INVISIBLE MAGIC

By Alaska Everfall

EBOOK EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY: Alaska Everfall

Invisible Magic Copyright 2012 by Alaska Everfall

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

To find out more about me, just visit my blog at: http://justremy.blogspot.com

PROLOGUE
Sometimes, all one can do is run. We don't solve any problems, or attempt to find ways to face what's holding us back. Instead, we pick up our legs and sprint. Away, away, away. As fast and far as possible. Many stop halfway, taking a few breathers before moaning about how hard running track is. I envy those people. They're the ones I wish to be like. The reason they find common-sense to stop is because theyve got nothing to run from. They have nothing major to chase them. Those people are the ones able to look back and smile at their sightings, or casually eye the scenery at a steady pacing. Me? I can only run. Sprint. Run. Dash. Even when I win first prize in running races, I dont feel pride. Theres no smirks when Hunter Steele offers me an envious congratulations Hunter, who never can quite catch up to me. He's forever in second place, but if he trained a little harder, hed beat me. I doubt he has anything to run from, though. Its all just a game to him, and the whole world to me. At the end of the day, I feel alone. Isolated, because Ive spent endless time running towards an impossible happy ending. Nobody can catch up to me, both in running and metaphorically. No friends, no family not even a stranger can fully read me. Maybe Im just being over-emotional. Im not out-casted, but somewhere in the middle. Acknowledged, but not valued. Perhaps I should just be thankful Im not starving in the middle of an unknown country or that I, unlike many others, have a bed to sleep in. However, I can't help the feeling of having somebody in the world who understands me. Somebody who can read my thoughts and nod, feeling the same way. Maybe Ill do the same for them, because itd feel terrible if the listening is one-sided. Its a little too much to ask for, but never did I realise it can come true. Or that Hunter Steele would be that somebody.

CHAPTER ONE
I hate Hunter Steele. No, hates a strong word. I dislike, abhor, detest him. The worst part? He hasnt been anything but nice to me not that weve had many enlightening conversations, but his awkward comments about the weather were pretty friendly. Instead, my hatred is merely another version of jealousy for this boy whom everybody crowds around. Hes that guy everybody wants at their party, regardless of how he memorised the first sixteen digits of pi and his braces are getting taken off at the end of the year. Maybe its not a good reason to hate somebody. Especially somebody like him, whos loved to an extent its an obsession and slightly creepy. The thing is, I still dont have a clear definition. Every-time I watch him laugh like a hyena with his well-known friends, a surge of confusion erupts in my body. What about this boy makes the entire school take a step closer? Im in the same boat as he is. Why am I overlooked? Second day of school, and Im over it already, says Sarah, tugging at her shackle-lock. Anyone in your class from last year? Absolutely no-one. Cept for Owen and Hunter I stop mid-sentence. Ew. Sarah throws her head back and laughs. She still doesnt notice how her perfect copper curls make most people stop and stare. Maybe its my duty as her best friend to compliment her, but I decide against it. Despite being her friend since diapers and best friend only since we started the same high-school, I still havent got her worked out. Bridgette the Midget, must you hate every boy taller than you? Which, by the way, is every male from the age of one week. I elbow her in the ribs. Sarah the Killer, must you squash a million ants because of your childish phobias? Only because Brooklyn McKais allergic to them, she argues. Sarah the Lifesaver! Nah, slaughterer sounds better, says a voice from behind me. I grit my teeth and pull on the best smile. Sarah notices my efforts and grins. When I turn around, Im awaited by the happy face of Hunter Steele who, by the way, happens to be around five times (exaggerating) my height. Its like in those horror movies where the poor little creature is frightened for their lives by the humongous shadow awaiting them. However, Im so much shorter than the average human that mice think Im family. Even on my tiptoes, I reach up to Sarahs shoulder. Which is depressing, because shes always complaining about how she needs to grow another two centimetres to be considered normal. It makes me wonder if she oh, I dont know even noticed her best friends height. Or am I too invisible for that?

All these thoughts circulate my head, but theres one standing out most of all. A theory. Hunter is liked by almost everybody in the world there must be a reason. Maybe he offers to do homework for kids cooler than him, and then the pretend to accept him. After all, without his friends being popular, hed be classified as another guy. Geeky, even. In Australia, we dont stereotype like the movies produced. The popular people mix with the unpopular, but theres always going to be that wall. When teachers ask to make a list of ones best friends, people at this school will choose the ones who truly are close mates. I know for a fact because Ive been trying to be popular for almost three years in a row. So far, I havent been on any lists but the Track-Running Team-List. Even so, I had to write my name because the teachers typing overlooked me. How uncool. Its sickening how much being admired means to me. My mum always says the usual, Popularity isnt going to get you anywhere in life, but I cant help it. Everybody wants to be liked; everybody wants importance. Its natural for these feelings to develop. It just so happens I dont merely want it I crave the feeling. That wonderful, endearing sensation of being accepted. So when I turn to Hunter, I attempt to hide all the jealousy hidden underneath this seething mind of mine. Im suddenly thankful how my mind remains my own. All my thoughts are locked up deep within myself. Nobody can access them without my permission. Oh, hello. I wave my hand dismissively. Didnt see you there. Really? I thought itd be the other way around. He pats me on the head, laughing around me, this is the closest act to cruelty hes ever done. Somehow I doubt the police are going to take me seriously when I report this abuse. Are you ever going to grow? I grit my teeth. Amazing. Twenty-four hours and three-minutes into the new school year and Im already being mistaken as a mini-sized doll. My mums making pancakes tonight, I say, not-so-casually steering the conversation in another path. Im sure theyll be wonderful. How was your holiday, McAdams? But his voice is so distant. Like he doesnt care. In a sickish way, it kind of stings being rejected even by a person I dont really care for, despite thinking of in a hateful way at least five times a day like a national anthem. Good I say, my voice edging cautiously. Then, mimicking his distance and adding a fake yawn for good measures, I ask, How was yours, Steele? He wants to act distant? Two can play at that game. Its not that I dont trust Hunter well, that too. It has never passed anybodys mind theres something weird about him. Hes nice and all, and yet, hes two-dimensional. Like a shape with no height he has no personality than the friendly, laughing and smiling face he places. Theres got to be more than that. To add to his peculiar-ness, he calls everybody by their last name. Sometimes, students call him by his last name just for a joke, but the whole trend of generally calling him Steele never caught on. It drives me barking mad how nobody likes well, at the very least doesnt mind that kind of distant attention. How is he not out-casted?

Were so different, its impossible to even think whats going on in his head. Ive never found the nerve or the likability to call somebody by their last name. And yet, hes been doing it for years with everybody responding ridiculously well. Oh, my holidays were fine. Good to know. Yeah. He obviously doesnt care less about what I think. This is visibly demonstrated as his legs twitch, and within a couple of eye-blinks, hes strutting away from me. See ya in History. Oh, then we have Religion together after. Just before he completely disappears from the scene, he grins at Sarah. See ya, Saz. Oh sure. His green eyes glitter like teeth in a toothpaste advertisement when pretty girls are around. But when Im the one hes chatting to, he finds every possible way to leave. Not to mention how disinterested and bored he sounds around me, offering small-talk like hes throwing a dog a bone. Am I some sort of popularity charity-case? She winks at him. Unlike me, she attended the same primary as him and anything seeming like flirting is simply brotherly. However, Hunter forgets the tiny detail and freezes at his spot. To my utter delight, he swallows audibly at the sudden attention before walking off with reddened cheeks. What a geek. So much rage builds up within me. If hed been fit to be popular, hed be winking back and making terrible jokes funny because of his charm. He might even some pick-up lines at her direction and offer to teach her to shoot hoops or something stereotypically amazing shown in movies. But no. Hes not fit to be popular. The only thing Hunter Steele does is run away from every little thing. Though, when somebody has his popularity, how he reacts to situations doesnt really matter. When he walks away, hes confronted by another one of his zillion friends. How does a boy with no sporting ability whatsoever excluding running, but it hardly shows in his lanky body become so well-liked among his peers? He has a gift. A kind of gift I want to steal and keep in a little jewellery box with little white skulls and blood. Suddenly, the sudden idea of reading his mind pops in my head. Im surprised at how it appeals to me. Wouldnt everything be much easier if I could read his mind? Not to sort out his problems, of course. Id read his mind to chortle like a goose and point like a sloth. He must have hugely embarrassing moments which would make my entire year, and Ill hear them all without him knowing. Imagine the confusion hed face when I tell all his friends. And how hed react to my mocking oh yes, mockery of Hunter Steele is the first priority in my world. As if Id want his non-existent and possibly petty problems like, There are so many girls to choose from. I want them all. My life is truly over to disappear. The bell rings. I gather my books for History and Religion. History, as always, will be amazing. Who doesnt love a dosage of facts changing the world? Many view History as unimportant because its all in the past and doesnt matter anymore. I disagree. If it wasnt for these unimportant events, the word wouldnt be the way it is right now.

Saying goodbye to Sarah, I walk towards my class. A few people look down on me, a couple of them appearing as if theyre about to offer help. My mouth forms in a tight smile as if to say Im good, and they instinctively back away before the next overly-friendly person crosses my path. Having such a short girl carrying her books is pitiful. I realise this is a Catholic School and everything, but why take the helping others concept to a ridiculous extent? As I scramble through the hallways, I finally find my History class and drop the books outside. The teachers coming any second, but Im puffing too much. Summer holidays are so lazy in my world. For me, it means eating ice cream until my stomach width and height are identical. During summer, I stop all physical activity and end up lazing around in bed with a blowing-fan, not getting up for a century or two. Running is completely out of the question, although Im lucky with an inherited fast-metabolism, allowing me from being completely overweight. Still, it doesnt help my unfitness. Ah, are you Bridgette? When I glance up at the boy, I suddenly feel a weakening at my knees. Hes simply gorgeous. Perfect, luscious hair; amazing skin and the most amazing height. Yes, in my world, I simply refuse to date somebody taller than me. Hes shorter than me, if its even possible. But he has the most beautiful brown eyes. And hes shorter than me. I love his non-oily hair. Oh, and the fact theres somebody in the world shorter than me. His smile is so dazzling, Im blinded. But with that kind of vision attached to my eye-sockets, blindness doesnt seem half as bad. Or maybe its the beauty of his shortness attacking my insides. I swallow down some saliva and smile, but it ends up as a mangle. So, disallowing myself to speak in a situation like this, I nod. Wicked. Teach over there said youre the best History student. He flashes me a toothy smile. I have the urge to sink into a large blob and never arise. This is such a wonderful moment, but Im ruining it with my silence. My mouths dry. I try to speak, but find I cant. This must be that true love Romeo and Juliet felt at first glance. He even has an American accent! After all, who refers to teachers as teach here in Australia? I frown. Strange, because none of my friends moving here from America use that reference. But I shake off the thought. Bad idea. Those thoughts keeping me from marvelling over the beauty of his height uh, I mean, his face. Yeah. His face. I play it cool. Youre new here? I say smoothly, like it doesnt really matter. Yup. New straight form Texas. Oh. I nod as if I actually know all the states of America. Cool. Whats your name? Hunter Steele probably memorised all those states at the age of six, a taunting voice whispers in my head. I slap that voice, feeling delighted when mental shrieks and screams feel my head. Oh my. Did I really just do that? Come to think of it, maybe its better if nobody reads my mind. Theyll think Im mental. But with three sisters in the house, what self-respecting teenager keeps their sanity? Another reason Hunter Steele is a zillion times better off in his own world because there, he doesnt have endless siblings. Hes an only child its the one thing I know. Every other bitter thought revolving is merely a reflex of jealousy.

Im Arthur. Oh, and believe it or not, but Im actually the teacher. He waves off my dropping jaw. Bet you thought I was a student, eh? I try my hardest not to blush. When I do, its not cute like little rag dolls with coy smiles Im Tomato Woman; the one making little babies cry and humans flee. So I look away, trying to make sense of the situation. He smirks, seeing straight through me. Dont worry, Im used to it. In fact, I love referring to teachers as teach to trick people into thinking Im younger. He winks. After all, what self-respecting human refers to such devious people as shortened versions of their title? Now, Im confirmed my jaw is touching the floor. No exaggeration there, Im just short enough to almost touch it. Theres something extremely strange about this boy uh, man. Yeah, Im going to have a hard time finding a suitable title. But now, as Im looking in his eyes, theres something cold in the atmosphere. And believe me, it has nothing to do with the weather. How would the glistening, steaming summers sun make me feel cold? Yeah, thats right. I laugh, a little uncomfortable. I hope he doesnt notice. After all, who refers to teachers as teach nowadays? His eyes twinkle. Right? Anyway, Im gunna be your religion teacher. Since Im new here nd all, I got some of the teachers to give one-lined descriptions of their students so I know them better. He winks at me. Goodbye, little historian. Before I can say another word not that my speechless stage would allow it hes already disappearing. Vanishing into thin air in such a way, my hearts leaping. My blood goes cold. He was so friendly, so nice, and yet there something about him which seems a little off. Maybe its just me being my usual paranoid self. Yes, that must be it. After all, Ive never been the same since Eva died Horrified at the mental mention of the subject, I shake my head like crazy. The good news is that I succeed, and end up disremembering my previous thought. The bad news is how Hunter Steele happens to be right in front, staring at me with a horrified expression. He has his school laptop slung on one arm and is reaching out with his right hand. But his fingers twitch, as if debating the right thing to do. I sigh. The entire world is a terrible, pathetic place when Hunter Steele thinks Im off my rocker. Im not mental, so cut that look, Steele. Never said you were, McAdams. Cut off your accusations, Hunter snaps, and then blinks. His metaphorical, two-dimensional mask just shattered into pieces, even if for just a second. Uh, I mean I smile, despite myself. Ah, thats more like it. Theres more reason to why I completely hate Hunter Steele one near the top of the list is how hes always polite, even when the other person anticipates throwing knives at him. Hes one of those super-geeky people who use coloured highlighters for exams and hand in assignments within three days of the assigned date. So by being a little more hostile right then, he broke one of his mental rules.

What whatre you smiling at, McAdams? Hes trying to sound confident, but his voice is shaking. How I love it when people assume Im cursing them mentally. Now, his eyes twitching slightly. Could you stop that? Its creeping me out. If I didnt have a huge desire to maintain my reputation, Id be throwing my head back and cackling like a scheming witch. But because Id rather not attend the nearest mental institution, I simply keep my glee at a maximum of a smile, despite it being the hardest thing Ive ever done. Im willing to bet he has a list of rules on his bedside table. Highlighted like all his study-notes and revised every night like theres an exam. The thought makes me gag. He has a whole list of things to abide to maintain a reputation so high, Im sure of it. But hes too much of a teachers-pet and goody-goody-two-shoes to even attempt violating one of them. Guess Ill have to break them for him.

CHAPTER TWO
As always, History flies by. Because Im such an expert, theres never much to say. The minute the teacher asks a questions, her eyes subconsciously avert to me. Naturally, I reply with the correct answer and she gives an approving nod, explaining to the whole class how Im right. This always gets dirty looks from Owen Gregory, Hunters best friend. But hell live with it. After all, its not my fault the history teacher also happens to be his aunt, who always scolds him out-of-school about how he should be more like me. Instead, I agree with Ms Gregory (seeing as shes Owens unmarried aunt from his dads side, she also has the same Gregory as a surname). If the world was more like me, it would flow magnificently. Hunter, on the other hand, continues flicking erasers at me. He loves doing that. Normally, with any other girl, theyd giggle and throw something back. I pretend hes not there and continue my work, secretly plotting ways to get revenge. If Mums not too busy, Ill ask her to go to the local zoo and get a man-eating chimpanzee, only to place it in Hunters ginormous swimming pool. How do I know its huge? Because Ive been there in seventh grade, where he invited all his classmates to the pool. And believe me, its like all my dreams have struck at the same time. I remember splashing and laughing, floating around the huge ounce of water without a care in the world. Needless to say, Im jealous of this boy. He has everything handed to him on a silver platter; he has no problems with his perfect life. The bell ring, and though most of my History-hating classmates cheer, I unconsciously have my mouth set in a pout. Good things never last long. Never, ever, ever. Next, we have Religion, and Im willing to bet itll tear my insides out. Oh wait. Ive got that Arthur teach. I smile. Maybe it wont be that bad after all. Once I enter, seeing as Im the first one in, he looks straight at me. And then grins. His hands are waving wildly, almost animated, as he explains how lovely this school is compared to his old one. When I ask him about his old location, he just waves his hand dismissively, claiming its not important. I dont know why I feel uncomfortable. Whats wrong with telling somebody about the past? I sit at the front, dumping all my books on the desk and preparing myself for the lesson. And, to my surprise, Hunter sits next to me. When I question his sudden change of position, he just shrugs. Thats when it hits me. No, really am eraser strikes me at the back of my neck. My head snaps forward in reflex motion as I turn, giving Owen Gregory a stink-eye. Hunter raises his arm. Owen copies him. Then they make this huge act of high-fiving each other, and I resist the urge to remind them theyre three meters apart. Luckily, this new teacher of ours agrees with my reaction. He face-palms himself, and in a calming manner, explains how people have to be near each other to high-five them. Owen, being the stubborn boy he has always been, shrugs and air-fives Hunter for the second time. The boy beside me nods, repeating the previous motion. Arthur slumps back to his desk, defeated. Theres no reaching them, he mouths to me, and I know exactly what he means. I grimace.

The teacher clears his throat. Okay, kids. Look at me. Everybodys looking at him. Some of them, especially those at the back corner, have to stand and look down. He rolls his eyes and reminds them hes the same at heart; just a little short in height. Some of the girls behind me are giggling like maniacs, explaining how adorable he is. And then they compare him to some famous guy theyve once seen on a childrens television show. I resist the urge to gag. This Arthur guy is too adorably short uh, too adorably handsome to waste his time with fame. Now, you may know me as Arthur. But you can call me Art This is where it all begins. Mainly because I feel this tingle of energy every-time my elbow touches Hunters arm. Were strangers whove known each other forever. And yet, whats with these small amounts of electric shocks? Theyve never been there for the last century Ive known this boy. But I swallow my suspicions and focus on the teacher, jotting down notes. I dont want to fall behind in Religion, especially since its my worst subject. Straight-As. I wont tolerate any less. Mainly because Eva I shake my head roughly. No. No, I cant think about that. ..So as you can see, explains Art, writing something on the whiteboard. He has very messy handwriting. God is the creator of the world. Therefore, we should let everything fall into Gods hands. Only the Lord knows whats best. There are a couple of snickers and whisperings behind me. People who dont believe in religion are rolling their eyes, staring at the clock; wondering when this lessons going to end. Hunters playing with his pencil; he obviously cant care less about religion. And if he does, hes doing a poor job of showing it. Arthur doesnt stop talking about the wonders of the world, and I swear, there are stars in his eyes. I wonder if it hurts him, having such large amounts of gas stuck in his eyeballs. Is it safe? Should somebody contact NASA and feebly explain how a star possibly couldve fallen into his system? Im just about to raise my hand and recommend first-aid treatments for the poor ol bloke, but he turns to me. Theres a smirk playing on his face. I can read your mind. This almost makes me snort out in laughter. Yeah, okay. Careful to be polite after all, this insane little creep is going to mark my exams; might as well be polite I smile. Im confirmed its turning into a mangle on my face. Thats nice. His insane smile grows wider. There are noises of confusion filling the classroom, but nobody speaks up. They probably think its all an act. I wonder if they know I have no script, or any pre-warning about this performance. Hunters looking at me with a frown, simultaneously using his ruler to pick at a scab on his elbow. I look away from him in disgust, but I also dont want to see Arthurs face, either. Coughing uncomfortably, I turn to my book with flushing cheeks. Are you okay, Art? It comes out as a mumble, because I dont want to look at his eyes anymore. You want somebody to listen to whats going on in your mind, right?

Theres chattering behind me. Nobodys taking notice of what Arthurs saying. In fact, theyre too immersed among their own chatter and speeches to care. Finally, when the bell rings, everybody packs up and flees through the doors. I feel tempted to do so as well, but theres something stopping me. Mainly because my teachers sitting there; a lazy smile playing on his face. Bridgette. What a nice name. Im trying hard not to look freaked out. It doesnt work. Instead, I end up looking like a seal with brain surgery performed. And possibly failed. Uh yeah. Its my name. You know what your name means, dont you? Yeah. It means something like exalted. What does Hunters name mean? Its kind of odd hes asking me this question. First of all, I barely know him. Secondly, what does Hunter have to do with my life? Except for completely destroying it, making me envy a life Ive never had. His stupid perfection makes me want to hit him with a glass bottle. What does he have that I dont? Why does he live his life so perfectly opposed to the rest of the world? But even if its a random question, its an easy one. To hunt. I somehow prevent myself from adding duh at the end. Arthur nods and then bites his lips. His eyes suddenly light up. I have to urge to run from this room and never look back, because theres something extremely creepy about his smile. Mainly because hes a whole twenty years (I think) older than me. But my feet are stuck to the ground. Its like somebody put superglue on my feet, having no intention of removing it. Meet me after school, okay? Oh, and bring Hunter with you. A little brittle with fear, I nod. Then I run out of the room before he can add another word. When Im finally at my locker, I allow myself to breathe for a second. Theres something extremely creepy about this man. But on the bright side, he doesnt seem to love Hunter like the Religion teachers always do. Even if hes not particularly religious, it doesnt stop the teachers from picking up on his Jewish culture. Theres something really annoying about him. Even if he doesnt know a single thing about his religion, or follows it, just because its in his family, hes favoured. Whats with that? He has everything handed to him on a silver platter! Maybe thats why hes so popular. Everythings so luxurious for him, while Im left eating off tin-foil and hoping it doesnt affect the rest of my appetite. I end up vomiting. Okay, so its all metaphorical, but my family can barely afford school for all my five sisters. And me, being the youngest, will probably have to leave school soon; Christian schools are so expensive. But there was a time where Eva debated about how public schools are bad Why do I keep thinking about her? And whats more, its like shes still alive. But shes not. She died two years ago, even if I didnt know her well. It doesnt matter. Shes still my sister; she was still killed. Another thing Hunter doesnt have to live with; the fact his sisters murderer is around somewhere. My hearts thumping loudly. I can just remember that voicemail Eva sent me. When Belle, Becca, Barbara and Breena were all at

college, I was the sister she turned to. But I didnt have my mobile at the particular moment she called. Maybe things wouldve been different. Perhaps I wouldve reached her in time. The day flies by quicker than I can describe. Before I know it, Im handing in assignments and collecting test results. I need to do well. Especially since Dads thinking about cutting off school seeing as how schools only compulsory until tenth grade here in Australia. But he doesnt understand that, if I dont get a good OP at the end of year twelve, Ill be regretting it for the rest of my life. Becca, whos two years older than me, is always like, Bridgette, why study? I mean, youre fast enough for the Olympics well, not now. But when you grow up, you know. Id just roll my eyes and tell her how Id regret not being normal like the rest of my classmates. Shed then shake her head and tell me I worry too much about the future. According to her, I should start being more spontaneous. But its not my fault everything has to be told to me before I take action. Its just my personality-type. The bell rings. Home-time. I hadnt told Hunter about the whole see me after school because I figured itd scare him. Then hell run away. So I walk up to him and casually say, Oh, Arthurs waiting for us. At Religion, I think. He nods, surprisingly not running away like I expected. Yeah. He told me as well, between classes. Shuffling a little closer to me, he whispers, He still kinda creeps me out. Tell me bout it. When we enter the Religion room, we both have fake smiles plastered on our faces. As if we dont have a life to attend, and schools remains one-hundred-percent of it. Arthur smirks for a second before motioning to the two seats in front of us. My stomachs doing flips, because this is something Eva used to do. She always got into trouble. It was her position to be the girl in the principals office. A couple of years ago, the teachers used to tease me, saying I was nothing like her. I used to grin, taking it as a compliment. But now I want to be like her. I want to be everything like her. Hello, children. He sounds so sketchy, whispers Hunter, next to me. How old is he, again? About twenty years older. I think. Actually, Arthur speaks up, making both of us jump. This is my first year of teaching. Just got out of high school. There are no words to explain how far both our jaws dropped Hunter and mine. It was a moment of silence and confusion. And complete, utter horror. This man cant be just out of high school. He needs to be at least a zillion years older, but he claims not to be. How is this possible? While Im still trying to make sense of it, Hunter speaks aloud. Um, are we in trouble?

No, no! I just wanted to see you two. And then the strangest thing happens next. I feel a whirling going on in my stomach. Suddenly, the room isnt as bright, despite the sun shining so brilliantly outside. Theres something about the world which is making me dizzy. The ceiling fans which were spinning so rapidly a second ago are slowing down. Down, down, down. I dont think Im feeling so good, says a moaning Hunter, jumping from the chair and sprinting outside. Me neither, I say to no-one in particular, just racing out the door. Air, air, air. Suddenly, the Religion room no longer has oxygen. Theres a strange sensation circling around my body. The entire world just falls into darkness. What just happened? Its a voice. But its not my own. Its Hunters.

CHAPTER THREE
There are a few things no teenager ever wants to hear. Their beloved pet dying is number one. After all, pets are part of the family. Maybe that certain teenager would wail, but then get over it after a few years. There are a whole list of things teenagers my age experience. Things such as fallen friendships, bullying, parental issues and many, many more. But hearing somebody elses every thought thats something which isnt on the list. And normally, Id dismiss such a ridiculous idea. If only I wasnt one of the victims. Were at the dinner table, my family and I. Dads watching me carefully, frowning at how I havent gulped down all my food in one go. Thats what I always do normally. But todays definitely not a normal day especially with a random stranger being able to read all my inner thoughts and feelings. Mums staring at me too. Then Belle. So I pick up some peas with my fork and stuff them in my mouth, just to stop the staring. It works, and they slowly begin minding their own business, speaking about school. I remain quiet. Which is terribly rare in my family, because Im the most outspoken one. Youre having peas? Hunters voice. Yum! Give me some. Idiot. We can only exchange thoughts, not physical objects. And anyway, what person with a working brain thinks peas are yummy? Me. And anyway, quit being so haughty. Haughty? Me? Youre the reason that Arthur dude didnt like you and decided to curse us both! Why curse us both if Im the only person he was angry at? I cant answer that question, So I shift my focus away from Hunter, and begin poking at my dinner, eventually swallowing them. The less I think about him, the less hell hear my thoughts Im still here, you know My teeth grit. Becca puts her fork down and studies me. She obviously knows something isnt right. And thats one-hundred percent accurate; my thoughts are being exposed to somebody I dont trust! But how am I supposed to explain something as absurd as this? Shell probably get Belle, whos studying to be a psychologist, to take me to her clinic and get my brain checked out. So I force a smile and stuff more potato mash in my mouth. Too much homework, I say with my mouthful. I swallow it. Im just getting stressed. Can I, uh, be excused? Theres relief flooding through my parents eyes. Theyre just happy they dont have another daughter who feels depressed and out-of-touch. Eva was always wild and unpredictable; depressed most of the time. Nobody knows what happened to her.

Whats with the high and low noise? What are you talking about? Theres this high noise. It goes low and then high again. I mean, Im not trying to read your thoughts or anything, but its making me lose concentration to my video game. Im on Level one-hundred-and-six! Dont make me lose now! As I stand up and head towards my bedroom, I begin referring back to what I was thinking. My brain is racking. What was I thinking about, before this mysterious noise sounded in Hunters brain? And thats when I remember. But I dont want to think about it. No. I must not think about Eva Theres that high-pitched noise that goes low-pitched! Wait, so you cant hear my thoughts? What meaning of high-to-low-pitched-noise do you not understand? Of course I cant! Thats when it hits me. Whenever I think about Eva, theres a high-pitched voice in his mind. There are no words to describe how utterly relieved I feel. Telling a complete stranger about my dead sister isnt on my list of fun things. Its strange, because although murder is thought as a major crime in Australia, the police have done pretty much nothing. Maybe its just the ones in this town. Who knows? Either way, theres no evidence of her murderer. Theres only her dead body, found at the bottom of a lake, three kilometres away from her university. Im sure if they only roll the security video, theyd have their thief. But it all seems reluctant. Its as if they dont want to justify my once-beautiful sister. Ugh! Stop. Freaking. Thinking! I cant help feeling a little bubbly on the inside. Especially since Im beginning to see the true side of Hunter. The friendly and joking side has disappeared. Hes just annoyed. Its nice to see his true-self once in a while. Face it, you know you love my thinking. Do you want me to damage your stupid brain? Ooh. Anger-problems, much? Shut up. Make me. So I poke my tongue out, knowing very well hes not going to see it. Then, I change into my pyjamas, do some homework and lay back in my comfortable bed. Its bouncy. Its perfect. A soft sound of relief floods through my mouth, realising just how much I missed lying in bed. There seems to be less time relaxing when high-schools getting the best of me. Im sure Hunters mocking how difficult Im finding schoolwork.

You bet. Youre really slow. My nose wrinkles. Maybe so, Hunter Steele, but Im a better human being than youll ever be. It was mainly out of anger, but theres not a response. I begin feeling a little guilty, but the stubborn part of my brain wont allow me to release this argument. I shouldnt have said something like that; especially something which isnt true. I dont know anything about him, except the fact he annoys me with his perfection. One second passes. Two seconds pass. Not a single thought from Hunter. Just a high then low-pitched buzzing noise. * When I wake up in the morning, I look like Frankensteins wife. My head has been attacked by the humidity. Fetching a hairbrush, I yelp as the bristles run through every knot, every slight imperfection. And even after finishing with my oh-so-lovely hair, I end up looking like a feminine version of Dr Frankenstein himself. Thank God Hunter cant see everything Im seeing. There are no words to describe how humiliating and altogether irritating this scene would appear. Hed probably never let me forget it, the little devil. Forget what? Darn it. That was a thought! This is much harder than I thought it was. Nothing can be harder than doing your hair. My heart skips a beat. I can read every thought in your mind. And the fact youre brushing your impossible hair. I mean, arent all blondes supposed to have luscious, perfect hair? Not in my world, I think bitterly. Hoorah! I beat all stereotypes. Not something to be proud of, believe me. And whats more, youve got blue eyes. Isnt that, like, the image of perfection? My inner-mind gits its teeth. Metaphorically, of course. Itd be altogether creepy if my cranium had a set of teeth for itself. But I guess Ill never know. Did did you just have a mental rant about having teeth in your mind? I dont know what youre talking

Just wait until Sarah hears about this It takes all I have not to march to his house and beat him to an unconscious stage. Using blackmail against me? Doesnt he realise its impossible to persuade me to do something? Evidently not. This is Hunter Steele were talking about textbook-smart Hunter. He knows nothing about the real world. Hes pretty much clueless. That is so judgmental! Theres a pause. Youre the one whos so stupid, you cant pass a stupid French exam. Theres another awkward pause. My jaw drops. Oh, God. Im so sorry! I didnt mean to say it But you were thinking it, right? This is a bitter thought. Suddenly, I stop controlling every thought in my mind. Just for a short, fatal second. You dont have to worry; youre too perfect for the likes of me. What are you? I cut off his thought with one of my own. Just shut up and get to school. Try not to think anymore. Okay. When I catch the bus to school, theres another thirteen minutes until the bell. Sarah comes up to me and shakes my hand, like we always do in the mornings. Of course, she has to reach severely down like I have to gesture upwards. But its okay. We manage. I dont even remember where we got this from. Did we always have our own secret gesture? Why dont I remember anything about it? The hallways are decorated in pink and red. Its hard to think theres only three days until Valentines Day. And as a treat, the entire school is going to some star-exhibition. Or the movies. It depends on the occasion. But Valentines Day always happens to be one of the worst days of the year. Not because Im single every year, because it honestly doesnt bother me. However, its like a given excuse for couples to display more PDA than necessary. I reckon! Hunters voice rings in my mind, ringing with enthusiasm. His tone drops as he thoughtmumbles, Sorry. Nah, thats alright. You hate Valentines Day too? I try hard not to sound completely shocked. And before I can stop it: I thought youre one of the guys who always has a date. I can almost hear his grin. You think Im that attractive? Im flattered. Believe me, I dont. I just didnt think somebody like you popular and textbook smart would be without a date. Yeah I can see hes trying really hard not to think about something. I persuade him. You thinking of asking somebody out this Valentines?

Sarah. Theres a short pause. Im confirmed hes blushing. But its impossible not to think the answer when a question has been asked so directly. Oh no. No, no. McAdams, if youdare mess it! You have such little faith in me, Steele. I examine my nails. How monstrous do you think I am? Very. The answer escapes in his mind before he can stop it. He doesnt bother to correct himself. Instead, he adds with a smug tone, In fact, thats the whole truth and nothingbut the truth. Idiot. Now, I think Ill just tell Sarah No! I wasnt going to, stupid. Theres not another word more. He truly doesnt want to speak to me. Technically, though, hes not using his vocal cord. So would this be considered as think-speaking? I remember reading about these types of wasps, who can communicate to each other using their minds. Maybe were both like this. Its obvious this is a dream. Thats why I havent been sweating it. Otherwise, Id be screaming and throwing Hunter against a brick-wall as if playing a game of tennis. When I wake up, or maybe got to sleep tonight, everything would disappear. Ill be in my own little world and hell be in his. And my stupid wish of somebody understanding me will disappear. Because if theres something useful Ive learnt in the oh, I dont know, eight hours Ive spoken/thought-with Hunter, I like my thoughts personal. Id prefer them within myself. Just the slightest bit of control which isnt directed to me is enough to make me paranoid. Or maybe thats just my bothersome personality. One of the taller, popular girls, Rochelle, hangs banners across the hallways. She gives me a small smile as she hangs up the whole Happy Valentines Day! around the school. Though Valentines Day is just an excuse for young couples to be sappier, this school supports it all the way. Mainly because our principal got proposed on Valentines Day, and she wants to relive the happiness over and over. If only she wasnt left widowed at only twenty-eight. As if by magic, I watch her bouncy red curls jump on and down on her collar. Shes a jolly, plump little woman funny and likeable, but strict at the right times. Bridgette! she exclaims, doing a short wave. Training for the athletic festival? I salute her. Yes, Ms Rhineheart! She raises her eyebrow. I mean, uh yes, Madam! Good. Now, you win that trophy, you hear me? She winks before disappearing through the hallways, until theres nothing but the ghost of her figure. It makes me wonder if shes going home, unable to bear the love and loss on this particular day. I dont remember a single Valentines Day where stayed calm at the end of the day, she was always in the girls toilets, crying her eyes out. She misses her husband, doesnt she? Back again, he is.

I should tell him to go away. But then I sigh. Its not his fault; he just has bad luck ending when one of us wakes from this horrifying dream. Yeah. Of course she does. Its kind of tragic. Cancer, of all things. I remember Mr Rhineheart Really? I can barely remember him. Not many people remember him, even now. But I remember how he swore he never wanted to get cancer, seeing as how he saw his mother suffer from it. It was pretty cool listening to his lectures it cut into our science lesson, so it was all good. Still, its the irony of all ironies. I grin. Count on Hunter and his class to calculate the time passing rather than what it was passing on. Another girl with a upturned nose hangs up a sign. Something about a Valentines Day dance. I remember Sarah promising me that shed never attend not in a zillion years. Likewise, she also thought this particular holiday was a waste of time. And yet, its in three days. I sigh. I hate Valentines Day.

CHAPTER FOUR
Valentines Day is in two days, and I get reminded every five seconds. All these posters and banners. Were advertising a love-fest at a Christian school. Whatre we doing next, holding unsupervised proms? Not only that, but Hunter can read my thoughts. Apparently, when were sleeping, the thoughts dont interfere. But since Im up about one hour before he is hes probably going to be late; sucks to be him! all my thoughts are safe and secure. For now, anyway. I can never hold a guarantee. Oh, look. Deliberately, Sarah looks down. Her hand is shielding her eyes, displaying a shadow over her forehead. Its Bridgette. Cut it out with the short jokes! But even so, I sound like a toddler. This time, though, Sarah doesnt seem to notice. Instead, her head is craning upwards like a giraffe, scanning the hallways with those beady eyes of hers. Shes not attractive, my best friend. But theres some sort of aura that makes her seem it. She notices me staring at her curiously, my forehead in a half-frown. Dont worry, she says, too quickly. I raise an eyebrow. She looks down. Fine. Im looking for Owen. Owen? I scratch my hair. Not only is it a tangled mess, but theres also flaky dandruff falling to the ground like feathers. Yuck. I get a glare from Sarah. Oh. Right. And, about a long ten seconds later, I yell out, Wait, you like Owen? She slaps her hands over my mouth. Loud, much? Why not yell it a little louder I think somebody in America couldnt quite hear you. I lift her hand off my face. Owen? Seriously? Red-head, annoying, hyena-laughing Owen? What did I miss? Its the groggy voice of Hunter spinning in my head. I bite my lip. Theres no way I can tell him about Tell me about what? Dont worry! Turning away from my best friend, I race to the Girls Toilets. If Im to avoid a subject, to stop thinking about something all at once, Im to evade the person talking about it. There are two girls standing in front of the mirror, skilfully chatting and applying lip-gloss at the same time. One has curly hair and the other has a straight bob. Must be two of the more popular girls. They turn and smile at me, before turning back to the mirror. They laugh about something that happened over the weekend, leaving me without any information of what theyre talking about. Its got something to do with bricks. And though its shameful, its the only thing I overheard with my pathetic eavesdropping skills.

God forbid me from ever being a girl, Hunters voice echoes in my mind, covered in a layer of disgust. They talk about the most useless and boring things! Its as if they have to say something or their mouth will fall apart. I stand up straight. My body stiffens, mainly in annoyance. Not all of us are like that Oh yeah. His voice is dismissive. Theres a small, giggly laugh in his head. What was that? Nothing. Theres a pause. He sighs. Fine. Im just thinking about how Sarah isnt anything like other girls, especially you But unfortunately, youre not special enough for her to like. Wait what? Curse my short-temper. But theres no way somebody stereotypes me with the rest of the gender-humiliating girls. I will always defend myself. Even if it means completely tearing the other person in half emotionally. She doesnt like you, you know. Hes about to ask me the question. But his voice will probably sound ultradepressed, and Id feel guilt, so I cut in the answer before he can ask. She likes Owen. The next thing I say makes me realise how hard it is, living without control on what Im thinking/exposing. Shell never like you; face it, youre far too introverted and insecure. Your popularity doesnt fool anyone. Instantly, my head is filled with a zillion high-then-low-pitched noises. Theyre getting louder and louder. Oh God, I made him think about something unwillingly. But the volume of these random notes are driving me insane. I cant stop these sounds from entering my head. Its like torture to its highest extent. Sure, it was buzzing yesterday too, but not as much as right now. Deciding theres no point running away from him, I exit the Ladies Room and head to the cafeteria. I see Hunter instantly, but he ducks his head. Its obvious he doesnt want to meet my eyes. Not that I blame him, especially for how terribly I treated him. No words in the English dictionary can describe the feeling of guilt tucked in my st4omach. Why, oh why did that Arthur guy pair us up together? This is just a dream. Thats the only thought keeping me sane in the worst of times. When I wake up tomorrow, everythings going to be alright. Course, I said the same thing yesterday. But itll be different, because tomorrows another day, right? It really doesnt help my mood when Naomi Baker comes up to me. Shes not popular or unpopular: shes in the middle somewhere. But it doesnt matter, because she hates me. Completely loathes me. Almost as much as Hunter irritates Hey! Sorry, Hunter. But its true.

I can tell hes trying not to think of a zillion curse words. But my eyes are focused on the girl in front of me, her eyes in narrow slits as she smiles. Its not a cold or unfriendly smile. However, its a smile which isnt genuine and that alone makes me feel intimidated and inadequate for her level. Oh, Bridgette. Everybody around us is in ignorance, walking past like we dont exist. Thats the problem with my school: nobody knows whos friends with who, seeing as friendship groups always change from time-totime. Therefore, me randomly hanging out with a girl who dreams about murdering me isnt too far-fetched. How are you? Its been so long. Not long enough, I think. Why does Naomi Baker hate you? I think about ignoring the question, but realise hell find out anyway. Its better to make him think I was meaning to tell him. Which is why my reply is, She always comes third when it comes to running. But I come second. Yeah, but youre popular. When I hear the confused What? in Hunters mind, I grimace. Popularity; you dont know how much of a difference it makes. My dad just opened a new restaurant branch here, she says, eyeing her fingernails. There are small broken pieces, which she frowns at for a good ten seconds. Then she turns to me with a curt smile. You know our restaurant, dont you? Best one in all of Australia. Bakers Paradise. Its kind of impossible to miss. Her dad owns Bakers Paradise? Hunters voice is shocked. I never knew that! How funny, I think with a grimace. Especially since Im reminded of this every single day. How come? She likes poking fun at how my fathers business Nails and Hammers R Us is such a failure. And also, how I dont get accepted at any part-time jobs because of my mum. Before he asks, I think, She was the school outcast. And almost every boss in this town had some sort of terrible experience with her. Oh. Its obvious he doesnt know what to think. That must suck. Suck doesnt conclude my life. But I turn my attention back to Naomi, forcing a smile. How lovely. Yes. Her voice is dismissive. It is lovely. Say, hes hiring clients right now. My heart skips a beat. But because of your history. She bites her lip, as if shes truly hesitating. Its amazing how ugly somebody is with jealousy radiating from every body part. Sorry. And with that, shes off through the hallways.

My nose wrinkles. Even if I try to apply for a job, Naomill make sure I dont get it. Its the one advantage she has over me: access to every job thanks to her popular and not to mention rich father. And believe me, she knows it like the back of her hand. Its kind of irritating how I can never win with somebody dripping with jealousy. An absurd thought enters my mind. Maybe I should let her come second next time. I snort the minute I think it. As if Im ever going to let her win; she just has to become better than me. Wow. Wow what? You are so shallow. All you ever think about is yourself! And, um, overconfident much? What makes you think that Naomis not better than you? There are better runners out there besides you. Please dont tell me youve forgotten! Why, thank you. You comment has been kindly disregarded. Ex-oh-ex-oh-ex-oh. And, for the second time in the same day, I can tell hes thinking of a zillion cursing words to throw at me but just cant find them. * Oh, look. Its my guinea pigs. The minute Arthur says those words, looking upwards from his desk and staring at both of us, I know theres something wrong. Hunter and I exchange looks. This is a man who has something to do with our new ability one which neither of us asked for. Theres something really weird about this substitute teacher. Especially since he never got much of a welcome. The Principal gave a polite speech about welcoming Arthur, but thats it. No last name, not a single word of extra information. It makes me more queasy to talk to this, well, stranger. Especially since he has that crazed look in his eyes once more. Hunter and I are the first people to enter the classroom. Afterwards, everybody in my religion class enters and I feel more uncomfortable than usual. Although a lot more people have entered, chatting quietly among themselves, theres something isolated about this classroom. Its like me and Hunter are the only ones here. Which is insane, because there are about twenty other kids. For the second time in the same amount of days, Hunter takes the seat next to me. Im still squirming at how terrible boy-germs must be, but I tolerate it. After all, its not as if theres anybody else Id rather sit next to when it comes to my regular classes without Sarah, Im a complete loner. Why cant I have more classes with her? So, class, tell me what you know about the Earth. Instantly, Naomi puts her hand up. Because she usually avoids me, I sometimes forget shes in my Religion class. Its a round object. A sphere shape. Arthur nods. Okay, are there any questions?

Im stunned. Instantly stunned. Thats it? The entire lessons on what kind of shape the Earth is? A couple of other students around me have the same confused expression as they peer up at Arthur. The extremely short teacher just shrugs, like its no big deal. Its almost as if hes some sort of imposter dressed up in ragged clothes and the most torn jeans. What is this sorcery? We are so failing Religion this year, I think hauntingly to myself. Imagine what its going to do to my notthat-good grades. So self-absorbed, I hear Hunters disgusted thoughts. Why did I have to end up reading your stupid mind? Because Im a zillion times better than you? Oh, and also because rumours say I beat up ninety-nine boys last year. And then the hundredth one ended up getting his head smashed, so it wasnt really a beat up, but more a murder. So it didnt really count. I hear Hunter laughing like a hyena beside me. At first, I think hes suffocating, so my heart skips a beat as I debate what to do. But then I realise his snorting is not out of pain. Instead, its out of humour. Which is weird, because it definitely doesnt sound like a laugh. A lot of students around the class are looking at Hunter. They then look away when he gives them a smirk. Nobody can match Hunter Steeles smirk with the same smugness urgh, I hate this boy! That was seriously a rumour? Youre kidding, right? I wish. Its one of the worst rumours ever. Not as bad as the one with me being tortured by my parents and then ending up in the hospital and living in complete sympathy. Oh, and apparently, some orphanage adopted me and had people fight over my brilliant good looks. Every word out of his mouth well, brain, technically is bitter. And though I dont want to ask, curiosity bites at every nerve in my body. My mouth doesnt want to ask the question, but my brain is urging. Pressuring me to find the answer to a particular inquiry. And before I know it, I think, Is it true? My stomach churns as I watch Hunter duck his head and look the other way. Hes staring at the door and watching people pass by, deciding hes not going to learn much with Arthur teaching us. There isnt a response which I can hear. Instead, theres a deep buzzing noise like a zillion hornets attacking at the same time. Definitely not a good sign.

CHAPTER FIVE
When Im jogging, the whole world is forgotten. No, thats not right. I wish it was. Sometimes, I wish there could be an instance a hobby, some sort of miracle which would let me run away. Why do I always run towards things? Why do I always collide into problems? Thats the thing about me: Im willing to do so much, but so little opportunities are presented to me. Granted, the minute some sort of responsibility is handed to me, I mess it up. Its weird to think Hunter Steele is still in bed, probably with a mass of bed-hair. I grimace. He puts so much gel in his hair, its sticky and disgustinglooking. He doesnt try to be popular, but since he already has the reputation, why not continue it? What really annoys me is how rumours are another factor towards popularity. Hunters past is a deep and tragic story, filled with hope and emotion. People want to talk to him, people want to hold him tight and tell him how okay life is. Whereas when it comes to Bridgette McAdams, the only thing people think is the typical, Run! Shes going to murder you! I sigh. My feet keep running, rhythmically touching the ground at the right moments. The concrete under my feet feels so alive. Its as if its moving instead of my own feet. This is why I love running; this is why I can run forever and still not get tired of how the wind blows through my hair, pushing me faster. But even so, I still wish I could change things about myself. Life is so unfair. Why did I have to be stuck with Hunter Steele and his useless thoughts? I mean, I dont really mind if it was Sarah, because despite the whole Owen-adoring thing, she doesnt keep secrets from me. Why did it have to be a complete stranger who ends up listening to every personal thought? Shouldnt I at least get a choice in this? Honestly, there isnt a number for how many times either Hunter and I wanted to confront Arthur. Not only is he no longer attractive sorry, but even if hes a perfect height, creepy young guys who force people to read each others thoughts dont float my dating boat but hes a stupid excuse for a teacher! Our entire Religion class is going to fail; I know this with instinct. But theres something intimidating about him. Thats the only reason neither Hunter or I approached him. Hes just far too scary and unpredictable! Although this sounds like what a wimpy toddler would claim, theres no denying the dirt living under his fingernails. Arthur needs to get a manicure full-stop. Oh, would you know it. Its McAdams. Hunters inner-voice is dripping with bitterness. Why, hello there, McAdams. Hello there, Hunter, I reply, using the same amount of bitterness as him. Theres a short pause. And suddenly, Hunters voice sounds excited when he thinks,Its Valentines Day! I dont see the excitement. And? And I woke up today with a huge chocolate craving. I always get boxes of chocolate on Valentines Day!

Honestly, if theres a way to murder somebody using only my mind, I wouldve done it by now. Its true: Ive seen it before. Somehow, when it comes to Valentines Day, the popular people happen to be everybodys best friend. They always get a zillion chocolates. And Hunter Steele stupid, boyish and smug Hunter never fails to remind me how unpopular I am among my peers. Its almost humiliating. But I dont show much of a weakness as I leave my mind blank. Im not going to expose a single thought Oh no. Theres sadness in these two words. I stop at my track. No, no, he thinks quickly. Carry on. Seriously, its nothing. Tell me. And the words come flooding out. Sarah. I really like her. Shes already asking Owen out, like you said. And what makes matters worse is how Owen likes her back. I know Im supposed to be a mate and everything, but its so freaking hard. Especially when hes always droning on about her and he doesnt have a clue that I like her. Its kind of hard not to feel pity at a time like this. Even if this enemy of mine is a complete egoistic and flaunting person, hes still capable of being broken. Also, his situation is, indeed, extremely complicated. He used to go to the same Primary School as Sarah, so he mustve known her forever, whereas Owen and I went to another one. I didnt even meet Sarah until this year; Owen wouldnt have known she existed. And somehow, poor old Hunter gets overlooked when he knows her the longest. Oh, the irony of this world. No matter how terrible Hunter Steele is, he still doesnt deserve it. Gee, thanks, I hear his dry voice say. I didnt realise that all my thoughts, even the ones I dont precisely dictate, are heard by him. Sorry, I reply. Its okay. Anyway, its not like its your Why do you like Sarah, anyway? We were kids once. Like, ten or eleven. We used to watch the moon during family trips well, by family, I mean my grandparents and her parents. And then, we used to think the moon followed us. It was so weird. Shes the first girl I met who admitted to something as stupid as that, especially since we both knew it wasnt really following us. Theres a pause. I dont know I guess I liked how she wasnt afraid to stand up for something she believed in. I wrinkle my nose. Yeah, um, Im nothing like Sarah. Shes far better than me. If possible, I hear him laugh. No, wait, it probably is possible, seeing as the brain registers everything a person does or says. I wouldnt exactly say better. Youre sensitive and cry really easily, shes not. You, uh, have a reputation for murdering innocent little children, she doesnt. Hold on, how do I cry very easily?

Every-time you fall over during Track, you start crying. Every. Single. Time. Shut up. The whole murdering rumour may just be true, you know. Nah, I dont think youre that bad. And anyway, Sarahs not the one I feel like slaughtering when a certain crybaby wins Cross Country. Even after spending half the race blubbing about a small bruise on her ankle! My lips form into a grin. The secret lies in the tears, Steele. * Bridgette, you need to get to the Valentines Day Dance, my mother says, genuinely looking anxious towards why her daughter is still in her smelly sneakers and casual top. Whats wrong? Do you have a fever? I actually dont want to go, I mumble. Oh, Honey. She ruffles my hair. Its okay if youre not popular with the guys. My teeth grit. Obviously, thats the reason why I cant show my face. Because Im not popular with the male race. Like, what kind of person is my mother? Is she one of those insane people who always wanted to be popular? And then a sudden, terrible thought strikes me. Thats right: were exactly the same. Although Im not an outcast, I long to be noticed among my peers at school. Mum, though an outcast, mustve felt the same way. Its weird how people assume blonde hair and blue eyes instantly gets someone popularity. Its so not true Id know this better than anybody else. In fact, Im the only person in the family with the combined features of blonde hair and blue eyes. The rest of my sisters dyed their hair black to match Evas, seeing as she was the trendsetter of the family. Theres a cold shiver running up my spine. I hate how she was everything. Why cant she still be something? Wait, thats right shes dead. I shudder. Evas deathd be far more painful if I knew her better. Because of my lack of knowledge, I never found the urge to dye my hair black or follow her like all my older sisters would do. I was happy knowing I had such a cool sister, but never wished to be like her. Its weird, because shes the recipe for popularity and yet, I didnt want that. My reasons for popularity revolve around how well I can influence people. I can inspire, I can help. These are characteristics more popular people dont have. If, for even the slightest of moments, I could have a word with the school, Id be able to make a difference. Thats because Im good at changing the way people think; I can change the world. But Ill never be popular. Never, ever, ever. Only because its in my blood. My mother was rejected, teased, ignored. I think it goes down to her youngest daughter, who looks exactly like her. Looking away from my mother, who seems to have forgotten me, I walk back to my room. I pick up my pillow and scream in it. My scream is muffled. Thank Goodness, because Id be pronounced more mental than I already am. Its peculiar how quiet my mind is without Hunters voice nagging at me. I sigh. Hes so lucky to be a boy.

Before disappearing from my head, he declared he was going to sleep. Most members of the female species wouldnt be able to rest not with a ginormous Valentines Prom to attend! But because hes a boy, he doesnt have to waste his time thinking about this disgraceful dance until the last five minutes. What a lucky bugger. Yo, Bridge. Becca elbows me in the rib. I smile as if she didnt just break my ribcage. This is one of the main disadvantages of living with the Champion-Female-Boxer of her university. Its fun, trust me. My mouth opens, but Im interrupted. Oh! Barbara arrives in my room, grinning. Valentines Prom already? I remember how epic it was when I was back in high-school Presenting Barbara, the one who recalls her childhood like its some sort of treasure. To be honest, Im spending more of my time trying to escape from the clutches of my teachers, not wishing on every bone in my body to hug them. You have to wear a blue dress. Promise me. All of Breenas words happen to be gushes which usually dont make much sense. Its the only colour that suits you you look ugly in pretty much everything else. When all my sisters turn to look at her, she crosses her arm defensively. What? What a cow, says Becca with a grin, ruffling Breenas hair. If possible, Breena sounds like a choking walrus and begins panicking. Her makeup is already smudging, despite how she wore it two minutes ago. Shes one of those girls who has to look perfect every five seconds. But its all worth it, because shes the girl every guy at her Arts University as their eye on. However, Becca down-to-Earth and just graduating Becca disagrees. Despite being about two years younger than Breena, she manages to have more pride and sense of life in her. Wont date until a guy hands her a pineapple for Valentines Day. What? Its Hunter. Hes awake. Oh, the joys. What on Earth, McAdams? Apineapple? Yes, I think back, sighing. A pineapple. Yeah, you heard right. According to Becca, a guy must know her well enough to know she wants very specifically a pineapple before she agrees to date him. ...Your familys so weird. I watch Breena scream as Becca tries to pull her hair out. Its like a wild chase, and poor Barbara is standing there awkwardly with the usual, Guys, this isnt a very good idea But of course, her whole existence is ignored. It finally takes my mother to walk in and scold both Becca for trying to damage her sisters hair and Breena for acting so weak and threatened by it. And then she reminds them of their age. Her eyes dart to me as she rolls them. Like always, she never fails to remind me how mature I am compared to the rest of her daughters. My family is weird, I say in agreement. But its all good, cause I love them anyway.

CHAPTER SIX
Somehow, I get rid of all my pestering sisters then lock my bedroom door. Im reminded how happy I am Dad finally gave in to having a lock. With the amount of fracas that goes on at my house, survival depends on the small object. Their loud bickering is heard even when Im three meters away from the door. How loud can they go? Regardless, Im happy to have the bed for myself. I make angels among the sheets, realising with a sleepy sigh that, once I wake up, Hunters voice isnt going to be there anymore. Hes all going to be a memory. And sure, Arthurs this sketchy person who joined our thoughts together, but he cant be that bad. Or maybe this is all just a big, terrible dream. Perhaps its just one of those three wishes things where I realise just how horrifyingly my one desire can turn out. In which case, Im grateful, because Im learning to move on with my life. After I wake up, Im going to be completely alone with my thoughts. And Ill never want the same wish again. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. When I wake up next, there isnt much light streaming through the windows. This might be a worry. Well, to most people. But Im so used to feeling tired after school and taking naps, that I never worry about spending more than two hours sleeping. I sit up in bed, just thinking about how lovely my life is. You take naps? Hes back. Why is he still there? For the first time in my life, Im terrified. Completely and utterly horrified. For instance, who am I supposed to alert about my situation? If I tell my parents, theyd worry and send me to a shrink only to have Breena scowling at me, cause she wont get that perfect dress shes been looking at. Our family is already reduced financially; theres no need to create more problems. But I was sure. I was so confirmed that, after my nap, Id be alone with my thoughts. Life is so unfair. Theres something really dangerous about not being to explain whats going on in my mind. Maybe I can tell somebody who believes me which is very unlikely. I mean, if I heard myself speak, theres no way Id buy something like, Oh my gosh, I can hear that persons every thought and they can hear mine. Technologys not that advanced. Worst of all, Im stuck. Im stuck with this guy like superglue, and theres no way to stop it. No, wait worse than superglue. At least there would be the simple visual aspect, where somebody with good hands can help us. Not only that, but our inner secrets and thought would be protected. Nothing can quite be worse than a situation like this. And I have no idea how to stop this. You know what, Im gonna try taking a nap as well. But theres too much sweat on it. Hold on, is that sweat? I really hope that is, cause my dog Roger was in my room a second oh no. Theres too much of it. Theres no way it can be sweat Thats it; the last screw of my sanity, gone like the wind.

I pick up my pillow to muffle my scream. * I grudgingly give in to Breena. Its possibly one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Especially since I now look like a human present, wrapped with blue bows and a dress which is supposed to reach my knees but ends up almost touching my ankles. Curse my shortness! But according to Becca, I look so adorable she wants to eat me up. That was when Barbara got this worried look on her face as she told me to run to the prom quickly before I have a human cannibal feasting happily on my flesh. I shudder this very minute, thinking how close I was from being devoured by my beloved sister. Its every girls worst nightmare. Besides having a stranger read her every thought, right? I grit my teeth. There he is, Mr Steele, sounding as smug as ever. He still has braces! How is he still popular? Hey, thats not very nice! And for your information, Naomi said my braces are very attractive. I almost fall on the ground. My knees are weakened. Did you just say Naomi? You heard me. Shes probably going to ask me out for the Valentines Day Dance. My anger boils when he adds, Come to think of it, shes probably not the only girl drooling after me. They all love me. Its weird, because once upon a time, I absolutely disliked Hunter. But that was before I got to know the real him. And once I found out the real version of him, Im wishing I never met him. Mainly because the true version is a zillion times worse, smugger, and not shy at the slightest. So is this what hes like on the inside? Arrogant and typically male? Hey, youre nothing like I expected either. What? I always thought that, despite crying when you get the slightest bit of a bruise, you were tough on the inside. But youre overly fragile, despite being so bold on the outside. Id rather be fragile than a complete fake. Fake? He laughs. Its not exactly humourous or mocking, but just kind of bitter. Nah, believe me: the quiet side is the true side. Every guy is a typical idiot on the inside there are exceptions, but the majority are. And only a selected few show it on the outside. Even if I want to, I cant show my bad side to the world. Thats so weird. But why cant you? Cause its just my personality, being quiet. I cant help it. And only a selected few see the other side of me, so uh, congratulations. I snort. Believe me, its not something Im proud of.

* Finally, I get the finishing touches done. Breena insists on doing my makeup and Barbara pessimistic, worrying Barbara makes a list of reasons why Breenas makeover skills may completely damage my skin, letting it rot, and then melt off my face. Breena just rolls her eyes dismissively, and assures me that, even if that does happen, the worst Ill get called is Skinless at school. I find it alarming how my sister attends university. Did she not consider the hazards of not having skin as anything but beauty-related? No, its obvious Im smarter than her science-wise, anyway. If somebody asks me about cosmetic brands, Id be useless and tongue-tied. Theres no doubt that Breena would walk home with the first prize. Taking a gasp of a deep breath, I arrive in front of the mirror. According to Breena, Im gorgeous and adorable. According to me, Im a potential partner for Frankenstein. No, partner sounds like I remotely have a chance of being human Im his future wife. Becca looks as horrified as I do, but a blind person can see my clothing isnt her style. Her black hairs in a bob, her biceps are bulgier than most men and she chooses to wear pain studs in her ears than actual earrings. Yeah, a frilly dress isnt her style at all. She mouths the words, Are you sure? But pessimistic Barbara looks optimistic for once. You actually look pretty adorable. She giggles. Be sure to never turn a guy down. Exactly. Becca nods her head viciously in agreement. Youre supposed to take them down with your supermuscles. Show them whos boss! As if with sisterly instinct, Breena grabs my shoulders and cautiously removes me from hitting distance and whispers, Or you can just accept the guy if he wants to dance. Now, no slouching. And whats with your legs? Are you ever going to grow taller? Longer legs doesnt mean I can run faster, I shoot back. And, if you havent noticed, Im the best runner of my Year Level possibly Olympic-worthy. Wow, breathes Becca, shaking her head but grinning. For a small body, you have a big head. Careful. Barbaras voice is raspy, injecting fear in every nerve in my body. I get the tingles from one word alone: this girl has major potential as a public-guilt-speaking. She can save the whales and tortoises without lifting a finger. You dont want a big head. Because when you get a big head, your nerves expand. And after your nerves expand, they pop. Of course, you dont realise it at first. Thats what makes this a slow painful horrifying Enough! Breena sounds genuinely shaken up. She coughs, as if to cover her fear. And anyway, Bridgette might be full of herself, but she has right to be. As usual, she cant talk without a squeal injected somewhere in the sentence. OhmyGodyoulooksoadorable. Youaregoingtobetheprettiestgirlthere. Did anybody under a word she was saying? whispers Becca when Breena runs to the bathroom to apply her next layer of foundation just like she does every five minutes or so. Like, anything at all? She was saying something? I thought she was calling aliens to take her back to the planet she was born on, deadpans Margaret.

We all have a good snicker about this fact. And finally, when Breenas back with a new layer of foundation and her camera, she takes a shot of us all together. Theres something magical about every photo she takes; it brings be straight to the moment, and she manages to press the button at the exact time needed. She has total future potential to become a photographer in fact, shes considering taking it up as a part-time profession after becoming a fashion designer. When I exit the house, Im being forced to sit at the back-seat. Barbaras the oldest and most responsible, so whenever somebody needs a ride, my parents insist on her driving us everywhere even after both Breena and Becca have their licenses. I think neither of them can image us more grown up than babies. Which is kind of insulting. But theres a different kind of fun when sitting in the backseat. Because our house is in a remote part of the town, it takes about thirty minutes to get to school. This means thirty entire minutes of Barbaras classical music and ravings about how the world can end any second, at any rate. She always has been an interesting person, Barbara. Second eldest, and definitely the most mature among us sisters. People used to think she was older than Eva. Granted, Eva looked the same age as me until I dont finish that thought. Instead, I quickly ask Barbara to name a list of the possible malfunctions which can go wrong in this car-trip. Its like heaven has been handed to her on a silver platter, because she begins theoretically speaking about how wheels can fly off this vehicle, how petrol can run dead-out and a car can collide with us from behind. She tells me her theories with such enthusiasm, its weird to think she still has a grip on the steering wheel. I shudder. Though hearing about ways to die isnt a particularly satisfying way of spending time, it definitely beats thinking about the past. And what I couldve changed. I stifle a gasp. The tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star is playing over in my head. Over and over again. My brain is so messed-up. And I groan when I hear Hunters voice, when he thinks, Thats so weird; I havent heard a single thought from you. Thats when I realise my life isnt normal. I completely forgot about the thought-reading incident occurring this very minute. Of course, Hunter has to remind me instantly. Chills are running up my spine. Im terrified. This kind of thing doesnt happen to normal people. Why am I being a victim? Did I do anything wrong any sort of sin to deserve such a cruel punishment? Maybe I made Breena or Becca take out the garbage when it was my turn, but sure its not that much of a sin. Right? So I think back, with intentions of it getting to Hunter, No. I havent heard anything from you, either. But there was the Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star tune playing over in my head right before you asked your question. What were you thinking about? I was thinking about you. Oh, and how youre going to be a complete reject at the dance. My hands tighten around my blue ribbons like theyre Hunters throat.

CHAPTER SEVEN
The music is loud. This is the mere thought circulating my mind when I take a deep breath, finally stepping into the room. A faint scent of perfume rustles through the air, catching me off-guard. Shouldnt a hall like this stink of sweat? Dont get me wrong, Im not complaining it just seems severely unusual. There is chattering and giggling, as the music pulses in everybodys ears. But because this is a school event, there isnt any R-rated gestures going on. Which Im extremely thankful for. Especially since the principal lost so much; why drown in sorrow, realising how everybody else is more fortunate than her? She cant have everything. Nobody has everything. Sarah rushes over to me and we exchange the secret handshake. Only, its not so secret because Owen watches us with an expression of disgust. Or maybe thats supposed to be aimed at me: his eyes wont leave Sarah, and its definitely not hatred in his eyes when he continues gazing at her. I want to inform him he has drool escaping the corner of his lip, but I stop myself. Theres no need to make him hate me even more. Another thing surprising me is how Hunters stupid voice isnt in my head. Its not there. Not at all. Although Ive been praying every night before bed, begging for our thoughts to separate, it feels so weird without it. Dare I say it, I feel lonely without his snarky remarks about my hair or threats to completely ruin whats left of my reputation. No, I take it back. Lifes so much better without him. That was a little harsh. Youre youre not gone? Its hard not to sound weary. Ive waited too long for this moment the minute I break free from this terrible, confusing curse and think private thoughts once more. Evidently, lifes never easy. Nothing ever goes my way: its foolish to think the world might just revolve around me, even for a second. Gee, you sound happy. But we cant hear each others thoughts casually anymore Yeah You reckon its, like, a form of communication? Like when Im thinking right now, Im hoping youll hear me. That must be it. Its not a privacy invasion anymore: we have choice as to what we want the other person to know. I guess this is good news. Its better than knowing every one of Hunters thoughts and him hearing mine. Though, I crave the for the chance of being alone without any pesky people interrupting what Ive got to say. That Arthur teacher has something to do with this entire thought-reading thing; I dont accept that, just after he stares at us with a creepy grin, we end up in a paranormal situation. No, he definitely has something to do with it. If only he was a little more approachable. Quite frankly, theres not a single kid in school who isnt intimidated by this short but vicious teacher. If hes he a teacher in first place, that is. I wouldnt be surprised if he ends up as a magician, running around the world and cursing people with his magic sword or, well, his eyes. His glittering, deep eyes which continue to haunt my dreams.

I wonder if he has a wife. Its kind of mean to think a creep like him wont have a female to love, although its quite possible. Love without evidence is stalking, says a giggling Hunter. You know that giggle you did? Yeah? Yeah? Never do it again. Its so sketchy when guys giggle. Sexist! Everybody can giggle. Youre just a complete hypocrite. Honestly, Im surprised you even know what a hypocrite means. The conversation stopped right there. Im sure Hunters fuming. Maybe he is, but I cant see him anywhere at this room. He has to be around. I think. Gee, I hope I didnt offend him enough to stop him coming to the dance in first place: itd be the ironies of all ironies, seeing as Im the one who swore to never set foot on the dance-floor. But then, after I gather my thoughts, I snort. As if I care about Hunters feelings if he has any in first place, that is. When Im back to reality, Sarahs looking at me like Im a maniac. Uh-oh. I straighten my posture and raise my eyebrows, trying to appear casual. Sarahs one of those I-dont-judge-people types the people who stand up against whale-hunting and fight heated discussions on why refugees should be allowed in Australia. So when she looks at me like Ive lost my last screw, theres definitely something major going on. Um, why are you staring at me like that? I try to sound nonchalant. Seriously, close your mouth: its embarrassing. Your watch is on the wrong hand. And why are you even wearing a watch? Its a dance, for crying out loud! I mutter something unintelligent before sliding the watch off my wrist, stuffing it in my pocket. Typical Sarah. She always notices the smallest things and wrinkles her nose at them. I wonder if Hunter knows this side of her: the controlling, Im-always-right part. Probably not. And anyway, it doesnt matter because shes already talking to Owen. Talking isnt the best word. Theyre both struggling to keep conversation. Neither of them want to be there, judging by their scarlet faces, but they dont want to stop talking either. Its like those moments where two options seem ideal, but neither fit: the moments where one wants the best of both worlds. Deciding I cant take their helpless flirting any longer, I trail to the table to get myself a batch of cupcakes. People are dancing all around me, grinning like idiots as they do stupid stuff. This isnt unusual at a school like mine, where the boys are immature. I remember reading a book once about a guy in a wheelchair, and how he feels so helpless because he cant protect his girlfriend. But here at my school, the guys dont even know about their roles theyre the ones pushing females down stairs and betting on how serious their head-injury is. Yeah. Immature to the fullest if not dangerous and having future potential of becoming psychologically damaged. Oh, fancy seeing you, says a voice behind me. I spin around to see him. Hunter Steele. I sigh in disappointment I really wish it was somebody else. What brings you here, McAdams? Food? I question his intelligent with my frown.

His entire face brightens. Say no more. Before I know it, half the cupcakes are gone. Not that there were many to start with, but still. I try not to look in disgust as I pick a block of chocolate from the plate. Only, a grubby hand snatches it from me before I get the chance to savour it. I look up. Sure enough, theres Phillip Tennyson with my chocolate block and a zillion others tucked in a tissue, hidden in his arm. Im just about snatch back the piece of chocolate seeing as its the last one on that plate but he gets the bright idea of licking that particular block. I flinch as if hes a radioactive spider; he returns my expression with smugness, spontaneously twisting himself around and walking away. That greedy little jerk! Even after having an uncle whos the third richest in Australia, he acts no better than a starving person on the street. In fact, Im willing to bet that starving person would contain a little more pride than this guy. I hear snickering. When I turn around, I see Hunters eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, as he covers his mouth with his hand. Oh wow. He tries to disguise his laughter for a coughing fit. Poor you. No, no. Please dont feel sorry for me; Im not the one who looks like a shark with gum-disease. His face darkens. I shouldnt have said that. I know Ive crossed some sort of line, and its obvious hes angry. Especially since he looks so distant. Im willing to bet that, if we could still hear each others every thought, there would be a deep buzzing voice. The one which notifies the other theres something both of us are hiding. But theres nothing significant about having crooked teeth: I mean, millions of Aussies grow up with uneven sets of chompers. What kinds of secrets would be linked to them? Still, it doesnt excuse the fact I shouldnt have said it to him. Back in fifth grade, he used to get teased for his crooked teeth. But he took it quite well and laughed along with all the crooked jokes, although the smiles never reached his eyes. Just looking at him makes guilt bubble in me: is it some sort of aura he has, the natural its not-myfault-its-yours expression? Im sorry But hes already walking away, his back turned to me. He goes straight up to Owen and starts talking about boy-stuff. Motorbikes, what theyre going to do on the weekend, who won the finals for the cricket match those types of things. Its strange to think Hunter was completely fuming, threatening death to me a couple of minutes ago. Its amazing how quickly he can shift from mood to mood. A thought strikes me. Has he really shifted from one mood to another? Or is it all just an act? I want to ask Sarah out. For a minute, I think the whole every thought function has returned. I groan. Theres nothing worse than going back to the way we were. And I need your help, Bridgette. Thats when I realise it isnt a random thought. He wants me to know what hes saying. Its a hallelujah moment because it means were not stuck in the uncontrollable process again. But hes asking for my help. Its all so

sudden. Why does he need me? Thats an easy question to answer: I know Sarah better than most people. And also, maybe I can be his wingman and set them up. I dont owe Hunter Steele anything. In fact, Ive spent more of my life loathing him than breathing. So why should I care about his feelings? Why work for his happily-ever-after if I cant build my own? It makes no sense. Especially since he hasnt done anything nice for me. Hes absolutely no significance in my life. None whatsoever. Please, Bridgette. If this was some sort of movie, I wouldve said yes. And Hunter would live happily ever after with my best friend. How am I supposed to explain Sarah deserves somebody not better but more different than Hunter? Sarahs opinionated and strict: she needs somebody wilder, somebody whos immature. Somebody like Owen, really. Theyre perfect for each other. Whereas she and Hunter wont balance each other out with their personalities. No. Sorry. Im doing whats right for my best friend; youre just not right for her. Even I find it shocking how nonchalantly I thought those words. Hunters probably thinking a zillion things, but none of them go directly to my mind. I scan the room for him. And sure enough, I see the back of his body. Hes purposely turning away so I cant read his face or see his emotions. But believe me; his hands are clenched so tightly they might fall apart. Sarah. The next few minutes are vital. All in slow motion. I dont want to watch, but I cant pull my eyes away either. My head is throbbing: I can feel my heart beating, the rhythm and the sound. Hunter touches Sarahs shoulder as she spins around in surprise. She smiles at him a quick and friendly one. Sarah, um I cant hear the rest. I want to run straight in front of them and knock them over or do something totally dramatic which belongs only in movies. My feet are frozen. Theres no way Ill be able to do anything but anticipate movements Ill never make. I take a step forward. My hands are shaking. I know exactly what Sarahs answer would be, especially since I know she likes Owen. Why didnt I tell Hunter? Im such a bad, terrible person. He thinks theres a chance of them dating. How am I supposed to tell him nows not the time? Suddenly, Mrs Rhineheart barges between them. Its an accident, but Ive never been so grateful. Oh, heavens. Using Hunters outstretched hand, she scrambles to her feet. Sorry about that. I havent fallen over since And then her thoughts trail off. Theres an obvious lump in her throat. Shes speaking of times where her husband was still alive. May I have this dance? Its Hunter, his hand outstretched for the second time. Sarah looks at him like hes gone insane. For the second time in a row, Hunter Steele has messed up. Although it should make me giggle like a maniac, it just makes me frustrated. Almost as if his thoughts circulating themselves in my mind makes him a part of me. Everybody knows Sarah has this thing about students and teachers always keeping distances: she hates the entire idea of student/teacher relationships, and makes a huge deal of letting everyone know. Its impossible Hunter doesnt know. This is Sarah were talking about: not exactly loud, but overly opinionated. And yet, I watch a slow smile spread through Mrs Rhinehearts face as she takes his hand.

I watch them waltz around the room. Not every eye is on them, but most are. Hunter doesnt seem to mind, and if he does, hes doing a good job of hiding it. Mrs Rhineheart doesnt look uncomfortable at the least, and grins properly for a long time. There are wrinkles of noses and confused faces. But its a matter of times before these expressions disappear and are replaced with shrugs. Well, almost all of them. Theres one particularly disgusted face which arrives next to me. Sarah shakes her head as if this is the worst thing she has ever witnessed. What is the deal with that boy? I mean, he was in the middle of saying something, then some teacher bursts in, and hes dancing with her? Doesnt he realise how many teachers are sick in the head? Has he forgotten the age of Mrs Rhineheart? Does he? But Im no longer listening. And suddenly, its not the moon following the grinning Hunter across the room. Its my eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Im not sure whats weirder: the fact Hunter danced with Principal Rhineheart or that he called Sarah by her first name. This is the question rolling around as I chew the end of my pencil, flipping pages through my textbook. Theres so much homework, I begin wondering if Becca is right. Maybe I should ditch school and run in the Olympics. But runnings something I dont want to do forever. Although its a wonderful feeling, its better as a hobby and less as a profession. I need to be something like a lawyer something which will get money in my bank. Easily, I do History first I the homework section. Because its so interesting, I find myself lost in all the work. The revolutions, the fighting, the freedom. History is what shows me exactly what the human nature is capable of. It inspires me beyond words. Maybe one day Ill be attached between the pages of some sort of History page. Perhaps my name will echo off every wall on Earth. I snort. What wishful thinking. Becca enters my bedroom with a giant boom sound. The door cant handle her abnormal strength. Im about to remind her what the Please Knock sign on the door means, but face is such a deep scarlet, I stop myself. Instead, I question her fatigue expression with a raise of my eyebrow. BridgeEtte, she puffs. After a seconds worth of uneven breathing, she says, I think I burnt the toast. I pick myself off my chair, dashing to the kitchen. Sure enough, the last loaf of bread has been burnt. Because we cant afford bread from the shop (seeing as a family this big finishes a loaf of bread in two days), a friend of ours gives us free bread. The only condition: we have to bake it in the oven, seeing as there are mostly burnt bits and some of it isnt developed properly. Using my hand to shoo the smoke away, I open the oven door. A huge puff of smoke erupts in my face, causing me to cough several times in a row. When I stagger backwards, I find Becca looking sheepish. When the rest of us took Home Economics for school electives, Becca took wrestling. She cant even bake a loaf of bread without misreading the ovens signals, causing every piece of food to burn. Its only a matter of time before the entire house burns down. Sighing, I say, Dont worry. Ill run down to the store and get another loaf of bread. Judging by Beccas reaction, I might as well chew on a shoe. Are you kidding me? Have you forgotten we live in a remote area? You know, about six kilometres away from town? Although Becca is extremely sporty, shes more of a weights person: she can beat almost anything in a wrestling match, but cant run for her life. This means she underestimates my abilities a lot. Which I dont blame, seeing as I usually scoff when she tells me yet another one of her ex-boyfriends ended up in hospital. My face always turns pale when I call the hospital, confirming another relationship-gone-bad guy is fighting for his life.

I usually make sure to give Becca a one-hour lecture about not injuring people. She usually doesnt listen to me. Which is why it happens again like a vicious cycle. Winking at her from the door, I open it slightly. Seriously, Bec you underestimate me. And just to prove her wrong, I run all the way to town. I dont take a minute to walk to pause. Theres nothing to take a break for, anyway. I ram through my pockets, hoping to find some loose change to buy a packet of bubblegum. A sigh exits my mouth when I notice a couple of spare cents just enough to buy a loaf of bread from the store, nothing else. Hey, Hunter. Do you have any ways to make money? What? Theres a pause. Oh, right. Sorry, just a little groggy today. I cant believe I did that I cant believe you danced with Mrs Rhineheart either. I mean, I always thought of you as a mean, selfcentred person. I never thought of you as nice I didnt dance with her to be nice: I did it cause I knew Sarah would hate it. Ah. I knew it was too good to be true. A pause. Why would you do something Sarah hated? Because shes opinionated and I thought that, since Id be rejected if I did ask her out, I might as well mess up her mind. She probably wont speak to me for a long time. Great news, right? Even though the words hes saying are full of amusement and carelessness, his tone says otherwise. Hes uncertain. And a little regretful. Anyway, you can make money doing this really simple thing. Yeah, um, its called a job. Im not stupid. Im just smart enough to know nobody will hire me not with my mother being the highschool reject. Nobody needs to know who your mother is. Tell you what, Ill meet you at the city centre. Well talk from them on. Sure enough, I see a familiar head of curls in front of me. He waves to me, and then points to the store in front. Nodding, I enter the store. And then my heart skips a zillion beats. I feel like hitting him, because its not any store: its Naomis fathers store. Doesnt he realise how badly Ill get rejected? From here, out of all places. I glare at him. He grins back. My simple outrage obviously isnt dumbed-down enough for him. How typical another textbook smart person. Somebody whos great at school but impossibly stupid when it comes to real life. It reminds me of how Eva used to be, all smiles and text-book smart. But she didnt have enough general knowledge to save her life. Swallowing a mouthful of spit, I realise how haunting that statement is. She was murdered she really didnt have enough general knowledge to save her life. But no. I cant think about her. Because if I do, Ill start crying and regret all the small times Ive messed-up; especially that last moment when she asked for help specially from me. And I let her down so badly. There isnt a single person Ive let down this tragically. Hunter looks at me. Theres annoyance on his face like Im zoning out for no reason. This makes me outraged. This makes me what to scream so loudly, the entire Earth shatters into tiny pieces. Does he have any idea

how empty I feel, how difficult it is to pretend a fragment of the past never happened? How, around my house, everybody laughs a little too loudly and cries so softly, the naked ear cant hear it? Of course he doesnt. No matter how many thoughts we exchange, no matter how much he learns about my life and knows me, hell never understand. Knowing isnt the same as comprehending. I can continue forever about problems; babble til Im out of breath. But doesnt mean he cares. And if he does, he wont understand. He will never understand. I manage to calm myself down. Faking a smile, I say, Why are we here? Im going to show you, he says, fishing a pen out of his cargo pants, how easy it is to fake an identity. He holds out a card, his face close to mine as his eyes dart to the Staff Only room. The minute you enter that room, youre Amanda Rose. Are you crazy? Hes about to reply, but I interrupt him. No, dont answer that. Not much of a challenging question. He frowns, but digs the business card in my shoulder, clearly urging me to follow along with his plan. I dont want to embarrass myself in front of everybody: is it really a ridiculous wish to request? So I shake my head countless times. Nope. Not doing it. You cant make me. What if? Dont even try. I buy you a packet of gum. My jaw drops. How does he know I wanted it? He cant read my thoughts, can he? How did you? You were thinking it a second ago, he says, confused. You probably didnt realise that, by wishing for something, I could hear it. I think its some sort of mind-reading thing: if theres something the other wants, and we can fulfil it, we hear it. He grins, spitting on his hand and holding it out. So, um, deal? You trust me on this plan, I buy you a packet of bubble-gum. Careful not to show any emotion, I spit on my own hand and shake his hand, all while maintaining a straight face. Deal. Although I dont know why you wanna help me this badly He snorts before I finish my train of thought. As if. Im just trying to prove Im right and youre wrong. Theres a pause. We wipe our hands on our pants, avoiding eye-contact. * Ms Amanda Rose Oslen? Naomis father has the same complexion as his daughter, but hes missing the two devil horns. Or maybe its just me visualising them. Good afternoon. How are you?

Im great, thank you. Im wearing glasses. Hunter managed to get a fake license, despite the fact I still cant get into the drivers seat without fainting. And on that license, its a picture of me off my Facebook account with realistic glasses and large hoop earrings. So this is what I wear when I enter. Im here to apply for the job. Yes, yes. Please tell me a little bit about yourself. Why do you want this job? Because I want to feed myself. His entire body springs forward a little. Oh? Yeah. I got kicked out the other night. Im not sure what Hunter was thinking, but he insisted on those words exactly. Although they cant be less false. My parents need me for their household chores and for making sure Barbara doesnt cross over to the dark side not completely, anyway. Id have to mess up majorly to be ordered to leave. Im sorry, he mumbles. Its like hes avoiding my eyes. Tell you what, we need a young worker at this place anyway. Ill hire you. Its as if a zillion dreams have come true. So suddenly, I begin to wonder if it really happened did I just get a job? Technically, it wasnt me who got it: Amanda Rose Oslen managed to charm this man into employing her. But its still going to the McAdams family, no matter who I pretend to be. Hunters plan worked. I cant believe it. My entire body wants to jump and down in a repetitive manner, just to show the world how happy I am. Maybe with this extra money Ill be able to afford those new running shoes Ive been wanting forever. Theres every possibility Ill have more money to spend on bubble-gum. But then one sentence makes the air turn cold: May I know your mobile number? My mouth goes dry. For a moment, I cant speak. My minds racking through a zillion excuses I can make: maybe I can tell him my mobiles in repair, or Ive got a new number and havent memorised it yet. But what good would that do? Itll only make him suspicious, possibly to the extent that he doesnt offer me the job after all. I cant give him my mobile number. Because we cant afford a mobile each, we have a single cordless phone at home. No mobiles for us. Hunter, I need help. He wants my mobile number. Almost instantly, I get a reply. Give him this number: 0495289218. I tell him the number. He takes a note of it, giving me a weak smile as I leave through the door. For the first time in the entire day, I relax, finding Hunter sitting at a table with a hamburger. He grins at me. Its obvious what hes saying: I was right, you were wrong. Yeah, okay, you were right, I say, a little grudgingly as I sit opposite of him. He hands me a mobile phone. Here. The number I told you is for this one. Keep it, just in case he calls.

Taking it in my hands, I examine all the scratches. Its not brand new, but its obvious it hasnt been used much. Im about to refuse mostly out of pride but something makes me stop. I hesitate and then pull my hand back in. Thanks. It used to be my mums, he says nonchalantly. Oh? I change the subject. Theres a cold, uncomfortable air I can feel it in my veins. Thank you, though. I just have to ask: how did you manage that fake ID? Mum already had one of them. I just had to print a picture of you, edit it a little, and then attach it on the card. In other words, it was a ready-made fake. He stands up. Lets go buy that packet of bubble-gum I promised you. My feet follow him out the door, and when he looks back, I grin as if to say, Dont worry, I havent forgotten. But when he turns around, my grin fades into something fake and more forced. My smile is uncertain. Theres something very wrong with this scene. Theres something really off about Hunter Steele. Just hanging around him makes me feel uncomfortable, almost waiting for something bad to happen. Im turning into a less serious version of Barbara, which definitely isnt normal. Or something a popular, perfect person would do. And Hunters both a popular and perfect person, right?

CHAPTER NINE
Left. Right. Left. Right. This is the pattern I use while running. I guess everybody uses the same technique; it's virtually impossible to reach a maximum potential while hopping. But I constantly repeat the words "right" and "left" to keep me on task. It's a certain rhythm preventing me from thinking, "This is stupid: I could be resting right now" or "My legs are killing me!" Instead, I focus on nothing but the rhythm of my feet against the grassy ground. Admittedly, ambition isnt the only thing keeping me moving. For another, Coach is hassling me through the field, shouting out insults about my family. Yeah, okay, he means well and always apologises afterwards but still, it gets me so agitated! I often feel like turning back and knocking him to the ground. Which wont be too difficult, seeing as his plump figure mustnt have any exercise for several centuries. Does he recognise the definition of running, or is it another foreign term? McAdams! Go, go, go! His screeching is so loud. I grit my teeth. Move it! I find it pathetic how hes racing around the field on a golf buggy. Somebody shouldve told him this isnt a gold court and maybe somebody did, but he didnt listen. Huh. How typical. But the main thing is, he isnt getting any exercise. I, on the other hand, is wondering if Ill live to see sunrise. As Im running, puffing for air at the same time, I resist the urge to blow a raspberry at Coach. Its weird how nobody knows his name. Hes always coach to me and always will be. Until he dies. Which, after hearing repetitive insults about how my mother flashes everybody, I hope will be soon. Let the man die! Now, now, Bridgette thats not a very nice thought. Shut up, Hunter! Yeah, youre right. I should shut up. Especially since youre working your head off and Im sitting in front of the television, drinking sweet, long sips of ice coffee Shut up. Make me. Shut up. Make me. Ugh, I hate Arthur! After making me slightly satisfied for not letting us exchange unwilling thoughts, its back. The gifts back. Oh, I want to strangle him until Okay, calm down. Youre scaring me. Take deep breaths. In, out.

Id like to see you breathe slowly while youre still running! Its definitely the anger talking. Just calm your farm. Calm my farm? Hunters right about being angry with Coach; I lose it. What am I, Old McDonald? Last I checked, I dont have a farm! Now youre just being ridiculous. I dont reply. The number one reason is Hunter Steele is an impossible person to argue with granted, so is Becca with her endless lectures on why watching wrestling live is better. Oh, and dont get me started on Barbara. Her pessimistic personality is enough to spoil the happiest human on Earth you know, just making him think about death and all. Its kind of gruesome how the second reason is that I just cant be bothered. Gruesome in the aspect us McAdams girls are always tough and fighting for rights but since Im running, the family motto no longer applies to me. If Breena was here, shed powder the most fake foundation on my face oh, the horrors. It makes me shiver just thinking about it. McAdams! If you dont speed up! Get stuffed, old man! I outrun his golf cart and remind myself to lock my windows. * You are so stupid, says Breena as shes painting my nails. I mean, this is Coach were talking about! He'll never let you live after showing cheek! How can you be so idiotic! Tell me, smart one whats his real name? She pokes the air several times in a row, her lips pressing then un-pressing like a fish. Finally, she sighs and admits defeat. I smirk at her, reminding how smartness isnt something she has. She throws a pillow at me (while astonishingly managing not to damage my nails) and I throw it back. Suddenly, its a world where pillows are nuclear weapons and blankets are the only source of shelter. This is what lifes like when Breenas around. And sure, all three of my sisters are supposed to rent their own apartment, but none of them bothers. They earn money and give a very small amount to Mum and Dad about one quarter of an apartment rent. Why not take whatever opportunities in front? And since they dont worry about earning enough money, they focus on their degrees, having severe advantage over others. Ive gotta go to the bathroom, says Breena, grinning. My bladders so weak. I cant wait til you move out. Feeling the love, Sis. She enters the ensuite in my bedroom.

I step out of the bedroom and poke my head out, seeing Mum and Dad at the dinner table. Faking a smile, I fling my arm around the both of them, ready to tell them about my new job. I havent been finding the right moment, but I guess theres no correct time. What is it? My Dads voice is curt, causing me to wrinkle my nose. He puts the newspaper down, peering at me. Bridgette, Ive had enough female daughters to notice a change of aura when theres bad news. Theres a pause. Or when moneys about to be taken. So if you want any cash, you aint getting it from me. Mum rolls her eyes and tries to smile. You kay? Yeah. I just got a job. What? Who hired you? Mum, its not much of a deal. I mean, Breena, Becca and Barbara all have jobs! They look like your father and on top of that, they dyed their hair, taking out the full Finland genes outta them! Nobody remotely relates them to me. But you youre like my clone! How did you manage it? Amazing. My own mother has no faith in my abilities. I suppose I shouldve seen this coming; if it was vice versa, Id be disbelieving towards her news. It wouldve been a shock for sure. However, Im not my mother. Im perfectly capable of getting a job without help. Only, I didnt do it without help: Hunter helped me the tiniest, slightest, littlest Dont flatter yourself, says an annoying voice, and the last thing Im wishing to hear. Im the whole reason you got it. Face it, you just have to tell her the truth. Theres this new thing called lying. Maybe you should try it someday? Whats the matter with you? Ever since I helped you with the job, youve been nothing but rude. Thats the thanks I get? I ignore him. Im perfectly capable of getting a job, Mum. Who hired you? Oh, Naomis dad. I forget his name. But you know, the girl you once babysat 'cause there weren't any babysitters left that night? Her eyebrows shoot up. That guy threw my math assignment in the boys toilet in seventh grade. Ah. Typical. The unpopular, hated gene runs in our family. Why couldnt I have my fathers genetics? He wasnt exactly popular, but he had his moments of fame. Like when the electricity broke and there was this really important assembly, and he used his abilities to fix it. Yeah, he shone a couple of times. But my mother? She was good at nothing; she doesnt even have any friends. In her yearbook, there are comments like, Dear Aina, even though I sat next to you for all of primary school and high school, I didnt talk to you. Sorry. You seemed like a cool person which makes me wonder what people

who didnt sit next to her wrote. Anyhow, I hate how they write things they dont mean. If somebodys genuinely an interesting person, surely a person might spare a couple of minutes to hear them out? Guess the whole blonde hair and blue eyes package didnt work for my mother, either. Okay, Ill tell you. You know Hunter Steele? That guy you think is evil? Becca walks in the kitchen, carrying a glass of water the only thing she can make without messing it up. Of course, there was a time where she ran hot water and burned herself. The one whos popular, smart, athletic and since girls are attracted to those qualities, they find him physically attractive? I stuff garlic bread in my mouth. Yup. Thats the one. Anyway, he got this I trail off. No, its too personal to tell them about the fake ID. Even if Hunters annoying me beyond reason, I dont have any right telling him off letting my parents know remotely about his past. I clear my throat. He told me to pretend I was homeless. Apparently, homelessness is something which Naomis father takes pity on, and yeah. Got the job. They didnt ask me any questions; I wasnt willing to answer any further ones. So it was a win-win situation. That is, until Dad said, That was quite nice of this guy to help you out. Invite him to dinner. My mother speaks up. Whatre you trying to do, freak out the poor boy? No, dont ask him to dinner its just too much. Hell think were weak or something; and weakness is something the McAdams family just doesnt do. I say to invite him. Breena enters the scene, placing her bottle of nail polish on beside the television set. Im willing to bet shell forget where she left it and rampage the whole house later. Nothings too much here. They all turn to me. I sigh. Two against one: Ill invite him. What, dont have an opinion of your own? Becca, I hate the guy. Theres not a day in my life where I dont dream about sending him under a vacuum cleaner and sucking his eyeballs out. And when theyre out, I imagine playing ping pong with them, watching them dance around from one bat to the other. When the bats are all soggy and disgusting, Ill put them under his gravestone and dance on it, laughing like a My family looks as if theyre about to experience a stroke. Ill, uh, go and phone him. I go to my bedroom. Fortunately, thats all I have to do. I dont even have to pick up a phone! My parents want you to come over. Yeah, I got that. Oh, and a little something about you wanting to murder me. Now, I believe you didnt quite finish your sentence about the whole laughing like a Are you coming or not? Maybe. Promise not to poison my tea? What makes you think Im even going to offer you food?

Ha. Ill be there. Theres a pause. Why are you being so bitter? I mean, youve always been snarky, but it was a nice kind. Now youre just being ridiculously unfriendly. Just shut up. I dont care if you helped me get the job or not; it doesnt mean Im going to treat you any differently. Theres a purposeful pause. Hows Sarah going? I dont want to talk about it. No, tell me. Its just so awkward. I mean, I like her and everything: I just need her to go out with me. Im not going to help you. I mean, I told you before there arent two people more wrong like you and Sarah. Gee, thanks. And anyway, your best friend has mutual love for her. Why dont you just forget about her? Thats the thing: I try to pretend Im over her. But Im not. Like, even when I try to pretend I do stuff just to annoy her, its basically well not planned out to irritate. You know how they say in every person there are two genders? Yeah? You have to be a girl. Youre far too sensitive. Ask her out or get over it. I dont hear a reply. Just a mild cursing of language my mother would frown upon, and my father would encourage. Bridgette: 1 | Hunter: 0

CHAPTER TEN
My jaw drops open when Hunter admits he loves Phoebe Clearwaters music. He doesnt mean to it just slips out in his mind. Its petrifying because she sings country music. And if thats not bad enough, theyre religious and filled with secret messages. Everybody hates her. On her last tour, a group of bikies set fire to her stage. They hate the idea of having somebody remotely sane in this world. And though Id never admit it either, I love her music as well. I never thought Id have something in common with Hunter, though. Thats definitely something I dont want to think about. But the connections there; Im just too stubborn to accept it. Is there anything else we share interest in? If so, I may have to change my entire personality. Perhaps even burn my soul with boiling hot water. When I sit with Sarah, she gives me a quick smile before lusting over Owen. I still dont see the attraction. Hes just another bulky looking kid, with pale blue eyes which makes him look deadly. But she obviously sees something more than his oily hair, toothy smile and shortness. I just cant share the same interest. We have English together, she says. Hooray for the lack of high schoolers who actually do English! We can all fit into one class. She begins droning on about how easy this assignments going to be. Just get into pairs, choose a song and interpret it. Apparently, she has done things like this with her father, which makes me frown. Why does she overrule any short amount of pleasure my life contains? Is it part of her aura? Her personality? No wonder Hunter has/had an impossible crush on her. Come to think of it, what happened to their relationship? I cringe. When he comes to dinner today, Im probably going to ask him. If his death-glare doesnt murder me first, of course. Her eyes keep flickering between me and Owen, like she doesnt know where to look. Yeah um, are you ever going to ask Owen out? Her head snaps to me. Are you insane? Of course not! Whatever. Theres a pause. Oh, if you really want to, work with Owen. Her eyes light up. And thats when I realise how much Im sacrificing. I really shouldve thought this through before offering, because she begins babbling about how great I am. And how she never had a better friend. It makes me feel uncomfortable with the remote idea I might take my words back. Yes, Ill end up working with Hunter, but what else can I say to somebody who says such pleasant things? Darn you, Sarah. You know exactly how to pull somebodys strings. Do I want to know?

Not really. Except the fact that Sarahs about to approach Owen I watch her grin at him, her hands behind her back. She says something, he replies, And before I know it, shes kicking Hunter out of his chair and moving ever-so-sweetly into it. How lovely. Shes kind of impossible to miss, eh? Tell me about it. But who am I supposed to work with now? Theres a pause (terrifying for Hunter) as he registers the situation. Oh no. No, no. Im already having dinner at your house Im already wonder if I make it out alive. I dont need this! I dont want to work with you! Sheesh, calm down. Just find somebody else to work with. Why do you think Im panicking? There is nobody else left! Slowly, his eyes lock upon mine. Theres an expression of sheer horror on his face, and Im too busy drowning myself in sorrow to enjoy this moment. A moment where Hunter Steele isnt as perfect as he thinks he is. Then again, he never really considered himself perfect to start with. So its not much of a win. Anyway, Im ashamed to admit this wasnt an enjoyable moment. Especially when the teacher made eye-contact with both of us. I couldve vomited right then. It was the signal. The one which confirmed both our worst nightmares and combined them into one, huge one. Which immediately increases the situation to double-embarrassment. Hunter and I exchanged stares. He walks over, sitting beside me. Might as well suck it up. Were doing this together. He twists his body around to face the teacher. Hey, Miss, are we presenting this to anybody? Nope, she replies without looking up. Grinning, Hunter says, Well, thats that were doing Phoebe Clearwater. * I cant say working with Hunter was a bad thing. No, it was worse than bad. It was, like, mega-bad. Especially when he kept going onwards, yelling at the top of his lungs about how Phoebe meant certain things at certain aspects. Of course, in order to have an opinion of my own, I needed to shout. So we ended up in a screaming frenzy. Which didnt run through too well with the teacher, who raised a finger to her lips. It looked even more threatening with her thin, slightly curved index. In order to live through the night, I shot Hunter a look. He seemed to understand, and lowered his voice by adding more ridiculous statements to the conversation. Things which didnt even make sense, let alone fit in meaning with the song. It was torture. I wanted to run up to Sarah, fall to my knees and declare an explanation on what Ive possibly done to deserve this. Barbara is probably getting heavy signals something is wrong in the world, while she runs around the house and screams. As usual, Mum and Dad will ignore her. Everybody has learned to drown her dark bursts of thought with forced laughter. Ultimately, Becca would raise her fist and declare war. This will only make Barbara want to shriek even more, as shed run to her room and begin cursing us all with scented candles and a plush black kitten. My sisters are so weird.

And yet, keeping my mind on them doesnt make Hunter disappear from my world. I watch as his lips press together and then open wide. I study him. He looks like a fish with his mouth gaping like that. I wonder whatd happen if I steal one of Dads many fishing hooks and attach it to the roof of his mouth. Surely the result would be better than the torture Im enduring. Whats more, he wears braces so it already looks like hes wearing a zillion fish hooks. For normal people, braces look cute. For Hunter, it makes it look like somethings eating his mouth alive. Maybe this is another reason people started liking him maybe it was all out of pity. No, theres no maybe in that sentence; his whole popularity is consisted of compassion. My mother was the social reject. Shouldnt I be one of the most popular girls at this school? Truthfully, Ive figured out why popularity means so much to me. I want somebody who understands me how better to find that somebody when Im famous? Well, school-wide, anyway. However, when Hunter and I suddenly exchange thoughts, I feel as if I might puke. Preferably all over his nice new sneakers, which wouldve cost a fortune. I stare at them. For a long, long time. And then recognition attacks me like a jolt of electricity, causing all the hairs on my arm to stand. Those are the new running shoes; the ones I wanted from my parents since I was ten, then forgetting about them in the last six years. But I recognise them now. And another strike of self-hate spreads over me. Does he realise how long Ive cried myself to sleep, wanting those sneakers so badly? I thought they wouldve made me run faster faster than lightning, as claimed by that television advertisement which most likely was factually incorrect. But no. My father could barely afford our living, let alone another pair of shoes. The only reason our house is not a one-bedroom apartment is because its my grandfathers: he left it for us, because he knew my father didnt have the mental capacity for schoolwork. Its not that he didnt put in the effort: his brain just couldnt take it all in. I cant thank my grandfather enough. Even though hes dead somewhere, a part of him lives on. Right in our very house, because Breenas bedroom (not that she uses it much seeing as she goes to college and all) was where Grandfather used to sit by the fireplace, reading books. And thats why Phoebe Clearwaters song Possibly, Maybe, Selfishly is about her parents divorcing, and her talking to God about it. Hunter grins, his metal-teeth showing. I remember when he first got them braces and Sarah was beyond freaked. Even though she knew the guy for so long, she couldnt approach him. All because of her silly little fear of metal, which I still dont understand. I think it has something to do with her auntie dying from tetanus a disease which is caused when wood/rust/metal goes in the blood. It causes the spinal cord to stiffen, so the person is resulted staring up at the ceiling. Bam. Im back to reality, with a smug Hunter facing me. He probably thinks he made the best argument ever. Its just too bad I didnt listen to a single word he said. My brain zoned out for so long, I dont even remember hearing his arguments. Not a single bit of them. And though I should ask him to repeat it, Im certain hell add more to his previous argument, making it even more painful. So I just nod and sigh. Perfect. So thats what were doing: a person has their parents divorced, so theyre looking for God.

Yeah, okay. Whatever. I take my laptop out. Our school supports laptops, but the thing is, half the internet is blocked. No social networking place for me. Im just going to re-check the lyrics. Theres a pause. I catch Hunter staring hesitantly. What? I, um I heard your family was, you know, not as fortunate. He clearly looks uncomfortable. So if youre really, uh, low on your budget, then you really dont have to invite me for dinner. Its totally cool. I grin. This must be a shock to him, because hes darting questionable looks. I answer his mental questions by saying, Idiot. As if you can get out of being poisoned that easily. I drop the humourous, light-hearted tone. Thanks, I guess. For considering us. But that whole poor thing has passed. My dad found some job where he gets money, even without education. Oh. He looks relieved. And also, if you dont mind, how did you afford this expensive private school even at those difficult times? My grandfather left, like, a hundred-thousand dollars for us but made Dad promise it would go towards nothing but education. He nods and I feel guilty. Like, ridiculously guilty. I dont know if Im capable of feeling this much, but Im feeling it right now. Its like a thousand spikes and being pinched into my skin at the same time. Its not a good feeling, trust me. I feel as if Ive been disloyal in some sort of way. Hunter listened throughout my whole speech. I didnt offer him that when he was talking my ear off, providing evidence for why Phoebe had secret messages within her songs. But didnt I just completely irritate his ear-drums with my sentimental, sappy yet short speech? So why cant I lend him an ear, just this very once? Am I that selfish to have somebody listen but not return the favour? No. Thats what Ive decided. Im not that kind of person and Ill never be. So I say words which chill me to the core. Hunter, you know when you were talking about Phoebe Clearwater? I wasnt exactly listening. Sorry. Can you repeat it for me? Theres a wicked glint in his eyes. Sure thing. Only, Im one of those people who cant repeat something without going slower than the first time around I brace myself for this. Go ahead. Im ready. And I was. I was ready to listen to whatever Hunter Steele had to say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hes coming over. The devils arriving any second now, and I havent showered. If I walk out with sweat pouring all over me, hell think we truly are unfortunate. Suddenly, theres a spark of anger rushing through my nerves. Why does he take me as helpless? Ive had enough of his niceness to last me a lifetime. Which is why I enter the shower, putting extra conditioner through my hair and wearing my most expensive clothes. Then again, Im certain he cant separate good from bad when it comes to clothes. If he could, why does he always wear that bracelet on his hand? Its ugly. Red and brown with a touch of sickening, vomit green. Not only do the colours match, but it proves pretty useless. Whats the history behind that bracelet? Oh wait. Thats right. I dont care! When I sit at the dinner table, Im drinking a glass of water. Trying to look casual. Which isnt working, because Barbara clutches her head the minute she enters the kitchen never a good sign. I sigh. What is it? Youre giving off vibes of trying too hard. She grins at me. Somehow, a smile creeps on my face. Sometimes I forget Barbaras pessimistic thoughts are only half of who she is. She also has a sense of humour however, its very rare she shows it. So Im one of the few people to catch her in a good the world has a lot to go before ending mood. Im not sure if that makes me lucky or if it gives me more disappointment when she returns to her own self. Theres a knock at the door. Breena answers it while Dad sits at his seat. Mums brining over all our food at the table. Barbaras good mood has disappeared, and shes now clutching her forehead for the fifteenth time. Beccas charging Breenas batteries for her before taking her seat at the dinner table. Hunter walks in. He grins at us all. Pretending hes not there, I swallow a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Hey, B-Epic. I choke on my potatoes. What? Get it? B-Epic? Like be epic? He laughs. Nobody else joins in. I swear some crickets are chirping in the background. Never mind. Mum points to a spare seat on the table, beside Breena. Unfortunately, Breena has devilish plans of her own, as she motions for Becca to sit next to her. Becca, who was sitting next to me previously, leaves her seat vacant. Hunter sits down. Beside me. I try my hardest not to scream. Its bad enough having English with him even worse to have him as a partner. But this? Him sitting next to me while I stuff my mouth with potatoes? Doesnt anybody realise how damaging this is to my reputation? Am I

suddenly not worth caring about anymore? Ignoring these rhetorical questions, I stuff my mouth with peas, and for the first time in ten years, chew with my mouth closed. Becca raises an eyebrow. I look the other way, pretending I didnt see her smug expression. So. Thank you for having me over. Mum smiles. Youre welcome. Bridgettes told us a lot of She pauses. Wonderful things about you. Really? He turns to me. No mention of vacuum cleaners and murdering souls? Theres a silence. Suddenly, everybodys laughing at once. Not a shy sort of laughter, but hearty and strong. Pieces of food flies out from Dads mouth and lands on Breena, who, in between fits of giggles, swears shell boil herself in ten minutes. Beccas banging her arm against the table and almost chopping it apart. Even Barbara, whos too preoccupied in the aspect of doomsday, is cacking like a witch. Everybodys laughing. All except Hunter and me. Whats so funny? I say. At the same time, he says, Did I miss something? Oh, its nothing. My mum coughs several times in a row, requiring my father to slap her on the back. She calms down. Her face is still read, though. Its just, me and my husband had a bet: the next person to say vacuum cleaner has to clean the whole house. After inspecting Hunters horrified face, she quickly adds, Were not going to make you do it really! Okay Hes still freaked out. Then why was um He points to Becca and she offers her name. Becca laughing so loudly? Breena speaks up. Me, Becs and Barbara just like the phrase murdering souls. I dunno it just really speaks to us. I bite my lip, fighting a smile. Hunter doesnt fight it: he grins openly and nods, letting us know hes not inquiring any further. Which makes all the McAdams family sight in relief and get back to dinner. Dad starts a conversation on football and, surprisingly, Hunter jumps in. He says something about a favourite player of his, and how he signed the ugly bracelet hes wearing. This makes me frown. So besides Hunter, theres actually somebody else whod even consider signing such an ugly piece of material? Apparently so. And then my father and Hunter begin debating whos the best team in the league, leaving all the females out of the conversation. Becca, who plays football in her spare time, tries to cut in but never succeeds. Shes forgotten. My father is too busy bonding with one of the most popular guys at school. Can my life get any better? After their debate ends, Hunter turns to me. I was meaning to ask: how come all of you have names beginning with B?

Mum grins. This is her favourite question. Breenas full name is Sabrina, Beccas full name is Rebecca. And Bridgette and Barbara well theyre just Bridgette and Barbara. Its much easier on the tongue to call them names starting with B. Hunter laughs. So theres nobody in this family without a B in their name? Theres silence. Mum and Dad suddenly find interest in their fingernails. Becca starts squeaking about football, but nobody hears her. We all know shes trying to change the subject, but its not working. As if even possible, Barbaras clutching at her head even more tightly, while Breenas covering her face with a napkin. She might be crying behind it, but I dont know. Realising he touched a nerve, Hunter turns to the last person: me. I look away, unable to meet his eyes. * McAdams. I hear my surname, but I keep walking. Keep calm, Bridgette. Pretend hes not there. The school hallways are empty so early in the morning which makes it even harder to avoid him. Especially when the slightest pin-drop can break the silence. I keep my face staring straight ahead, which isnt high sometimes, the shortness of my height annoys me to an endless level. My hearts skipping beats. I keep walking. McAdams wait up! Ignoring the voice, I take a left turn. I know about Eva. This makes me stop dead at my tracks. My blood just turned cold, my forehead suddenly increasing in temperature. Why am I feeling so exposed, so frustrated? Theres something about my steps as I turn around, looking straight into Hunters face. Only then do I realise whats wrong: my legs are heavy, as if theres metal attached to them. Like Im carrying all this weight around. All this unnecessary, unneeded weight Do you really? I try to sound confident, but my voice breaks mid-sentence. I clear my throat. Do you really? Yeah Oh, then I suppose you know its my fault she died. What? I laugh. Its unintentional, but seeing the innocent curiosity on Hunters face makes me want to giggle. He really shouldnt get caught up in this hes going to regret it. And somehow, I believe he doesnt have many worries already. Him and his perfect home-life. So I decide giving him something to think about is legit.

I was the one she turned to when she was about to get murdered. I left my phone off. Shed always scold me about turning it off, and Id pretend I didnt hear her. She told me something could be really important, which couldnt wait for voicemail. But I ignored her. I dont like where this is going. Yeah? Me neither. I still cant believe it happened. I take a deep breath. So one day, Eva didnt come home. This wasnt unusual she was probably staying over at a friends house. But she never stayed over somebodys house without telling us first; it just wasnt like her. Even if she was dead-drunk. So, after another night and no sign, we searched for her. And then I turned on my phone. Voicemail from her? His voice is all quiet. His hands trembling, as if not sure whether to assure me. Deciding against it, he pulls his hand away. Yeah. It was her. She was yelling out about how theres a man downstairs, and shes dead scared. She says she didnt like the way he was looking at her; apparently, it was as if he was waiting. So the next day, we checked at her university. We found her hair extensions on the second floor. And about three kilometres from the university, we found her bones buried deep in a hole. Wow. Yeah. I smile wistfully. Wow. Theres a pause. Well, uh I cant really do anything. But if you want, Ill visit her grave with you. Thats when I snap. Dont interfere with my life! This definitely wasnt the response he was expecting. Perhaps a mumbled, No or a thankful Yes. But Ive been known to react in an unexpected way. Hunter opens his mouth to say something, but Im already running to the track court. As suspected, he chases me down while yelling my name. My teeth are gritting in concentration; I need to do whatever it takes not to stop, not to turn back. I need to run towards hope. So I fish through my pocket, while continuing to run, and find my MP3 player tucked. I plug the headphones in my ear and close my eyes, seeing darkness but having sunlight creep through my eyelids. Phoebe Clearwater blasts through my headphones, the second song she ever created: Stop It Cause Im Losing It Stop trying to understand me Dont you go underestimating me I wont lose it: I have spoken Its the only song which describes how Im feeling. Although I cant quite put my feelings in words, Im still running. Running because I dont want to stay back; I dont want to spend time trying to convert my feelings. Theres no point. Even if somebody hears my every thought (speaking of which, I havent heard Hunters thoughts in a while now) it doesnt mean they care. And even if they do, its not caring: its just pity. Plain, raw and spited pity.

And thats the last thing I want. So I continue running, like I always do. Not running away from something, exactly. I wouldnt care if Hunter caught up to me. But I wouldnt let him slow me down: I want to sprint to my destination. What it is, I have no idea, but I need to get somewhere. Theres nothing wrong with the life Im living: Im perfectly content with it. However, I want to run somewhere else. Just another place. Im probably never going to find another area as wonderful as home. I cant be certain though, can I? As I continue sprinting, Im too busy focussing on my music. Hunters loud yells are a blur to me, and I wonder when hes going to give up. Of course, it might take him a while: hes a runner, so catching up to me is easier than Id like to admit. It makes me wonder: if he puts some effort into it, maybe hell catch up to me. Beat me, even. This idea horrifies me, so I turn up the music. The buzzing of the music is beating against my eardrums, almost hypnotising. So attention-grabbing, I dont see a large rock buried beneath a pile of leaves.

CHAPTER TWELVE
I guess theres something seriously embarrassing about falling down. Especially over a large rock which is impossible to miss. And though I expected Hunter to laugh, Im surprised to find how worried he looks. It doesnt change the fact this is really embarrassing. I can feel my cheeks flushing to a bright scarlet colour, and uncontrollable tears rolling down. Honestly, I wish this was a running race where Im so caught up in my own world, Im more than happy to lie down for a second and cry properly. And even after my waterworks, Id win first place. But this isnt a running race. Lift isnt all about running. Unfortunately, that means I have no idea how to react when Im crying for no reason and have no prize to win. Its a matter of confusion, actually like I dont know which way to go. My hatred for Hunter increases to a double. Why does he, out of all the villains invading my life, have to see me cry and not get up? Usually when I cry during a race, I fish the first prize and my tears are then forgotten. However, this is never going to be a race. Theres nothing I can do to stop this it endless. Whats more, he angered me beyond reason with his comforting words. McAdams, do you need a hand? Go away. I stand up. My ankle almost gives in, but for the sake of pride, I stand up properly and meet him face-to-face. Well, not exactly face-to-face, seeing as Im a quarter of the size he is. Its all okay. I can run and walk perfectly. What? Youve got practice with coach tomorrow. You cant run! Dont care. Are you that stupid? I watch, astonished, as he babbles on with anger glinting on her face. Our roles have switched. Suddenly, Im not the one completely mad at him; the situations vice versa. Do you honestly never want to run again? Youre giving up all of it for pride? Im about to turn away, but he fastens a grip of my shoulder. Do you want to never run again? Never. Run. Again. The three words give me instant shivers. And though I try to ignore them, I cant. Sometimes, the solution for a problem exists for the sole purpose of me taking it. I cant ever imagine being trapped in a wheelchair, all because of me and my stupidity. Am I the kind of girl who turns my solution into a problem? Also, maybe he is right. I dont quite believe it myself, but maybe my ankle really is badly injured. Perhaps Im setting myself up for a life without running. Without victory, without tears without being the number one at something, and watching envious-Hunter come at second place. Forever and always. I swallow my pride away and look down. Hunter takes the hint and lets me put my arm around his neck. He says I can lean in more, but I dont. Mainly because all my pride has drained into the toilet and though theres nothing left of it, I still like to think there is. So I start complaining about how he should take regular showers, while he rolls his eyes and tells me school mightve started already.

It suddenly occurs to me, as shameful as this sounds, that schools on. I feel as if its the last thing on my mind, especially with everything else rolling around. Hunter leads me up the stairs and into the Sick Bay, where they release me to my regular classes with Sarah helping my limping body all day. The nurse said Ill have to check up with a doctor, seeing as my ankles heavily injured. It suddenly strikes me just how much damage an unseen rock can do. * Ready for your doctors appointment? says Hunter with a grin on his face. It disappears immediately when Sarah appears right behind me. Theres a moment of awkwardness. Its as if both of them forgot how to speak. Um Hi. Sarah looks equally uncomfortable. Yeah. Hi. She does a small little wave, which expands the awkwardness rather than decrease it. So. I told Bridgette that I cant take her to the doctors, seeing as I have piano. And her mother thinks theres no point of Bridge going all the way home and coming all the way back like, you know how far it is, right? She babbling. Hunter senses this and interrupts her with, Yeah. I know. He grabs my sleeve and gives a gentle tug. Cmon, McAdams. Why do you never call anybody by their first names? This is the first Sarah-like sentence Ive heard from her in days. Bursting with confidence, with an edge of judgemental. Shell have no problem visibly wrinkling her nose if the wrong answer is given. I mean, you didnt call me by my first name at the dance but that And suddenly, her confidence vanishes. Its like shes a completely different person. That was different. Yeah. I guess it was. He clearly has no intention of answering Sarahs question. My best friend doesnt ask twice, as she gives both of us a tight smile and walks towards her bus-stop. It must be ages before any public transport looks twice at our school. Im surprised we even have a transport service in first place. Wow. Shes so pretty. And hell has entered. I can read your mind. So can I. Well, duh. For your information, normal people dont read each others mind. So dont you duh me. Its just like old times. Only, I find myself wishing I was out of his mind. Again. What changed to make him and I mindreading couples once more? I mean, I didnt mind Hunter too much when he was a normal person. Actually, thats a lie I still hated him. But he didnt know it. For that small amount of time where neither of us could predict the other, it was peace at last. I almost felt as if we could be good acquaintances.

But no. Nothing ever works out for me. Might as well suck it up and continue this living torture. I know this is a random question, McAdams, but why arent you freaked out about the whole mindreading business? Huh? What makes you think Im not freaking out? When I first knew I could read your mind, I almost did a double-flip. And I suck at gymnastics, so we both know it wasnt of joy. You, however, seem to take it in a, Oh great. Im reading Hunters mind again. Hey, is that chocolate? kind of attitude. Seriously, whats with that? Suddenly, I realise Hunters right beside me. So I do the semi-normal thing Ive done in years, and whack him in his upper-arm. Immediately, he flinches away. Huh. Baby. What was that for? For assuming I dont have any feelings. You get angry at the littlest things! At least I can talk to Sarah without looking like a complete loser. Leave her out of it! Never. There is a pause as we both stop at our tracks. We glare at each other. It wouldve been a better argument if we said it aloud, but somehow both of us are too outraged to consider it an option. By the way Hunters looking at me like he wants to, well, hunt me down with a shotgun I have a feeling more of my body-parts are going to break before any get fixed. To my surprise, he exhales loudly. Okay. Fine. Its your turn to ask me a question. Its like a moth just flew into my mouth. Out of pure shock, I begin coughing while my body-guard grumbles, hitting me on the back to prevent my choking from increasing. This really wasnt my idea of friendship. Or anything, really. Even I wouldve expect Sarah and I to have such a weird, wacky relationship and shes pretty much the queen of freaky. What? I think, when Ive finally stopped choking and gathered enough energy. What whatre you talking about? Ask me a question. Ill answer it. Thats it? Youre not going to cut me into pieces and organ-donate my body? Unlike you, I have a more natural approach to arguments; I let the other person have it. And no, Im not going to organ-donate your body. It infuriates me when he uses her fingers to make air-speech-marks. Im more tolerant, thank you very much. Alright. Fine. Ill think of one.

We both walk towards the doctors chamber in silence. Well, Hunters walking and I limp, holding onto his sleeve the slightest and not even wanting to do that much. Im not his Damsel in Distress. I dont need saving, even if he refuses to let me walk on my own. Which, admittedly, I cant do. Not without falling over with the hazard of breaking more body-parts. So I have a loose grip on his sleeve. Suddenly, I stop. He stops also. I was thinking about what Sarah said why do you refer to people by their last name? He sighs. I just dont like giving people the pleasure of them thinking they know me and I know them. It, uh, creates this wall between us. Why? Theres no mistaking the buzzing noise. The same high and then low pitched sound which never ceases to make me wince. And, like Sarah, I dont question further about his motives and thoughts. If he doesnt want to tell me, its either something really private or something better left unknown. But it still doesnt stop making me feel curious. Finally, were at the doctors chamber. Hunter opens the door for me, while I ungracefully limp into the room. Its a small waiting room, filled with patients with supposed all kinds of diseases. Or maybe theyre enduring the same broken-body-parts condition as I am. The receptionist takes my name and looks me up on the database. Its confirmed. I have a card which cuts off all cost of hospital care. I thank the receptionist and take my place in the waiting room. Because theres only one doctor, Im certain itll be a long time before Im called up, so I dont rush anything. About an hour later, Im called to the room. Hunter comes along with me. I almost insist that he doesnt, but he follows me. As if Ive ever listened to you before, he says to me. Theres a slight smile on his lips. Cmon. Lets get this over with. The doctor inspects me, saying its some sort of fracture. Or something like that. Im not listening to him, even though I should. Hunter, however, is doing enough listening for the both of us. I almost giggle aloud at his serious, quizzical expression but manage to control it. But the decisions final in order for full recovery, crutches are needed. Which is why I walk out of the doctors chamber looking smaller, more crippled and lonely than ever before. It doesnt help my reputation when somebody as tall as Hunter the type who blocks out the sun and makes me want to punch him down. Preferably do damage with a knife, also. These thoughts circulating my mind are too violent. My father would be proud. So would Becca. But theres something weird about how we walked to school in silence. Me waiting for the next bus to catch home; Hunter waiting beside me cause Im injured. His house is right round the corner. He can ditch me if he wants to after all, Im never a Damsel in Distress. But somehow, hes sitting far away, close enough to make me frown. You can go home, you know. And leave you behind, helpless and injured? Im not a complete monster. Im not helpless and injured!

But youre my friend. That almost makes me choke on saliva. No, Im not! He doesnt say anything. Not even the usual, Yes, I am! He just looks down and smiles. And it not a smile I like, because its implying hes wiser than me. Which is probably true, but I dont like that expression anyway. And somehow, his silence is worse than if he started an argument.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Im hopping, limping and failing all three at the same time. Is this even possible? Failing at three categories at the identical time? Apparently it is, because I seem to be achieving it. Whats more, people are staring at me. Its a sight to see: the worlds shortest girl on crutches. Somebody, get a camera to preserve this moment for the rest of eternity. Which I suppose a lot of the school photography club is doing right now, judging by how Owen is eyeing me with a glint in his eye. Hes evil. What does Sarah do but see good in him? Oh wait, thats right: nobody is quite right in the head when it comes to love. At least, what she considers love. All my books are piled under my arms, reminding me a lot of theEifelTower. Im ashamed to admit my piles of books are taller than I am. Perhaps twice the height. Does this make me even shorter than normal? Sarah thinks so, because shes covering her mouth to prevent herself from laughing. She comes up to me and takes all my books. Count on you to hurt yourself. Anyway, what do you have first up? She has Religion and History with me, Hunter interjects. Even now, its just plain awkward with the two of them remotely a metre apart. He clears his throat and gently takes the books off Sarahs hands. I watch her hands fall to her side, limped, and a little unwilling to ever help me again just in case it puts her in the same awkward position. Yeah. Okay Its still awkward. Not as awkward as when Hunter turns to her and blurts out, Will you go out with me? Just as Hunter says this, Owen comes around the corner. He hasnt heard any of the discussion, or else he wouldnt be as cheerful as he is right now. He says hello to Sarah and high-fives Hunter with a huge grin on his face. Both of them exchange glances, shifting a little with uncomfortableness. Neither of them want to hurt Owen. Thats when I realise, relieved, that neither of them will be hurting him. After all, Sarah doesnt like Hunter that way. She has feelings for Owen. Well, last time I checked anyway. Owen wont be getting hurt because Sarah has all the power to say no and move on with life. Maybe Hunter might accomplish this moving on aspect as well although I doubt it. Yes. Wait, did I hear that correctly? Hunter grins at her. His braces are glinting against the sun. Ive always wanted braces mainly because my teeth are like a picket fence, pointing out in all directions. But Ive always been scared about them hurting, so Ive decided against it. At least, thats the reasoning I give to Sarah, who still hasnt stopped scolding me. Stuff like, Quit being a baby! Honestly, I dont care if it hurts. There is, however, something unnatural about braces. When Im caught back to reality, Im suddenly aware Sarah said yes. Shes grinning right at Hunter. And I swear, theres some sort of spark flittering between the both of them. It makes me sick to the bone. Fortunately, Owen

looks more confused and doesnt see the tiny glimmer of a spark. Although I have to think to myself: why did Sarah say yes? No, Im not thinking. Thinking doesnt make ones eyes bulge until theyre ready to pull their hair out. Im demanding an answer; scurrying through my tremendous frustration to reach a point of understanding. Theres no words to explain how out of it I am right now. Of course, clueless Owens just standing there, not even aware of the question Hunter asked. I He asked me out. I swear I heard a pin-drop. Thats how eerie the silence is. Owens eyes feast on Hunters face, as if biting away every layer of skin with his eyes. His stare then turns to Sarah. Then back to Hunter. Until, finally, he cant look at either of them. So he does the most unlike-Owen thing Ive ever witnessed: he runs. Just like Hunter and I, he finds some sort of comfort in running away or towards something. But theres confusion: hes not running towards or away from something. If he was running away from something, he wouldve been sprinting. Hes just jogging. Gently. Its impossible to even consider something dramatic happened to his life a few seconds ago: something which would change his entire perspective of trust, friendship and school. He doesnt have an aim or a goal. Hes not running away from something, or running towards something. Hes running in circles. The weirdest thing is, Im the one who takes off after him on my crutches. Admittedly, Im not fast at all with them weighing me down. But Im not his best friend. Or his best girl-friend who couldve been something more than just friends. Instead, Im the one who snaps out of this illusion first and chases after him (with huge heavy cutches) which, honestly, didnt take too long. Hes not exactly the fastest runner. Im the one going after him when two of the most important people in his life stand a metre apart, starting a more valuable relationship of their own. One without him. And what am I to him? Nothing. Just a stranger. * After school ends, I scoop things from my locker and pour them in my bag, making sure to bring home everything required for homework. Rushing, I sling my bag over one shoulder and try not to wince at how painful it is. Perhaps Im an amazing athlete (if I may say so myself), but a weight-lifter I am not. Which is just perfect, because Hunter arrives around the corner with his arm around Sarahs waist. I pretend I dont see it. Just as well, because I havent heard any of his thoughts all day. Hey, McAdams. Hunter removes his arm from her waist and takes my bag. Ill carry it for you.

As if making the biggest point ever, I clutch my bag back and walk towards the bus-stop. Not before giving Sarah the dirtiest look Ive ever given. It works perfectly, because there is both guilt and uncomfortableness on her face this, she tries to disguise, but I can see right through her. She knows how hurt Owen is: for the first time in his life, a girl actually pays attention to him. So, predictably, he develops feelings for her. And to watch it all fall apart and by his best friend, too. Maybe its none of my business. After all, Owens not my friend: hes a stranger. But I cant help turn around. Sarah, I guess I expected this kind of stuff from you. Giving people false hope. All. The. Time. Wasnt that what you did to Hunter at first? Youre acting as if Im the bad guy in this! For goodness sake, I had a minor crush on Owen. If he thought it was going anywhere, then, well, he was wrong! Youre right, Sarah. I cant keep the condescending tone away. Its like a mosquito: it keeps coming back. You arent the bad guy. You are, Hunter. What? You heard me. You betrayed your best friend. How-? The only reason Owen liked Sarah was because of how she paid him special attention. And I didnt get in the middle of it cause she liked him too. Liked. They exchange a small smile. I swear I hear wedding bells ringing. Quite frankly, the idea of getting a chainsaw and slashing all of them down along with Hunter and Sarah themselves is appealing. Neither of them are realising how theyre in the wrong. They shouldnt hurt Owen. No matter how gross and disgusting I think he is, he still doesnt deserve pain. I wouldnt wish it on my worst enemy. Yknow, Im going to leave you two losers here. Losers? Yeah. Because not only have you lost Owen as a friend, you lost me too. Then, as if to finish the dramatic speech, I storm out of the school hallways and head towards the bus-stop. This isnt easy with my crutches, but believe me: I try. I honestly dont think theyve lost both of us. For all I know, Owens probably out there, shrugging and eating cheeseburgers. Probably babbling, in his mind, about how wrong he was. Then theyre most likely going to make it up between the three of them tomorrow. And, for the record, neither of them lost me either. Sarahs always been my friend. Hunter, however, may have. My minds too twisted to think clearly. But something tells me I dont want a backstabber the kind who dates ones crush as a friend. Thats just too far-fetched. Not to mention, the idea of them going out in first place is just plain bad. Something rolls around in my stomach whenever I think of the two together.

I gasp. I stop at my tracks. Sure enough, theres Owen. Sitting on a low-levelled brick-wall with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. My jaw almost drops. But I manage to take a deep breath and walk straight into his view. Whatre you doing? Oh. Hey, Bridgette. He blows a puff of air. Straight in my face. I have trouble not glaring at him, but control myself because hes had enough going wrong. Whats up? I sit up on the brick-wall with him, leaving my crutches lifeless on the floor. Theres silence for a couple of minutes. If it helps, I think both Sarah and Hunter deserve a good whacking. With fish? He grins. Puffs still flowing out, but I ignore it. You gotta hate fish. Nah, I dont mind it. But sure. If it makes you feel better, fish it is! He laughs. Youre like the only person I can bear to see right now. Which is weird, because I always thought of you as uh loud. And a cry-baby. No offence. None taken. And Ive always thought of you as a disgusting loser who has inappropriate dreams about Sarah. So, uh, no offence either. We sit in silence for a minute longer. I cant help wishing the bus would arrive at my feet again. Its taking so long as always for it to arrive. And although I feel sorry for Owen and everything, I still dont feel comfortable sitting next to him. Which sounds mean, but I cant help it. Its just something in his aura. Just like theres something in mine, making me seem weak and defenceless. I smile to myself. Im sure Hunter would love a good debate on, Is Bridgette weak and defenceless? Does she need help with everything? I really thought Sarah liked me. And, ugh, I sound like a girl and all but I dunno. There seemed to be something special. He quickly looks up, begging me with his eyes to save him from over-embarrassing himself. Yknow? I know. And honestly, she liked you too at one point. I shrug. I guess crushes go away quickly, huh? Not mine. He stares right ahead, expanding another cloud of smoke right in front of our eyes. But the thing is, Sarah I could live without kinda. Hunter I cant. Theres no kinda at the end of that sentence. And it seems so surreal that he betrayed me. Just like that. Dont worry, Im mad at him about that as well. An amused smile plays on his lips. Of course youd be. Now, what exactly do you mean by that? You always find something wrong with him. Maybe its something to do with his hair or how he memorised the first I dunno, fifty-trillion digits of pi. Perhaps it has something to do with how hes so popular. But he is popular! And wow, I gotta stop thinking aloud

Yeah. You really gotta. And as for popularity, open your eyes. Sheesh. Hunters not the only geeky-popular guy at school. Have you ever considered me? Level Twenty at Mario and half the worlds population loves me cause of my laid-back personality and fun personality. His face darkens. Thats what Sarah said to me, anyway. I cant say Im not gobsmacked. And a little ashamed. No, I admit. I actually never did notice you. Or Yush Lee, whos the chess-master and has over a thousand friends on Facebook like, people he actually does know. Or Ianna Higgenbottom model after school, Star Wars geek during school. Or Okay, okay. I get it. In conclusion, you have all these people who fit under the same popular but geeky group Hunter does. Yet, you see the world like it revolves around him. My cheeks flush. And your point is? And my point, my fair maiden, is that a certain somebody has a little-bitty of a crush on him. I kick him in the knee. Hard.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
You kicked him? Beccas mouth is hanging open. With your broken foot? Gee, Becs. Youre acting like you wouldnt do the same. When I say this, I watch her shrug and smile. And, for the record, I used my other foot. Breena enters the room, attempting to add contacts in her eyes. She always stuffs up, because her arms always wobble. I find it shocking how she takes such amazing pictures with a shaking hand, but she manages. Anyhow, its troubling how her tear ducts release drops, staining mascara all down her cheekbones. Barbara, whos sitting on the other side of the room, wrinkles her nose. She has a crystal ball in front of her and murmuring words about breakfast, and how she wishes for the world to turn in an orderly fashion. Now, her prayer switches to her hoping Breena doesnt cause any heart attack with her smudged makeup. My fashion-obsessed sister gives my quirky one a very rude gesture. I guess thats how things roll around here. For the record, says Barbara suddenly. I think you like Hunter. Of course. I almost forgot shes been listening the whole time as I told Becca about my courageous kick. As it turns out, Barbara wants a kick in the knee as well. Breena looks like Christmas and Birthdays have mixed together, because she looks at me with a glint in her eye. This is her area of expertise nobody in the world has dated the amount of guys Sabrina McAdams has. Come to think of it, I think you like him too. Like, middle-school-wise. You know, how kids tease others cause they have the hots for each other? But I close my mouth. Theres no point explaining to her; shell insist on me having a non-existent crush on this horrible creature. Whatever. Think what you like. I do not, and never will, like him. Sure you wont, says Breena under her breath. Its amazing how people practically beg for kicks in the knee. * So put your hand up if you know the answer to this question. He writes something up on the board. What are the five pillars of Islam? A hand shoots up. Its Sandy Rutherford. Surprise, surprise. One must attend the haj at least once in their life; they must pray five times a day; they must have mercy on the poor; they must fast during Ramadan and they must cleanse themselves like, having good hygiene and everything. Excellent. Now, who can answer the second question: how many steps are there in Buddhism? Eight steps. Sandy again. They include the Right of Mind, the

Im gunna cut you off there. Thank you, bursts out somebody from the back. I think I love you, you handsome teacher you. Arthur makes such a disgusted look, even I have to smile. Even if I think the guys nuts. And a little loopy in the head. I mean, who else gets two people to read each others minds? Now that Im thinking about it, however, this kind of thing doesnt happen to people. Sure, we accepted almost immediately we can read each others minds, but why arent we freaked out? Im pretty sure I remember Hunter telling me about his nightmares. But still. It doesnt explain why we suddenly find this thought-exchanging normal. Maybe Arthur brainwashed us more than Id like to think. The thought alone sends shivers running up my spine, until theyre trapped by my dropping neck. Snapping my head back up, I look behind me to see who made such a nasty/disgusting/flattering comment. Obviously, its Peter McKay, the guy with pimples and the weirdness that nobody likes. I mean, the pimples we can tolerate but regular squeezing during class, right in front of us? Without shame? Um, no thank you. He asked Sandy out, she said no. I think we all know of the bitterness shielding his heart like armour. And that bitterness allows him to put her down in any of her classes. Which she really hates, because shes turning around right now, glaring at Peter. I think she secretly likes him. If bulging eyes and gritting teeth indicating she wants to bury him alive is a sign of pure love. Arthur looks at the clock. He then looks at me, and just as suddenly, locks eyes with Hunter. Which is creepy, but not as much as two people reading each others every thought. And, as suspected, the bell rings. Loud and clear for everyone to hear. All the half-dead zombies grumble something under their breath about yesterday being a rough night with a party. Then they head to their lockers. Hold on. Did they say party? Hunter, your party was epic. A guy comes up to Hunter and grins. Hunter tries to return it, but I catch his eye, and the smile vanishes into a gulp. The blond guy, congratulating this spawn for his party, is too tired to recognise the difference between a fake and a real smile. See you later. You and Sarah are awesome together, by the way. Im tapping my foot. Arthur locks eyes with me and grins. Which creeps me out so much, I almost lose pattern in my rhythmic tapping. Hunters looking around the Religion class, almost everywhere but me. I have the feeling he wants to escape from this scene and never look at me again. However, theres a high possibility his feet are stuck to the ground without his intention. So Arthurs one word is deliberate, almost mocking. Whats been going on, kids? Oh, nothing much. This guy here betrayed his best friend and got lucky with mine. I didnt get lucky with her! She likes me too! Yeah. Just like she liked Owen before completely destroying your love-life. Shes gonna do that to you, you know. And when she does, Ill be the one cheering her on. Hunters just about to say something maybe something supposedly witty and snarky. But he stops and, instead, says, Why are we still here?

Because Im controlling you with my mind. Arthur looks especially smug. You cant escape from my awesomeness. The freakishly-tall-monster and I exchange a glance. We may be on different sides when it comes to whats right and wrong in romance, but it doesnt stop us both thinking, mutually, that theres something extremely wrong with Arthur. Maybe we should send him to a psychological ward if that helps, of course. A lot of television shows claim not everybody is released from the mental chamber sane. Instead, theyre hunting for revenge seeing as theyre mindblowingly mad at those who send him there in first place. Which isnt the best way to spend my Saturday night: being chased by a psychopath. How are you controlling us with your mind? Watch. In about a second, theres nothing but dread filling my mind. Just pure panic. Hunter can read my mind, I can read his. I no longer accept it in a relaxed manner; theres a sudden surge of This is not normal! spreading through my brain like electric shocks. Different parts of me feel weak, while other parts feel sick My stomach feels as if itll rip apart any second. And, just as quickly as it overwhelmed my mind, it disappears. All the horror, the raging of my brain thinking this is the worst thing that ever happened to me. Suddenly, I feel the calmness I was used to feeling: Hunters reading my mind. So what? Let him. Although Im a little annoyed at how hes hearing my every thought, its nowhere near the panic I felt seconds ago. The freakishly-tall-lover-stealer asks the million-dollar question, Who are you? Im Arthur. Put purely on Earth as what you kids might call a genie. Genie? Yup. You both wished somebody could understand you and that you could understand the other person. Well, us there in heaven got kinda sick of seeing two teenagers who, if united, could fulfil both their wishes. So we sent me here. And, like I said before, Im your genie. Genie? I repeat, clearly not understanding this concept. Wha what? Yeah, uh, I wasnt really supposed to tell ya. He grips on both our shoulders, gently but firmly, and leads us out the door. So dont tell anyone. Tell anyone? Hunter replies dumbly. Im glad Im not the only one having difficulty understanding. But thanks to Arthurs magic powers, I feel at peace something I wouldnt feel if he wasnt controlling it. Right. Dont tell anyone. He pretty much shoves us out the door. Youve got two more wishes Ill be in the lamp if you need me.

He shuts the sliding door in our face. Which isnt technically slamming, but still gets across the message neither of us are wanted. I hardly think thats fair. He makes us both read each others minds and fails to see any problems with what we want. And what I want is to be free from this entire mess. I want to take back my wish. Bewildered, Hunter walks beside me. Its awkward. Mainly because I still havent forgiven him for the whole Owen-betraying thing. Speaking of him, where is the disgustingly-forward smoker, anyway? I dont appreciate having puffs of smoke blown directly at my face, thank you very much. Hes so weird. And were back in business. Only now, as if by some punishment Arthur has decided on, I absolutely loathe this friend-betraying guy. Not that I liked him much to start off with, but now Im just plain disgusted. And if, like everybody is saying, I once liked Hunter well, they can be sure its over now. Completely over. Ugh, how can people think I like you? Hunter steps at his tracks. You like me? Uh-oh. Did I really think that? Apparently I did, because hes looking at me all funny and taking a couple of hesitant steps backward. Definitely not a good sign. Especially since this is the boy who thinks oranges with sunglasses on is hilarious, according to Sarah last night. Only, she said it out of desperation and I still wasnt listening to her. Does she really think that Ill forgive her like that? No. I dont like you, and I never will. Oh! There you are, Hunt Sarah stops at her tracks, eyeing me with that same guilty look. Huh. Speak of the devil, and the devil arrives looking more fashionable than ever. Um, hi, Bridgette. Hello. My tone can turn steam into ice. Having fun betraying Owen? To my surprise, it isnt Sarah who takes a step forward and tells me to shut up. Its Hunter. What makes this scene even more shocking, is how his voice is so high-pitched and loud, so everybody at the halls stop whispering. Or rampaging through their locker; talking to friends; taking bites of apples. They all turn to the scene Hunter Steele was making. He doesnt even care what its doing to his popularity. Thats the kind of person he is he can cause a scene and still have everybody arrive at his pool-party, forgetting what he did. How can he do that so easily? It makes me mad. It makes my blood boil. In conclusion stop! Stop making Sarah feel bad. Stop making me feel bad. Really, its none of our fault. The problem lies with you and Owen, and, quite frankly, I dont give about your problem. So thats the kind of friend you are, eh?

And thats when I wish I could read his mind, because he doesnt say anything. He takes Sarahs hand and leads her out of the hallways outside, where theyre probably eating with lovesick eyes. I wish I knew what he was thinking. It cant be a secret, because theres no awful buzzing noise. Instead, theres silence. It makes me realise how empty my head is without Hunters thought flooding it every five to six seconds. The next three hours flow by really quickly. I take notes in class, listen to what the teacher has to say, and make notes in my diary about all the homework Im getting. My eyes scan for Owen, but hes nowhere to be found. He wasnt at school today. Guess betrayal really stuffed him up, because I never see him anywhere. Granted, its only been one day. But hes one of those people I always see. The type who always catches me doing weird stuff, like that time in third grade where I tried to lure a sparrow to my arm by making butterfly noises. Except, I didnt know what butterflies sounded like so I made up my own, wacky version. Owen watched through the whole thing and somehow managed to preserve the innocence of his ears. When Im finally at home, I sit in front of the television. Theyre all childrens shows, but I feel so defeated. Its like Ive lost all my friends. This wouldnt have happened if I was popular; if I was well-liked by everyone. People always tell me popularity isnt everything well, mostly Mum but she doesnt understand. Theres a different feeling to it. Its like ones at the top of the world when everybody knows their name and everybody likes them. When somebody has that kind of reputation, nothings impossible. Its a burst of confidence, a wonderful feeling. Thats what I see it as, anyway. And I want it oh-so-desperately. Bridgette? Yeah. Im here. My hearts beating a million times in the same minute. What does he want? Hasnt he said enough? Is there anymore he needs to lecture me on? Just thought Id let you know that Sarah and I broke up. What? Yeah. Its all your fault. He sounds amused. So I hope youre happy. Gee, um, I didnt think youd actually break up. Nah, dont worry. Its all cool. Were just friends now. Theres a pause. And anyway, it wasnt worth losing Owen. Glad you finally came to your senses. And also, Sarah didnt want to lose Owen either. Or you. Wait, so Sarah didnt want to lose Owen and me but you just didnt want to lose Owen? What about me? What about you? Its not like I could lose you, even if I tried. Youre like this bloodsucking leach stuck to everybodys head. Youre the first person a crazy person sees, along with a worried and guilty one.

Gee, thanks. And somehow, I think its Hunters way of saying he didnt want to lose me either.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By the fifth day at work, I know exactly where everything is. I roam around in a short white skirt and a t-shirt with a nametag, pretending to smile at all the rich folks who have a daily cup of coffee at a restaurant as expensive as this one. How can they afford it? Do they have trees made out of money or something? Obviously, due to my extreme respect for this rich folks, I keep my mouth shut. Somehow, screaming out, Whatre you doing about poverty? seems like a good way to get fired. And thats something I dont want. Not yet, anyway. If I make a good impression on this job, Ill get another one. Nobody can refuse an employee with a perfect working record. Its the start which is hardest. It reminds me, once again, how much I owe Hunter. And I really, really hate owing him. Though this has nothing to the plain vanilla latte a rich person with a top hat wants, I cant help thinking why Hunter would need fake IDs, even if they were his mothers. Why would his mother have fake IDs in first place? I heard she died about a year ago: is that true? I never thought about Hunters personal life. I always envied his social popularity, and the fact he had the entire school balancing on his scrummy fingertips. Maybe if I paid a little more attention to him, I might have something more to offer to the table than just, Did his mother die or something? Its especially shameful, because Ive known him for about ten years maybe more. Um, can I please have my vanilla latte? Coming up! I reply with what I hope is breeziness. I never knew rich people used um in their language in my mind, theyre always supposedly too good for filler-words. Here you are. The man smiles at me. Thank you. Ugh, I hate this restaurant. Just as Im thinking this, I watch Naomi enter the building. Her face turned a dark shade of moody, as she stared at me, half-dumbstruck. Whatre you doing here? I got a job here. You father hired me. He does he know about your mother? Nope. I shrug, as if her informing her father about this tiny detail wont cost me my job. But its okay, cause he hired me anyway. She looks as if shes about to explode. Then, as quickly as the expression overcomes her, she calms down. Sighing, she sits at one of the many tables and orders some sort of French coffee, which I get for her immediately. Impressing the boss daughter is one of the most valuable things I can achieve, in order to maintain my position. Sit down opposite me, she says, after taking a sip of her French coffee. Um, Im sorry. I cant Ill tell my dad I made you. So just sit down, will you?

I do as she asks, in fear she might get me fired if I dont. Its a very stressful position. Theres no way I can afford to lose my job, but at the same time, losing my pride and dignity isnt appealing. Im not their lapdog somebody they can call over anytime of any day. I, Bridgette McAdams, have a life. Somewhere. I think. All I have to do is uncover it with this clever mind of mine. Whyd you, uh, want me to sit down? She puts her mug on the table with a clunk. You know Owen? Yeah, I say cautiously. I know Owen. Can you? Suddenly, her face turns a deep scarlet. Not a good look for somebody as pale-skinned as her. It matches the dyed-redness of her hair. She clears her throat. Can you, uh, ask him out for me? She wants to ask out Owen? Oh, shut up, Hunter. Why are you still there, anyway? Hey, dont you sass me. Im the one who got you this job in first place. I cant believe you used the word sass. It was a moment of desperation! I wasnt thinking clearly! I, uh please dont tell anybody about this. Like, never mention it again. Whatever. And, just like that, Hunters out of my mind. For now, anyway. After spending so much time with him in my head, Ive learnt to control my thoughts so that his interaction takes up as little of my time as possible. What makes Owen so popular with females? Is it fair to say I really dont see it? Is there something in the way he smokes air in peoples faces which makes him hard to resist? Because, believe me, Ive spent all my years where Im completely ignored by the male-population. Maybe Im just missing the cigarettes. Realising shes waiting for an answer, I bring myself back to reality. Sure. Im not really promising hell say yes, but if you want Thanks. She smiles, but her lips are in a thin line. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. Thanks, she repeats. Youre thinking Ill turn this into a rumour or something? Yeah, she says, visibly relaxing. I dont mean to insult you or anything, but we havent been on the best of terms since, like, ever. Dont worry. I wouldve been a little cautious with you too. But I wont tell. Really?

Yeah. But can you answer a question for me? Uh sure. What exactly do you see in Owen? Theres a pause. I mean oh wow, forgive me for saying this but Hunters better-looking. Why not him? I can hear the smugness in his voice when he thinks, You think Im good-looking? Yeah. Then again, I also think Peter McKay is a severe ball of hunk, so you better not believe my word. Now thats just insulting. Ah, I try. Well, Owens just bursting with personality. And puffs of smoke. And then theres Hunter, whos just so, well, moody. Maybe its the braces, but when he smiles, it never looks like he means it. You know? I so do smile! Hunters listening to what Naomis saying in horror. And I sure as heck mean it! Yeah, I say, just to irritate this boy in my head. I know. And Owen, she goes on, has a cute, dimply face. Hunters just too tall that we cant see his face. Not unless hes sitting down. Great. First she insults my laugh, now shes making fun of my height. My life doesnt make sense! Really? I think it makes perfect sense. Shut up. Ugh, I hate how closed-up he is. That grabs my attention and Hunters too, by the way hes pretty much yelling, Now Im closed up! in my head. Closed-up? Yeah. She stops at her tracks. Wow, I really shouldnt be telling you this stuff. Youre friends with him, arent you? No! I yell out. A lot of the rich people look at me, before turning back to their own conversation. Its funny, because I always supposed them to never be engrossed in anybody else but themselves. No, I say, a little more quietly. Were not friends. Not at all. Real thoughtful, Bridgette. It sounds like hes hurt. Not because he cares if Im his friend or not, but more that hes rejected in first place. All in the same week, with Sarah breaking up with him and all. Great to know were not friends anymore. And even though I have, pretty much, nothing to do with him I still feel a slight pang of guilt. He hasnt been anything but nice to me, while I hold his popularity as some sort of justification for my hatred. Isnt that a little bit far-fetched? I think its safe to say I dont completely hate him anymore. Hes not half as bad.

Nah, you know Im lying, Hunter. It shocks me, because this isnt a complete lie. I just wanna hear what she means by closed-up. You want to as well, dont you? Its like his energy comes back, because I hear his happy, Oh yeah. Bring it on. Oh? Well, then. What I meant by closed-up is that he doesnt mix with people much, does he? Naomi, hes really popular. Exactly. When she sees my confusion, she adds, Thats what popular people are, arent they? Theyre closed-off from everybody because they treat everybody the same. They dont have any genuine enemies, just like they dont have any genuine friends. And all this time I supposed Naomi to be some brainless girl incapable of passing seventh grade. I never looked at popularity like that; the one thing I craved. I always saw it as a good thing. It was always something a person does to get to the top, to have people respecting that particular person. Naomi, however, seems to see it in another light. A negative, realistic light. Shes popular: she must know how it feels. Yet, I still want it. Just as badly as I did since the beginning of time. Oh. Ill be honest, I never saw popularity like that. Not many people do. She tosses her dyed-red hair behind one shoulder. They all think its glitz and glamour not that theres much of that at our high school, but you know. Its not like that. Popularity isnt all that great. * This is it. Im writing a song with my guitar next to me. Next week, weve got a talent show. Sarah looked at it and rolled her eyes, saying it was one of the lamest things shed ever seen. According to her, only talentless people with no lives enter something as depressing as this talent show. So after laughing about it for a couple of minutes, we walked the other way. Now, I cant believe Im actually putting my name down. Im actually writing a song with hopes of presenting it to the school. Whats more, all I know for guitar was what I learnt in eighth grade, when I was forced into music. Only a handful of chords, nothing major. But probably hopefully enough to write me a song. Because Im going to be popular. I dont care what Naomi said about not having close friends: I want to be known. For once, the idea of the world seeing me as a running cry-baby like Owen does will be dismissed. All I have to do is go out there. I need to prove myself to the school, show them there are a lot of sides to me. However, I have to figure out how to write a decent song first. Are you seriously going with the plan? He hasnt stopped pestering me for the entire day. I swear, its his voice which is going to haunt my dreams. You really want popularity? That badly?

What do you know? You dont know what its like not to be popular. Youre right. I know how to be popular, because thats what I wanted for myself. I can feel the anger in his voice, which alarms me. He already told me he was tired maybe this is just a reaction. But he hadnt stopped yet. I wanted to be popular in school. Yeah, Bridgette. Youre spot-on. His voice is so snarky, so condescending, I almost feel my heart breaking in half. Whats gotten into you? Theres nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all. Its obvious somethings up. Its weird, because one hour ago everything was fine. I was writing songs and he was sitting around by the television, interrupting me in every way possible. Although it was annoying, I could make-do with it. But I cant make-do with somebody pretty much yelling about how wrong I am. Especially when theyre in my mind, because theres no way to get rid of them. Whats with the sudden moodchange? What did I say to make him this angry? I didnt know Hunter was capable of anger. It was always being moody with him, but never actual anger. Hunter, tell me whats wrong. No reply. Tell me whats bothering you. You wanna know? Do you really want to find yourself in this whole mess? Thats funny, because this is exactly what I thought when Hunter asked me about Eva. I didnt want to bring him into the mess, but at the same time, I wanted to show him what a mess my life was. And though its a sudden twist of event, I think, Yeah. I want to know. His voice is drowsy his thinking voice, anyway. Thats when I finally realise hes not sleepy; hes drunk. Thats why theres a sudden change in moods, a sudden burst of anger. Do you know exactly how I became popular? Yeah, I do. It was due to some stupid rumour about your parents dying in a car-crash. They didnt die in a car-crash. What? They didnt die in a car-crash. He repeats the phrase as if its the simplest expression on Earth. Theyre dead, but they didnt die in a car-crash. I can hear a slight slur in his words. And though theres a part of my brain begging not to ask the question, I do anyway. How did they die? Theres a pause.

I killed them.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Im not sure what I heard. A small part of me refuses to believe this. After all, hes drunk: hes speaking gibberish at this point. But my heart leaps with uncomfortableness. Why would somebody bring up a completely irrelevant topic like this? There has to be some truth in what hes saying, even if its in a difference sense. However, one things for sure: I dont like this situation the slightest. I put my guitar down, trying to stop my mind from racing through a zillion events. Surely Hunters just playing with me. It cant be true. Maybe theres another reason for this sudden burst of unusual, horrifying information. I cant resist asking. What did you say? I said I killed my parents. His voice is slurring. Yeah. I killed them. When there was a pool-party at Hunters house, once upon a time, I remember seeing the friendly face of his grandparents. It suddenly dawns on me I never considered his parents were dead I simply assumed theyre out for a short period of time. But I need to find out more. You killed them? How did you kill them? With a knife. I really should ask for details. After all, a detective never suspects without gathering all the small information first. But my heart is beating so loudly, I cant hear myself think. Information-overload. My brains about to explode from confusion, horror, and questions. Too many questions and possibly too little answers. Which is why I lay in my bed, and though its difficult, I block out all the questions. I drift off to sleep. * McAdams. I see Hunter in front of me. Slamming my locker shut, I look at him. Theres a long pause. What happened yesterday? Nothing, I say, a little too quickly. Turning back to my books, I order them from largest to smallest, just so theyre easier to carry. Nothing happened yesterday. Dont worry about Hes touching the lockers with his fingertips, blocking me. What happened yesterday? What makes you think anything happened yesterday?

Because when I woke up, I felt so empty. That never happens. I always feel heavy and craned. Avoiding his eyes, I divert my thoughts. We have history first. Im mentally jumping up and down. Although the same routine happens, and I have Arthur afterwards. Who Im really not looking forward to seeing. Just thinking about his gleaming smile and eyes makes me shudder. How does he fit the criteria of a teacher? He doesnt teach us anything. Whats more, does this mean Ill be facing Sarah and Owen again? I can never trust them to act normal. Chances are, theyll both be awkwardly hiding behind newspapers which are suspiciously upside down. For the rest of their lives. Thinking about this makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Will I have to choose between the two? But nothing goes near the worry of Naomi. Is she going to rip apart my flesh? Or is she actually somebody I can consider a friend, now that she doesnt completely hate me anymore? Will I ever run in peace? So many questions. Over and over. Why is life so confusing? Things get horrifying when I connect these questions to the ones I had yesterday. And suddenly, these questions arent occupying my mind anymore. Ive unintentionally entered reality once more. And suddenly, I can only hear the one word Hunters calling out across the empty hallway. McAdams. I stop and face him. Fine. You know, youre right. You did say something. When I take a step forward (well, hop forward because of my crutches), I watch his feet debating whether to take a step back. My step is menacing, purposeful. But he asked for it. You told me you killed your parents. As if on cue, he shuffles back a couple of steps, visibly showing his uncomfortableness with the situation. Im blazing, however. Im on fire. You... Its obvious no words come to his mouth. Hes opening and closing his mouth like a fish. I know exactly what its like to be in his place having so much to say, to explain, but having words fail me. Care to explain this, Hunter? No. I dont want to explain. It was all gibberish, thats all. Really? He doesnt meet my eyes. Really. Maybe I shouldnt have turned away. But it suddenly dawns on me I dont care. I dont care about these problems of Hunters, or how he supposedly killed his parents. Hes no significant part of my life. Theres no reason as to why Im even standing here, trying to find answers to questions which I dont care about. Yes. Thats right. I dont care about Hunter. I can hear a high pitched and low-pitched beep in his mind, immediately realising my statement was considered a thought. It mustve hurt him. Hes probably thinking of a zillion things to say, but itd interfere with his private life. Which immediately makes me frown, because surely him killing his parents is a secret? But then how come that pitch didnt happen? Why were all his words so free, as if letting air out of a balloon?

No. Ive got to stop that. I dont care about Hunter. Especially since he betrayed Owen as a friend. And even if the disgusting, weird Owen forgives Hunter, we all know hell never forget. Theres always going to be a little lack of trust when asking to get an ice cream, or buy some groceries for him. If they ever planned on living in an apartment together, the plans are shattered. All because Hunter did something wrong and Owen cant forget it. And I wont forget, either. Betrayal isnt something easily forgotten. I decide its best if I stop hanging around Hunter altogether. Like I thought before: why is he a significant part of my life, anyway? If it wasnt for Arthur randomly putting our minds together, I wouldve continued loathing him for eternity. I sigh. Somehow, loathing him seems a lot better a lot less personal than considering him a friend. Instead, I spend the rest of my morning away from Hunter, sitting by myself amongst the empty football field. School hasnt started. Which is why I grip on my guitar and strum away at a song, my mind absorbed in the task. Every flick of string, every sound its like a mesmerising, magical experience. In fact, Im so out of touch with reality, I dont notice the football heading straight towards me. Yo, short girl! I distinctly hear a person yell. Which is insulting, because in a school so small, Im more than sure their name-misplacing is purposeful. Watch out for the ball! Im just about to scream, react. Do something about it. But then I watch a dark shadow jump in front of me, catching the ball. For a second, my hearts beating fast. Over and over. Its as if something gave it a treadmill and expected it to run forever. Nothing couldve prepared me for that shock. When I look up at the figure, I surprise myself by hoping its Hunter. I disgust myself by hoping he was trying to tell me about his history. Most of all, I shame myself by realising its not Hunter. Its Owen. Almost got hit, Bridge. He grins at me. Stains of chocolate are stuck to his teeth. Be careful, will ya? Wouldnt want the only person who still cares bout me to die. And I wouldnt mind if you brushed your teeth, either. He kicks the football back to his friends, whore in a frenzy trying to catch it. But not before giving me a playful poke of his tongue then jogging back to them. While hes having the time of his life, Im sitting here and horrifying myself with every passing thought. What was that frenzy, that horrifying incident when I wished Owen was Hunter? Seriously? And thats when I realise Im not different from other girls. Just the truth alone gives me a whole range of shivers. Im a Damsel in Distress. Thats why Hunter always saved me repeatedly, because I mustve been giving people the impression I needed saving. Im the last one to know of this, of course, about my external influences on people. Why have I given the impression Im weak? Sure, I cry during races and complain about almost everything. But thats not weakness, right?

Most of all, the thought causing my stomach to reflex is how Owen might actually be right. Ive always spent an abnormal amount of time thinking about popularity, and how much Hunter has opposed to me. Ive always admired his popularity. Maybe its just a cover-up towards how I admired him. Oh no. This is bad. This is really bad. Owens discovery has turned my entire word around. Perhaps I should tell his parents to make preparations for his future. Maybe even send him to Harvard, where hell study psychiatry. He understood my feelings before I could: surely that has some sort of value? The bell rings. Dazed, I pick up my guitar and leave it beside my bag, which is beside my locker. Then I walk towards my next class. Im just in time to see the puffing face of Sarah, my best friend. If she still is my best friend, anyway. We broke up, Sarah says, clutching at her knees. I fight a smile. Perhaps shes independent, outspoken and strong but she cant run for her life. Ever. Hunter and I broke up. Somehow, informing her that her ex-boyfriend exchanges thoughts with me on a regular basis doesnt seem like a good conversation-starter. Or that he already told me, unintentionally, about their break-up. And the idea I even communicated with Hunter will lead Sarah to believe I like him or something. Which I dont. Not really. Deciding to stay on the safe side, I feign a surprised expression. Really? Yeah. She doesnt see through my casual lie. I cant believe shes still puffing she barely ran a hundred metres. We broke up. But its mainly cause you two like, you and Owen mean more to us. Oh joy. My best friend forever suddenly found the brains to realise she doesnt have complete feelings for a boy she barely knows. Sarah grins and pats my hair. She purposely does this knowing shell have to bend down, causing me realise just how short I am. Which I never forget when Hunters around, cause the guys a giant. Ignoring my death-glare, she continues patting my hair. I feel like a particularly small dog, getting my fur ruffled. Technically, I have known Hunter for a long time. Her patting slows down to something more absentminded. Yeah. I have known him for a long time. And I guess, deep down, I always knew he liked me in that way. But But you didnt want to believe it? Thats right. I didnt want to. It seemed so complicated to change from family to friends to something more. Yknow? Nah, I actually dont. I grab her hand and pull it away from me, just to cease the miserable patting. But yknow what my feeble mind has realised? I shouldnt be the one you apologise to. Sarahs mouth forms into a thin line when she sees where Im directing. Im pointing at Owens locker, which stands out because theres green slime drooping from it. And he wonders why the world thinks him disgusting: seriously, somebody would have issues if they didnt repulse from the fake slime. For somebody so short, you do make valid points. She grins at me. See ya, Bridge.

I watch her walk to her next class. And suddenly, Im noting a difference between the way she walked before and how shes walking now. Theres a slight aura of confidence, filling the whole room. She walks in such a carefree manner, I suspiciously wonder if she did something with my hair. Maybe she had orange marker on her hand, rubbing off into my blonde bunch of mess. But I dont care. Shes happy. Somehow, its all that matters.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Since I heard Hunters thoughts, a month passed by. The world changed so much in these five weeks. I no longer require crutches; Sarah and Owen are back to being friends, but not as close as they were before; and Hunters avoiding me at all costs. This is probably for the best, because Im finding it difficult to stop thinking about his sudden outburst of emotion. What does he mean he stabbed his parents? How can a normal person listen to this and not feel the slightest tinge of curiosity. Its abnormal not to wonder, But Ive convinced myself Hunter Steele means absolutely nothing to me. Most of my pathetic life was spent abhorring this giant, and I have a hunch the rest of eternity will apply to this task. The talent-shows tomorrow, and I have a song all planned out. Sure, I can just learn a random song and perform it, but itll take too much time. Plus, the advantages of making up a song is that nobody can correct me. Its my own music, its my own sound. Nobody knows it better than me, even if I make a small mistake. Feeling my heart thumping, I knock on the door. Coming, says a distant voice. It sounds like a female, but the extra throatiness make me think elderly. The door opens and an old woman with glasses looks down at me. Can I help you? Ah, yeah. Is Hunter here? The woman looks as if experiencing a heart attack. Please dont tell me he got you preg I did no such thing! says a voice form behind, saving me from a very awkward conversation. Hunter looks down at me. Ugh, why does everybody look down at me? McAdams? He seems unsure of himself. Hi? Hi. You know that English assignment we had to do in pairs? Yeah? Its due tomorrow. His eyes widen. Seriously? Seriously. And we havent even started. Come on in, says the old woman, who I assume is Hunters grandmother. She really has aged since Hunters last pool-party. There are dark circles under her eyes and her smile suddenly seems a little lifeless. Its as if shes been under pressure for a long time, or perhaps anticipating her death. Just looking at her makes my stomach churn, because it scares me to think myself as growing old. Taking a seat on one of their many tilted couches, I face Hunter. Hes in sweat-pants and a t-shirt with the slogan Math is fun. How expected. Like all other clich teenagers, I completely loathe math. It makes no sense to me. And when it does, its only the basics before it starts heading towards no-sense-ville once more.

My hands are wrapped around the glass of juice his grandmother pours me. I take small sips from it, a little at a time, and ultimately finish the whole glass. Hunter, who still hasnt finished half his glass, looks at me in horror. Its a common reaction, and I almost expect him to say the typical, For somebody so short, you have a large appetite! But he doesnt. Just beside my legs, there is a plastic bag with all the stationary required for our project. Some glitter pens just to make our presentation better, my pencil case, and a notebook for jotting down ideas. We have to choose a song and interpret it. After we finish our glass of juice, we get straight down to work. Hunter begins by explaining what he thinks the meaning of Phoebe Clearwaters Breathe is. I inspect the lyrics of the chorus. Closer, closer, closer. Scattered voices telling me to breathe. Scream, but not any scream. Your scream. Although Im just staring at the lyrics, theres a chill running up my spine. The music doesnt suit the lyrics at all. Its so upbeat and country-ish the kind of folk-song people would hear at a Heinz Bash or something, while spinning around with cowboy hats. But the lyrics have this dark edge to it; this cant be perceived when theres music running in the background. Hunter thinks its about a person buried alive before their death. He explains this further by saying, Lets say this person has this weird condition, and the doctor suddenly doesnt know what to do with them. They mistake their death. They bury this person alive in a coffin. And this persons going crazy, because, well, theyre underground. Theyre screaming. But with their screaming, theyre losing their ability to breathe. Yknow? Having this entire history put behind this song doesnt make me feel more comfortable. If anything, I begin debating whether nows the time to catch the next plane to Alaska just to get away from this dark-minded boy. Theres something so dark about this song, I cant put my finger on it. Theres a part of it which speaks to me. I dont want to say it aloud. Im having one of those crazy moments where I wished we could still exchange thoughts. Even now, I have no idea why the ability to exchange ideas disappears in certain situations. Maybe I should ask Arthur. Immediately, I picture his gleaming eyes. Or maybe not. One things for sure: I dont want to share my interpretation to this song. Its too personal. I reckon its about a singer. Yeah. And shes so terrible at singing, that her voice sounds like shes screaming. And all these voices are the audience, telling her to stop and breathe for a second. What, are we predicting your performance at the talent-show tomorrow? I almost knock him unconscious. No. Were not predicting anything.

Its obvious Hunter doesnt believe me when I expose my interpretation of this song. To be honest, I dont believe it myself. How can somebody connect something so dark to singing? Its possible, yes, to include that meaning under a whole list of interpretations, but never the first one. Theres always something dark which hits me. Evas voice booms in my mind. Bridgette? Bridgette, theres a man downstairs. Hes coming up. Im breathing abnormally. Hunter notices and stares at me. But Im too caught up in my own horrifying fears to assure him theres nothing wrong. Bridgette? Pick up the phone! Pick it up! Everythings wrong. I dont like the way hes coming up. Bridgette, I dont like how hes coming up. I dont like it. Bridgette! Bridgette! The phone went dead there. Right there. But not before I endured her scream. That ear-piercing scream which made me almost deaf. Why couldnt the message end earlier? Just a little earlier. Only so I dont hear that scream or terror every-time Im absentminded. Why didnt I have that phone with me? I couldve saved a life. I really couldve. But I didnt. Youre crying, McAdams. What makes Hunter pat me on the back, I have no clue. Ive cried a million times in front of him. When it comes to the waterworks, no pride exists in my case. It doesnt matter whether Im running or trying to get away from something tears are my escape route to everything. Hunter never sits beside me, patting my back. He mustve sensed theres something serious about this time. I suppose his grandmother mustve as well, because when he enters the room, she shakes her head and begins something about how Hunty is so insensitive and deserves a place in jail. If I wasnt blubbering like an idiot, Id comment and burst out laughing at little Hunty. But reality is, Im crying. Im blubbering. Im sobbing. All because Im broken and messed-up. After Hunters grandmother leaves the house to get more ice cream, I stop crying. Tears are still streaking down my cheeks, but Im no longer held hostage by them. My pride returns, and Im a little brash as to how Hunter must think of me now. Theres no doubt he sees me as a Damsel in Distress. How can I possibly convince him I dont need saving after today? Do you wanna talk about it? No. Is it about Eva?

Yeah. A grimace plays on my lips. And dont you dare tell me its not my fault. Because let me tell you something, Steele, Ive been told that a zillion times. And it doesnt help. It doesnt help the fact I shouldve had my phone with me. It doesnt help the fact Eva would still be alive if it wasnt for me. Why wouldnt it be your fault? This shocks me. He seizes the opportunity to look me straight in the eye, and I have difficulty holding the gaze. It makes me feel so uncomfortable, so bare. You shouldve had your phone on. You shouldve had it with you. Eva came to you as a last resort, and thanks to your carelessness, she died. Exactly, I say, but it comes out as a whisper. In all these months, theres another person who boldly acknowledges the truth. My parents always scolded me about how none of its my fault, but they blamed me. I could see it in the way they looked at me. Evas death is my entire responsibility, no matter who decides to see it in a different way. Opinion doesnt change the facts. Her voice is everywhere. There are always singers who sound exactly like her. Wild but sweet at the same time. Eva was thinking of becoming a part-time singer but all her fantasies disappeared when I betrayed her. I shouldve listened to her. Why didnt I listen to her? Im just about to start crying when Hunter starts speaking again. But. He pauses, cocking his head as if mustering up the way to translate his feelings into words. I think Eva forgives ya. What? Eva forgives you. Even in her ghostly state, dont you reckon itd be a little stubborn of her to hold it against you? I mean, sure, it was your fault. Im not gonna lie about that. But I have a feeling youd be forgiven anyway. My mouth opens. Then closes. Because there arent any words coming out of my mouth, I just smile. Its not an open smile or something displaying comfort. Its more of a sad one, a regretful one. Somehow, Hunter doesnt see the depressing side of the smile and he grins back, metal attached to all of his teeth. But hes smiling widely, as if hoping its contagious for me to see his exposed braces. Its so endearing, I just have to smile a little wider. The rest of the day is spent as we find one of Phoebes songs which arent completely dark, which is hard work. All of her songs are so catchy and upbeat, but thats because nobody ever takes notice of her lyrics by themselves. Looking at the lyrics alone is like being presented with some dosage of darkness, a sort of poem made for a completely different purpose. We decide upon Phoebe Clearwaters Dancing in the Rain. Dancing in the rain Shaking off the pain Clearer, clearer Looking no further

We decide its about a girl, seeing as Hunter put the valid point of boys being too macho to dance in public. In the rain, anyway. Its not a problem when theyre break-dancing, because its pretty much a form of showing off. After weve decided on the main character, we give her a history of being a ballet-dancer, but everybody thinks shes deluded. Everybody else, like her relatives, see dancing as a hobby and not a profession. But this girl loves ballet and continues dancing. Shes shaking off the pain because nobody takes her seriously. Just like all of Phoebe Clearwaters songs, this one touches my heart as well. Not quite as dark and daunting as the last one. I dont feel as if somebodys pointing a large, bony finger straight at me. Accusing me. By the way Hunters reading the lyrics over and over again, Im given the impression he sees the song as something else. Just like me, he doesnt see it as a girl dancing in the rain. He sees it as his own life story. Identical to how I perceive the dancing as a way of letting go of all my pain. Except I dont dance to run towards a new sort of hope and neither does he. Instead of dancing, we run. But I dont know what hes running from.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Waking up, Im awaited by unfamiliar surroundings. Not exactly unfamiliar, but not my bedroom. When I look around, I see the whole house in another perspective. There is flawless paint on the ceiling, different to the cracked tiled one I wake up to everyday. We dont have enough money to repair anything around my house. Unless Mum and Dad decided to have a renovation overnight (which is completely implausible regarding our financial condition), this isnt our house at all. Not my house. When I finally sit up properly, Im aware of sitting on a couch. Theres a blanket draped on me and a pillow underneath. Nothing looks familiar to what Ive seen throughout my whole life. But at the same time, this place is not completely unrecognisable. Ive seen it once thats enough to put a label on this location. This is Hunters house. Rather panicked, I rampage through my schoolbag beside me for my mobile. Im surprised yet relieved to acknowledge objects belonging to me. It makes this place not look as unfamiliar as it first did when waking up. Although the newness of the sofa still freaks me out. Im certain Dad only ever bought hand-me-downs and secondhand a brand new leather sofa is completely out of reason. I dial the home number immediately, biting the inside of my lip. Three rings go by and nobody answers. When I look outside, I know why. The windows arent covered with the curtains, and the darkness outside is noticeable. Its either very early in the morning or very late at night. When I check my phone, I groan at the time. 3:21 am. I hear footsteps. Although it shouldnt scare me, it does. Now Im aware of why I woke up in first place: there was a high and low pitched noise in my head. Kind of like the ones I had when Hunter and I still exchanged thoughts. Naturally, I couldnt sleep any longer with that insane racket continuing in my head. It woke me up. We dont exchange thoughts anymore. So it really is a shock with the sudden reminder of our past haunts us once more. Can Hunter hear my thoughts right now? Is he snickering as how pathetic and lowly I sound? But when I peer over the couch, I see Hunter. Instead of laughing or snickering, he wears a poker-face. Hes all dressed up. Its as if hes going outside. Who goes outside at 3 am? The door opens then shuts. All so quietly, its safe to assume his grandmother still thinks hes in bed. Nobody suspects him of leaving the house. Quickly, I put on my jacket and exit the house. My bloods rushing to my brain. Somewhere in Health class, they said its a bad sign to feel blood pumping. But I have a feeling if I dont die of a heart attack, Ill die of curiosity. Mum and Dad can be notified of my location later, but theres something telling me to follow him. To follow Hunter. Even if its the sneakiest thing Ill ever do, following a complete stranger. Didnt I once tell myself I dont care about him? As it turns out, I do care about him. Well, either that or I really cant handle a little bit of curiosity here and there.

I discreetly follow him as he strolls through the night. The trees arent swaying like they always do; the winds still. Dark shadows form above me in the shape of branches and leaves. Ive never been out this late. A childish part of me is begging to go back home, where Ill be safe. But that part is ignored as I continue taking steps. Its beyond my control, this suspense that rules me. He does it so casually, not wary at all. Its obvious he doesnt suspect anything, especially not me following him. Strange. He must do this on a regular basis to act as if its a mundane routine. This sparks up more questions. Where is he going and for what purpose? Is there a purpose? Or is it all just a wild-goose chase and Hunters just abnormally fond of very late-night walks? My thoughts are interrupted when he speeds up. In order to match his pace, I quicken my steps as well. Then he starts running, and Im suddenly thankful to Coach for all those extra hours of push ups and burpies. Theres no way a regular person could catch up to Hunter. Especially not the way hes running now, which is the maximum sprinting-level for most un-running-suited people. But I can. He finally stops at a familiar place. I recognise it instantly. Its the local cemetery. A sudden impulse overcomes me to pick up my pace and run back. Back to my own house and explain to my stern parents why Im over at a boys house. Anything but experience the same dread, the same tension I had the last time I saw Evas body. Evas body is here. Right at this cemetery. Somehow, I take a deep breath and walk straight behind him. I dont run away. Pacing behind him is difficult, because he doesnt seem to know where hes going either. Its as if hes revolving in circles, trying to find the right grave. And then he stops in front of one, his expression softening as he kneels down. Whatre you doing? I say, unable to stop myself. His arm muscles tense from behind. Whatre you doing here? He turns around to face me. Go home. Youre still dreaming. How stupid do you think I am? Very. I resist the urge to whack him. Instead of going all mysterious on me, could you at least tell me whats going on? Theres silence. But hes in his own little world, his hands and feet crouched all together. Getting him out of this absentminded state screams impossible. Especially when he turns his back to me and traces along the lines of the grave in front, possibly the name of the person whos deceased. The gravestone is a dark grey underneath the gleaming moonlight. Its so dark. How am I managing to stay out this late? My eyes divert towards the gravestone once more. I just find the two words sketched on the stone. Maria Josie Steele

As if by magic, I hear the high-and-then-low pitched sound once more. But its increasing in volume. Its rising up. Up. Up. Until my eardrums can barely hold onto reality, and my brain feels as if somebodys flicked the off switch on my mental health. Then, as suddenly as it begun, it finishes. You knoooow, if it werent for yoooou wed have actual lives. Stewpid Maaaria. Getting pregnant like that. Hunters fathers words are slurring. He can barely stand up. But this doesnt stop him from glugging more alcohol down. Your mother is a baaaad woman. A baaaaad woman. Hunter, who looks about eight in the flashback judging by the chubbiness of his cheeks, looks up at his father. Hes smiling but also confused. Obviously, eight-year-olds know what drunk people do; they realise the insanity when alcohol is in a persons bloodstream. But how is one to figure out whether the words coming out are true or false? Theyre in a plain living room, decorated with almost nothing. No pictures on the wall, no attempts to show the world how happy the family is. Instead, its as if theyre trying to give a different impression. Its like theyre screaming for help with the emptiness of their house. Bad woman? Seriously, Dad? Hunters laughing uncomfortably, if not on the verge of hysteria. Hes desperately wishing this is a terribly-planned joke. But its not. The man shoves the boy down. Its not hard enough to knock little-Hunter down, but enough to give him a fright. Dont Daaaad me, you lil brat. Your mother cant tell you. She cant damn tell you cause she dont wanna hurt you. He takes a couple of breaths. The next words are surprisingly fluent and slut-free. But heres the truth: shes a prostitute I hired. You were a mistake she couldnt let go of. And Im the stupid man who ended up in this hell. But Hes interrupted by a gunshot. One which knocks him to the floor. When Hunters eyes finally avert upwards, he sees his mother standing there. Her dark hair is in masses of curls, her eyes lacking about a years worth of sleep. Maybe its because of the lack of sleep she blurts out, What have I done? Then shoots herself, bringing eternal silence. My eyes are fixed on reality. Hunters mouth is open. Neither of us speak, and I have the feeling we dont have the words. What did I just see? The brace-teethed boy obviously realises I saw his memories, because hes looking down. Avoiding my eyes in every aspect possible. I need to get out of here. This isnt my scene. Im not the kind of person who comforts people; its usually the other way around. Scratch that: comforting people is so not one of my strong points. And it suddenly wont develop. Anything I say will make things worse. Its only logical that I take the first step and somehow pace myself back home. But my feet are planted to the ground, as if resembling the roots of a tree. I cant move.

What kind of person would I be to not try at all? My talents are limited when it comes to assuring people of the truth. However, Hunter made me feel a million times better about Eva dying with his bluntness. Surely I can at least try after all, I cant make the situation worse, can I? So I sit down beside him. Wanna talk about it? Clearly not. But I guess I dont get a choice as to who reads my thoughts, eh? He sighs. Theres a pause. I dont know what to say. Mum was a prostitute, Dads just a regular costumer and Im a mistake Mum couldnt let go off. I dont see how you stabbed either of them Not physically, but mentally. I was the reason they died, right? If they didnt stay together, they wouldve lived their separate lives. Hunter, you cant blame yourself for something you couldnt control. I shouldnt have talked to Dad that day. He was drunk. If I didnt persuade him to tell me about Mum, they mightve he trails off, but I know the exact ending to that sentence. Fine. Ill give you that. You shouldnt have made your father go with the conversation, cause it just pulled on your mothers last string. This causes him to look straight at me. I swallow a mouthful of spit, dizzy and unable to muster up some other words of comfort. But I manage to find some at the last minute. Thats in the past, okay? They wouldve died anyway. Heck, I think its best they both died like that. And though its not much, you got a last-minute glimpse of how much your mum really does care. What? Yeah. When she shot herself, I doubt she was just thinking of jail-time and possibly getting fired from her job. I have a hunch it went all the way to how youd feel without a father and how much she really did care about your dad. I look around the graveyard, a little more freaked out since the suns starting to rise. Everything is more visible. This isnt a good thing for the easily-frightened. Speaking of, wheres your fathers graveyard? Hunter points to the one right next to his mothers, and I feel slightly stupid. Why didnt I see it? Engraved in the headstone are the words, Paul Steele. His mother and his father are together. Although their ending was bittersweet, I think its one of the most realistic love-stories ever told. Sure, they hated each other: but this Paul mustve had some sort of feelings for his child in order to leave everything behind and start a family. My mouth opens to tell him this. But then I close it. If I expose my feelings about their bond, it might just cause Hunter to roll his eyes. Hell never see it in the way I do its useless to raise a topic like this with such touchiness added. I turn to the memoriser of pi. Can I ask you something? He shrugs. Sure. Though Im kind of surprised as to why we dont thought-exchange like we used to Thats what I wanted to talk about. Have you ever wished you could tell somebody your problems and have them listen to your ones in return? Yeah. He frowns. Now that you mention it, a lot of times. But you dont think

I nod. Yeah, thats exactly what I think. Somebody up there heard both of us wishing for the same thing. They sent the message to Arthur, who conveniently arrived as a substitute teacher just in case the whole mind-reading thing goes wrong. At a Christian school, were never out of religion teachers: yet, its kind of coincidental a complete random started teaching one of the only classes Hunter and I are both in. Perhaps this kind of incident happens a lot. People probably wake up, suddenly reading another persons ideas, but dont expose their feelings about it to the outside world. For all I know, every single person on Earth experienced this exchange of thoughts. But the fragility of the topic is so breakable, so delicate. I feel that if I tell somebody, the whole bondage will break. That abruptly, I will no longer discuss my issues and dreams with another person. So its best to keep this entire presence a secret just like other people on this Earth are probably doing. This isnt an unseen sorcery to torture two different students and rip them apart. Its invisible magic to bring two strangers together.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Yawning, I stumble out of the sofa. The sound of the microwaves fills my ears. Somehow, the sound is so comforting, I dont want to wake up. This is the place I can lie for eternity. These thoughts, however, disappear once I recognise the oddly-shaped clock on the wall. No, this isnt my wall. How can I hear the sound of the kitchen? My bedroom is the furthest from the main room and the kitchen. Its basically impossible to hear any sounds from the main room. Whats more, theres a grandfather clock in the living room something all our live-savings cant afford. I sit up with a start. About time you took a break from sleeping, says an all-too-familiar voice. He grins and hands me a glass of orange juice. Here. Oh, and you should really go home soon. Almost choking on my orange juice, I place it on the table and begin hunting for my phone. I check all my pockets. Nope, nothing. Since Im not answering my phone, I cant call my parents. Naturally, theyll assume Im dead and tell the school. Everybody will mourn for me Bridgette McAdams, who they wished they couldve known. And when I come to school, all bright-eyed and perky, all my non-existent popularity will disappear. I will be known as The Death-Faker and all the girls will turn their noses up at me and all the guys will Dont worry, cuts in Hunter, causing me to lose my train of thought. I called your parents at around five. I looked in the phonebook for your number. Uh, thanks. No problem. Theres a short pause as he heads to the kitchen. Its 7:30, by the way. You still have school today. Sure enough, the time glares at me on a digital clock. I groan internally. Theres not enough time for me to head home and get my un-English-related books. My heart skips a beat. Todays the talent show, isnt it? This means I cant have sheet music in front of me, or my guitar pick. I can pick any old guitar from school, but picks are always a minority. People always smuggle them under their coats during music lessons. Whether theres any left is a question all by itself. Why did I have to come today? Oh wait, thats right: the assignments due tomorrow. Obviously I didnt have any other choice. Why didnt the teacher give us more time during class? I need somebody to blame this difficult situation on. Unfortunately, our English teacher gave us more than enough time it was all consumed by Hunter babbling on about his philosophical interpretations and me zoning out each time, making him frown and repeat the useless babble all over again. In other words, neither of us made much use of the allocated time. No, thats a lie: Hunter did perfectly well, pulling random interpretations out of nowhere. It was me who slowed him down. Why am I such a failure at life? Couldnt I have tried to concentrate on whatever gibberish escaped his mouth?

Perhaps, but its too late to think about it now. Those wasted English lessons were merely the start to all my problems. I shouldnt have fallen asleep in between interpreting lyrics of Phoebe Clearwaters songs thats the job of the majority of my classmates, not me. Instead, I let myself snooze and miss the opportunity of a lifetime: the one road to popularity. Ugh, Im such a loser. You kay? Hunter says between mouthfuls of pancakes. He places his plate on the bench and then brings over another one for me. My pancakes have a drizzle of maple syrup running through them, but my appetite is lost. You look as if youre deep in thought. I am. And Ive concluded Im a loser. He pats my head like Im a dog. Good-wittle Bridgette. Now, if only youd come to these right conclusions a wittle more quickly. Screams escape his mouth as I take his arm and twist it behind his back. Well, thighs is more like my height can never resort to a fully menacing attack. Stop be a jerk for one second and help me out! Ah-ah-ah finnneee, he says, trying to break free of my grip. He finally manages it, looking at me under a new horrified light. I smile deviously. Its always the same: people think little people are all innocent, I merely walk into their lives to prove them wrong. What do you need help with? I need some sort of song which will make me popular. The word sounds so bitter and pathetic on my mouth. Hunter doesnt completely know about my ridiculous ambition to be liked by everyone. Maybe I should withdraw the statement with a, Ha! Just joking. Really. But I leave the words hanging in the air. As if thinking deeply, he cocks his head to the side. My lips press into a line. Here comes the teasing, the humiliation. This is what I experienced when I told Sarah about my wild desire. She thought I was joking, because in her words, Who cares if youre liked or not? If only it were that simple. Sarah never has to worry about anything out of the ordinary she has one of the most popular boys in school falling head-forheels for her, and another popular-but-disgusting one who probably still hasnt forgiven her. Obviously, she has no problems in the social-chain. Sure. I wasnt sure if I heard right. What? He shrugs. Sure. Ill help you write a song. But Evidently, I knew a but will come up. I sigh, unsurprised. But what? You need to help me train for the next race. I blink. Thats it? It may not seem like much, but ever since grandma started baking her rainbow cake three times a week, Ive gained enough kilos to outweigh an elephant. Ill probably bring one home next week and somehow convince the

mammal to be my girlfriend. But something tells me we dont speak the same language, so Ill probably end up dating her against her will. Oh well. For the second time in ten minutes, I blink. Except this time, its one of disgust. Gee, thanks for the nightmares. He grins. Youre welcome. I shudder. Do people see this side of Hunter when they respect him and flash him smiles? Is this the side of him they see the wacky, weird, lazy and dark side? The answer hits me the minute I ask the internal question. Of course this side isnt showed. Nobody knows this strange, unknown side to him. If this is what popular people are like, Im not sure joining them is a good idea. * Im on stage. My hands are shaking. This definitely isnt a good sign, especially since this performance is supposed to change my life forever. What if my teeth fall out in the middle of nowhere? Wont I be ridiculed? My life will be over. Truly, truly over. This performance can really go two ways: extremely well or bad enough for Owen to roll his eyes. The thought of Owen rolling his eyes at somebody else but himself still makes me shake my head in disbelief. But I dont make a positive impact, thats exactly whats going to happen. Hell laugh at me. And he wont be the only one cackling like a witch finalising a potion: the whole world will throw their hands up in defeat, wondering how they could associated themselves with anybody like Bridgette McAdams. These negative thoughts sure arent helping. The guitar in my hand doesnt feel right. Its too bright, too pink. It was the only one left in the music room as I dashed past to grab it. Why are they such popular instruments? If they werent, I wouldnt be on stage with an instrument blinding me with its flashy colours. But its too late to jump of stage. Its too late to feign a cough and slump home. Theres no other choice. I have to play. So I sing the song Hunter wrote. I stuff up two lines and my face looks extremely worried for a second, filled with frustration. But then I realise none of the audience members know the song: none of them are informed of the exact lyrics. I can sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and theyll think its all part of the act. This relaxes me. The microphone is close. I sing into it, the second verse of Hunters written song. Theres so much more to you So much more, so much more Why cant you see? You are the world

Somehow, that makes all the difference. I dont know how, though. Im just as surprised as the audience, as they focus on me with their undiverting attention. Theyre looking at me, some of their jaws dropping and others whore lazing about start to sit up properly. Its not the first verse that pulls them into the song: its the whole song in general. Only Hunter doesnt seem surprised. Hes just sitting at the back, giving me a thumbs-up and trying to speak to Sarah. Unfortunately, she isnt informed of his existence, and her eyes remain glued on my guitar and microphone. Her thoughts are already spinning around my head: When did Bridgette learn how to play the guitar? Although Id love to think my amazing singing voice does this song justice, it doesnt. My voice isnt the kind found on a singer, or even a musician. My voice is simply plain, weak and a little out of pitch at times. But its the guitar accompanying me and the lyrics I sing which make all the difference. When I strum the last few chords, there is a huge applause. Something so big, so spectacular. I was expecting a few hands, but it seems so dream-like for all these people to clap. For me. Just for me. Theres the biggest smile pasted on my face as I step off stage. When I go down the stairs, nobody approaches me. The audience has moved on to the next girl, whos showing her talent by playing the piano with her toes (quite slowly, mind you). But as I make myself through the crowd, there are a couple of pats on my back. A few more smiles here and there, before they turn their attention to the one on stage. Hunter is sitting with his head resting lazily on his elbow. What did I tell you? You were right. I look around. Some people are staring at me, whispering about me. But I suddenly dont care. On stage, I gave my very best and expect nothing more than respect. I drag Hunter around the corner to the refreshments table, where theres very few people they all got their drinks and crackers before the show started. How did you know exactly what to write down? And dont tell me it was natural instinct, cause Ill punch you. Arent you just a ray of sunshine, McAdams? He helps himself to a cracker. And as for the song, everybody likes attention. Everybody wants to be special. And you just did that, with the whole youre so much better than Ill ever be performance. Smart. Indeed. He helps himself to another cracker. I smirk, finding a similar connection between him and a parrot. So, do I get a thanks? Yeah. You do. Thanks. By the way, how come we cant read each others thoughts anymore? Its been a long time, dont you think? Theres a pause. He munches on his cracker and, as if Ive never asked the question, turns towards the front of the hall. There, a boy is singing a love-song and gathering all the hearts of the young ladies with his floppy hair. I silently gag. All somebody needs is good-looks and theyre the centre of attention. Only when I pay a little more attention to the guy singing do I realise its Rick Jakerson. I blink. The Rick Jakerson? Somehow the school science-champion seems like a misfit for the stage. But I guess anythings possible. Judging by the way his voice echoes off walls, Im awaited by the fact there really are a lot of people like Hunter. A lot of popular people who have another side to them.

A sudden thought attacks me: why do I concentrate only on Hunter? Out of nowhere, Hunter says, I think it has a lot to do with friendship. What? Oh no. Please dont tell me he read my mind. How embarrassing would that be? What do you mean? When you asked about how we never hear each others thoughts anymore. I think its cause we dont have to. Were considered friends. Friends? Yeah, friends. He grins at me. Although not giving him the satisfaction of a full grin, I smile back at him.

CHAPTER TWENTY
Hunters probably out there, running with his new shoes attached to his feet. Unless he kicks them off during his course. Which I highly discourage, seeing as hes most likely going to end up with a sprained ankle. And as an account of his recklessness, he might end up on crutches something I dont want to suffer through ever again. It was the worst six-to-seven weeks of my life. No running. How do the doctors expect me to live without running? Its like telling a stamp collector to stop observing stamps, or a tree-hugger to chop down a forest. But the doctor doesnt know me. I doubt he hardly cares about anything except whether any of his patients carry a contagious disease. Hed hardly care if I a disease he could catch; Im so short that I might as well be invisible. Instead of focussing on the negativity, my thoughts turn back to Hunter and how hes running past every obstacle in his way. According to his grandmother, he gets new shoes before every race. About a week before, just so he gets used to them. I find this unfair. Hell have the latest comfort-grips while Im stuck with old, battered running shoes passed down from my older sisters. None of them except Becca like sport, so the shoes are all mine. But there was somebody else who liked sport. She loved basketball, despite being only a couple of centimetres taller than me. She was loud, she was independent. At one point, she used to be my sister. And I cant stop using pasttense. I gulp, realising where this is going. I steer myself away from the topic. My minds wondering over things I dont want to think about. All I want to do is throw on a pair of joggers and run. This horrible feeling on the inside; its the sort of groggy feeling one gets after drinking a little too much coffee or waking up on the wrong side of the bed. But instead, Hunters the one with the freedom. Meanwhile, Im at Naomis restaurant and washing the dishes. When Im off work in about an hour, Hunter promised hed wait for me outside. Together, were going to run. I predict running isnt an accurate word to use. Instead, anger each other beyond belief and release the tension on the ground seems more applicable. But we both have a race next Wednesday. We both need to practice to our ability. And with only three days left and my crutches have cut out the regularity of fitness in my life there isnt much hope for me. Maybe I can teach my amazing running skills to the freakishly tall villain. Maybe I wont. As Im drying the plates in a circular motion, theres a tap on my shoulder. I almost drop the plate. Naomi! I exhale loudly. Dont do that! Oh, Im sorry. She pokes out her tongue at me, clearly indicating she doesnt mean it. But I just gotta ask: you ready for the big race this Wednesday?

I was actually seeing if I could get out of it. Coach probably will break my knuckles and twist my neck until it snaps, but I cant do it. Not this time What kind of negative attitude is that? The sharpness of her voice startles me. You get a little minor injury and you forfeit? Whats wrong with you? My hand tightens around the washcloth. Honestly, I dont have time for this. Turning my back to her, I begin cleaning all the plates once more. Naomi doesnt shut up in fact, I have full reason to believe her accusing me of being a slouch is only the beginning. I hum a little loudly than normal, just to block her tiny, irritating voice out of my head. She leaves within five minutes right after spluttering about what a failure I am. It doesnt sound like much, but it was the worst five minutes of my life. It was even worse than the public-speaking speech I did in English in Year Nine, and dropped all my cue-cards. I watched helplessly as they got blown away by the voracious fan. Pitiful looks filled the room that day: it was also the last time I made cue-cards out of paper. Nowadays, I use cardboard to prevent a repeat of the incident. To say Im completely surprised by Naomis outburst would be a lie. Im honestly not surprised at all. Shes just like that: jealous and unforgiving. Maybe Im doing her a favour by just being there, standing awkwardly. Finally, the hour passes by. I say goodbye to the manager. Hes in his office, working away at the laptop and only gives me a quick smile before working again. Just seeing his office makes me rethink the day I first came for the interview. He hands me a mobile phone. Here. The number I told you is for this one. Keep it, just in case he calls. Taking it in my hands, I examine all the scratches. Its not brand new, but its obvious it hadnt been used much. Im about to refuse mostly out of pride but something makes me stop. I hesitate and then hold my hand back in. Thanks. It used to be my mums, he says nonchalantly. Now I know how it all fits together. As a prostitute, she needs those fake identities to keep moving forward. She needs them from exposing het true self to the world. Suddenly, I find myself imagining myself in her place. Would I have any dignity left? Would I be able to walk through the streets without that buzzing feeling of guilt? It suddenly occurs to me how horrible Mrs Steeles life mustve been. Money was most likely the only thing she wanted: unfortunately, along came pregnancy and a child whos always accused as a mistake. My lifes childs play compared to Hunters. Theres a weird sort of echoing sound. An exposing kind of sensation in my head, and I have this sudden idea he heard this. That one thought wasnt in my head. Sure enough, a reply comes back. Its not whether your lifes better or worse than somebody. It doesnt matter if one small thing is enough to get you depressed. All that matters is how you feel about it.

The thoughts over. When Im outside, Im awaited by metal-covered teeth grinning at me. He gives me a quick wave as I expected. I wave back, ignoring the rise of butterflies in my stomach. Maybe Im always angry, but this makes me more frustrated than usual: since when does he give me an entire bucket-full of crawling creatures in my stomach? Since now, apparently. Thank God he cant hear my thoughts Id never hear the end of it. Me thinking hes attractive? Whats wrong with me? Did that creepy Arthur do something else to see the world in another world? No, its unfair to blame him, even know Im pretty much doing that for all the mind-reading business. Heya, McAdams. Ready? As always. Our previous and sudden thought-exchange isnt acknowledged. It also makes me a little more cautious as to what I think about, especially since our peculiar power may return anytime. Hunter might catch me thinking inappropriate things, and the last thing I need is him judging me. Him, the messed-up idiot who never stops smiling properly around me. Ever since our heart-to-heart encounter at his mothers graveyard, his smiles are noticeably frequent. He always waves to me in class, and doesnt take the hint when I turn away. Whats more, he actually patched things up with both Sarah and Owen. Although both of them are having trouble adjusting, Hunters laughing and chatting with them as if nothings happened. Stupid boy. Even after exposing his entire life-story, he still manages to maintain a perfect mask on the outside. Whenever were in classes where neither Sarah nor Owen is in, he always comes to me in hopes of pairing or sitting next to me. I always blabber some lame excuse about promising somebody else and slowly shift out of the scene. Why Im doing this, I have no idea. But the guy just cant take the hint. I dont want to spend more time than necessary. Just like him, I dont want to get too close to people. It just gives them power to break me apart; into little pieces. First comes a sort of friendship, and within a couple of months, theyll start scolding me. Finally, Ill ignore some sort of advice they give me. And then they die. The end. Full-stop. My arms are getting weaker. The winds blowing so vastly, my eyes are almost shut. Maybe its not the wind as much as me running faster. Faster towards some sort of hope, some sort of justice act. This theory is confirmed when I finally turn back and see Hunter a good hundred metres behind me. To be honest, I want to keep running. But all my energy is drained. Its all released into the ground by the clutter of my feet. I stand there, huffing and hoping my face isnt too red. Hunter slows down his pace and stands next to me. Whoa. You can run freakishly fast, you know? Thats because Im running towards something. I put my hands on my head to stabilise my breathing and dont talk until I get my breath back. No matter how many times you experiment with different people, the ones running away are always slower thats because they just want to get away. They have no purpose. Theyre a little more scared.

Thats me, right? Yeah. Thats you. I pause. And then there are others who wanna run towards something. They have this perfect picture painted in their head and when they dont find it, they freak out. This freaking out of theirs causes them to run a little faster; with a little more desperation. They have a purpose. But they never find it. Hunter points to a bench around fifty metres from where were standing. I nod. Although my legs arent up for a little gambling, I somehow drag myself to the bench and take a seat, exhausted. Hunter sits beside me, tying his shoes. Flinching a little, I move the opposite direction. Because his concentration is only on his shoes, he doesnt realise how close hes sitting. He doesnt notice my flinching. Instead, he smiles at me. Again. With those metal-teeth. For the second time in a row, Im embarrassed by the betrayal of my stomach. Another bunch of butterflies swarm around in it. Ugh. What is with this? This is the reason I tend to avoid him. Because if I dont, all these crazy ideas blow up in my head. I sigh. This is ridiculous. Why am I so flustered around him? He seems perfectly at each, because hes picking food out of his braces. Right in front of me. Ah, such a turn-on. Hey, Bridgette! Its Stacy Wellington from Science. She waves at me and grins, her freckled arms looking particularly tan. Congrats on the talent-show! Her best friend, Caroline, smiles at us. Her glasses are fogged up, so she takes them off and wipes them before placing them on her nose once more. Hunter jumps up at that instant and takes the glasses from her face. Caroline grins. Its the first time Ive seen her smile. But I guess its acceptable, because Hunters doing all sorts of stunts while wearing her glasses. Jumping up and down, throwing his hands in the air hes the monkey that fully never evaluated. Stacy is laughing so hard, shes gasping for air. I stare at Hunter for a long time. This is the kind of effect he has on the school population. How does he do it? He then takes the pearl-bracelet from Stacys hand and places it below his nose to symbolise a moustache. Theyre all laughing like idiots, even Hunter. Then Hunter starts up this random conversation about evolution and how Christian schools purposely leave it out of the curriculum. The three of them share their thoughts, exchange ideas for homework and assignments. Long story short, Im being excluded. Not on purpose, because Caroline sometimes brings me up but then the topic starts going too fast. I cant keep up with any of them. Instead, I just hear their laughter. Ringing, ringing, ringing. Finally, the two of them wave their goodbyes with their smiles a little brighter and their eyes a little more awake. They both look so alive. Hunter sits back down. He stares straight ahead while I gaze at him. His posture is lazy, but his smile is genuine. And suddenly, I know whats been bothering me for so long. But before I can word it properly in my head, he suddenly sits up straight. Oh no, I forgot to give Stacy back her bracelet. I take the pearl-bracelet from his hand and say, Ill give it back. Dont go anywhere.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jogging through the pavement, I finally catch up to Stacy and Caroline. My feet dont make much of a sound well, not louder than their voices. They cant hear me. Im just about to give them the bracelet, when I hear the two of them having a conversation. I overhear from about one metre behind him. Since Im short, the two of them cant even see my shadow. I realise this isnt the right thing to do. Theyre both incredibly nice people whore a little more friendly to me since the talent-show. They dont deserve to be eavesdropped like this. But because Im an awful person, I cant bring myself to stop overhearing this snippet of conversation. So I trail behind them, standing a little lower than I usually do. Both of them are too engrossed in their conversation to take notice of their environment. Theyre the perfect target for murderers and psychos. Hunters really changed, right? Caroline puts the glasses on her nose for the fifth time. Mmm. Stacy grins. What, you into him or something? She nudges her best friend. To my surprise, Caroline blushes. Well, he is cute. Scratch that, hes adorable! Such a weirdo, though. Nobodys perfect, eh, Carol? Nobodys perfect. Caroline stops at her track and I have this horrifying suspicion she saw some sort of nonexistent shadow. But she probably thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her, because she keeps walking. But even you gotta admit, hes smiling a little more brightly. I mean, his smiles are more genuine. Yeah? You noticed that too? How can you not? Hes not as closed-off anymore. Hes more outgoing. Hes somebody everybody wants to be friends with. I wouldnt be surprised if hes off the market soon. Better get your claws into him quick, Carol. Shut up, Stace, she says, slapping her best friend playfully. I stop at my tracks. Theyre still moving, talking, but I cant take another step. Actually, its more my ears dont want to hear more of their conversation. My hearts beating fast and Stacys pearl necklace feels like a tonne of bricks in my palm. Waiting for them to continue walking another twenty metres, I count the beads on Carols pearl bracelet. Then, I race up to them, puffing and huffing. I purposely make my footsteps heavy and hit the ground many times to they hear me approaching. Both of them turn around and I hand Stacy the bracelet with a quick, You left it behind.

And she grins at me, saying she hopes to see me at school tomorrow. I somehow grin and tell her the feelings mutual before getting myself out of the scene. So many thoughts fill my head as I run back to Hunter. Hes somebody everybody wants to be friends with. Hes not closed-off. Hes more outgoing. Scratch that, hes adorable! These are the characteristics of the new version. The new and improved version. Hunters really changed. I didnt want to acknowledge it. But the truths staring at me, mocking me. Of course he has changed. High school changes all of us, and he happens to be one of the fortunate ones who have it all. His popularity mustve increased since he started smiling a little more often. Why does he have to smile? Why couldnt he stay the same Hunter? Finally, the line Ive been dreading to fill my mind with. Hell be off the market soon. Yeah, he will. By Sarah. Her only complaint about Hunter was how closed-off he is, and now with that flaw out of the way, theyll be perfect. Two high-schoolers desperately in love. One with a dark past and a bright future, another with a good head on their shoulders and independence. Theyll be the perfect couple. Theyll be together until they die. My hands clench into fists against my will. Just thinking about it makes my stomach do backflips. Thank God nobodys around, because Id knock them unconscious. Out of anger. Out of frustration. But most of all, out of confusion. Sharing him isnt an option. I just want Hunter all to myself. * I avoid his eyes throughout History. The teacher looks on me expectantly when asking about the French Revolution, but my minds somewhere else. Defeated, the teacher chooses another student in the class, only to find the reason for their raised hand was permission to go to the toilet. The class then bursts out in an argument over why the student didnt go to the toilet earlier.

Unfortunately for the student I think his names Paul he happens to be one of the worst History students. This causes the teacher to raise concerns over whether hes just doing this to skip class. Apparently he can get suspended for such a deceiving plan. The teacher continues raging about this when I put my hand up. For a second, she just stares at me. Bridgette? Youve got something to say? Yeah. The French Revolution started because the peasants wanted change. And they ultimately got their way, thanks to the power of quantities of people. Unfortunately, their revolution got out of hand. Anybody who spoke against the revolution was instantly killed. So were anybody else who accused another. Everybodys staring at me. But my face isnt growing hot. Instead, I sit as tall as I possibly can which kind of isnt much and have my chin tilted upwards. Lastly, Hunter turns around to look at me. All my confidence vanishes and I feel as if theres something wrong with me. What am I doing? This isnt the kind of thing I do. However, instead of telling me off and giving me a lecture on how I couldve supplied the answer earlier, the teacher cocks her head. Thanks, Bridgette. Sorry, guys. I lost track of time. She grimaces and points to Paul. Go to the toilet before you drench the carpet. He hobbles through the desks and tables. The teachers writing something on the board, her back to the class. Paul taps my shoulder with his bony fingers and grins. Thanks, Bridgette. Youre a lifesaver. My internal watersupplies salute you. Only when does he exit the room do I allow myself to voice the two words circulating my mind: Ewww! Gross! Hunters cracks up laughing. Stunned, I turn to him. He stops laughing, but theres still a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. My face snaps back to the front. I can feel my cheeks reddening. Why cant I look him the eyes anymore? Its kind of startling me how embarrassed and cautious I get around him. Not to mention beyond confusing. Yo, Bridgette. I spin around to see Mac with a pencil tucked behind his ear. I dont understand Question Four. Didnt think you would, I say, after a few seconds. Mac rolls his eyes and asks for a thorough explanation. Its asking you what your opinion is. Well, I reckon the peasants shouldnt have killed all those people just cause they werent part of the revolution. Im here to tell you that your opinion is wrong. Dont you think they have full rights? Like, the king took away all of their freedom: its not overreacting. Bridgette, says the teacher, not turning away from the board. I dont think it was noble of you to put down Macs ideas because of your own opinions. Yes, Miss. I turn to Mac. Sorry, Mac. He shrugs. Whatever.

Im hoping nobody saw this incident. Mac forgot about this later, because he was rapping to some song he heard on television. Its an embarrassing sort of thing, having the teacher pick out on the best student. Sighing in relief, I realise nobody remembers the event that took place a few minutes ago. But that relief disappears when I see Hunter staring at me. He remembers. Somehow, thats enough to throw me off-guard for the rest of the day. When Historys over, I walk to my locker and enter the combination. I throw an apple in my mouth and shove all my books in, regardless of whether theyre in neat piles or not. It just means Ill have a little more work to do when its time for the next period. This makes me crinkle my nose. I wouldve loved to stay home. A lot of people pass by my locker. Some of them say hello, several invite me to parties. Ive always been invited to parties, but not with the same attitude after my talent-show performance. Instead of a simple, Wanna come? I get a cheery and formal, Can you come to my party? with a desperate plea of the eyes. This is the life. This is popularity. But somehow, I expected a lot more out of it. It seemed a lot different; a lot more appealing, a lot life-changing in my head. Curse my unfair ability to invent ideas that reality doesnt touch. Sarah approaches me with a wide smile. She tries to act chatty and confident, but theres obvious wariness in her eyes. I guess nobody knows how to approach a friend after betraying them for a love-interest. Hey, Bridge. Hey, Sarah. I munch on my apple. Howre things with you? Good, good. Yeah, were getting our marks back for English, says Owen, throwing his fist in the air in victory. Sarah giggles. Were so getting an A, right Saz? She blinks. Um, yeah. Were getting an A. Cause we put in a lot of effort. What do you reckon you and Hunter will get? For my half of the project, an A. What he gets is beyond me. Hell probably weigh me down. Sarah laughs, a little nervously. Owen just stares at me. Its as if some demented alien decided to use my body as a safekeeping place. For the second time in the same day, I realise Im not acting like myself. Hunter saw it first. Sarah and Owen saw it second. I recognised at last, having no clue where these sudden un-Bridgette-like comments are coming from. What a lovely thing to say about the old Huntsman. Owen slaps me on the back, a grin forming on his lips. I can always count on you to bring out the worst in him. She likes him, right? Sarahs mouth is twitching. Sarah and Owen exchange a look. One which I dont like, so I simply stick out my tongue at both of them and get out of their way. While Im cruising down the hallway, I see Arthur closing the sliding door to one of the

classrooms. A part of me wants to keep running so I dont ever encounter something as awkward as talking not to him, anyway. But my feet remain glued to the spot. Arthur turns around and gives me a warm smile. It suddenly causes all his creepiness to disappear, while I stand, gobsmacked, as he says, Got a question for the teach? I cant help grinning. Ive got more of a statement: I dont really understand the whole mind-reading thing. Yeah? Well, what do you want to know? How would we get rid of it? Just ask. I blink. Excuse me? Were not going to do anything beyond your will, you know. Us angels dont work that way. Sure, were heard you two whinge about how much you hate the whole mind-reading thing and wish itd be over, but neither of you actually asked for it to be over. So if I wanted it to be over, all I had to do was ask? Um, yeah. He says yeah like its the most obvious thing in the entire world. It was really creepy. I mean, several of me angel-friends were drinking cola and thinking, Those teens are loonies, because despite all the whinging and knowing Im behind it, neither of you asked for it to be over. Im not entirely sure what I find more unbelievable: the fact neither of us found the common sense to ask for the whole scene to be over, or how angels in his world drank cola. Surely there must be some other more paranormal drink for them to consume? Heck, I didnt even know they could drink. There are too many questions spinning around my head. But Ive gotta go. He glances at his watch. Some kids stuck in a rubbish bin down at Patrick Drive. Angel to the rescue: go me. He sighs at my mortified face. Look, girlie, do you want the whole mind-reading thing to be over? It astonishes me how quickly the word escapes my mouth. No. A soft smile breaks through his face. Didnt think so. Within a blink of an eye, hes gone. Vanished into thin air without a trace. I begin wondering if Im hallucinating about the whole angel-thing its extremely likely this is all just a weird, wacky dream Ill wake up from in a couple of minutes or so. But it doesnt feel like a dream. It sure doesnt seem like a dream. So it mustnt be one.

McAdams. Weve gotta talk, says a voice behind me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I spin around to meet Hunters face. Oh. Hi. Yeah, hi. Theres a pause. He shuffles his feet, unintentionally reminding me of a penguin. Look, I know this is none of my business, but are you okay? Somehow, I expect Arthur to reappear amongst nowhere and start droning on about things nobody cares about. Im surprised he doesnt creep up on me. Instead, Im left staring at Hunter and wondering why hes standing so close to me. Why is he targeting me? Asking me if Im okay? Why? Why wouldnt I be okay? Its kind of scaring me how youre acting lately. You just arent being yourself. Im not being myself? How do you have any clue who Bridgette McAdams is? Let me cut to the chase: youre acting like Sarah. Like, exactly like her. Now, my question is why are you acting like her? My jaw drops. I cant answer this question. But the answer is clear in my head. Of course Im subconsciously acting like Sarah. Deep down, I always knew itd happen. She has one of those contagious personalities that nobody notices is affecting them until others point it out. But Ive been with her since diapers without my personality changing. What changed? I dont have to answer you. He sighs in defeat. Just as hes about to start walking home, he says, Are we still on for the training? Yeah. A deals a deal. Turning around, he walks up to me wordlessly. Something I notice is how that really ugly bracelet of his isnt there. Although Im kind of relieved he got rid of it, his arm looks bare without the ugly thing. When I ask him about it, he shrugs and says he lost it. Personally, I think hes lying he loved that band: theres no way he wouldve talked about losing it without any emotion. But I keep my mouth shut. We stroll down the corridors with heavy backpacks on our backs, but Hunter claims its good for speed adding extra weight to a persons body while running at the same time. He probably practises it all the time, seeing as hes somebody who runs away. One day hes going to run away from home; hell be carrying all sorts of luggage. Im tempted to drop my bag. Stop listening to him blabber on about the wonders of life. Turn the other way and flash the loser sign at him for no apparent reason. But somehow, I stop myself.

* Back home, Im sitting beside the air-conditioner and reading a book. Becca enters the house first, giving me a quick wave before engrossing me in a bear-hug. She takes out some weird-looking mixture from the fridge and gulps the entire glass down, holding her nose. It must be some more of her super-effective protein-shakes. Her last boyfriend, Matt, once complained about how bad her breath was when they kissed. And, well, lets say he didnt exactly have the time of his life on crutches. Hey, Becs. I pick out an envelope. Mail for you. She takes it from my hand. Drinking a glass with one hand, she uses the other to smooth the paper out until she can read it properly. Her eyes skim through the words as if shes dancing hip-hop. Finally, her eyes grow wide as watermelons. Bridgette, they found a lead! I sit up at once. What? A lead. On the Eva case. She scrambles to the ground, her hands shaking with surprise, confusion and excitement. The police all thought there were no cameras at that time. Turns out they were wrong. She shows me a picture. This is the suspected car of the killer. The car is a bright blue; the type somebody looks twice at on the roads. But the most notable feature is how theres a slight dent in the car headlights. Its not noticeable. At the same time, the most I look at it, the more I realise how no other cars Ive seen in my sixteen years has a dent quite like this one. Its like bite-marks rather than something done from a pole or casual collision. The numberplate isnt visible. I have the feeling the murderer knew exactly where the cameras were. This wasnt a random attack: it was a very purposeful one. What had Eva ever done to cause somebody to want her dead? To kill her? She always had a smile on her face and cheered everybody surrounding her. I never knew she had enemies. So the police randomly realises there are cameras? It says down here that the tapes were skilfully taken out and chucked in the dumpster where nobody would bother looking for it. Why not just destroy it? She shrugs. They kind of didnt need to. Even after finding the tape, there isnt much the police found out. The cameras are pointed at such an angle that you cant even see the people getting out. And the ones taken at the right angle are destroyed for sure. All this is too much to wrap my head around. So I give Becca a weary smile before taking my book back to my bedroom, throwing myself on the bed. I think about a lot of things, but the main thought circulating my head is why Eva would get murdered. She was happy, she was nice, she always did her best to help people.

I realise with a thud I never really knew her. All my other sisters grew up looking up to her. Being the youngest, I spent the least amount of time around her she was too cool for the rest of us. None of my family quite understood her. She mustve felt so lonely: being forced to look after her younger sisters when she was barely growing up herself. Were we that selfish? Didnt we ever care about her feelings? Mum, Dad! Eva runs to the dinner-table, bringing out her math exam paper. A plus! Can you see it properly? Shes smiling so widely, her cheekbones look as if they hurt. A plus! Not a single thing wrong! Thats wonderful, Eva. Mum turns to me. Tell us the good news, Bridgette. Although at that time, I was only in fifth grade and didnt take much notice of everybody around me. Its hardly fair to blame myself. But its my fault. I take a deep breath and make drumming noises on the kitchen table, counting up to the moment. Mum and Dad both laugh quietly. I got first place in the school cross-country! They all applauded. Barbara was grinning like an idiot, saying something about telling the entire school how her younger sister accomplished so much. Becca was pumping the air with her fist, making boisterous noises. Even Breena left the dinner table to get her camera to capture this moment. Only Eva sat there silently. Back then, I thought she was thunderstruck. She was probably stunned about my amazing accomplishment and hoping I achieve it again. It was her wordless reaction which affected me the most out of all my family I loved how my doings could be so tremendous, she was rendered speechless. Maybe I shouldve taken the expression on her face as a hint. She wasnt smiling; her face was flat and her eyes slightly twitching. Because I didnt know Evas personality, I thought this was her way of congratulating me. Only now do I realise she wasnt silent out of happiness and proudness. She was thinking up ways to kill me. I jump up at the thought, my breathing staggering. Its such a scary thought. Unable to face the silence any longer, I exit my room and feign a smile at my family. Theyre all doing separate things. Mums in the kitchen, making some apple pie. Ill be back, Mum. Just going out for a jog. Okay, I hear her call out, as I exit the house. Running. Running. Running. Somehow, my feet are just collapsing today. I guess this is the side-effect of being on crutches for too long. My entire bodys struggling as if it cant take another step. Whats wrong with me? The race is on the day after tomorrow and my entire lifes going down the drain. Not only do I find a lead for the murder of my sister, Ive got Hunter to worry about. Stupid Hunter who cant even take a hint. Stupid Hunter who confronts me about things he doesnt know about. Hes speaking garbage about me acting like somebody else. Does he even know what I feel? How I think?

Of course he doesnt. Despite being able to read my mind, he doesnt know anything about me, while I know most things about him. Which is a good thing. He doesnt have any sort of advantage over me; no forms of blackmail. Its a brilliant thing. Im trying to convince myself I dont want him to get close to me, to know me. My feet are aching after merely two minutes. This is a terrible sign. Theres no way Ill be able to win crosscountry with this kind of footing. Whether I even make it to the field alive is a worry. So I stop. This is something I usually do, but mostly because Im breaking down and need to have a small weep. I smile. Hunter once pointed this out. He said something along the lines of, You break down, you cry and yet you still win cross country. Whats wrong with you? A wistful smile breaks through my face. Yeah, there are a lot of things wrong with me. The first thing is that Im acting like my best friend. It takes a lot of courage to admit it to myself, but I hate how Hunters slowly drifting apart from me. Once upon a time, there were two teenagers who could read each others minds. No matter how much we complained or caused uproars, this paranormal ability wouldnt disappear. So we learned to cope it. Even within school, wed communicate using our minds and have irrational argument with what we really want to say. It was uncontrollable. It was annoying. And yet, its one of the best memories of my pathetic life. Just waking up in the mornings, groaning because Im reading some random persons thoughts its one of those pleasurable things. I didnt realise how close I became with Hunter until we slowly began drifting apart. He and Sarah are the perfect couple. Two perfect people in a perfect world. Im just an invader who got stuck in their business like a pesky fly in a piece of pizza. And with our ability of reading each others thoughts, we were inseparable. Maybe Hunter has his own life and I have mine, but with our supernatural power, we were always together. Bonded like paper and glue. Now that our ability no longer works, what am I to him? Im not the girl hed run to when hes in trouble. Im not the person hell tell more about himself to. No, these would be all of Sarahs duties. While Im stuck here, as a once-close but now-useless friend. Nothing but a friend. Since Hunters friends with everybody at school, it doesnt put my position above any of the teachers. It bothers me. It really, really bothers me. Suddenly, something catches my eye. Theres a twenty-four-hour/seven-days-a-week material store for people sewing and knitting. Surprisingly, the shop makes enough profits due to the increasing number of elderly people relocating to this small, peaceful town. Though Ive never found the urge to enter sewing and cooking are not my strongest points I open the door. Sure enough, I turn around to see what caught my eye in first place. Fabric of awful colour and structure. What caused the shopkeepers to put it at the window must revolve around death-threats by mysterious masked men. But the fabric is so familiar. I purchase the fabric. The expression of horror on the shopkeepers face is priceless, because she has no clue why anybody would buy such hideous cloth. Shes probably thinking Im colour-blind. Or has really bad taste in materials. Or just blind. But I take the small shopping bag with a smile, thanking the shopkeeper.

Back home, I ask Breena to come to my room. She sits down beside me and somehow gets the sewing machine started. I guess before using an electrical appliance, its essential for the plug to be switched on. She pretty much does all the work for me: converting the materials into an even more hideous band. Of course, in return, she gets to control the television for the next fortnight. It was a strict but fair condition. When shes finally finished, she looks at me for a long minute. Bridgette, no offence, but this band is ugly. I grin. Yeah, I figured. Then why? She looks confused. No offence, but I dont know anybody whod like this band. Youd be surprised. She doesnt ask for a clarification. Invisible Magic

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My hearts clenched into knots. Its as if some sailor lost their way through the sea and decided my heart was a piece of string. Using their fancy knots and securing positions, they turned it into an unidentifiable shape an organ without purpose. Something which is just there. Not to mention, the stomach is working in response to the failure in my heart. Too much blood is going upwards; too much blood my heart cannot control. Ultimately, I feel it weakening like a zillion bees are singing the insides of my organs at the same time. Its a horrible feeling. I loathe it. Yet, I overlook it as I knock on the door of the Steele residence. Hunters grandmother opens the door. Her eyebrows rise and then fall. Oh, look who we have here She turns around. Hunter, theres a visitor for you! Coming, Mee-mah. He arrives at the door. His mee-mah disappears as if she knows we need time alone or something. First, he sees me. Then, he does the classic act of pretending to overlook my existence. I swear I heard a voice here. He scratches his head comically. Hmm. Must be hearing things again. Just as hes about to slam the door shut, I grab his elbow. He seems ready for it. Although it shouldnt relieve me, I cant help feeling a little happy. Merely, it means he wasnt really going to slam the door in my face he was just waiting for me to react to his tiny, unfunny skit. When he looks down at me and grins, I reach into my purse. Here. I cant meet his eyes. Instead, I hand him the band without a word. I I found this. What? I found this on the ground, I repeat. Since you lost it and all, I thought you might want it back. Theres silence. This causes my head to snap back up. Instead of me avoiding his eyes, hes avoiding mine. His fingers run through all the stiches of the awfully coloured material, the texture horrible enough to blind a perfectlysighted person. Maybe he feels a slight bump here and there. This makes me gulp. Of course hell be able to tell the difference; hes been wearing that thing for several years in a row. Ill be right back, he says, not looking up from the band. He walks slowly through the corridor and takes a left. I can no longer see him. Finally, within minutes which seem like hours, he holds up two bands. The funny thing is, I found my band. Would you mind explaining where you got this other one from? The smugness of his expression annoys me. He can tell mines not one bought from the shop. Also, I hate how his smile doesnt reach his eyes. Thats what annoys me most of all: hes smiling like he did to Caroline and Stacy lightly and Im not a stranger, but not your friend either kind of way. He didnt used to smile like that. Not around me.

He really has changed. By reflex, I leap and grab the hand-made one from his left hand. Its obvious to tell which ones machine-made and which ones manmade because of the lack of perfection in Breenas hands. Somehow, all the dents and the mistakes cause the imperfections to stay perfect. Maybe it was just some other persons, I hiss. I dont need to give you an explanation. Youre acting like Ortego again. And youre acting like an absolute jerk! I start walking away, catching my breath. But Im not a walker which is why I pick up speed and run all the way back home. The band is in my hand; my fingers wrapped around it like glue to paper. Why did I make it for him? What pushed me to the limit so I was desperate to get his attention? Ugh, how embarrassing. Ill never live this down. Something which troubles me more than anything else is how he referred to Sarah by her last name. Ortego. Didnt he used to, once upon a time, use her first name? Maybe theyve adopted Japanese routines and using last names. Bitter thoughts overwhelm my mind. Maybe one day, after theyve carved their name into a gravestone, theyll start using each others first names. Maybe I shouldve checked back to certify Hunter slammed the door in my face instead of assuming it. Because now, footsteps are pacing behind me. Then I hear panting and a, Wait stop. I obey the voice. When I turn around, I see Hunter bending down and holding his knees, panting. He says something about being so unfit. Also, something about dessert being too good for him to resist and how his grandmother should be forbidden to ever bake chocolate cake again. Really, I think hes having the closest thing to a mental breakdown to an ego-deflate. Hello, Hunter. When he finally catches his breath, he slowly stands up. He takes the band gently from my hand. You made this? No. He looks confused. But Breena made it. Oh. He runs his fingers through the stiches. At what price? Control of the television for a whole couple of weeks. I make a face. Honestly, its no big deal. I didnt know what I was doing and I guarantee you Bridgettes back.

Honestly, Im surprised at him mentioning my first name than to say anything else. So for a long, awkward moment I just gape at him. He says something about flies being popular in summer. Then he gives a gruesome explanation about how they can multiply in my mouth, seeing as its the right temperature and mating conditions. But all his words are going in our ear and coming out the other. Bridgettes back. He doesnt use Sarahs first name anymore. I dont mean to raise hopes about our friendship being back on track, however, its got to mean something. He said Im back: and he wasnt smug, annoyed or even bored at it. Reliefs dripping through every pore on his face. My hearts pounding. Why he has this effect on me, all of a sudden, I have no clue. And theres one specific question on my mind. Although I dont want to voice it, I also want to. If I dont, my entire nights sleep will be ruined. So I ask it. Why would you even want me back? I mean, whats wrong with me acting like Sarah? You like her, right? I like Ortego. Its a statement: I cant help noticing he still uses her last name. He looks thoughtful. But I dont know. You must know. You were pretty desperate to date her a couple of weeks back. He gives me a lazy smile. Do I detect a hint of jealousy? No, I believe its just your brain making up rubbish. He rolls his eyes skywards. Then his expression turns to a serious one. I dont know how to put it: I didnt like Sarah because of her personality, thats for sure. You didnt? No. I mean, sure, I told you once how I liked her independence but thats about it. I dont like how she criticises my opinion; I dont like how she casually uses people; I dont like how she never thinks of anybody but herself. I guess I liked the idea of her. It must be the longest speech I heard from him. My mouths slightly agape. But hes still going. I guess I remember all the good things about her. Then I somehow made up this whole new personality where she wears these positive things, but the truth is, shes just the same. She tries to stand above us all; she tries to control us. But shes equally helpless. Shes just the same as everyone else. I clear my throat. She doesnt exactly have things easy at home, you know. Her mums always drunk; her stepfathers just plain crazy. So? Hunter looks at me. Life sucks. Now, you cant tell me having a dead sister makes things easier for you. He adds a sorry when I wince. And Im pretty much adopted and was a mistake, all at the same time. It doesnt give either one of us the right to put other people down, just to bring ourselves up. Wow. Are you some sort of inspirational talker?

He groans. Fine. You take the spotlight. Happily. First and furthermore, I think Sarahs not at fault its mainly you. You had this perfect picture painted in her head, and since she didnt meet your standards, you decided she was the bad guy. Hes about to interrupt, but I continue first. And secondly, youre so a girl! Am not! Is too! Whatever. Deciding our argument isnt going anywhere, he adds, Wanna head down to Petes Ice Cream Parlour? My treat. I shrug. Why not? The names exactly what it suggests. At the corner of the street is a small, multi-coloured building that looks like a shed rather than a building. Red velvet stools are evenly spaced out with a long bench in front. Some of the seats are occupied. Most of the people are talking, and there are always the occasional bunch whore staring at the television with loneliness shielding their eyes. Oh, hey, Bridgette! Its Sandy Rutherford, the know-it-all. I give her a quick smile before resorting back to ordering a caramel sundae. Its Hunter! Hi there, Hunter. Oh wow, shes annoying, I say. Stop the negativity! Shes a nice girl, he replies, taking his strawberry sundae and my caramel sundae with a flash of his metal teeth. The girl behind the counter winks at him before serving the next customer. And anyway, he continues, she only lives three blocks down. Ive known her since, like, forever. Im so jealous. You should be. He digs into his strawberry sundae, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice. She really is a nice girl. This is where I want to be stuck. Here. Frozen in time. If somebody ever invents a time-machine in my generation, Ill stay at this moment. Stuck here among these weird people, all sharing the same interest in ice cream. With Sandy Rutherford making faces at small children, making them cry while their mothers scold them. A couple more people from my school come into the parlour. Most people dont stay here, due to some reviewer claiming rats roamed the place, but I get a lot of hellos and quick smiles. There are always more party invitations arriving in my backpack, which is already full, and I doubt Id ever attend one. Still, the feeling of belonging is wonderful. Most of all, I want to be stuck here with Hunter opposite of me, licking his dripping ice cream and acting as if strawberry isnt a feminine flavour. Its pink and yet, hes eating away at it with pride. This is also the moment where I realise popularity isnt what its set out to be. People think of it as some sort of instant thing where everybodys chasing them; everybodys trying to be like them. Unfortunately, thats not what its like. Theres so much pressure. Along with the people who like me, I also build new enemies. People who Ive never seen before; people who judge me before they know me.

Quite frankly, Im starting to wish the whole popularity-thing could be over. I need some sort of distraction from my astonishing, enlightening talent-show performance. Just to get a break from all these smiles, these party invites, these random snippers of conversation throughout the hallways. After a while, it gets tedious. Annoying, even. An invasion of privacy? Its all there. Now Im starting to, grudgingly, see what Sarah meant by her incredulous look. Although its nice to get attention sometimes, after a while, it gets old. Perhaps its because Im shorter than most, Im usually overlooked perhaps that was the reason behind my obsessive desire to be known acknowledged. After getting an idea of this type of life, I dont have much to say. Really, its overrated. Popularity isnt that great.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Were still at the ice-cream parlour. Its getting late, but Ive already phoned Mum to tell her Im not abducted by aliens yet. Shes just happy to see me spending time with somebody instead of punching bags or running laps. Whether this should be taken as an insult, I have no clue, but I put the phone down with a cheery smile anyway. So. I put my empty plastic cup down. Hunter points at my mouth, hiding a grin. I feel sticky ice cream smeared all over my face and laugh. You never really answered my question: whats wrong with having two Sarahs? Besides that fact one of her is bad enough? He rests his head on his elbow, spooning at his sundae-cup. Hmm. I dont know. Dont get me wrong, your personalitys pretty bad too. Gee, thanks. But somehow, I prefer it over hers. You always cry and complain. Youre deathly stubborn. God forbid me from ever meeting the last person who got a point across to you theyre probably six feet underground by now. In a hospital bed, actually. Stuck with a coma. Becca helped me with that one. He blinks, as if not sure whether Im joking or not. Its really the former, but I love to see him confused. It reminds me I overestimate him most of the time. Anyway, so youre this really annoying chick who gets on everybodys nerves. Youre impatient, angry and have some sort of hatred for everybody taller than you a.k.a, the whole entire world. Arent you just full of compliments today? But in all honesty, I dont know anyone whod get their sister to sew a band only because some guy was stupid enough to lose it. And to lose television privileges as well. By the way, the band doesnt mean I like you. So dont get ideas. Correct me if Im wrong, but you wouldnt give presents to somebody you hate, right? Damn, hes good. I sigh. Fine. What Im trying to say is, deep down inside like, aside from the trauma and merciless irritation you put people through youre just a little girl with a big heart. When he grins, theres a glint in his eye. Exaggerations on the little. He ruffles my hair. Hmph, I reply, taking his arm and biting it. Then he laughs.

An old teacher of mine once told me how a sound is perceived by how the person thinks. To elephant-obsessed Sarah, his laugh would be like a thousand elephants stuck in a trumpet and trying to break free. To Owen, his laugh would be a million footballs all heading towards his goal, resulting him in losing the game by countless points. To Hunters grandmother, itd be like some weird government declared cooking was illegal. His laughs so weird, all of the people around look at him. Some of them break away from their sundaes simply to glare at him. Theyre disgusted by how he sounds as if choking and screaming at the same time the screamings most likely for the pain of me biting his arm; its leaving a mark there. But to me, its the most beautiful sound ever. * It shouldnt make me feel giddy, but the fact he accepted my awfully-made band makes my entire morning. I stretch my arms out along with my legs. Then I stop. Why am I so happy whether a certain person accepted something from me or not? Suddenly, I feel foolish. Embarrassed. Count on me to make the little things in life seem like a big deal. Just because he refers to me by my first name doesnt change the fact Im still his friend. Then theres another voice in my mind. One I try avoiding, but it bites at my brain. What do you mean by still his friend? My teeth clench as I try to fight it. But it somehow resists my internal war. What would be more than his friend? And why do you want it? This voice is ignored. Even if I didnt avoid the question, theres no answer. How do I react to a question querying about my feelings? Theres no proper way for me to approach them. Certainly, this must be a sign of insanity. First there was the awful realisation of how I find Hunters laugh quite possibly the sound slaughtering all of Amazons wildlife beautiful. And now, Im talking to myself. Just by admitting this, another part of me expects a reply. Whats wrong with me? It must be the whole mind-reading thing taking a peak. Arthur mustve done something to toy with my emotions. Isnt having full control over who hears my thoughts bad enough? In a way, I brought it on myself. When I had the chance, I shouldve wished for the whole mind-reading thing to disappear. If I never started hearing every thought running through that brain, I wouldnt be in this situation, feeling brash and stupid. Suddenly, the home-phone rings to interrupt any further thoughts. Hello? Bridgette? Its Sarah. Oh. Hi, Sarah. I tried calling you on your mobile, but it was unavailable. Theres a pause. Do you still leave if off? Even after what happened? I wince at her words. She doesnt take notice. Instead, I reply with, Yeah, I leave it off. Strategically, I prevent any further discussion into the topic of what happened.

Unfortunately, Sarah Ortego cant take subtle hints. Anyway, howre things on the Eva case? This is where I stand up. The minute I do, Im facing a mirror on my dressing table. My face is ten years older. There are lines at the tips of my mouth and dark shadows under my eyes. Quite frankly, Im the exact replica of Frankensteins bride. If some hideous monster jumped out of a book and claimed me as the most beautiful creature theyve ever laid eyes on, I wouldnt doubt them for a second. To them, Im family. To myself, Im my worst nightmare. To the world, my head should be concealed under a plastic bag. All because one person cant take hints. Sarah. My voice is surprisingly confident. Its loud, certain. No offence, but I dont want to talk about it. Oh. Theres a pause. I Im sorry, Bridgette. That was insensitive of me. I exhale loudly. A smile breaks through my face. Nah, its okay. This is why Sarahs still one of my closest friends. Shes overconfident, snobby and slightly haughty at her worst moments but shes always sensitive to other peoples feelings. When its clear, that is. She cant take hints to save her life. But when people are as direct with her as she is with them, the whole relationship moves forward. Somehow, I love that about her. Her logical set-mind, carefree personality and the ability to speak any argument with a lowered, calm voice and still win. I missed her while Hunter and I were still going through the, Gee, do I have to know that? Cant you keep your thoughts to yourself? stage. Wanna come over? My jaw drops. Now? Sure. Why not? Just ask Barbara to drop you off at my place. If possible, I hear her grin. By the way, whats up with that crazy sister of yours? Doomsday coming near? Any sudden volcanic explosions and natural traumas? Very close. Friday the Thirteenth is coming up. I guess we kind of all saw it coming; she marked in every Friday the Thirteenth for the next fifty years in a small notebook of hers, which she puts on the calendar every time we get a new one. Shes insane. I laugh. Yeah, but shes my driver. Insanity is a small price to pay. See you in fifteen. See ya. Clicking the phone shut, I resort to all my regular morning preparations. Throw random books into my bag, put on ankle supports, brush my teeth, gulp down a glass of orange juice it gets tedious after a while. Especially when Mum gives me the same stern glare she gives every day, while informing me how terrible skipping breakfast is.

Then she embarrasses me by saying I shouldnt worry about my weight. That although I might think Im fat, starving myself wont shed a few kilos. What am I supposed to say to that? So I dont correct her I pretend shes right in me slowly starving myself to lose non-existent kilos. In fact, Im almost underweight. Its just that I never feel hungry in the mornings. My dinners are, however, filled with random scraps of food. This makes all my sisters gape and wonder whether Im a stray dog on the inside. I try my hardest not to stick my tongue out at them. When I knock on Barbaras room, she tells me to go in. In fact, judging by the intense dark shading of her eyes, I doubt she had a hint of sleep the previous night. Her mouths opening and closing like a goldfish. In fact, all this makes my stomach queasy its kind of scaring me. Barbara? Barb, you need to take me to school. Yes. She picks up the crystal ball in her lap. Then, she places it on the table and gives me a wry smile as if to assure me. However, it has the opposite effect how is she supposed to drive me to school? This smile slowly vanishes as she yawns. Ill just take another nap. Before I can protest, she falls back in her comfy bed without another word. Her soft snoring echoes through the entire room. Not only will I feel bad for ruining her peaceful sleep, theres no way Id get in a car with a halfsleeping person. When I get to the kitchen, Dads doing the buttons of his t-shirt. He sees me and grins. Oh, look. He does the classic act of shielding his eyes and rotating his head around. Finally, he gazes at the ground and waves. Its Bridgette! Ha-ha. Youre hilarious, Dad. I know. Shoulda been a comedian. Can you drive me to Sarahs? He shrugs. Sure. I woke up early. Even if it does take ten minutes for the detour, Id still get there on time. Because he keeps his word, Im able to jump out of the car in front of Sarahs house. Its the same. But somehow, I find it different. Its an odd feeling. Ive been here countless times before. Everything seems newer, shinier. Dazzling, almost. Bridgette! We exchange the secret handshake. Whats up? Nothing much. Crazy old sister couldnt get up. She probably stayed up the whole night. Oh? To be honest, Im not surprised. I was kinda waiting for her to break down and show her true insane self. While you were waiting, I saw that side of her three years ago. She got a sample of my blood and made sure I wasnt carrying the devils blood. It was horrible. She shudders. I can imagine.

Were at a cross-section between the streets. Right around there is where Hunter lives. I feel guilty because Ive been to his house more recently than Sarahs it makes me wonder who I really consider my best friend. This must be was betrayal feels like. Or how that girl among a love-triangle reacts. Who will she choose? And at what cost? Just thinking about it causes sniggers to escape my mouth. Why am I thinking about this? Theyre both my best friends. Equally. Except one of them is a boy it automatically means he lacks common sense and doesnt know I consider him a friend. Telling him hes one of my best friends wont help the youre joking, arent you, McAdams? retort bound to come out of his mouth. Oh, look. Its Sandy Rutherfords house. My whole body instinctively turns away. That girl annoys me so much with her know-it-all attitude (although once Sarah pointed out that I may be jealous of her: I told her she needed a brain recap) and the ability to suck up to all teachers. While, at the same time, obtaining perfect posture in her ballet classes. But something makes me turn around. Theres a car in front. Its a white car, however, as I creep closer to it, I realise the coat isnt even all over. Its clearly painted. It looks normal enough: theres a small piece of paper tucked at the front, most likely a phone number; the brand is a small logo, proudly displaying itself. What catches my eye is a dent on the headlights. Bite-like and original, causing it to stand out among cars bumping into poles or brick walls. A dent I once saw in a photograph.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
My body is in position for the race. Ready? No. Im not ready. Why am I here? I should be beside Sandy Rutherfords house, calling up the police to inform them of a possible suspect. My leg is slightly bent. I feel dizzy. Somehow, Sarah convinced me to walk away from the car. She said the whole thing was still a shock, and that I was just seeing things. But Im not seeing things. That was the car. Id recognise that bump anywhere. Why did I let her convince me to enter the race? Even after the million thoughts swarming my mind like pesky bees. Does she have this much power over me and my intentions? Set? My leg feels numb. Not only does it feel awkward, Im certain I cant run. Its one of those moments where running cant save me. Something is pulling at my leg until I tire, unable to proceed with my daily tasks. The buzzing noise in my head doesnt disappear. Theres only one thing I need. I need justice. Go! Hunter is beside me. The minute the teacher declares the signal, hes off. Theres no denying the energy in his stride, the lightness of his feet. All I can do is stare at him. Even if there are fifteen other competitors, all running in front of me, I feel as if were the only two people in the world. Its surreal. Only when I realise how even Reid Milarty, who walks in the races only so because his mother forces him, is front of me, do I realise Im not moving. I curse under my breath and run. My leg still feels awkward. Im not sure if Ill make it to the front. To my surprise, none of my competitors trained heavily for this event. I bypass each of them easily, watching their puffing faces. My heart still manages to beat normally, although pumping a little more blood every few seconds. When Im in front of everyone, my vision stops at Hunter, running at a constant speed. Hes so far away. I cant even see him. Thats when I boost off into a full sprint, catching up to him in merely a couple of minutes, and then continuing pacing at my normal speed. Theres a teacher with an orange t-shirt on, grinning from ear-to-ear as she claps loudly. Weve made the halfway mark. Normally, this is where Id take a rest-stop and begin crying. Crying because theres nothing in front of me to run to. And the poor teacher at the halfway mark would bend down and uncomfortably pat my hair which has so many split-ends, it jabs them in the eye. Then Id scramble up before Hunter could catch up to me, winning the race once and for all. He always sees me from a distance, crying, and he once told me about how he rolls his eyes every time. But then he admitted, with a smile, that he looks up to me because no matter how tough the situation is, I build a bridge and get over it.

However, this might be the exception. Were running head-to-head, with nothing but the gleaming sun guiding our way. My visions getting blurry from all the tears Im withholding. It suddenly occurs to me how much that cry at the mid-track is worth. Without it, Im a watery mess. Then it happens so fast. Suddenly, my ankle gives way. It doesnt completely stop, but I feel a huge cramp in my thigh. And were no longer running head-to-head Hunters in front of me, still jogging at that constant speed. Part of me is angry. Why doesnt he turn around and help me out? But I know how, when somebodys running with concentration, the entire world is out of reach. I feel the abrupt change of wind as Naomi slides past me. Concentration is written all over her face. She doesnt realise shes in front of me in fact, Im willing to bet that look of concentration will be replaced with a smirk at the end of this race. But it doesnt matter. Suddenly, running doesnt matter so much. So I jog to the end. I finish at third place, receiving a bronze medal for the first time. Sheesh, Bridge, says Barbara. She hands me a glass of red cordial. You dont look like youve even walked! Yeah, well, I kinda slowed down at the last minute. Im distracted. All I want to do is get home. Another look at Sandys car is all I need and the last thing people are willing to supply me. Why doesnt anybody think like me? She shakes her head. This kids at this school are really unfit, eh? I grin. Oh yeah. Then I take my glass of cordial and tap Naomi on the shoulder. Congrats! Second place! Thats right. Ill congratulate everyone and run home. Or catch a bus. I need to find that car. She flicks her hair. I know. Its awesome, isnt it? But she loses the pompous attitude and says in the same, normal Naomi voice, Good job to you. Third place. How does that feel? I feel as if I coulda done better. She grins. Whatever. Either way, youve got competition next year. I grin in return its mainly forced. But theres only one person left who I need to congratulate. To my annoyance, I cant find him anywhere. I look through the school, the buildings and find only some students getting ready for their next class. On days we have cross-country, we still have school but my parents are considerate enough to let me come home. Tell me about this school, Hunter, a voice of a little boy says. Aunty Mel said you would. The voice is coming from the room on my left. Instead of intruding, I lean against the wall and listen. That sudden feeling of urgency is gone. The car can wait. And just this feeling alone makes me grimace, because theres a small detail in my life I wanted to ignore. But I cant, can I?

I have a crush on this freakishly-tall, annoying, weird and clumsy boy. He has no idea, because clueless is among his many personality quirks. I dunno what to tell you This is a Christian school, I guess? Theres a bang. Hey, stop that! Ethan! Stop it! Now, put that chair back where you got No, dont give me that attitude. Theres a plopping sound of a chair. Throwing a chair at me? Are you trying to kill me? The room erupts in giggles. Just not Hunters. Tell me about this school. Fine. But only if you dont throw any more objects at me. Promise? Promise. Okay. Ill tell you the story they told us on our first day And of course, I know immediately what this story is. But I still cant find the heart to walk in. My insides are all swelled up; clashing together, almost. Im suddenly realised its not so much the right-timing thats preventing me from entering, its the fact Ill be staring at Hunter. And hell look back. Just the thought of him talking to me makes me all tingy and shaky. Ive never been like this before. Im the one who sets the first impressions with my shortness and straightforwardness. People look at me as an example of how not every short person is sweet and innocent some can be as vicious as snakes. Suddenly, Im the one sitting back quietly as Hunter does weird skits with Caroline and Stacy, who cant help laughing. It occurs to me how much Ive changed. Ive become more like him; just like he became more like me. Of course, he still hasnt realised this. So Im left with this information. One that involves both of us being each other. And itll be tucked in my soul forever, because I cant even stay in the same room as him. Suddenly, Im wishing we could read each others minds again. There was a robber. He would steal from people on the spot, because he had no job and a family to feed. He was well-known for his heinous crimes, begins Hunter. One day, he pulled a gun to a man. The man was pious and had a slight smile on his face. He said, All these crimes youre committing do you realise that its worthless? Youre disloyal to God. Your familys not going to be responsible for your actions. The man, refusing to believe the pious man, snorted. Nice try, he said. I know that youre going to escape if I try and confirm it. The man promised he wouldnt. And just to make sure, the robber tied him with rope. This is boring, whines Ethan, the sound of kicking filling my ears. Hold on, havent finished yet. Hunter clears his throat. The robber went home and asked his family if they were responsible for their actions. He didnt get the answer he wanted. His wife said, You married me its your responsibility to feed me. How you do that is completely up to you. His children said, Why would we be responsible for anything you do? Its your problem, not ours. Astounded by the response, the robber went back to where he tied the man with rope. To his amazement, he found the man bowing down and praying. He broke free of all the ropes, but kept his promise. The robber bowed his head, confirming it. I have sinned, he said.

The man smiled and looked at the sky. He then found a small dead branch. When this dead branch forms a flower, you will be forgiven. The man accepted this. He prayed, he cried, he asked for forgiveness. He donated money, got a proper job and did everything in the path of religion. I find myself sinking to the ground, my knees to my chest. Just a little while longer before this story finishes. Maybe Ill talk to him then. But the story itself made me remember the very first day of school, and how a priest started this story. He finished it, but I didnt remember the ending I was too busy talking to surrounding friends. Hunter, however, heard the whole story from start to finish. One day, he saw a man at the graveyard. This man was digging holes and breaking coffins open, stealing the white cloth of the dead. The robber felt outraged how low did the man sink, stealing clothes from dead people? and got a shovel, whacking the man dead. The man was sure he sinned. But when he saw the dead branch, he saw it was no longer dead. A flower bloomed. The story was over. Ended. Finished. Even after so many years, I still havent found the moral of this narrative. It was such a weird, unreadable tale. A part of me emerges, and suddenly, Im not engrossed in Hunters story anymore. All my patience disappears, and all I want to do is get home and make sure I wasnt seeing things with the dent of that car. My hearts beating faster. Why am I still here? That was booooring, grumbles Ethan. What does it even mean? Theres a small electric shock running through me. And suddenly, I knew. Its like something struck me possibly a form of thunder, except without the storm. I walk in the room, not taking notice of Hunters surprised expression. I reckon it means that forgiveness comes when you least expect it. And how if you have good intentions, everythings okay in the end. The robber murdered that man because he wanted to protect the dead. Although murdering wasnt the best option, it was all due to his good intentions. Ethan looks at me with his blue eyes. Maybe they wouldnt be so blue without the contrast of his tanned skin. Then he cocks his head, as if intelligently thinking. Finally, he says, Youre really short. Im willing to bet Im taller. Hunter cracks up laughing and only stops when I glare at him. Even so, his giggles havent submerged. After getting his breath back, he turns to Ethan with a lazy smile. She might be short, but she knows exactly what shes talking about. When he winks at me, I have a hard time not blushing. This annoys me. Especially the recognisation of his power over me. If he asked me to stay here for the next century or so, I probably would just to be around him. What a sickening, horrible and irritating realisation. I hate crushes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The police say theyd investigate the case. Its the best response we got, as we huddled beside the telephone. Mum is clutching at my arm so tightly, doubts about whether Ill see sunrise tomorrow overwhelm me. Dads beside me, his heavy breathing halted for once. Everybody else is at university, unaware of the changed circumstances. Finally, the phone clicks dead. Thanks for telling us, Bridge, says Mum, holding me tightly. I know how teens are all locked up in their own world heck, I was like you when I was my age. But there are some stuff we need to know right away; things we dont want you to be involved in. She buries her face in my hair. Two days ago, Id push away in embarrassment of the intimacy, but today Im sitting as still as a potato. Not that my current state of shock would allow me to do anything else. Instead, I play with my fingernails, pretending not to see how low my dads head is sunken. I know exactly what hes thinking. Even if Sandy Rutherfords family is involved with the murdering of Eva McAdams, it doesnt change the fact shes dead. Dead. Shes never coming back. So who cares who the murderer is? We just want somebody to blame for the death of somebody we loved. We want some sort of justice done. Even if it means a tiny jail sentence something which doesnt even compare to getting the eldest sister/daughter back is given to the murderer. Honestly, justice isnt served. Honestly, I believe the police wont even search for somebody, especially someone involved in a crime so long ago. This isnt a fancy murder case anymore; its merely a boring task of detective work. Nobodys going to do that. Not for us, anyway. Im just gunna go out for a run, I say. Neither of them stop me. So I dash out the door, straight down the rocky, bumpy road to town. I keep a constant pacing. Normally, Id think about things like what Mums making for dinner. But todays different. My mind is, grudgingly, set on a boy with braces and an annoying new personality one reminding me too much of myself. I hear a sudden voice in my head. Hey, Bridgette, can you hear me? Hell has entered. I steer away from all thoughts about him. Especially not my lovesick obsessions, because not only would it be a waste of time and effort, hed also get a big head. And having a crush on a guy with a big head will only lead to him living a short life, due to the compressing of tumours in his brain. So I stay casual. Well, my type of casual, which involves hysterically laughing and nervously stuttering, Yeah, I can hear you. Why wouldnt I be? Is there any reason?

Have you heard a weird sort of biting noise lately? Its annoying me so much. Care to describe it? Its like a sharks trying to bite my head off. Theres a pause. He sighs. Yeah, I didnt think youd have heard it. Im just gonna ring Arthur and ask him. A minute passes by. I can hear his breathing. Suddenly, its not so much an exchange of thought than dialogue. Whenever he wants to talk, I can hear him; whenever I want to talk, he can hear me. Its like the mundane conversation through a telephone. We no longer have supernatural powers other than not requiring reception on mobile phones/landlines. Although the question strikes my mind, it answers itself immediately. Obviously, we have no secrets from one another. Were pretty good friends even if I want to be more, while he fails to notice my intentions. How frustrating. Maybe I should get a permanent marker and write it all over my forehead. Then again, Hunter can suddenly declare to being illiterate, and Id have to read it out to him. Which pretty much fails the whole purpose of writing it down. So while Im running, Im thinking of many unfriendly thoughts. Not in the aspect of mean, but more in the aspect of out-of-friendship thoughts. What would it be like to hug him? And just the thought alone sends a series of shudders down my back, while I shake my head violently, trying to get the inappropriate thoughts out of my mind for good. Its bad enough Im thinking these thoughts. Its a worse situation when theres a possibility of him reading my mind. For all I know, Arthur can suddenly decide he needs a little more spark in the air, and remove the barrier separating our thought-exchange from a casual phone-call. I hear Hunters voice again. I asked Hunter what it meant. Yeah? This is usually where I start puffing. Halfway through town, where my running is a little more halfpaced. To my surprise, I manage another twenty metres before the puffing begins. Accomplishment. What did it mean? It meant you were thinking of me. How I manage to keep running is beyond me. Sweat breaks through my neck, but it has nothing to do with the raging heat. Or the glistening sun. Or any factors in my current environment. Instead, its a breakage of swear relating to fear. Whats going to happen now? Is he going to find me out? Will Arthur ever stop being creepy? Instead, his voice is unexpectedly quiet. I guess Im kinda flattered. But also kinda scared. Why would you be scared? Perhaps Im the one ready to dig my own grave, but he has no excuse to be frightened. Im the one with a hopeless crush on him. Of course, I dont voice this fact aloud. Because I always counted on you. He sighs. Yeah, yeah. Its embarrassing. (Really? I have a feeling admitting to love a monster such as Hunter breaks the humiliation scale, but thats probably just my opinion.) I always looked to

you on how to act, how to speak. You always came first. You always made a first impression with your shortness. You stood out, even if it wasnt for the right reasons. Are you kidding me? Theres no way I can run anymore. I find the nearest bench a couple of metres away, and take my seat there. You are the popular one. You have all the privileges. Im just your good old Dont you dare say nobody. Seriously, Bridgette, stop being so negative. Its pissing me off. The way hes speaking to me. Its exactly how I speak to him. Well, how I once spoke to him now, my personality has changed for the worse. Still, I cant help gawking a little at his assertive attitude. You spend all this time thinking nobody likes you. And maybe thats true: maybe youre not exactly well-liked because you never show your true personality. But you know what? At least youre not fake. I snort. As if youd understand. You know what, dont dwell on situations and things you dont know about. Youve never been unpopular. You cant ever empathise with me. Whatever. But I do know one thing: it was a huge mistake of mine to let you sing that popularity-gaining song. Seriously, what was I thinking? Thats not you. And this new, confident person who suddenly overpowered the old popular but socially-awkward Hunter isnt fake? Theres a pause. And an exasperated yet defeated sigh. I hate it when youre right. Tell you what: when we go to school tomorrow, promise me youll act like the old Bridgette. Me promise you? What about you? Fine. I promise Ill act like my old and true self again. Deal? Deal. Maybe this is what I like about him. For some reason, I cant stop the usage of my impatient tongue around him. Telling him how promises should be returned and how he doesnt understand me. Any other girl with a crush would feign a smile and admit problems she doesnt have. Im not any other girl. Maybe this will make the whole journey of getting Hunter to notice me a little more complicated. It might take a lot of getting used to, seeing me as more than a friend. Heck, he probably sees me a little cry-baby of a sister which is a horrible image to withhold, but possibly accurate with my reactions to life. But we understand each other. I shout out what I really think, and he agrees. It dawns on me how he usually agrees in fact, its a minority of the time where he chooses to argue with me. Even so, its on little things that nobody cares about, such as which cartoon is better or preferences in ice-cream flavours. I guess its proof he really does look up to me. *

As promised, I do my very best to return to the old Bridgette. The one who cared who everybody thought about her, but didnt try and change her ways. This Bridgette thought the whole world was the problem for not liking her, instead of ever considering maybe her personality alone was driving away any possible acquaintances. Suddenly, its like fitting back into an old body. This must be what a crab feels like if it gains weight and requires a new but uncomfortable shell. Perhaps when the creature loses weight once more, hell find himself racing back to his old shell. The old, familiar one. Instead of starting up conversations with everybody, only to have them return the gesture a couple of hours or days later, I keep to myself. I only smile when people talk to me, and like the old Bridgette, keep my head up high as if Im too busy to talk to anybody. People get the idea quite quickly, and though there are still hellos, theyre halfhearted. Soon, the numbers of greetings are down to a maximum of five per day. It took a whole week to get here. All this returning-back-to-my-old-self work was making me exhausted, so I feast on an apple and head towards the girls toilet to check up on my hair. Whenever summer attacks, my hair goes all dry and tends to look more frizzy than usual. Im not the type of girl to dwell by the mirror, but there are always desperate cases. A girl is standing next to another one. I recognise them as two girls who Hunter sometimes says hello to. Granted, there are a lot of girls he says hello to. He really changed, didnt he? says one, applying more lip-gloss and ultimately puckering her lips. Who, Hunter? Yeah. I mean, he said hello and everything. But it no longer seemed genuine. His smiles didnt reach his eyes. He looked kinda occupied; like he wanted to be somewhere else. Thats because hes shy, I feel like screaming, and I find myself realising its not true. No, hes not shy. Hes just quiet because hes afraid of getting too close to people. It dawns on me how contrasted we are. Really? I thought he looked the same, says the second one, tugging at her scarlet locks. Maybe Im not as observant as you, Gin. She grins. The lip-gloss have full-effect, and shine a little too brightly. Only figured that one out? They walk out, occupied in their own conversation to cast me a side-glance. I guess Im kind of relieved, because many people see Hunter and I as closely-related people with the whole running-addiction and the sudden popularity among the both of us. Oh, and how we were pretty much scoffing down the entire food-table at the talentshow, once upon a time. The minute I check my reflection, I recognise somethings not right. The person looking back at me is missing something. Not something vital like teeth or eyebrows, but just something. Then I realise it.

Its my earrings. Technically not my earrings, but the pearl ones Eva bought. She then concluded they looked better on me, and I had a new present for my birthday. Back then, I wailed and grumbled about how second-handthings should be forbidden as presents. Now, I cant imagine a life without those plain pearl earrings, with tiny little cracks from overuse. And now theyre gone. I head out of the bathroom and scramble through the hallways, my eyes fixed on the floor. Its got to be somewhere. The earrings were pretty big. Surely somebody would use some common sense and not step on them. The thought alone causes a strike of pain in my chest. Oh no, now Im getting a heart attack. Which is overdramatic and not even accurate, but everything seems out of proportion today. A lot of things are happening. Way too fast. I feel a tap on my shoulder and spin around. Hey. Its Owen. I wanna give you these. He hand me my peal earrings with a smile. Thanks, I call out, surprised, but hes already walking away. How strange.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Things dont seem that peculiar when I see Hunter behind a bin. He notices me staring at him, and ducks. I still see his dark hair peeking out from over the bin. He obviously has no future at being a ninja. Although I have the impression hed be good for peekaboo at a young level. Whatd you give him? I dont know what youre talking about. He starts walking off into the hallway and out the door. I grab his arm. I know Owen. Hes a huge believer in the finders-keepers theory. Theres no way hed ever agree to giving something he finds unless he gets something in return. He breaks free from my grip. Sheesh, Bridgette. Let it go. Cant you believe people can change sometimes? Yeah, I believe people can change. Just not Owen. Then I notice his arm. Wheres your ugly band? Sport band, which energises all the power to the maximum. He holds up his fist as if its some sort of national anthem. I exhale loudly. Okay, fine. You caught me. He found them, I knew they were yours, so I gave him a sport band in return. He sits down on one of the many the benches outside. I mimic him. I narrow my eyes. Which sport band? Thankfully, the store-bought one. I had the feeling youd be stabbing me endlessly with a knife if I gave him that handmade one. Turns out I was right. He grins at me. The grin soon dims into a smile. Jokes aside, I gave it to him. Plus, I already have your awfully handmade one I dont need two. Before Im using my conscience to think, I step forward and hug him. He seems startled at first but then pats my head. No, hes still startled. And obviously a little awkward at how straight hes standing, as if he cant move his body without crushing me into tiny little pieces. Sensing his uncomfortableness, I pull away quickly. Fortunately, he cuts me off before I can offer him an awkwardly worded Im sorry I hugged you apology. Unfortunately, what he cuts me off with is yet another short-joke. Thank God we were sitting down. If I was standing up, youd be hugging my ankles. I whack him playfully with my fist. He still flinches anyway. Youre still such a girl. Id rather be a girl than a savage beast. Dont worry about choosing between options, cause youre already both.

We crack up laughing. A few heads turn our way, but the gazes are quickly diverted. Nobody looks at us for too long. It might be perceived as a contagious disease; laughing like an idiot until our lungs feel like collapsing. My hearts beating so fast, its abnormal. Its not exactly the laughing but the presence of Hunter. Just there. It makes me so lightheaded and dizzy. Im a teenager. And theres always one person who Im crazy about. I just never expected to like somebody so quickly I always supposed my relationships with males consisted around the same as Beccas, which included knocking down her old ex-boyfriends and recruiting new romantic partners with developed biceps and thighs. Unfortunately, Im like everybody else in the romance department. Im all gooey and unable to stand on my two feet. Suddenly, all that talk about not being Hunters Damsel in Distress seems unnecessary, because it seems nice to be saved once in a while. Ugh, what am I even saying? That creep Arthur might You should really stop blaming me for everything in your life, says a bored voice. It takes me a while to realise its not my own. Its a familiar voice of a very creepy person. I am so not creepy! Im your religious teach, yo. Learn some respect, cause I got none for you til you got some for me. Word. If that horrible replica of rapping isnt enough to make innocent bones rattle, I dont know what is. Guess what? says Hunter, taking my mind off Arthur. I swear, every-time that guy smiles, a kitten dies somewhere in the world. That so does not happen! Theres a pause. Ive checked. Ignoring him, I reply to Hunter with, What? Im getting my braces off tomorrow! He grins, revealing his metallic teeth. Its kind of sad thinking its the last time Ill ever see him with braces unless Im to unleash the horrors of school photos and torture him with them. But that wont happen. Not while Im obsessing over him, anyway. Everythings going according to plan. Everythings going according to plan? This year seems so much easier than last year. Granted, its probably because Louis my grandmothers best friends son died, and his wife, Rose, was heartbroken. And though it might not seem like much, it really tore up my own life. I wasnt used to grandma shedding a tear, and there she was, babbling like a baby because she lost Louis. Not that I dont blame her, cause she watched Louis grow up. He turns to me slightly. Sorry, am I boring you? Nah, not at all. I do have to admit, however, Id rather be sleeping in a warm comfy bed. But nobody gets their first preferences, do they? Although it does explain your relationship with Ethan. Believe it or not, Ethans actually Aunt Roses son. Oh? Yeah. Except he sees me calling Rose as Aunt well, not in biological terms, but me and Aunt Rose are pretty close and so he learnt off me. He leans back. I just fed you a whole minutes worth of useless information. Have a wonderful, productive day.

Why am I even friends with you? Cause you love me. He smiles at me. Its weird, because yesterday he wouldve winked. But today hes himself its kind of shocking how much hes changed, and how Im only noticing differences because Ive started looking for them. Yet, I blush anyway with his little joke which hits too close to home. Whatever. I guess what Im trying to say is, he says, leaning back, that tomorrows going to be a great day. And not only because its the last day of school before summer vacation. * Tomorrow, however, isnt a great day for me. First off, I wake up late because of a power shortage in the middle of the night. My electricity-powered alarm clock automatically turns off and Im left without a ringing sound to remind me its morning. School starts in fifteen minutes, and it takes around half an hour to get there. So Mum calls up the school, letting them know Ill be late, and I hop next to Barbara in the car. She seems a lot more energised than the last time I asked her to drive me. Which is a pretty good indicator. As it turns out, she was running some sort of hocus-pocus sleep test which I didnt care enough about to request more info. Having a good week, Bridge? Shes steering the wheel with both hands. Her elbows are trembling, as if ready to spring out and save herself any minute. Barbara did some sort of internet quiz on how shes going to die. She actually did it around eleven times, and some of the main causes were car-accidents, plane-crashes and slipping on bananas. Ive never seen her eat the curved yellow fruit since. Oh, you know. The usual. Barbara then pulls over into a parking space. Completely at random. While Im about to inquire on what shes doing especially when Im already late in going to school she hands her mobile to me. She tells me to dial a threedigit number, and without looking at me, she says its voicemail. We both know why its important to check voicemail. When I go through her messages, Im surprised at how theres one from Sarah. Hey, Bridgette. Yeah, hi. Its me, Saz. Her voice is so shaken up. Ive never heard it like this. I I need to talk to you. Badly. But I dont want to speak through the phone. So Im gonna meet you in the morning, okay? I know how you always get there early and all. So. Bye. I curse internally. The one day of her entire life Sarah needs somebody to depend on, Im not there. How could this happen? So I ask Barbara to speed up and for her, speeding up is going one more kilometre per hour, but its still better than nothing. She doesnt understand the urgency of this call. She probably thinks Sarahs always whiny and needs people to talk to.

But thats not like her. Sarah never needs somebody to talk to. Shes always the one dishing out advice on a silver platter although her words are a little too brutal and bluntly told, and usually taken in an offended manner. When I get to school, everybodys in classes. I somehow run through the classrooms until I find the right one, but not digesting any new material. My minds on Sarah. And only until break-time do I find the opportunity to come in a three-metre radius among her. Unfortunately, I didnt need to. I see her sitting at a bench, about two away from the one Hunter and I sat at yesterday. And shes not alone. She has the boy of my dreams, nodding and touching her lightly on the shoulder. Then they inch towards each other until theyre engrossed in a hug that goes for at least five beats. I feel sick. Its the kind of hug nobody can slip a toothpick between the two of them. And a level of intimacy banned globally in religion-orientated countries. Here I am, witnessing two of my friends hugging. Without me. Leaving me behind. My hands clench. My jaw trembles before finally falling, and Im breathing deep gasps of air. I lick my lips, aware of how dry they are. I know one girl wholl be crying this summer vacation. And when the bell rings, I make sure the boy involved knows. Ive had enough of this. Whatever relationship Hunter and Sarah have, I dont like it. Mainly because I want both of them to myself. Heck, if it wasnt for my outrageous ideas of stop being a girl, Hunter, ask her out between exchanged thoughts, they might still be acting as friends. Only because Im Bridgette McAdams, I let him know by grabbing his arm when the bell rings. Students scoot past from either side of us, but we stay in the one spot. Were not moving. I like you. This automatically produces a raised eyebrow from Hunter. Gee, I know you love me and all. How can you not? Im absolutely No. Not as a friend. The other way. Theres a pause. Mr Grimmit (although most of the students call him Grinch behind his back) is yelling at children to get to class and quit wasting time. His beady eyes flash at Hunter and I, so we pretend to head towards the lockers. It clearly ruins the dramatic moment Ive hoped for. When a whole minute passes without a response, I decide to speak up once more. You you dont like me back, do you? No. He doesnt appear awkward or uncomfortable, but just exasperated. It suddenly dawns on me this wouldnt be his first confession. He probably has an entire response planned out and a secret technique to make the broken-hearted girl feel much better. Hes about to give me the whole explanation. You see, youre a great person Save it. And dont talk to me again.

With those words hanging in the air, I race off to my next classroom. A part of me is buzzing. What have I done? Will I survive a life without speaking to him? Possibly not. And stupid old me asked him to keep a promise I cant keep myself. How typical of Bridgette McAdams. When the bell rings for home-time, I walk past Arthurs office. Hes cackling with The Grinch, and I automatically have another perspective of what his friends are like. Looking surprised to see me, he approaches me but I simply tell him to cut off all forms of mental communication between Hunter and I. This confuses him. But he doesnt say so he doesnt need to, because its written all over his face. Then, he grimaces before granting the wish. I dont notice any difference. But Ill know it when I never hear his voice in my head once more. I need time to get over him. The idea of us clearly isnt going to happen. So once I stop seeing him as a potential romantic partner, Ill go back to him. Well sort it out. Well talk like we used to, when we were friends. Perhaps Im being overdramatic and childish. But I cant stand to get hurt again. The idea of another person choosing someone else over me. Sarah already did that at the start of this year I dont know who she is anymore, whether she considers Owen a better then than me. It hurts. Been there, done that. I dont want a repeat of the incident. That night, Im surprised by my phone ringing. A part of me is jumping up and down, hoping its Hunter. My happiness fades quickly when I hear Sarahs voice. Hey, Bridgette. Oh. Hi. Hunter told me about you know. I squeeze my eyes shut. How dare he tell someone about my exposed feelings? Im just about the deny the whole thing. Tell her its all lies: I dont have romantic feelings for him at all. Its just a phase. Maybe I can convince her its an April Fools joke. But she interrupts my thoughts with a, He pointed out to me how you always considered yourself my best friend, and how you mightve been hurt when you saw him hugging me. He thought you mightve felt as if you were replaced. Huh? I thought Id been replaced, but not in that way. Perhaps I shouldnt inquire to avoid arousing suspicion, but my tongue cant help it: I ask the one-milliondollar question. Are you and Hunter dating? To my surprise, she snorts. Nah. Way past that. He said, and I quote, that theres some idiot girl whod spend her entire summer crying if I dated you. Though I shouldnt really care, things wouldnt feel right. Id have to sleep with one eye open, just in case she jumps through my window and attacks me. So, um, sorry. She does the perfect imitation of his voice. Can you believe that? What a girl! Anyway, Ive moved onto Owen. Hes much more mature, intelligent

She drones on, but I dont hear a single word she says. I put the receiver down to catch my breath.

EPILOGUE
The police found Evas murderer. It wasnt Sandy Rutherford like I suspected, but her uncle who regularly drove by. The police were a little reluctant to my observation, claiming a lot of cars have similar dents, but still checked anyway. I was right. Sandys uncle confessed to the murdering and is in prison. As it turns out, he was sorry for our loss, but it doesnt quite cut it. Just because he was on drugs at the time of the killing doesnt mean hes innocent. He shouldnt have taken them in first place. My hands are wrapped around a cordless phone. Hunter has been keeping his promise for a whole week, avoiding me when we go training for track. He never used to run so seriously; now, however, its like his entire perspective has changed. But Im about to break the promise myself. The phone rings. Once, twice. It goes straight to voicemail, and Im just about to disconnect the line when I hear a familiar, Hello? My hearts beating, and my lips are sealed as if they cant move. No sound escapes them. Hello? Is this a prank call? Cause if it is, jokes on you, cause youre the one with a running fridge. Its me, Bridgette. Oh. Theres a pause. Dont I feel stupid for the whole fridge joke? Yeah. You should. Listen, Evas murderer has been found. You serious? Uh-huh. And guess what? They guilty-party was Sandy Rutherfords uncle. Whoa. What a small town. And Im still really sorry for your loss. Theres a pause. I know this is gonna sound girly You dont have to worry, cause you always sound like a girl. Thanks for the heads up. But I miss talking to you. Not just through our mind, but just talking normally to you. Another awkward silence. Im waiting for him to continue; hes waiting for me to interrupt. We really need to talk. We do. But face-to-face. Im coming within an hour. Expect me, okay?

He hangs up the line before I reply. Becca is in her room, crying. Its weird to see her so down, big whale-tears rolling down her cheeks and her eyes all red and puffy. I cant imagine her being upset. But the news about the murderer set her off the normal level. Shes hysterical. To my surprise, Barbaras the one hugging her and comforting her. I always assumed the idea of sitting too close and risking deathly viruses meant more to her, but I guess I never truly know anyone. Not even my own sisters. As time ticks by, I cant help looking back at how many things changed this year. Summer vacation is approaching. An entire year has passed, nevertheless, with us reading each others minds. If none of it happened, Hunter wouldnt have found courage to ask Sarah out. I wouldnt have a taste of what popularity feels like. He would still strike people as friendly but distant. Id come first; hed come second, without all my brilliant training. My eyes wouldnt be following him wherever he goes, like the moon trailing behind a car. Things wouldve been so much different. Without Arthur, admittedly, I wouldnt ever consider a teacher as anything more of lame. Thank you, says a smug Arthur in my mind. It suddenly dawns on me he can read my every thought also. Hes so creepy. Im just that awesome. Dont call me creepy: you know you love me. Actually, I kind of dont. And yet, you found no need to deny it when Hunter said it to you? Shut up. Anyway, we are never going to happen. I wouldnt hold that conclusion. God works in mysterious ways. I let those words hang in the air. Although I still dont believe in all this religion trash, I still cant ignore the fact Hunter and I could exchange thoughts once upon a time. Theres no logical explanation for this itd baffle scientists, and they possibly wont believe us. Suddenly, I hear Breena say, Look, theres some kid running towards this building. Is he stupid? Who runs in this heat? I can think of one person. So I race down the stairs, deciding my theory was completely wrong. Hunter doesnt always run away, and I dont always run towards. Were different people, yes, but we have the same destination of peace. Maybe one day hell return my unrequited love for him. Perhaps well suddenly find were able to exchange thoughts for another year. Despite having supernatural abilities to comprehend a particulars person thoughts, I cant tell the future. Theres no point worrying about something I cant control or plan to absolute precision. So I stick to the one thing I can do. I run all the way out the door.