Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [57]
My eyes darted toward Brent just as he winced. “Sympathy pains,” he explained with a shrug.
Shame pulsed through me when I realized he was suffering right along with me. Despite the sting I knew I would feel, I opened my mouth to speak. “Can you block it out?”
“No, it won’t let me.” He grimaced. “You don’t have to speak with your words, Yara.”
I’m sorry, I thought.
“I know,” he spoke into my mind. Brent stayed by my side whistling lullabies and talking about nothing at all, trying to distract me. The sun rose and was high in the sky by the time the pain eased enough for me to stand.
My knees buckled as I tried to get to my feet.
“Take it easy,” Brent suggested, helping me up and slinging my arm around his shoulder.
“I have to get away from here. I don’t think I can stand to dwell on my own stupidity any longer,” I said, as he turned us and began walking us slowly up the driveway. “So, you were right.”
“I was pretty sure I would be,” he said without sounding arrogant. With each step toward the Headmaster’s garden I felt my strength returning. The place was starting to feel like home.
“You’ve done that before.”
“More than once,” he said in a knowing voice.
“I would think once is enough,” I shuddered at the thought of ever having to experience that again.
“The Phil thing really freaked me out.”
“It must have been awful to be willing to endure that twice.” I shivered. “So it looks like we’re stuck here. Why?”
“I don’t know, but it could be worse.” He readjusted his grip on me.
“How? Maybe a bad case of food poisoning?”
“We could be alone.”
My stomach tumbled like an Olympic gymnast. “Yeah, that would be a lot worse,” I agreed, stealing a peek of him from the corner of my eye.
Somewhere between two steps my spirit recovered. I pushed from Brent’s arms and twirled in a circle, giddy because there was no more pain, feeling free.
“I can see you’re feeling better,” Brent commented, leaning against a tree trunk with his arms folded.
“I do. I have all this pent-up energy; let’s do something.” I flashed him a smile to help convince him.
“We could play volleyball,” he offered. “There shouldn’t be students there now.”
“The dead play volleyball?”
“Well I can, but I think I’ll have to teach you how.”
“I know how to play,” I said icily.
“I wasn’t trying to be demeaning,” he said taking a step back in case I felt the need to elbow him. “It’s just you haven’t learned to move things yet.” I thought back to my attempt to move the leaves on the tree and nodded in understanding.
“Can you teach me?” I asked.
For a moment he studied me hard looking for something, but I wasn’t sure what. “Yes, I think I can. Besides,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me toward the P.E. building, “it might be vital for you to learn. You’re going to have to defend yourself when the mist comes for us.”
“What do you think he wants with me?” I asked, my palms suddenly sweaty.
“I’m not sure”
We walked in a heavy silence until we arrived at the volleyball sand pits. Several balls were still out, and without bending over, Brent stuck his hand out, palm down. A ball flew up to it.
“How did you do that? Are you actually holding it?”
He waggled his eyebrows as he smiled. “Well, I can feel it, but I can’t quite make contact with it.” He then made the ball bounce up and down in his hand. “Yet I can command it to do what I want it to, like a puppet with invisible strings. Catch!”
I ducked as the ball zoomed toward me. He laughed,
“Oh, come on. I know you aren’t a practitioner of organized sports, but even if you catch like a girl, the ball wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re a ghost, remember?”
“Old habits die hard.” The ball