“No, no. It’s not like that.” He sighs. “Hell, I don’t know what it’s like.”
“Then spit it out.”
“It’ll sound crazy, but I’ve literally heard conversations from the party. Almost like a recording. That song you played in the car, the one about changing.”
“That song played every thirty minutes most of last year,” I say.
“It’s more than that. I’ve heard conversations. Your voice. My voice. It’s confusing as hell. And the lock. Did you put a lock on the bridge, Paige?”
My jaw clenches. “You’re not making sense, Theo.”
“I know, I know. There’s a lock on the bridge with our initials, Paige. TQ and PVY. That’s us, right? I mean, who else could it be?”
He’s talking faster. Working himself up. Nothing’s ever different with Theo. And it has to be different. At least with me.
“You know, I probably shouldn’t have called. I have to go.”
“Wait. Listen, I think something might be wrong with me. Or wrong with—”
“Take care of yourself.”
I hang up the phone and press the heel of my palm against my forehead. Theo’s right about something being wrong with him. Something’s wrong with both of us, and I don’t know if we’re the kind of broken that can be fixed.
Theo
There aren’t many stimulant meds I haven’t tried. Daytrana gave me tics. No appetite on Focalin. Evekeo and Adderall wear off too fast, and I didn’t sleep for four straight days on my stint with Concerta. Antidepressants are the same. Paige and I once made up a song of all the different medicinal cocktails I’ve tested. It had three verses.
I’ve learned to dread med changes, but today I swallow an extra pill—white and small, a little added anxiety control that Dr. Atwood feels will take care of these auditory hallucinations—without hesitation. Whatever this is, it can’t keep happening. I can’t work on a bridge five days a week while hearing my ex–best friend’s voice. Reliving the shittiest night of my life.
“So, that’s the change?” Denny asks, his eyebrows lost under the rim of his cap.
“That’s it.”
“Seems like a little pill.”
“I’ve taken pills half this size that have laid me out for a day.”
“Must be the kind people pop.” He cocks his head. “I’ll stick to liquor. I lost six jobs in six months once. Can you imagine what I’d be like on a bunch of pills? Dangerous for people like us, Theo.”
I clamp my mouth shut, because I can already feel my lips telling him that losing six jobs in as many months is a good indicator that some medicinal assistance might be a fine idea. But Denny doesn’t want to hear that. He rolls around in his ADHD like a dog in shit. He loses jobs and forgets to pay bills and ends up in a bar fight at least twice a year, but I think he figures it’s part of his charm. In his mind, maybe it’s part of my charm too.
“We headed out?” I ask.
“We need to pull down the old lights. They haven’t lit it since the last anniversary. Wires and shit are hanging all over that bridge. You got a harness?”
“Like a work harness? For climbing?”
Denny huffs around his cigarette, his face red. “Hell, boy, you think I can let you climb around that monster with nothing? Gotta be responsible.”
“Sure.”
He thumps my shoulder. “C’mon. We’ll run by Reggie’s and borrow his harness.”
“Reggie? He’s twice my size.”
“Don’t get your panties in a knot. It’s adjustable.”
“How adjustable?”
I follow Denny’s laughter outside and climb into a Ranger with a cracked windshield and mismatched tires. It’s got a broken strut, so the whole frame slopes down toward the driver’s side. I spend most of every drive trying not to slide into Denny’s lap. Which is good. It’ll keep me from thinking about all that could go wrong today.
The twenty minutes to pick up the harness and then coffee from the Circle K pass a lot faster than I’d like. The sky is thick with a gray mess of clouds when we get to the bridge, and I sit in the truck as long as possible before dragging myself outside.
I don’t trust any new pill to kick in that fast, especially when I don’t feel any different. After Paige’s call—after her finding something—I’m less convinced a pill can fix my life.
My boots crunch-hiss on the ramp leading up to the bridge. Fifty feet to the water, according to Paige, but I don’t care. I’ve never worried much about falling when I’m up high. Now, though? Every time I’m on this bridge I wind up on some sort of acid-worthy freak-out, so I’m not exactly thrilled to be climbing around up there today.
But what am I going to do? My parents are probably counting the days until they can boot me out legally. I need some way to make a living.
I look up at the metal arching overhead and take a sharp breath. The bridge seems quiet today. No music or faint smells of cherry air freshener or lilacs. I shrug and move a little closer, trying to focus on the struts. Stringing up Christmas lights won’t be that bad. Probably be easier if we planned it out, but Denny and I aren’t known for our preparation skills.
Denny joins me and hands over Reggie’s harness. “Looks like some sort of weird sex contraption, don’t it?” he asks.
“How do we anchor it?”
“What’s that?”
“I mean, if we don’t anchor it to something, the harness is basically worthless, right?”
Denny swears and adjusts his cap. “Maybe I’d better get Reggie down here to take a look. Have to pay him.”
Which means sitting around waiting for him to get here. “Screw it. We’ll figure it out later. Kids climb this damn thing all the time.” I point at some of the larger bolts joining the beams together. “You think we can just loop the strands of lights over those? If I wrap them twice, it might look like buttons in between the strands of light. And we’d know the spacing will look right.”
He cranes his head back, squinting. “You think? How will you keep them on?”
“Wire clamps? In the back. They’re cheap, right?”
Denny’s smile is a flash of teeth under his hat. “Told you this was right up your alley.”
“Let me check them out.” I touch the dark metal, finding a good grip. We’re going to have to work early because it’s not quite nine and the metal’s already getting hot in the sun. Still, it’s got the right slope for easy climbing and plenty of toeholds thanks to all the seams and bolts. Above me, a gull squawks and takes flight, raining a couple of white feathers down from its nest.
I’m going to eat a lot of bird shit up here.
But the view is unbelievable.
I find a good spot halfway up, where some old light strands are broken off and dangling. I yank one free and drop it, spotting an old twist tie on one of the wires.
“They used twist ties before,” I say.
“That won’t cost us nothing! Can you do it?”
I test the bolts with my fingers and then the ridges. I think it could work. I could follow the last guy’s design, looping the lights and clamping them. The twist ties won’t be easy, but cheap is good, and if I can make Denny happy—
Theo.
Denny’s voice sounds strange under the wind. Soft and close, like he’s climbed up behind me. I turn to look, but he’s still on the ground, harness in one hand and cell phone to his ear. Chills roll up my back.
That wasn’t Denny.
A mourning dove coos softly, shifting along the steel beam overhead. It’s nothing. My damn imagination is running wild because of everything that went down up here.
Theo, I’m fine.
My heart double thuds, and goose bumps rise in angry rows on my arms. Another dove lands—right next to me. She cocks her head, watches me with a tiny, beady eye. The scent of lilacs curls through the a
ir. Lemons.
Why won’t you stop?
The wind pushes up from below, and I move my foot one toehold lower. My knees go rubbery, so I grip tight and breathe. I got up here. I can get back down.
I think.
The voices whisper-buzz around me. Snippets of Paige laughing. Screaming. My sobs.
My hands shake, and my head spins. One steadying breath. I can do this. I glance down to find my next spot and see a boat gliding under the bridge. It looks like a toy from up here, plastic and surreal.
If I fall, I’ll look like a toy down there too. A broken one.
The fear of it gets me moving. I use the adrenaline, hauling myself down fast. One foot, one hand. Over and over I go, stomach cramped and heart flying.
A gull swoops ahead, white wings dancing at the corner of my vision. Whispers I don’t want to hear lurking behind each wingbeat. I don’t look; I just move.
The toe of my sneaker slips.
My lungs bottom out. I grip harder, my left foot scraping at the rough metal. I find a lip of metal with the side of my shoe. I’ve got it. I’m fine.
I can’t say it out loud, because I don’t have enough air in my lungs. Something’s taking it from me, something that’s staining the breeze with rotting lilacs and dredging up voices that should be long gone.
Maybe you should go.
It’s Chase this time, but still from that damn party—and what the hell is this? Why is this night playing over and over in my head? Is this happening to Paige? Is that why she found whatever she found in her dorm?
“You all right?” Denny is caught somewhere between a laugh and real worry.
I take a slow breath through my nose and nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“Get on down here then. We’re going to pick up Reggie. See how this works so we can get you up there tomorrow for real.”
I find the rest of the way down without trouble, but the whispers don’t stop. I can hear them in the distance, echoes of the worst night of my life. This doesn’t have a damn thing to do with medication. This is something else.
I roll my shoulders and follow Denny to the edge of the stairs. “Hey, what do you know about this bridge?”
“You mean all the legends?”
“It’s a little creepy, yeah?”
Denny snorts. “If by creepy you mean haunted as shit.”
“Wait a minute, you don’t really believe that crap.”
“You can look it up. They do a piece in the paper every Halloween.”
“So, were there really a bunch of suicides up here?”
“Not a bunch,” he says, then his brow furrows. “Are we going to chitchat all day or get this harness situated?”
I stop, looking back across the bridge to the brick towers and green lawns of the college. I can just make out the white stripes of clean sidewalks between the buildings. I have to talk to Paige.
“Hey, do you need me at Reggie’s?” I ask. “I was going to run and check on a friend.”
“Good.” Denny doesn’t even stop walking. “You’re like a bad rash anymore, always turning up and driving me crazy.”
Yeah, I am. And this time, I’m going to turn up exactly where I’m wanted least.
Paige
I wake up to pain. It’s a pulsing deep in my jaw, keeping time with my heart. Every beat electrifies my gums and teeth with a white-hot burst of agony.
I sit up, tenderly testing my skin with the pads of my fingers. Not swollen. But I haven’t hurt like this since the surgery. Maybe since the party.
“You didn’t sleep well.”
I blink to clear my vision. The room is still dim, but Melanie is on her bed across the room. She is very still, hands on her knees and hair neatly brushed.
“What time is it?” I ask, my voice rasping with sleep.
“Almost nine. I tried to wake you.” Her voice sounds tinny and strange.
“My alarm didn’t ring?”
“It did,” she says. “For twenty minutes. I finally shut it off. Are you sick?”
She’s still not moving. I wonder why she’s chewing the corner of her lip like that. Her eyes flick once to the three orange prescription bottles on my dresser. My stomach flips over, landing in a knot. It’s me. She’s biting her lip about something I did.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m…worried about you.”
The word isn’t one she uses. Neither is the feeling. Melanie doesn’t worry—she’s cool and collected. But I know who does worry, and that someone met Melanie very recently. Maybe I’m imagining things, but the way she’s looking at me reminds me of my mom. It turns the knot in my stomach hard and small.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate,” she says.
I’m not imagining anything. That one’s straight from my mom’s phrase book.
“Did my parents talk to you?” I ask her.
She shrugs a shoulder, obviously feeling guilty. “It wasn’t like that. They said they were concerned because you’ve had a hard year. They asked me if you seemed anxious and if you’d been having panic attacks. Have you?”
I throw back my covers, heat rushing up my face. I can’t believe them. I can’t believe they’d do this. “No, I haven’t.”
Melanie shoots another glance at the bottles. “I thought you said you had a little anxiety.”
“I do,” I say, rubbing my jaw. The pain is intense. Thrumming. “Along with millions of other Americans. Did my mom ask you to talk to me?”
“No, I swear. You were talking in your sleep last night. Talking about it hurting and so much blood. You even sat up like you were going somewhere. It scared me.”
My rage-heated face frosts over in an instant. I was talking in my sleep about pain and blood. That’s why she’s looking at me like this.
Because she doesn’t know what happened with Theo.
“I had an accident,” I say. It’s a lie, but it’s close enough.
“An accident?”
“This past spring. My jaw was broken. I lost two teeth. Sometimes I remember it.” I shrug as if that gesture and all of my very passive words will make it less of a deal.
Her shoulders relax. “So, you still don’t have the teeth?”
I nudge my chin against my chest, touch my jaw, then pull my fingers away. Pain is shooting up to my temple. Getting sharper. That can’t be normal after all this time.
I stand, needing ice or ibuprofen, or simply to move. Melanie is still looking at me. Which is when I realize I hadn’t answered her. “They fixed my teeth. I’m okay, but I have bad dreams sometimes.”
“But your parents—”
“My parents are overprotective. I’m an only child.”
“Okay.” Her posture loosens further, and she tries on her standard goofy smile. It looks like it doesn’t quite fit. “Won’t be many breakfast options if we don’t get down there soon.”
“You go ahead. I’m going to clean up. Will you grab me a banana?”
“Of course.”
In the bathroom, I hope getting dressed and washing my face will help the pain. It doesn’t. My eyes are tearing by the time I squeeze a mint-green stripe onto my toothbrush. I brush my teeth quickly, figuring I’ll take a few ibuprofens when I get back to my room. I just need to get out of this dorm and I’ll be okay. The pain is no worse brushing, so I get on with it and spit. And pull back with a cry.
It’s blood.
Some toothpaste but more blood. I spit again, red streaking the sink. It’s on my toothbrush too, not a touch of pink from a place I didn’t floss—this is vibrant red.
Like I’ve been hit again.
My heart feels wrong. All the beats land a half a second off where they should. I rinse my mouth, but the blood won’t stop. The faucet hisses out a steady stream of water, and I spit over and ov
er, reach into my mouth feeling my teeth, my tongue. I can’t find a wound. I can’t find anything.
Blood is dripping off my chin, off my fingers. What is happening to me? What is this?
My head goes lighter, vision graying at the edges. I grip the cold lip of the sink.
The bathroom door bangs open, and I plunge my hands under the rushing water, catching my reflection in the mirror. I feel a strange, urgent need not to let anyone see. To hide. I splash water onto my face and rinse my mouth, but suddenly the basin is white and clean.
When I spit, it’s clear. I don’t even think; I turn and smile, hands shaking so hard they rattle at my thighs.
“Hi!” I say before I can even fully see who it is.
“Hey,” Melanie says, that same not-quite-comfortable grin on her face. “No bananas left. Nothing but gruel and this muffin.”
“Oh, no big deal. I’ll eat a big lunch.” I wipe at my chin, checking my fingers over and over. They’re perfectly clean. “Let me finish up here.”
I turn back to the sink and rinse my toothbrush, which isn’t even pink. I rinse it again, but there’s no trace of what just happened. No blood.
Maybe I already rinsed it. Maybe I cleaned everything up.
Or maybe you’re going crazy.
I push my toothbrush and paste into my bag and zip it shut with shaking fingers. There’s no pain now. Nothing. What the hell is happening to me?
“Are you sure you don’t want half of this muffin?” Melanie asks.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Then let’s get moving,” she says. “We’re running late already.”
I spot it as she’s walking out, a tiny speck of red on the back side of the sink. My thumb smears it across the smooth white porcelain. Blood. I didn’t imagine it. I’m not crazy. I’m—
But if I didn’t imagine the blood, then why did it happen like that? Out of nowhere? And what made it stop?
We drop my toiletries in our room and jog down the three flights of stairs. We should still make it to class by quarter till ten, but we need to hustle. Late isn’t in my DNA.
Outside, it’s muggy and gray. Thank God we collected our samples already. The river will be stinky, hot, and miserable today. The overly enthusiastic air conditioners in the lab will probably chill us to the bone, but it will be better than sweating.