearing a worried eyebrow furrow. His gaze locks on mine, and I dread what's coming. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the briefcase he's carrying in his left hand. No more smoke coming out, so I choose to ignore Anamathea's advice.
"Everything okay, Imogen?"
I nod, aware of the time I've spent lingering in the room like the coward I am while the voices and laughter from the rest of the group withers into a dull hum in the corridor.
"I—I'm sorry I've made you wait for me, Mr.White. I was looking for my car keys," I squawk.
"No worries, I know how sneaky they are. I swear mine know when to disappear and make me look like a fool." His cadence is soothing, and for half a heartbeat, I'm tempted to tell him all about my crazy and the boy I met on the roof. Loneliness pangs at my chest. I'm tired of hiding my condition. I wish I could talk to someone. Then again, I'd need gallons of bravery for that—which I lack.
"So, you're all set?" He looks genuinely worried about me, and the least I want is for him to add up my erratic behavior and odd expressions and draw a huge-ass red bullseye target on my new schizo self.
"S—Sure thing, Mr. White. It's all good. I'm out of your hair, and sorry once again for the delay." I hustle to the corridor, paying no attention to my surroundings. Heavy clouds fog my head, and all I want is to get the hell away from the school, my professor and my life. I'm a walking young adult cliche.
I'm half-way past the door when I bump hard against a wall that comes out of nowhere. Is this one of your tricks, brain?
"Watch it, bozo!" Talking walls are not something extraordinary in my world, but this voice I recognize. It's Lauren Hilton, aka girl-who-loathes-my-guts-for-no-particular-reason.
Watch who you call bozo, ugly chimp. Let's run her over like a bulldozer.
How about no, Anamathea? Kill them with kindness, Imogen.
Stop quoting pop singers for crying out loud, Violet.
Turns out, I've bumped against no other but my arch nemesis. Great. A new anxiety wave laps at my burning chest. I need to get away.
"Are you deaf now? Also, nice eyeliner, freak," she purrs.
"Thanks, Lauren. Your dad lent it to me."
Her glare narrows, and I square my shoulders and stomp past her. I won't banter back and forth with her. She's not worth my time. Not today, at least.
"Freak," she mutters again under her breath. Poor Lauren, she thinks calling me that is a put-down. If only she knew interacting with her stuck-up, symmetrically blessed face has my day lowering from a daily five to a one.
After what feels like an eternity, I reach the parking lot. It's a white-sun afternoon, and since I haven't been outside for hours, I'm squinting like a blind bat.
Apart from Earnie, my faithful ride, the lot is empty, and I'm all alone. There are no signs of Chase. I crane my head left and right.My heart is drumming so loud I can barely listen to the voices in my head.
Part of me is relieved he's gone, I wouldn't know why exactly, but there's that. I refuse to listen to the other part of me—sighing in the background—because the mysterious boy she likes has disappeared without a trace. I don't have room for more noises in my head. Period.
It's way past five, so I should head home soon, or my mom will worry. She has this thing she does when school is over, and I'm not around. She calls... yeah, that's right. She calls. As shudder-inducing as it sounds. Who would prefer doing that to texting? My mother, that's who.
The wind has picked up, rattling the branches of the oak trees. Their swaying bothers three pink squirrels that hiss in discomfort. I stop in my tracks and stare at their fluffy, pointy tails. Three pairs of nostrils flare with caution, but curiosity wins so they slow down to a halt and stare back.
The one on the left is holding an acorn, Imogen. How cute is that?
Everything is cute according to you, Violet. I wonder if we could hunt one down. Pretty sure I saw a bow and an arrow back at the Gym's storage room. We could pretend to be Katniss Everdeen and feed on it too.
Anamathea's idea ignites a concert of sobs and hiccups from Violet. Perfect. I'm not only shivering in my white tee, but now my head is splitting in half.
"Hey, aren't you freezing out here without a coat?" That voice. The wind carries his words and slaps my face with them. My knees weaken.
I turn at the exact moment his head emerges from the driver's side of my car. He kneels again and disappears once more. What the hell is going on? Am I glued to the earthy path beneath me? Why is my breathing so shallow? Can teens die from a heart attack? Will I look hideously creepy once I die in front of him?
Wait a second! He's the creep. What is he doing lurking behind Ernie? Chase whistles in appraisal as he resurfaces from whatever he was doing with my car.
"Would you look at this beauty? It must be a 1960s VW Beetle." His face brightens, palms smacking together like a total dork. Cuteness overload, no doubts. He opens his mouth and closes it again. He shifts his hips as he saunters around the car, nodding—and no. I don't look at his round butt as he walks. Okay, yes I do.
"It's a 1970s if you must know." He stops and turns to me. I want to kick myself for being so smitten to a total stranger.
"How would you know that?" His gaze locks on mine, his elegant long fingers gesture for me to continue.
"Because that's my car." He gasps, and I can't help the tiny smile that creeps up the corner of my lips.
"I need your name. Now." Chase hustles to where I'm standing, and I choke. His closeness makes me weary. Physical contact means certain things in the world of normal social conduct: interaction. I suck at it.
"Excuse me?" I croak. What's with him being so damn adamant?
"Please, tell me your name so I can properly give you my opinion of this sweet ride."
"Fine, it's Imogen."
"Imogen..." Shit, the sound of my name on his lips is too alluring.
"Yeah."
He lingers there, as if savoring the taste of that six-letter denomination. I fidget with the straps of my backpack, trying and failing to look uninterested. He remains silent, which contributes to feeding my impending nervous breakdown.
"Chase, was it?" I know his name, duh. But I'm giving off these extra dumb vibes, so here's to pretending to be cool and collected. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean? That's such a vast question, Imogen." Chase frowns and runs a hand through his tousled, toffee hair. He paces around me, his left hand fingers tapping on his chin as he continues, "What am I doing here? What brings me here? Why am I here on Earth? Am I even? What's the reason for all life?"
"Dude, just tell me."
He chuckles at my infuriated tone.
"Fine. I was checking up on you." His words take me by surprise. I lock gazes with him. An Adam's apple bobs under his fair skin as he swallows. I swallow too.
"Why?" My voice comes out in huffs.
"Uh, let's see. You were up there on that roof..." Chase points to where we both were less than a week ago. "There's one reason for it. It worried me you might pull another one of your stunts. Either that or join a circus."
"Hilarious."
"Yeah, you've said that before." He shrugs, and I wish I could tell him how I felt up there, alone on that ledge with a whirlwind heart and a stormy state of mind. Those damn unashamed squirrels are eavesdropping, and my phone rings in my jeans' pocket. Dang it.
"I—I'm fine. No plans on becoming a trapeze artist or anything like that." The nagging ringtone stops for a minute, only to pester again. "I'm sorry. I really need to get going. My mom's turning feral." I dangle my cellphone in front of his amused face, and he scoffs.
"She calls?" His eyes grow wide in shock, a lopsided grin to top it.
"She calls."
"Bruh..."
"Yeah." We burst out laughing, scaring the shit out of the squirrels. Suits them well for being so nosy. I head to my car, and he follows me.
Chase. Broad shoulders tucked into a dark grey, wool coat. Chase, looking confident and relaxed.
I get into my car, well aware he will poke his head through my window. He walks closer, and I take in the sharp cut of his jawline and a small scar on his index finger. He flashes me a cheeky grin as he leans forward and away, his torso swaying, his hands clasped to Earnie's window frame. I should smile back, but my stupid lips only twitch in response.
"Well, say hello to your mom for me. Tell her she's a keeper." He pats my arm, and I jolt so badly I actually drop my phone out of the car.
Before I can blink, he's reaching for it. I hold my breath, spellbound by the movement of his shoulder blades. He bobs back up with the phone and a ta-da flourish. The seconds our fingers touch, there's this magnetism flowing like ocean waves.
"I—Bye, Chase," I gasp. Smooth.
"See you around, Imogen."
"Thanks," I whisper.
"Sure." He smiles then furrows his brow and blurts out, "Same place, same time tomorrow?"
I swallow hard and step on the gas pedal. My eyes glued to the steering wheel. As I drive away, heat creeps up my cheeks and swirls around my earlobes.
I glance at the rear window. A mischievous grin lingers on Chase's plump lips.
I hope he saw me nodding.