Zig

I think her lack of sleep is starting to bring me nightmares; as light of a sleeper as I have become, the moment my eyes seal the nighttime shut for a few moments' rest, her face is the first image to surface from the blackness. I know it's difficult, maybe even impossible, to backtrack to the beginnings of dreams (that was a major point in that DiCaprio movie, right? You can tell you're dreaming if you try to think of how you got there and can't recall?) but I know it always starts with her. She could be smiling, laughing, crying—she's usually crying—but it's always, always her. And then something happens. Something I'm terrified to admit so deeply that the second I even start to notice her considering it, the twinkle in her eye that states she knows the step to take, I startle myself awake.

"Novak!"

I didn't even realize I'd drifted off until I felt the jab of Grace's elbow into my shoulder, jolting me. Usually it's the screams of Maya Matlin in the wee hours of the night that raise me from my own pre-REM state, but this is just as effective.

"What?" I don't mean to sound so groggy. I'm just so tired lately.

She raises an eyebrow in her sassy Grace way and lets out a small laugh of mockery. "Someone didn't get their beauty sleep last night."

"Aw, what happened, Ziggy? Long night?" From beside her, Tiny's smirk is evident in his voice. Did everyone get here since I nodded off? My eyes wander the rubber room to find it full of its usual delinquents, far more packed than I remember it being before I'd decided to just rest my eyes for a moment. Luckily, everyone seemed pretty occupied in their own working conversations, so it wasn't like my slacking was put on display. I always hate when teachers do that.

"Probably," Grace counters teasingly, bringing me back, "You don't see Blondie here, do you?" Tiny laughs and 'ooh's in agreement.

"You guys are creeps." I roll my eyes before settling them on the empty chair that Maya usually occupies. I knew that she'd be late today, but I guess I figured she'd be here by now. She'd had a late night last night, as she has been for so long now, and constantly, I woke up from my visions of her tearstained face to find the real thing in her bed, upright and gasping for breath to remind her she had only been dreaming. I'll check on her once or twice a night, but I know she feels guilty if I pause my own resting to check on hers too many times, but there were four counts I heard of her waking up in a cold sweat, screaming Miles's name in terror.

It's a nightly thing, so much so that I've developed habits surrounding it; I pre-cook breakfasts for her the night before since her sleeplessness makes her less likely to feed herself, pack an extra sandwich in my brown bag in case she forgets her lunch money at home—I've even kept some sleep remedies ready for her in the door of the fridge, like brewed tea and milk in microwave-ready mugs and bottles of melatonin. Between her violent awakenings, I sneak in to follow my routine. Since she's sloped so low downhill, I took to researching the teen magazines she leaves lying around to get acquainted with the latest trends so that I can lay clothes out for her. Each morning, she wakes up to my attempt at mimicking her fashion sense, a full set of clothes with accessories to match, maybe even a few makeup options if I think she'll feel up to it judging from the night before. She hardly ever adjusts my selections, but I can't tell if that means I'm choosing well, or if she's just too lethargic to style herself. I know she assumes it's been her mother, convinced that her parents are attempting to keep her image presentable, but sometimes I think she considers the possibility that I'm the culprit. She already has me brushing her hair since she lets it get so tangled when no one's looking. She asked me to do it once because she "couldn't reach" the knots at the nape of her neck, but I could tell from combing through it that she hadn't touched it in days. Since then, I just tell her that I like tending to her hair because I "miss my own", but I'm pretty sure she doesn't buy that for a second.

Since she was waking up more than she was sleeping, though, I crept into her room this morning and set her alarm back an hour, not enough time to make her alarmingly late, but an adequate amount of extra Z's. I figured she'd be here by now.

"Ouch." Tiny sucks a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, clutching his chest with feigned pain. "That hurt, man. Creeps."

"Yeah, seriously, we're just looking out for you," Grace grins, folding her arms over her chest, "We know Matlin's kept you blue-balled so we got a little excited."

I close my eyes and drift my head back, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Is this why you guys woke me up? To torment me?"

"Actually, we were coming over to see if you'd be willing to trade assignments with us."

"What assignments?"

"The one Grell just handed out…?"

I quirk my eyebrows and return my gaze to Grace. "Wait, Grell's here already?"

"Yeah, class is pretty much over. She tried to wake you up but you weren't budging so she let you sleep. Said she felt bad 'cause you look so tired all the time."

The bridge of my nose crinkles. "I do not."

"Lately?" Grace raises her eyebrows, "Yeah. You do. Anyway, it's this dumb shit." She takes a piece of paper from Tiny's hands and offers it to me. As I take it to read the specifications, she paraphrases. "Apparently, we're continuing our efforts to humanize the remedial students so we got signed up to volunteer at some multicultural fair at the elementary school."

I furrow my brows. "What?"

"Yeah, it's stupid," She continues, "She gave us all a different piece of folklore from different countries and we have to come up with some kind of presentation for it to do in front of these kids. You and Matlin got one about a girl with no arms or something. Ms. Grell said it was kind of gruesome so it needs to get toned down, but it sounded cool."

"Wait, I'm working with Maya?"

"Well, yeah," Grace raises a brow, "You were asleep and she's not here. Plus, Grell figured it would be easiest for you to fill her in on what she misses since you live with her."

"Of course, you'd have to be awake to know what exactly that is," Tiny adds with an amused smile.

Grace nods, "I think she said your legend is Russian. She probably gave it to you thinking that you knew it already because you're Russian and that's totally racist and definitely the reason why you should switch with us."

My forehead creases. "Why, what do you guys have?"

She pinches her lips as if to hold back a cheeky smile and turns over the paper in my hand, tapping the highlighted text at the top.

I blink. "The red string of fate."

"It's this legend about how people are born with this invisible red string around their pinkies. If you follow the string, the other end of it is tied to the pinkie of your soulmate."

I stare up at her.

"…I know, it's lame as hell, but at least if you two do it, Matlin'll enjoy it. She's into all that sappy chick flick stuff. If you make us keep it, we'll both want to blow our brains out."

"You know how bad that would look, right? 'Hey Maya, you missed one day of school and you just so happened to be partnered with me on a project about soulmates. I definitely had nothing to do with it'!"

Tiny raises a hand, "Hey, if nothing else, you can tell her that you took the project from us because you didn't trust Grace to talk about all that sweet lovey-dovey crap to a bunch of kids. You know she'd tell them it's garbage."

Grace nods, "It's true. I'd smash their dreams. Absolutely destroy their concepts of love and hope and soulmates and make them hate every minute of it. I'd be much better at talking to them about a girl who got her arms cut off. Not breaking any little hearts there."

"Exactly," Tiny nods as well, "Do it for the kids, man."

I shake my head, "But—"

"The kids." He whispers.

I groan, "Fine. But if she thinks it's all a ploy for me to win her over, I'm throwing you both under the bus."

They both grin and Grace nods, swiping the assignment sheet placed on the empty chair beside me. "We'll live. I'm pretty sure we can withstand the wrath of Princess Matlin."

I chuckle, looking down at the paper in my hands. "That's because you haven't known her as long as I have."