CHAPTER ONE
Welcome to my class, Christine. Let them get in and I ll introduce you, the chemistry teacher smiled. Christine tried her best not to frown.
That s won t be necessary, she smiled. The teacher took no notice and got everyone seated quickly. Every table had three people except one, and it would be too tall for Christine, who was in a wheelchair due to a car accident. Class! This is Christine Williams. She s the newest addition to our class. Now, this area here is lower. Um Mr. Rove, could you sit here with her? We ll see how everything works out. So, Mr. Rove sat beside Christine, who immediately pulled out some spiral notebooks and began to write. The teacher had started her notes by now, and Mr. Rove thought he should do the same. Christine smirked to herself but let it quickly fall away.
When the teacher walked around the room, Christine turned her head to follow. Mr. Rove thought this was very odd, but he continued writing. When the lab began, Christine relied on him to retrieve things because she couldn t navigate the tight space. She could reach most of the workspace, so Mr. Rove let her carry out most of it. Neither spoke, except for business terms. When the final reaction occurred, both of them couldn t help but smile.
Dude, this is so cool, Mr. Rove smiled.
All hidden in these little thingies, Christine smiled. What s your name, anyhow? Adam, he whispered. Christine nodded.
I just thought we should be even, and judging by your handwriting, you let the girls in your group do most of the writing, correct? Are you psychic or something? he asked. Christine laughed.
I ve been known to be, but mostly it s just observations and stuff like that, she replied. He nodded. So, lunch is coming up and I have no idea where to go to skip it, so I was thinking of braving it out. Do you know a place I can sit, or skip? Either one is useful. The art room, but you have to be working on something artistic, Adam replied. Christine laughed and Adam gave her a strange look.
It s funny to me because that s where I went in my old school, and it took me two weeks to convince the guy that literature was art. I write books. I never take notes, but it sure looks like it, doesn t it? Well, I kind of am. I was in a car accident, and I had a concussion that gave me the ability to store spoken words as knowledge. I ve been using it ever since to take notes so that I can write. It s like second nature to me, Christine explained.
Dude, that is so cool, Adam smirked. Can I get that superhuman power? We ll see, Christine replied. She finished writing the lab notes as the bell rang. She then followed Adam to the art room and led her to the back, where a short, bald man was putting ceramic pieces on a shelf.
Mr. McMahon, Christine wants to stay here for lunch, Adam said softly.
Well, what will she be working on? She s not in any of my classes, he replied.
I write, which is a form of art, more philosophical than visual, but it s my thing, you know? Like Adam and his sculptures. How did you know I did sculptures? You asked me if I was psychic before, and I replied I ve been known to be, meaning yes , Christine replied. So, Mr. McMahon, can I stay here for lunch? You re just a new kid. Are you sure you don t want to go in there? Quite sure. I ve got my lunch right here, and I ve already been insulted once today. Besides, I ve got a great idea going and I need to work on it before it fades, Christine replied. He nodded and led her to a small workstation. Adam worked nearby on sketches, but the two didn t speak, at least for a minute.
How did you know? Adam whispered.
I have connections to certain events in the life cycle. When I can tune in on that, I often learn about coping mechanisms, in your case the sculptures. They re very nice by the way. They ve inspired a scifi tale on my part, with giant robots destroying small towns until they reach the big cities. I think I ll give it a happy ending, but you never know. Sometimes I m in a kill em all kind of mood, which is great for apocalyptic writing, Christine smiled.
How long have you been writing? Adam asked.
Mostly since the accident, she replied. I had nothing to do in the hospital because of the machines in the other person s area, so I took to writing, and I haven t stopped. I also sketch, but that s to help me go to sleep at night. I still see images of the crash in my mind, so putting shapes and colors in my head instead makes it a little easier to fall asleep. I m on a sleep aid though because of the dreams. I remember everything from the crash, for some reason since the doctors don t find that normal, and the memories come out when I sleep. I can talk about it just fine, but sleep it s something you shouldn t mess with, yet it is for me. I still dream of my mom, back when she was alive. It s strange how clear it is, but during the day, I barely remember what her face looks like, or what her voice sounds like. In my dreams, I can see and hear her, and it s amazing, he smiled. Christine nodded.
The accident really changed my mom, and I still dream of her talking to me and taking interest in me, but now she s either afraid of me or ashamed. I ll never walk again, guaranteed, but I m here and I m working things out on my own. I got a week off before I would have to start school here, since we moved, and I took that time to put out applications. I m going to get a job if it s the last thing I do, Christine smiled. Adam seemed to distance himself a little. What is it? You know how there was an empty seat at our station? he asked. Christine nodded. My last, and former best friend, sat there. She destroyed a sculpture that got me five hundred dollars, and she s suspended for it right now. Her brother was in a car accident and is in a wheelchair now. You remind me of her. I feel like this is strange, Christine muttered. She stared at the floor as if she were listening to something. I m only telling you because I m not obligated to keep a secret, I just know of it and if you know, you ll understand her motive. She knew from the beginning that the piece would somehow do something to change you or something like that. A spirit? No I don t know who it is, but they tell her things and she listens. She only destroyed your sculpture to keep you here, where you belong. She cares about you, but a wall just came up, she whispered, looking up to Adam. I wasn t supposed to tell you, but know that it was in your best interest to stay in school, and she, judging by the river I saw at the end, is very hurt and she is very angry with herself. This hurt her much more than it hurt you, I feel, yet you are a guy, and guys don t typically cry a river. I also sense fear. She s afraid to face you. I don t want to face her. I can t look at her the same anymore, Adam whispered as the bell rang. Christine packed her things then wheeled to Adam.
She still thinks the same of you, and no matter what she did, it should not change you so much that you do not communicate. It is simple to speak. If you can t speak with your words, speak through your artwork, or my artwork, or something, but do not stay silent. It will kill both of you from the inside out, Christine said sternly. She then joined the billowing crowd in the hallway and headed to her next class. Adam stayed in the art room trying to figure out what he could do, and how he should interpret the information Christine gave him, or if it was even legitimate.
