Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [51]
I grab my bag, stuff the diary into it, and sprint to my room. I kick off my jeans and climb into bed. I hear him walk in and put his things down. A shoe drops, then another one. I hear footsteps heading my way.
“Andi?” he whispers, through the crack in my door.
I don’t answer. I just keep breathing. Slowly and evenly. I’m turned on my side so he can’t see my face. He pushes the door open a little. The light from the hallway throws his silhouette against the far wall.
“Andi? Are you asleep?”
He used to kiss us in our beds sometimes when we were little, me and Truman. When he got home from work. But he doesn’t do that now. He just stands there for a few more seconds. Then closes the door.
I let out a big deep breath, feeling relieved.
And sad.
27
It’s morning. I hear a church bell ringing. And horses whinnying in their stalls. I smell hay and cows.
“Wake up, Alex,” a voice whispers in my ear. “Papa says you’re to help with the puppets. Wake up, sleepyhead, wake up.…”
I open my eyes. A giant papier-mâché puppet is standing over my bed. I can see its hooked nose and pointed chin, its mean little mouth. Its crazy glass eyes are staring down at me. “WAKE UP!” it screams.
I scream, too. And sit bolt upright in my bed. I look around the room, terrified. But there’s no one here. No psycho puppet. No horses and cows. I’m not in a stable. I’m in G and Lili’s house. In their guest room. It was only a dream, I tell myself. Calm down. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my hammering heart, to still my shaking hands.
It’s the Qwell. Again. I’ve got to dial the dosage back. The sadness is bad, but a crazed six-foot puppet is no joke, either.
Gray morning light is slanting through my window. What time is it? I wonder. How late did I sleep? I reach over to the night table for my watch. Nine a.m. Not good. I wanted to be at the doors of the Abelard Library by now. It’s already Thursday and I’ve got a ton of work to do if I want to get out of here on Sunday. I take my pills—two this time, not three—then reach for my jeans. They’re on the floor, where I dropped them last night. I pull them on under the covers. The heat is worse than iffy in this place. It’s largely nonexistent.
Just as I’m about to get out of bed, my cell phone goes off. I fumble around for that, too, then look at the ID through bleary eyes. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I say, trying not to sound like I just woke up.
“Hey. It’s Virgil.”
“Virgil?” I echo, thinking that this is unexpected. Wondering if I’m hallucinating again.
“Yeah. You still in Paris?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I’m surprised. I figured you’d be gone by now.”
I wince, remembering last night and the crappy things I said. “Hey, sorry about that. I’m not always an asshole,” I tell him. “Most of the time, but not always.”
I hear a soft chuckle, then he says, “I’m calling because I have your iPod. I forgot to give it back to you last night when I dropped you off. I didn’t want you to freak when you realized, so I called the number that was written on the back of it. I figured it had to be your cell.”
“Wow. I didn’t even realize it was gone. Thanks. Really. My whole life is on that thing.”
Every CD of every band I like is on there, as well as tunes from every musician, living or dead, that Nathan’s so much as mentioned.
“Yeah, I know,” Virgil says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kept listening to it last night. During my shift. The radio’s not always great and I’m bored with the tunes on my own iPod.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, but there’s one thing I’m really hoping he didn’t listen to—
“Plaster Castle,” he says. “That one really blew me away.”
Shit.
“It’s good. Really good,” he says.
“Yeah?” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “My music teacher called it a noisy mishmash.”
Virgil laughs. “It is.”
“Hey, thanks.”
“You definitely got carried away with the effects, and you could chill on all the different time sigs, especially on ‘Girl in a Tower’ and ‘Lock It Up.’
The pain is fading a bit, because a good strong pissed-off feeling is taking its place. “That’s funny; I don