Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [15]
“She isn’t crazy either,” I said through clenched teeth, my fingers clamping tighter on my book.
“If it looks like it should be in a straight jacket and it talks like it should—”
I really hadn’t planned to do it but before my brain had a chance to veto the idea, I chucked my five-pound calculus book at him. It soared through the air and clocked him right in the temple. There was the loud thud of the book making contact with his cranium, and then a clatter as the book bounced off the table and landed on the floor. It was probably the most effective and satisfying use the book would get all year.
He rubbed his head while glaring and swearing at me. I hesitated before retrieving my textbooks and stalking off without a word.
Chapter 4
Kicking hard, I struggled to swim up toward the air that my lungs were burning to breathe. My legs flailed and my hands clawed, but the tightening crush of water told me I was still sinking. With a sickening realization, I knew it was my gown that held me captive. Frantically I tried to free myself from the confused tangle my dress had become, but my panicked fingers were unable to undo a single button.
My knotted hair and ripped dress swirled around me like a beautiful ethereal dream, hypnotizing me, twirling in the water with enticing promises of what awaited me once I surrendered to my inevitable fate. I’m drowning; I accepted it as the hazy black edges of my vision started to spread into the center of my sight. My eyes were drifting closed in defeat when I saw him, swimming toward me and I fervently wished he had been a few moments earlier, because I knew he was already too late.
I sat up in bed in a cold sweat, my heart racing, my fingers clutching my sheets in panic. Even though it had been nothing more than a nightmare, my lungs still greedily gulped up air as if it had been real; it felt far too real. For the last month I had the same dream several times a week, every detail nearly identical.
This repeated experience was disturbing, eerie even. I had only had such vivid dreams once before. I pushed that memory aside reassuring myself it wasn’t the same thing. My hands instantly cradled the necklace my family had sent me from Brazil. They said Grandma had picked it out from her local feira market. If she were here, she’d remind me that dreams, especially recurring dreams, were not to be ignored. Her superstitious nature had taught me that, “Dreams are the universe’s way of trying to tell us something.” Of course she had been against me coming to Pendrell, warning me that my grandfather had left believing there was something evil happening at this school. I had been so determined to not live in Brazil that I hadn’t listened.
This train of thought didn’t help lessen my nerves. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep but all I could see were the horribly realistic images from my nightmare. Finally I decided to concentrate on the one aspect that wasn’t scary— the boy swimming toward me— and my pulse calmed. Even though the shadows obscured his face, I always felt like I knew him. I drowned every time, but each night he got closer to saving me.
****
In the morning, I woke still riddled with anxiety over my nightmare, but managed to get myself out of bed to shower. Once showered and dressed, I attempted to convince the worry lines on my forehead to relax, but was having no luck. With a heavy heart and an even heavier backpack I followed