Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [38]
Her mom rolled her eyes. “Of course they are.” She glanced over to the office and then looked at Hazel seriously. “Are you okay?”
Hazel looked at the ground and shrugged. Wasn’t the whole point that she wasn’t okay? “They’re going to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
Something flashed over her mother’s face, and she leaned down and put a hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “Hazel,” she said, voice firm and grave. “Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Got it?”
Hazel nodded. She understood. They were plastic flowers of words—but they looked nice on the surface.
“Good.”
Hazel walked back to her classroom through the hallways. They were empty, and it seemed like her steps should be echoing through them, a pronouncement that she was passing through. But her feet in her sneakers were silent, and Hazel moved through the hallways without making a mark, as if she was never there at all.
For once, the classroom door did not creak when she opened it, and no one turned to look at her when she slipped through. She crept across the room to her microscopically out-of-line desk and sat down silently in her seat, all without disturbing the air. Mrs. Jacobs kept talking, and everyone kept doing the things they were doing. Now she lacked weight, gravity, she was less than the air. No one noticed her at all.
Except one person.
Tyler had been doing this to her all week—staring at her like he wanted to gouge her with his eyes. It was getting a little tiring. And pointless. He had already won.
And now as she sat down she felt his eyes on her for a moment. At least it was confirmation that she was still there.
At the end of the day, Hazel gathered her things while everyone buzzed around her. She started to float out in the cloud of noise and energy created by people who affected the world, and was surprised to hear someone say her name.
“Hazel?”
It was Mrs. Jacobs. She braced herself.
“Are you all right?” The teacher was looking at her with concern in her eyes.
Hazel blinked. “Yes.”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Jacobs. “Okay.”
Hazel floated onto the bus, sat down in her usual seat, and pulled out a book. When she felt a body sit next to her, she half wondered if its owner even knew there was someone already there. Until she realized who it was.
“What now?” she asked Tyler.
She looked at him with all the weight and gravity she could muster. But he did not look triumphant or mocking. His cheeks were dark. His eyes were serious.
“What is it?”
“It’s Jack,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I saw something.”
She blinked. “What do you mean you saw something?”
“I mean I saw something.” He looked around and then leaned in and whispered. “I don’t think Jack’s with his aunt.”
Hazel wrapped her arms around her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.
“We were supposed to go sledding,” Tyler said, looking around again. “And I was early. There was no one on the street, it was weird, and it was like I didn’t want to go out either, like I had something else to do. But we had plans. So I went. And Jack was already there, at the top of the hill.” He stopped and shook his head.
“Tyler,” Hazel said. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“I know it sounds crazy, okay? But I’m not crazy. I’m not.”
“Okay. I get it,” she said, voice tight. “You’re not crazy. Now, tell me!”
“He wasn’t alone. There was a woman there. She was . . . she wasn’t right. She was tall and weirdly thin. She wasn’t real. She was all white and silver and made of snow . . . like an elf or a witch . . . like a movie.”
She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s true, okay? She had a sled. It was huge and white and there were all these huge dogs, except I’m not sure they were dogs and—” He caught his breath and looked around the bus. “And he got in the sled and drove into the woods. And I called after him, but . . .” He shook his head and looked away.
Hazel gaped. Did he know Adelaide somehow? Had she told him about the Snow Queen?
“This isn’t funny,” she said.
“I’m serious!”
“You’re trying to trick me.”
“I am not.”
“You’re lying. You’re lying and I’m going