3I wouldn't call it being awake, or even alive. I don't know where I am, drifting in oblivion, surrounded by the sound of TV static, a low buzzing noise which sounds like someone has planted a nest of bees into my brain. I try to ignore it, try to focus on finding my breath. My chest. My lungs. The body that I've lost. But it grows louder; more persistent. An ongoing buzzing growing more intense, like the bees are burrowing into my skull, gorging on thick tissue and matter. When I don't think it can get any worse, it begins to shriek as if a radio is being tuned in, skipping stations one by one. After tolerating it for longer than thought possible, I feel a sharp pull- something yanking me back into a splintered reality that I was torn away from. I died. I know I did. I felt my death. I felt the moment I was ripped away, leaving my broken body. I remember the scarlet stream of blood glistening down Cole's cheek. His terrified eyes and twisted lips. I remember the feeling of KJ's warm skin as I struggled to find a pulse, find an indication that he was still breathing; slippery with sweat, crimson smears staining his upper lip, closed eyes almost peaceful as he sat limp in his seat, hands slipping from the steering wheel. I remember Camila's haunting scream still reverberating around my mind, a banshee cry rattling my ears. She's still there, crying out into my skull.
"Lili!"
Camila's voice is still very much there, a ghostly wail sending my heart into a frenzy. This voice sends, however, sends me into an upright position, choking on the scream that punctured me when I felt the impact of the train. When I lost my body. My voice.
When I died.
Taking several breaths, I revel in the feeling of sucking in gulps of oxygen after momentarily losing touch with my breath. My chest. My lungs. Everything was so cruelly ripped away, so how can I be sitting here? In my bed. At home. My safe place, where I know nothing can hurt me. After what feels like a millennia of being trapped in oblivion with no body and mind, no mouth to scream with, I can feel myself once more. I have control again. Opening my eyes, and through a deluge of sweet, mellow sunlight drifting through my blinds, I'm greeted to my room. It's the same as I left it. Clothes are still strewn all over the floor, old scripts and books littering my desk. For a moment, the sight of my room is enough to bring me to tears. I've hated my room since I hit puberty, sick of the childish pink, the scattered glowing stars on the ceiling and collection of stuffed toys my mom insisted I kept for nostalgia. But looking it now, a smile slowly spreads over my lips and I blink rapidly, struggling to anchor myself to reality.
My reality. The world where I am invisible. Where I have no friends and no intention to find any. Where I felt comfortable, yet lonely. That is my life.
And yet...unlike dreams, this one refuses to dissipate, crawling into the back of my mind, with all my other nightmares. Instead, it's a starling clarity I can't blink away, no matter what I do. Dreams feel disconnected when I wake up. They faded away, leaving me pawing at fragmented glimpses still clinging on, only to shatter the more I woke up. But this is different. This feels like a memory, like hours ago. Except there's no evidence of it. I'm in my bed, even if I can't remember falling asleep. But even if it was a dream, nothing but my imagination getting the better of me, I still feel the phantom pain of my body shattering. My blood is a flood of fire, an inferno streaming through my veins, burning me inside out once again. The scream however, does not tear from my lips that are mine again, I realise, after swallowing a thick coat of bile stuck to the back of my throat. I swallow it down, struggling to suppress a brewing panic attack beginning to take hold of my lungs, slowing my breath to short little gasps.
Not real. The words spring to my tongue, and I'm left choking on them, on breath that I can't hold onto. Their faces flash in my mind, each one in vivid lucidity. They feel almost tangible, as if I could reach out and run my hands through Cole's thick brown hair and glide my fingers down his cheeks, wiping away the blood which contrasted shining olive skin so perfectly; as if he was a canvas. No matter how hard I try, I can't wipe away KJ's laughing mocha eyes and Camila's wry smile. Even the scowl carved on Casey's lips. Mark's shark grin. They feel too real to be imaginary. I drop my head into my hands, trying to bury their faces into my mind. But something is wrong. Their names. They've stayed with me, like the others. Names that should have drifted away, should have been plunged into oblivion like every other childhood nightmare I'd driven into the dark.
Tears roll down my cheeks for friends that I thought were real. That I had in fact imagined. The thought that strikes me is a lightning bolt, spasming up and down my spine, filling me with prickling electricity. They're not real. None of them are real.
But their expressions, their voices; Cole screaming at KJ to drive, Camila sobbing into her knees. Mark and Casey and Madelaine. All of their voices come to life in my head, a symphony orchestra bleeding into my mind in so much clarity. So real.
And so not.
It was just a dream. That's the first coherent thought that pops into my head, after the hurricane hitting me when I woke. The second, that I'm sure about to throw up.
"Lili!"
My head snaps to the doorway, and I find myself staring at my mother. More importantly though, the horrified look on her face. My mother has always strived for perfection. I share her golden curls and bright green eyes. I got dad's bad eyesight, dark skin tones and freckles, but mom's skin is almost albino white. Though I've always felt lucky to inherit her strong jawline and button nose. I didn't, however, inherit her height. She towers over my door, a blur of bedhead and fluffy robe. I'm use to the look of disappointment on her face, when I get up late for school. Though her expression this time is almost amusing. Her eyes are wide, lips curled into what might turn into a scream. I stare back, trying to locate her usual prim ponytail and plastic smile. She practically radiated in the morning. It was probably one of the expensive oils she used. But I can't find any of that today. She's still in her silk pyjamas and gown, blinking at me through frazzled strawberry blonde curls as if I'm a figment of her imagination.
"What happened to you?"
Her voice is a little below a shriek, and I jump slightly, snapping out of reverie. Mom looks like she's about to burst into tears, and I don't know what to say.
"Mom?" My voice is a hoarse whisper. I sit up in bed, trying to ignore the fact that every bone in my body aches. "What are you talking about?"
Her lip curls. She looks like she's going to start screaming, and this is not a part of my mother I know. All I know are the strict lectures and rolled eyes when I refuse to tidy my room. This woman is more of an impostor. She lets out a sharp cry. "What am I talking about, Lili? Where were you last night?" she demands, her cheeks growing progressively more red, like a tomato. "Sweetie, what did you do to your lovely hair?"
At first I have no idea what she's talking about. "What?"
But then I'm absently trailing my hands through straggles of my hair, when I catch flashes of deep crimson streaking golden strands. It remind me of my dream; blood smeared on skin so pale, on a boy I thought was dead. Retracting my hand, I choke on a cry, and then grab at my hair, running my fingers up and down partitions. The images come flitting back, crashing into me like a wave of icy water. Kicking away my bed sheets I stare down at myself. My sweater is covered in dirt and grass stains, as are my legs. My bare feet peek from the foot of the bed, discoloured and rugged. For a moment I'm sure my heart has stopped. Bile burns in my throat. There's no mistake, and no matter how hard I try and find some kind of explanation why I'm covered in dirt like my dream, I can't.
Because it wasn't a dream.
"And this!" Mom holds something up, and I recognise the salmon pink detention slip pinched in her fingers. My stomach jumps into my throat. Yesterday's events hit me once again, this time in complete clarity. Being thrown in detention, meeting the others, the stuffy car-ride and digging session that bled into early Twilight. I swallow hard. The earthquake. The train. If mom has noticed my cheeks go significantly pale, she doesn't say anything, waving the slip of paper. "Detention, Lili? And you didn't tell me? You didn't tell me you ruined your lovely hair?" Mom looks like she's on the edge of a mental breakdown, her voice shaking. "Where were you last night? When did you come back?"
The words are at the back of my my throat. I don't know, mom. I don't know how I got back here, because I'm pretty sure I'm dead. Or crazy. Maybe both. While part of me is horrified at embracing the reality that last night was real, a small part is relieved. A small part indulges that the kids I thought I imagined, are in fact real. No longer figments of my imagination that I can't brush away, everything about them is real, and I struggle to come to terms with it. Because as well as being real, as well as being living and breathing kids, so called Team Detention, a group of three I was happy to call my friend, I'm also sure that they're like me. They died along with me, trapped in our teacher's car and blanketed, choking in smoke. All four of us had been hit.
I can still feel the impact of the train driving the breath from my lungs, crushing me, sucking all the sound from my ears. It was the strangest feeling. Like floating above my shattered body, and becoming one with the air around me. But I'm alive. There's no evidence to suggest being wiped out by a train. Shuffling uncomfortably, I test out my legs and arms, tipping my head back. My spine should have snapped. My neck and skull should have been pulverised to dust. I felt it. I felt my death, so how can I be here? How can I be alive? Closing my eyes, I concentrate on those last moments. I can feel the leather of the seats pinching between my fingernails, warm blood trickling down my nose, after hitting the window. Cole and KJ had been in the front seat. They couldn't have gotten out. Cole's sad smirk. The boy was looking at me in our last moments, with lips I'm sure wanted to say more. His flickering eyes ready to accept an inevitable death. Camila was next to me. I can still hear her sobs seeping into the back of my mind, feel her sharp nails stabbing into the flesh of my arm. KJ was knocked out. I see him sprawled across front seats over Cole's trembling knees, his shock of brown hair covering closed eyes, a face so startlingly white, illuminated by flickering light, and so much red. An ooze of deep, deep scarlet trickling from parted lips still flitting breaths.
Mark. His face flashes in my mind. A face I'd much rather was in fact a dream. Casey and Madelaine, who had been taken against their will, slipping into the shadows. I see Madeleine's hair, a cascade of crimson bouncing on cream shoulders; lips curled into a mischievous smile, while she soaked up the sun. Then there's Casey, green eyes wide with fear. The first emotion I'd seen apart from anger. Fear didn't suit him, and yet I'd seen it light up his normally stoic face, his lips mouthing words that shattered my heart.
Call the police.
Real. It takes me several seconds to register in my mind.
They were real. All of them. Team Detention, and our psycho teacher.
My stomach recoils again. For a moment, all I want to do is confide in mom. I've always told her everything since I was a kid. But this isn't something I can blurt out, unless I want to be tossed into a psychiatric ward. I can almost hear myself. See myself. I watch the shadow of myself climb out of bed, stumbling across my pink fluffy rug, and diving into my mother's arms. She smells of sweet roses and lavender, and I bury my head in her chest, breathing it in, letting the sweet smells seep into my senses. She would stroke my hair, tutting at the mess I'd made of it, and I'd pull away with tears rolling down my cheeks, spluttering on words that seem crazy. Seem impossible. But this version of me believes she will understand. That she will know what to do. I pull away with swollen eyes and try and explain why I'm so filthy. But there's no logical explanation on my tongue, so I spit everything out, all the crazy truth that I'm sure is reality.
"My teacher is a psycho, and I was forced to dig up some random artefact, and I don't even know if it's real. And then this...this earthquake. It came out of nowhere, and then the train...we got stuck, and this guy, he was knocked out. I thought he was dead, and then there was smoke. I thought I was going to die...no." I stopped, shaking my head, tears free-falling. "No, mom. It hit us. Oh god, it hit us. It...it hit us, mom..."
While I shattered, pieces of me breaking apart, I would start to laugh at the irony. "I made friends. Real friends, mom. Friends I've been wanting for so long, and they-"
They were wonderful. That's what I wanted to say. The perfect clash of personalities coming together. They made me feel less alone. Less invisible.
Then I would become a child again, sobbing into her chest, struggling to breathe, gasping on oxygen that won't make it to my lungs. I'd take deep breaths, but I can't breathe. I can't cry. I can't scream. Clutching her tighter, I let out a stammering breath, choking on convoluted words. I'm five years old again, gripping the material of her silk gown between my fingers, trying to find an anchor. But instead of falling over in the playground and crying over skinned knees, I'm struggling to piece together a reality I'm sure is real. But it can't be. My child self would hit me, seeping inside my thought process, twisting the words on my tongue. "I was hit by a train, mommy."
I was five years old again, peering at my mother, tears streaming down my face.
"And they died along with me. I felt it, mom. I felt my death. I felt the pain. I felt the train hit me, I felt it envelope me, crushing me into dust. Everything exploded, and I don't know what happened. I was dead, and now I'm...now I'm here."
There would be a pause, and I'd struggle to catch my breath, while my mother's gaze wouldn't leave me, her cheeks growing progressively paler.
She would look at me, her expression twisting with horror. "Drugs." She'd say quietly, studying my swollen eyes and pallid cheeks. "Drugs, Lili?" she'd say louder, her wonderful blue eyes that I've always loved, igniting with anger. She would pick out my words and twist them, because believing me wouldn't even grace her mind. "Have you and these new friends.." she pulls a face. Of course she'd highlight the others, connecting dots. They were in detention with me, so of course they were the scum of the earth. When I'm pretty sure it was their first time too. At least for KJ and Camila. Cole strikes me as a boy who breaks the rules for the sake of it; a smart ass who enjoys the attention. His face is still fragmented in my mind. That last smile. The sad curl of his lips, the crusted blood on his temples, shining on olive skin glistening with perspiration.
"These...oh goodness, these delinquents! These detention buddies of yours! Have you been taking recreational drugs? Is that why you were so late?"
And that, is when I'd give up, realising that no matter what I said, my words wouldn't ever register in such a prim and proper mind. A sceptical mind that only relied on logic and science. This is something else. Something neither science nor logic.
"What?" I'd shoot back. "No, mom. No, I'm telling the truth! Mom, I died!"
She wouldn't listen to me. I know that. She'll think I've lost it.
Blinking myself out of the scenario playing out in my head, I hold my breath. I can't tell her. Something like this needs to be locked away in the back of my mind.
Even if I long to talk to her, long to cry out and unleash the fear and confusion bubbling inside me, I swallow it down. I used to be afraid of talking back to my mother, dreading lectures over nursing cups of coffee and buttered toast. But something inside me has changed; a dazzling, confusing mix of confidence and bravery strikes me, and I find myself shrugging my shoulders. I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her what really happened. So I try to smile, try to make out like I'm okay. "I dyed my hair, mom."
My facade sucks. I'm a third year drama student, and I can't even give her a plastic smile. A notion that I truly am okay. But I can't hide the fact that I'm slowly splintering. Her eyes widen. "What on earth for? You had lovely hair, Lili! My goodness, you look like a circus act!" She waves the detention slip, still scowling. "It says here you dyed it in the school bathroom! Sweetheart, why didn't you ask me first?"
The words are on my lips automatically. Because you wouldn't let me, I want to say. You would never, ever let me. Because you want me to stay your perfect little girl.
Instead, I force what I hope is a smile. And with that, comes a shock of electricity running through me, igniting me with an energy I'm not used to. I jump out of bed, but the second my bare feet hit pale blue carpet, I slap my hand over my mouth, nearly falling off balance. The overwhelming urge to vomit has been plaguing me since I woke up. Except the feeling dissipates quickly, leaving me feeling like I'm walking on thin air. My head spins jarringly, but I catch myself, managing to straighten up.
"Lili?" mom's voice is riddled with worry. "Baby, are you okay?" she recoils when her gaze snaps to the smears of dirt on my legs and splattering Camila's shorts. "Whose clothes are they? Oh god, Lili, what have you done to yourself?"
"A party." is all I can reply. "I went to a party, mom."
"A party? On a school night? Lili Reinhart, you're grounded."
I have to relay her words in my mind, trying to process them. Am I okay? I was hit by a train and died with three classmates, and now I'm standing in my perfectly pink bedroom, not a scratch on me. Not one hair out of place. "I'm fine." I reply. But the words feel wrong. I'm fine. They're like poison on my tongue. Instead of caving, and telling her the truth, I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, forcing myself to believe it.
I'm fine.
I'm fine.
Oh fuck, I'm definitely not fine.
The words follow me to the bathroom. Mom leaves me, heading downstairs to make breakfast. I busy myself getting ready. Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, I stare at my reflection, grasping the cool marble of the faucet tightly, trying to figure out who the girl staring back at me is. Because she doesn't look like me.
Instead, a stranger stares back.
Yesterday feels a whole other world away. When I'd glared at the perfect blonde girl with hair reaching her tail bone and sad blue eyes, twisted lips curled with anger. Now, all I'm staring at is a shell. My hair falls in front of my eyes that look faded. Pale blue and washed out, as if my very soul has been ripped out. My cheeks are stark white and my face is thinner. My jaw line is sharper, more defined. I'm not sure if I should be happy. I've always wanted a face that stands out. But not like this. My eyes look almost unnatural. Fake. They no longer look like my mother's, and part of me splinters at that realisation. I wished to be seen, to not be a ghost on the fringe of St John's corridors, a shadow in a crowd of sophomores bustling around. But this isn't what I meant.
My skin is like a beacon soaked in moonlight, and it's impossible to look away from. I find myself entranced by my own eyes. Steel blue-grey eyes, the colour of sun bleached forget-me-not petals ringed with deepest indigo, the colour of bleached jeans, the colour of a Norwegian glacier, cornflower blue, palest watery blue like the eyes of a ghost.
Ghost. The word makes me feel dizzy. I'm a ghost.
Brushing my fingers across my temples, I closely study my skin There's not one blemish. Nothing to suggest I was slammed into by a train. Nothing to suggest that I'm dead. I'm fucking dead, and nobody else sees it. But I see it. I feel it, and knowing that I died, and I can't talk to anyone except kids who I hardly know - it's killing me, a constant strain on my chest. I pull off yesterday's sweater, and step into the shower, scrubbing at the dirt ok my legs until my skin is pink and sore. All while trying to ignore the blossoming red bruise over my right temple. I can still feel the sensation of my head smacking into the glass of Mark's window, a neutron star collision setting off in front of my eyes, which closely accompanied a dull pain striking like bolts of electricity.
The water is refreshing on my face as I duck my head under the stream, tackling the dial for a hot burst. But the temperature doesn't change, even when I check and double check the dial. It's on the piping hot option which means the water should be burning my back. But instead I barely feel anything, pressing my forehead into the cool tiles and closing my eyes.
I'm dead. The words are stark in my mind, dominating my thought process. But I ignore them, shaking them away. Hastily, I step out the shower and towel myself dry, pulling on clothes I grabbed quickly; a white blouse and skinny jeans. After dragging a comb through the mess of my hair, I tie it into pigtails, before pulling them out and fastening my usual ponytail. I have to be Lili Reinhart today, even if I feel nothing like her.
Even if I feel like a shadow of her.
Grabbing my backpack, I shoulder it quickly, before heading downstairs. Mom is in the kitchen, and there's a fresh plate of scrambled eggs on the table. My gaze snaps to the eggs, and my stomach churns, bile once again climbing up my throat. But at the same time, my mouth waters. I'm starving. The sight of the eggs gives me mixed feelings, like part of me wants to scarf them down while they're hot, while the rest of me wants to get as far away from them as possible. Steeling myself, I start towards them, before the smell engulfs my senses and my stomach lurches again, my hands growing clammy.
I'm not taking the chance. Mom will never let me go to school if she thinks I'm sick, when I know I'm not. It's after effects of what happened last night, I'm sure of it. My body isn't used to dying, and then somehow miraculously coming back. All that I know is that I need to talk to the others, to make sense of this thing before I go crazy, before I my sanity slips. Because whatever is happening to me, is surely happening to them. They must have woken up feeling different. Wrong. Dead. At least I hope so. Though that is if they're still here. The thought strikes me; what if I'm the only one who survived?
Shaking my head of the thought, I thank mom for the breakfast I didn't touch, and feeling like I'm still dreaming, like I'm walking on air, I head to school.
School is the same. I slip into the shadows as usual, darting from class to class, trying to glimpse the others in the bustle of students around me. But I don't see any of them. By break, my heart has sunk into my gut. Maybe I did hallucinate them. Maybe I really am crazy, there was no Team Detention, and all I did was sleepwalk last night. Which would explain why my legs were covered in dirt. But Camila's clothes...I still have them. I was still wearing her shorts and t-shirt when I woke up. The others are real, I know it. So where are they? The thought plagues me most of the morning, and by lunch, I'm scanning the crowd directly, searching for them. The thing is, I'm not like that. I keep my head down and hide behind my mop of blonde hair. But something inside me is alive, writhing through me, trying to seek out the others. It's like a third sense has awakened inside me. I turn at every laugh or shout. Every time a door slams shut I feel the jarring reverberation ten times louder in my ears. It's a hypersensitivity I've never had.
Until this morning.
"Next!" A voice startles me out of my stupor, bringing me back to the crowded lunch room. I move as if in a dream, dragging my tray across the metal surface, the laughter and chatter coming from my classmates falls on my dead ears. I can vaguely hear a girl gossiping behind me. It's Ash from one of my drama classes; her dark skin and outlandish fashion sense makes her look like an African princess, chocolate brown hair cascading down her leather jacket. Her head is pressed into another girl's, as they whisper conspicuously. I like Ash, but she's always the one at the centre of the gossiping chain. Her scarlet lips curl into a devilish smile as her friend whispers something in her ear.
The lunch lady has greying hair held up in a hair net, and just looking at her, I know she has spat in my food. She smiles politely and points to a plate of lasagne. At least that's what I think it was. It looks like roadkill that had been peeled off steaming concrete. My gut has been dancing all day, but the thought of cafeteria lasagne suddenly makes me ravenous. With what I can only describe as a patronising smile, she dumps the food on my tray, along with an apple and a bottle of water. The lunch line is full of hyperactive kids shoving each other. St John's is full of potential prodigies, so there's always a student performing. Halfway across the lunch hall, a junior is singing an Ed Sheeran cover. He's sitting on one of the tables, legs crossed, guitar comfortably nestled in his arms. I don't know him that well. Only that his name is Jordan, and he wears leather in all seasons. His voice is sweet and melodic, momentarily dragging me out of explosive thoughts that have been haunting me most of the day. I continue down the line, letting his voice grace my ears. Turning around, I see that he's enraptured the whole room, and I cant help thinking of KJ's reason for being thrown in detention. In Cole's words, the boy had "turned the cafeteria into his own private concert".
Part of me wishes KJ is there instead. I never heard him sing, apart from short bursts of singalongs when we were digging. The last time I saw KJ, his face had been ghostly white, lips tainted scarlet, those warm mocha browns shut almost peacefully. My heart aches, and I force the image from my mind, gripping my tray tighter. Instead of wallowing in the pain and confusion of last night, I focus on Jordan's voice slowly reaching a crescendo.
Just as I'm falling into the chorus of the song, swaying to the melody of Supermarket Flowers, something spikes inside me. I can't explain it. It's like my body is coming to life, before my brain can register. Something hits me, the aroma of crushed coffee beans, musk and dark chocolate. It's a scent I've never smelled before, and I can't help gulping it in, nearly choking on it as it overwhelms me, getting progressively stronger.
"God, I love chocolate pudding. But I can't stomach it right now."
The sudden voice sends shivers rocketing down my spine. A pudding cup lands on my tray, and I snap my head up, finding myself face to face with a boy, who hours ago, I was convinced I'd imagined. But he's real, towering over me with that familiar curl of amusement on his lips. Cole is pale, shadows dancing under half lidded eyes that almost look iridescent, like ocean spray flecked with every shade of blue. And just like mine, they look unnatural. Wrong. Cole's eyes are both beautiful and horrifying, and I can't help gaping. The boy is dishevelled, unbrushed curls pushed back by a pair of ray-bans. His clothing choice looks clumsy, a band shirt and jeans, the old fashioned Polaroid he was wearing yesterday is nowhere to be seen. I can't speak for a moment, entranced by his eyes that look almost hypnotising, swimming in writhing light circling his iris.
Cole's tray is mostly empty except a sad looking burger, limp lettuce poking out, and a pathetic portion of fries. He offers a small smile, but I can tell it's forced. The shadows under his eyes look prominent, and the glint from yesterday, that spark of playfulness has faded into agitation and fear. "Lili." Cole murmurs, before seemingly catching my horrified look, pushing his sunglasses back into place. "Stop staring."
I manage to nod, and start towards the myriad of tables. Cole follows, leaning into me, and I smell it again. A mix of scents swirling around. It's sweet and sour enveloping together, overwhelming my senses. Squeezing my tray tighter, I focus on finding a table. Part of me wants to ask him if he's doused himself in cologne, but after his reaction to me staring at his eyes, I'm sure I'll only make him feel even more self conscious. That's what I notice automatically. The boy is bent over himself, hiding under tousled curls straying in his face. It's a completely different demeanour from yesterday, when he'd been the epitome of rebellion. I can't help relaying Madeleine's words from yesterday. "It's no surprise you have no friends, Cole." which didn't seem to faze him at the time, but now I'm wondering if I misjudged him. I figured him as a class joker, the type of guy who gets along with everyone. But now, at least after last night, he seems content to hide behind his sunglasses. "I'm not crazy, right?" Cole hisses. "Last night, we, uh..."
I can't help myself, pushing past a group of guys flocked together, cheering for Jordan, who begins singing another song. "Died?" the word slips from my mouth, and he lets out a surprised snort. "Yeah. Well, getting KO'd sounds better, of course. But sure. Died."
There's an empty table at the back of the lunch room. I gravitate towards it, and to my surprise, the raven head follows. He dumps his tray on a four seater, and collapses down with a huff. After hesitating, I take the seat opposite him, frowning at my plate of lasagne. My stomach is still conflicted whether it's hungry or nauseous.
"So." Cole leans forward with questioning eyes, brow arched. "Fancy guessing what the hell happened last night?"
"My thoughts exactly."
A familiar Kiwi twang sends my heart into a frenzy, and I look up to see KJ, with his usual smile. His eyes however, are darker than I remember. Though I don't keep eye contact with him long enough to see if they are like Cole's, or mine. KJ's hair sticks up everywhere, cheeks a pallid white, dark smudges under his tired looking eyes that look almost sunken. He wears a fresh button down and skinny jeans that contrast his ghostly cheeks almost too perfectly. Like Cole, KJ suits the look of death. I can't say the same for myself. The boy takes the seat next to Cole, dumping his tray of burger and fries.
Another smell hits me, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs. Fresh strawberries and crushed autumn leaves, a spice I've never smelled before, mixed with something sweet, like liquid sugar. I lean back in my seat, resisting the urge to cover my nose.
Picking up his fork, KJ settles his gaze on me, and then Cole, pointing at us with the silver prongs. "So I had a dream last night." he starts. "Really fuckin' weird. I head to school feeling like death and spend the whole day thinking I'm crazy, before I spot you guys." he lets out a sharp breath. "Holy fuck, I'm not crazy after all, aye."
Cole sends him a look. "Let me guess. Did your dream involve you driving us into doom, and then knocking yourself out on the steering wheel of our psycho teacher's car?"
KJ rolls his eyes. "We both had a hand it that," he mutters. "But, yeah. I woke up and thought it was a dream, and then I notice I'm-"
"Covered in dirt." I can't help cutting in, laying down my fork.
Cole nods, straightening up. "With a shitty headache, and the harrowing sensation that you were just slammed into by a train?"
The Kiwi nods, frowning at his burger. His lip curls. "Yeah." He leans forward, his smile twisting into a frown. "So, I'm right to say we, um, died, right?
Cole shrugs, poking at his burger. "Death is a strong word." he clears his throat. "Anyway, it's nice to see you..." he trails off. "Awake. And not sprawled across my lap haemorrhaging from your nose."
KJ quirks a brow. "You had me across your lap?"
Cole lets out an exasperated sigh. "Obviously. You were knocked out."
"Right. And why are you wearing sunglasses?" KJ turns to the boy, his lips curled into a smirk. "Bro, it's pouring outside." he's right. After yesterday's heatwave, the heavens have opened, treating LA to a cold shower.
The raven head scowls back. "Oh yeah, sure. I'm definitely wearing them for leisure," he says sarcastically. "Definitely not because my eyes literally look soulless."
Soulless. That's the word I've been looking for. Cole is right.
KJ snorts. "Soulless? You're being dramatic."
"Oh, really? Because I'd take a look at yours before you start judging me." Cole is snappy today, though I really can't blame him.
I can't help notice KJ's eyes. They're still the same deep, earthy brown - the color of the earth after torrential rains. But there's something else in them, something glistening, a spark of grey, of ocean spray spreading around his iris. The same colour in my eyes, and then Cole's. Though it's taking longer to fully take over KJ; bold brown still stands out over washed out blue and grey, and I revel in it. Compared to Cole and I, he looks so much more normal. But I can't say the same for his skin complexion and sunken eye-sockets. The scent seems to fit with the boy, earthy tones and autumnal smells clashing, and then I know. I know that the smell is the boy himself. And next to him, the sweet, irresistible aroma of chocolate and coffee, mixed with heavy musk, is Cole.
I couldn't smell them yesterday, and this is more of a phantom sense, not just a smell. It feels deeper, tingling in my nose, sticking to the back of my throat.
The boy's don't seem to notice the stink. KJ shoves Cole playfully. "Come on, dude. You don't need them."
Cole groans, pressing his glasses further into his face. "Lili. Tell him."
I can't get the words out, and the boy sighs. "Alright, we can talk about the freaky eyes later. What we need to establish first," he leans forward, lowering his voice into a hiss. "How the actual fuck are we still alive?"
"You're asking me?" the raven head chokes out. "We shouldn't exist right now! It's physically impossible for us to. We'll be hailed medical miracles!" Cole seems to catch himself. "Or test subjects. Which absolutely guarantees non-consensual probing."
"Guys." A third voice sounds out, and I don't even need to look up. Team Detention seem to have now have a scent attached to them, and I can identify them straight away. The sweet smell of spiced cherries and vodka brushes my nose, and I struggle to register it. Now it's combined with the boy's smells, it's more a physical entity pushing its way inside me. I manage to choke down a sharp cry. Camila joins us, sliding in next to me. She looks fresh, compared to the rest of us. The girl flaunts a bright yellow sundress and denim jacket, her hair tied into a messy bun. But I can't ignore the same pale face and shadows dotting her cheeks. The girl is wearing ray-bans like Cole.
Camila doesn't greet us with a smile. Her steps are clumsy, and I notice her hands are shaking. Instead, she dumps her bag on the table and pulls out a candy bar before unwrapping it and taking a huge bite. "I don't usually sit with you guys, but to be honest? You're the only people I want to talk to right now." she says through a mouthful, spraying bits of chocolate all over the table. I see KJ trying hard to hide his smile.
"Right. Well, it's great to know your feelings towards our little loser table," Cole says lightly, his lip lifting in a sneer. "I mean, you do hang out with popular kids, so it's no surprise."
Camila sighs. "I'm just saying. St John's social scale demands that I'm back with my clique, but today, I'm saying no to my girls. Besides, it's not like I can talk to Polly and Hannah about this."
Cole nods. "Fair enough. Well, it's nice of you to join us. We were in the middle of having a synchronised mental breakdown. Feel free to join in, of course."
The girl, to my surprise, hisses. "This isn't funny!" she squeaks. "What the hell happened to us?"
I take an opportunity to speak. Abandoning my food, I take a breath. "We were hit." I say softly. "That train hit us, right? We were completely obliterated." despite our crazy predicament, I'm getting progressively more comfortable with talking to them.
Cole nods. "Correct. But how? We were round house slammed by a train, and what? We wake up at home with no injuries whatsoever?"
"What if we, like, hallucinated it?" KJ chips in. "Mark gave us those sodas right? What if he drugged them?"
Cole shakes his head. "No. No way. We couldn't have all had the same vivid trip of getting hit by a goddamn train. Besides, didn't you guys, like feel it?"
"Dying?" Camila drops her barely touched candy bar. i notice she took the smallest bite, not enough to make a dent. "Yeah. I felt it. Like I was being thrown forwards, and I was only aware of the screeching of the train, and the explosion. The impact. Fuck, I felt the train itself hit my back. Isn't that crazy? I was supposed to die on impact."
"And we did." I murmur, pushing my lasagne away. "But then we woke up in our rooms."
"Alive." KJ says, shakily. The boy groans, resting his head in his hands. "How is this even remotely possible?" his head snaps up suddenly, brown eyes flitting across the lunch room. "Mads and Casey." He says, turning to the rest of us. "I haven't seen them all day. Casey is in my singing lessons, and Mads is in my drama. They were both absent. Mads is definitely a known presence, and I can't get through one lesson without Casey coming over and yelling at me to stop playing electric, since apparently it messes up his zen."
The boy's words send shivers down my spine. The idea of Madeleine and Casey being missing, after I promised Casey I'd help them, sends my stomach into my throat.
"Well that's just great." Cole takes a bite out of his burger, chewing mechanically. "So we get kidnapped by our teacher, get hit by a train, and top of that, we're probably going to be suspects in Mads and Casey's disappearances, if neither them nor Mark magically turn up, which is pretty much impossible. If the train hadn't have hit us, or the fucking car exploding-" the boys cuts off with a hysterical laugh. "I'm sorry, but what are we? A series of unfortunate events? How were we that unlucky?"
"I did tell you about the smoke." KJ mutters.
"Yeah, and then you knocked yourself out with your Grand Theft Auto driving." Cole says. "Anyway. As I was saying. Even if we weren't hit by the train or blown to smithereens by the car exploding, I'm pretty sure the ground would have swallowed us up."
"Cole is right. There's no way they survived." Camila speaks up softly. "That quake was brutal." I nod along with the girl, playing with the hem of my shirt. My stomach is still catapulting, but I'm still hungry. "So it's likely they were hurt. Or worse."
Or worse. Casey's expression is still in my mind; frightened eyes, lips curled in terror.
"Oh god." Cole stops eating, the burger slipping from his fingers. His cheeks pale significantly, and he jolts in his chair, his lips curving.
KJ smiles easily at the boy, elbowing him playfully. "It's fine, aye. We'll work it out." He nods at Camila and then me, his lips quirking into a smile. "Together, right?"
Cole lurches to his feet. "No. I'm going to barf."
Before any of us can react, he's spinning on his heel and darting out of the lunch room, crashing through the doors. I'm on my feet before I consciously know what I'm doing, KJ jumping up after me, followed by Camila, grabbing her bag. No words are exchanged between us. With a simple look, we turn and run after Cole, abandoning our lunch. the three of us find Cole halfway down the corridor. His palms are pressed against the walls, bent over, heaving up what I'm guessing is his lunch. KJ approaches him, throwing an arm around the trembling boy. Cole's managed to keep his ray-bans on, though only just. He's pressing them to his face, his other hand swiping slurry from his lips. "Mate, are you okay?"
Cole nods. "Ugh, I think so?" He straightens up with a groan. "What was that? Was the burger rancid?" swiping his brow, the boy scowls. "I was starving too." The boy's words stick with me for some reason, whirring around my skull. I can't help but think of the breakfast mom made me. The eggs that I was ravenous for, but when I got closer, the smell made my stomach flip over. KJ folds his arms. "Were you feeling sick before?"
"No. It wasn't until I ate the burger. The taste was suddenly gross," he pulls a face. "Like I was eating dog shit."
KJ smirks. "You know what dog shit tastes like?"
I'm sure Cole is glaring daggers at the boy under the ray-bans. "I preferred it when you were knocked out, Apa."
"Mate, you were partially the reason why we ended up on a train track in the first place."
The boy scoffs. "Partially because you're the worst driver I've ever met."
"Boys." Camila says, cutting off their back and forth. "Focus." She steps towards Cole, stepping around the barf. "Are you alright now?"
"Mmm." Cole murmurs. "It just came out of nowhere."
"Classy as always, Cole."
The new voice startles me, and the four of us turn, only to be faced with Mr Garret. His eyebrows are raised, lips curved in disgust. "We have rest rooms for a reason, Mr Sprouse." he says sharply, before his beady eyes sweep over the rest of us, and lands on me. I inwardly cringe, and he breaks out into a grin. "Miss Reinhart! It looks like you've finally found yourself some friends!" He scowls at the other three. "Even if it's St John's lost causes. How sad." his words strike me. Cole pretty much admitted to being a loner. But KJ and Camila seem like they're on the top of the high school hierarchy. Though when I glance at the two of them, they avoid my eyes. The teacher seems smug.
"Does that mean you'll no longer be restyling your hair on school property, hm?"
My cheeks burn. I don't answer him, suddenly reminded of my red streaked hair, my senses expanding, the three's hitting me all at once, a sensory overload.
"Did you want something?" Cole clears his throat. The boy cocks his head, folding his arms. "Because, as you can see, I'm kind of busy throwing up right now."
Mr Garret hums. "And why do you have an audience?"
Camila turns on the teacher with a scowl. "We're seeing if he's okay!"
The teacher sneers. "Bathroom, Cole. I'm sure a smart boy like you should understand something so juvenile," he clears his throat. "Also, we're a prestigious drama academy. I'm afraid you can't wear sunglasses inside." His gaze flicks to Camila. "That goes for you too, Miss Mendes."
The air seems to still, and both Cole and Camila ignore the teacher, KJ shooting me a panicked glance. Mr Garret doesn't notice the tension. "Also, when you've stopped watching Cole continue to dirty up my hallway, Mr Consuelos would like a chat."
Something inside me snaps. "What?" I can't help choking out.
Mr Garret studies me. "Oh, you have a mouth! It's nice to hear you use it. And yes, Miss Reinhart, Mr Consuelos would like to talk to the four of you. I presume it's concerning the detention session from last night. I suggest you kids get a move on."
"But..." KJ is speechless. "The earthquake. How did he get away?"
Casey and Madelaine is all I can think of. My heart is on fire. He got away, and they didn't? The others seem to share my thought. KJ shoots me a look of panic.
Mr Garret frowns. "Mr Apa, I love your imagination, I truly do. But delusions? I'm not a big fan of them."
"But-"
"I'm not sure what earthquake you four experienced, but I am positive no such thing has hit Los Angeles for a while. Our last recorded quake was at least 2015."
I stare at the teacher, waiting for him to laugh, admitting to some kind of sick joke. But the man's expression doesn't waver. Cole is silent, and Camila has gone a sickly shade of white. "Now if we're done playing games, Mr Consuelos is expecting you."
"Mr Garret," KJ starts through gritted teeth. "You need to listen to us, okay? Look, there was an earthquake last night! We were caught up in it after your crazy staff member kidnapped us for some weird artefact he insisted we find, and-" the boy is cut off when Cole slams his hand over KJ's mouth. "He's kidding," Cole forces a grin. "We, uh, told stories last night to pass the time, and of course our imagination's got the better of us." eventually he lets go of KJ, who straightens up with a scowl. But he's quiet.
"Fascinating." Mr Garret murmurs. "Sunglasses off." He orders, before turning and heading off down the hallway, leaving us in a sort of stunned silence.
Camila is the first to speak. "The earthquake." she says softly. "How could he not have felt it? It split the earth! It nearly killed us!"
"Yeah, nearly." Cole says. "Instead, we were hit by a goddamn train."
KJ nods. "So, what? We're the only ones who felt it? That's fuckin' crazy."
"So..." Cole murmurs, his gaze flitting to me. "Lets suspend all disbelief, and say that we were the only ones who felt the earthquake. Do you think-"
He's interrupted by a boyish yell. I turn to see Charles Melton, a well known Junior. "Oi, Kiwi!" He shouts to KJ, tossing him a sandwich. "In case you missed lunch."
KJ catches, but he's not smiling. "Cheers, asshole." He says, not loud enough for them to hear. Even if he did, Charles ignores him, bursting into laughter, with the other group of boys he was with. KJ's expression seems to twist, anger flitting in his eyes, as he unwraps the sandwich. "Starving." he mumbles, before taking a huge bite, ripping into it. When I catch his eye, his lip curls and he takes another humongous bite.
Cole is frowning at the boy. "I've never seen anyone eat a sandwich so aggressively."
"Shut up." KJ says, through a mouthful of what looks like chicken and lettuce.
"Apa!" Another boy walks past with a grin, chucking him a sandwich. "If ya missed lunch."
KJ doesn't respond this time, continuing to chew through the sandwich. Cole turns to the boy. "Are you going to explain-"
"No." KJ cuts him off. "You were saying?"
"Okay, so let's go through the facts," Cole starts, ignoring KJ, who demolishes the sandwich in seconds flat. "We get hit by a train, an earthquake that nobody else seems to feel happens, and-"
"Oh fuck." KJ drops the sandwich and twists around, choking whatever he'd eaten, back up. An exasperated yell sounds out. Mr Garret. "Again?! Cole! Go to the restroom!"
When KJ's straightened up, Cole rests his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Let me guess," he says softly. "The sandwich tasted fine, and then it was like eating literal poop."
KJ spits excess and nods, scowling. "That was the grossest fucking sarnie I've ever eaten in my life."
"I don't think it was the sandwich." Camila says softly. "That candy bar I had. I had to put it down, because I suddenly felt really sick, as soon as I started eating it."
And me. I want to say it, but the words are stuck in my throat. The fact that my gut has been dancing all day finally makes some kind of sense. The three of them turn to me, and I hold my breath. Cole cocks his head. "Three out of four, Lils," he murmurs. "Can you by any chance keep food down?"
I'm about to answer, when I sense heavy footsteps. Turning around, I expect Mr Garret. But instead, standing with the exact same suit, that unnerving grin plastered on his lips, is Mr Consuelos. "There you are!" he grins. "Come to my office, I have a surprise for you!"
The tone the teacher is using is the type nobody can argue with. So, moving slowly, we follow the teacher down the hallway. "I wanted to congratulate you for a job well done in finding my artefact!" he says, as he pulls the door to his office open. We're ushered inside, and I find myself a quivering mess, shoulder to shoulder with Cole.
In front of us is a banquet of food. Cakes, pies, bowls of pasta and fruit pastries. The teacher grins widely. "Let me treat you guys. After all, you found my artefact, didn't you?"
"No." Cole is first to speak. He's frowning at a chocolate frosted cake. I'm not sure if he wants to eat it, or barf again. "Where are Madeleine and Casey?"
The teacher's grin widens. "Eat. Really, it's all yours. I put you kids through quite a lot yesterday, so I decided to be a good teacher for once."
"We're not hungry, thanks teach." KJ says. "And we didn't find your Scooby Doo thing."
"Sure you did!" Mr Consuelos booms, and I flinch, leaning into Cole. "And kudos for that, truly. I really did underestimate you four. I didn't think you would actually find it."
This time, I force myself to speak. "Madeleine and Casey." I whisper. "You took them last night, so where are they?"
"Right here!" A familiar voice trills. Startled, I turn to see Mads stroll through the door, Casey in tow. The girl locks the door behind her, and my blood runs cold.
"Now." Mark says, leaning forward. Madeleine and Casey stay at the door, blocking it. "I'd really like to have my artefact back now please." he pauses. "The artefact that you four quite literally possess." the playful glint in his eyes disappears, and the man adapts the look of a predator. "Now." He says. "You four are going to walk out of this school with me, and there's going to be no protests or yelling. Understand?"
All the breath is sucked out of my lungs. I want to run. But where to? The door is blocked. Madeleine and Casey will easily be able to grab me.
"And if we don't?" KJ's tone is harsh ice cutting down my spine.
Mark shrugs. "If you don't, I'll make sure it's painful when I extract what is mine from you. So if I was you, I'd do as you're told, and come with me. Before this gets ugly." he gestures to the the chairs in front of his desk. "Sit down please."
I find myself slumping down in one of the chairs, followed by Camila, then dragging himself was KJ, towed by Cole.
Mark's smile broadens. "If you're wondering why you feel quite strange, like for example, getting second senses, and being unable to do basic human things, it is because, as we speak, the deomonvitus is beginning to take over your nervous system."
"And then?" Camila hisses. "What are you trying to say?"
"He's saying," Madeleine leaves the door, rounding Mark's desk. "That you guys are full of explosive energy right now, and he wants it." the girl rolls her eyes. "God, is it that hard to understand?"
Mark chuckles. "Madeleine, remember, they're barely human anymore. After all, they tragically lost their lives after getting into an accident, and of course my artefact brought them back, along with some, uh...lets say, added bonuses."
"You mean the soulless eyes?" Finally, he takes his glasses off, revealing almost blue eyes, even more washed out, growing greyer and greyer. "This is what you call a bonus?"
Mark grins. "You truly have no idea what you are capable of, son."
"Can we skip the evil speech?" Casey groans, pushing himself off of the door. "The point is, Mark is taking you guys. So you don't like, die. Again."
"Oh no, they'll die." Mark says. "Extracting the artefact will release the energy that's keeping them kicking."
Casey hums. "Oh. Well, that sucks, I guess? Maybe you should have come after Mads and I, and we wouldn't have been caught up in it too, right?" he winks.
Cole twists around. "Wait, what? You weren't..."
The boy laughs. "Oh no, I was there. Mads and I? We're in your position," a sad smile curls on his lip. "But of course, we didn't get so lucky."
The realisation hits me, dragging a choked cry from my throat. Especially when Casey offers me a small smile. He comes to stand in front of me, and I can't help noticing he's faint. Like a faded picture. "Mark says the only thing keeping us here is you guys." He takes a step back. "When you were hit, the explosion hit us too. But instead of bringing us back-"
"We only got a small dose," Mads finishes. She holds out a hand, and I can only stare as it flits in and out of existence. "So we're on borrowed time."
Mark nods. "Now." He says. "Are you going to come willingly, or cause a scene?"
please review for more! if nobody's reading, theres no point in posting lmao
