Claire took out her video camera from her backpack before slinging it over her shoulder. She started walking toward the building and Rachel followed, pulling me along behind her. We reached a dilapidated fence with several NO TRESPASSING signs plastered along the length of the weathered wood, and I reflexively looked back up at the ominous institution above me, towering over us like something out of a Poe poem. The architecture of the Tamerlane State Lunatic Asylum was formidable, made more sinister by the creeping ivy that snaked its way along the front steps and expansive brick walls. The stone window facades crumbled in decay.
The plan was to spend the night in the abandoned building and head home at dawn. Rachel and Claire wanted to thoroughly explore it, and try to find the children’s wing and the rooms where shock therapy was administered. According to Rachel’s canonical horror literature, those would be the rooms most likely to contain any paranormal activity, and she and Claire planned to document our adventure for posterity. Hooray.
Jude inched closer to me, and I was actually grateful for his presence as Rachel and Claire scaled the rotting wood fence. Then it was my turn. Jude gave me a lift but I hesitated as I grabbed the fragile wood. After a few words of encouragement, I finally hoisted myself over with his help. I landed hard, into a rustling pile of decaying leaves.
The easiest way into the building was through the basement.
17
I KNEW RACHEL WANTED TO GO TO THE ASYLUM. But until the night after Mabel’s piece of shit owner died, I didn’t remember why I agreed.
On Saturday I tried to prepare myself to dream more, to remember more—to watch her die. I crawled into my sheets shaking, wanting and not wanting to see her again. I did, but it was the same dream. Nothing new on Sunday night, either.
It was a good sign, the remembering. It was happening slowly, but it was happening nonetheless. And without a psychologist or mind-altering chemicals. My mind was obviously altered enough.
I was almost glad to have Mabel to wonder and worry about all weekend, even if I couldn’t bring myself to try and find out Noah’s phone number. I figured I’d ask him how the dog was in English on Monday, but when I got to class, he wasn’t there.
Instead of listening, my mind and my pencil wandered over my sketchbook, drifting lazily as Ms. Leib collected our papers and discussed the difference between tragic heroes and antiheroes. Each time a student left or entered the classroom, my gaze shifted to the door, waiting for Noah to stroll in before the next bell rang. But he never did.
When class ended, I glanced at the drawing before closing the book and stuffing it in my bag.
Noah’s charcoal eyes squinted at me from the page, cast downward, the skin around them crinkled in laughter. His thumb grazed his bottom lip as his hand curled in a lazy fist at his brilliantly smiling mouth. He looked almost shy as he laughed. The pale plain of his forehead was smooth, relaxed mid-chortle.
My stomach churned. I flipped to the previous page, and noted with horror that I’d traced Noah’s elegant profile perfectly, from his high cheekbones down to the slight bump in his solemn nose. And on the page before that, his eyes stared back at me, aloof and unattainable.
I was afraid to keep looking. I needed serious help.
I shoved the sketchbook in my bag and glanced furtively over my shoulder, hoping no one saw. I was halfway to Algebra before I felt a light tap on my back. But when I turned around, no one was there. I shook my head. I felt strange all of a sudden, like I was floating through someone else’s dream.
By the time I arrived at Mr. Walsh’s classroom, I was surrounded by laughter. Some guys whistled when I walked in the room. Because I was finally wearing an iteration of the school uniform? I didn’t know. Something was happening, but I didn’t understand it. My hands trembled at my sides so I balled them into fists as I sat at the desk next to Jamie’s. That was when I noticed the sound of crunching paper behind me. The crunching of the paper that was taped to my back.
So someone did bump into me earlier. That, at least, I hadn’t hallucinated. I reached around and pulled the sign off my back, where the word “slut” was scrawled on a sheet of looseleaf. The quiet snickers then erupted into laughter. Jamie looked up, confused, and I flushed as I crumpled the paper in my fist. Anna threw her head back and roared with laughter.
Without thinking about it, I unfurled one of my fists and placed the wad of paper in my flat palm.
And then I flicked it in her face.
“Creative,” I said to her as it hit its target.
Anna’s tan cheeks turned red first, and then a vein protruded from her forehead. She opened her mouth to fling an insult my way but Mr. Walsh cut her off before she began. Score.
Jamie grinned and clapped me on the shoulder as soon as class ended. “Well played, Mara.”
“Thanks.”
Aiden pushed past Jamie on his way out the door, slamming Jamie’s shoulder into the door frame. Aiden turned before leaving the room.
“Don’t you have a lawn you should be decorating?”
Jamie glared after him and rubbed his shoulder. “He needs a knife in the eye,” he muttered, once Aiden was gone. “So. A-holes aside, how’s your first week?”
Oh, you know. Saw a dead guy. Losing my mind. Same old. “Not too bad.”
Jamie nodded. “Big change from your old school, is it?”
When he asked me that, a still frame of Rachel materialized in my brain. “Is it that obvious?”