Deadgirl

“Tomorrow?”

“Oh, well yeah, I guess tomorrow.”

I was so glad that my mouth was faster than my brain. Not only had my mouth managed to deflect my mom’s current questions, but it actually got the party-permission thing out of the way. Zack had mentioned Benny’s party every day since he had invited me, and I’d told him I’d find out every day. After last Friday, I didn’t know how lenient my parents might be. It could go either way, I knew. The grounded forever protective route or the go out and be normal, we’re totally cool route.

The look on my mom’s face told me she hadn’t decided which way yet, either.

“I’ll have to talk with your dad,” she said. “But for now it’s a tentative maybe.”

I nodded, but my heart sank. Dad was more liable to throw up the shields and lock me in my room forever to keep me safe.

“Do you mind if I go for a bike ride while you deliberate?”

Mom twisted in her seat. She glanced at the clock.

“Luce, it’s after seven,” she said. “I don’t know.”

It was dark outside. Really dark. Stupid daylight savings time, ruining my strange, illogical plans. Would I really go to the hospital? I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. And then there was the cold to consider.

“I just want to get some exercise,” I said.

“What about dinner?”

I frowned. What about dinner?

“I ate a huge lunch—”

“Lucy,” Mom said, and to my surprise, stood up. She walked over to where I was pacing and put her hands on my shoulders.

“I know what’s going on, Lucy.”

My heart stopped. Packed its things. Ran away. I felt a lump of lead in my mouth and a cold chill down my spine.

“What?”

“Lucy,” Mom said. She turned to be side-by-side with me and slipped her arm around my shoulders. “You can’t do this to yourself.”

“Do…do what to myself?”

“You aren’t fat, Lucy,” Mom said, and looked me up and down. “You look fine, honey. There’s no reason to starve yourself or start turning into a bike nut.”

I laughed. It just burst out of me before I could slap my mouth closed. Of everything I had expected to come out of her mouth, that hadn’t been it. I popped my fingers over my mouth and tugged my lips together. I tried to calm my eyes, bring them under control.

“What?” Mom said, leaning back, a little annoyed. “What’s so funny?”

“N-nothing, Mom,” I said. I turned and hugged her. “I just… It’s hard for me to be comfortable with my… fatness. You just made me feel a whole lot better is all.”

“Oh,” Mom said.

She drew up, and I could see the pride welling up. She’d been the perfect mom, and she’d solved the problem. She practically glowed with satisfaction. My lips quivered, and I remembered how much I loved my mom. I hugged her again and let her go.

“What was that one for?” she asked.

“Just for being you, Mom,” I said.

She looked confused yet pleased, so I left it at that.

“Make a plate for me,” I said. “I promise to eat the whole thing. I just need to get some fresh air, if that’s okay.”

She nodded. “Okay, hon. Nothing wrong with being healthy just…just don’t overdo it, okay?”

“I promise to stay off of Oprah, Mom. You have my word.”

I waved my hand at her and bounced out the back door.

I raced down the street, pumping as fast as I could.

The harder I rode, the faster the cold set into me. But I didn’t stop. The wind against my face couldn’t compete with the icy chill spreading through my muscles. My bones. Every part of me felt sluggish. Frost poured out of my labored lungs.

The only upside was that I had yet to sweat a drop. Hurray for hypothermia.

The road flew past me. I zipped through the yellow pools of the streetlights, flying up to the curb whenever I feared smashing into a parked car. I was getting weaker—the pumping of my pedals came slower and slower, and the crisp wind in my face was dying. I was coasting more than I was riding, and it took all of my strength just to balance on both wheels.

The bike creaked to a stop, and I fell over.

Everything became dark, and I could feel the sharp wet crystals in the wind. Just like snow.

No. I stood up. I thought of the little boy running through the cornfield, but nothing came. I tried to picture him as hard as I could, and for a moment the wind stopped. A fluttering of something warm blossomed in my chest and then was gone. Whatever it was, I’d used it up. I tried to picture the little boy, but this time there was nothing.

My tank was empty. But I had a little strength left.

I looked up from the ground and laughed. Of course. I’d fallen over in the parking lot of St. Elias. I picked up my mom’s bike and shoved it into a long stretch of bushes. I ran through the parked cars without a look back.

The hospital wasn’t very big.

I pushed through the swinging glass doors out front and entered what looked like every hospital I’d ever been in. Short, hard gray carpet where there wasn’t blinding white tile. Taupe walls. Long corridors of doors with tiny placards. Disinfectant stink. Fake plants in little wicker pots. A small round nurse or secretary at a half-circle desk.

I walked up to her and tried not to sound out of breath.

“H-hello,” I said, and my teeth chattered. A swirl of frost accompanied the words. “I’d like to know which room Kent Miller is in?”

She glanced up at me from behind half-lidded eyes and fiddled with the keyboard at her desk.

“Family?”

Oh crap. I’ve seen enough hospital shows—that really shouldn’t have caught me off-guard. Luckily my quick mouth saved my idiot-brain once again.

“No, I’m actually in his History class. I’m one of his students.”

Wow. Good work, mouth. You get a raise or something. Maybe I’ll up the cheesecake ration or something.

“Oh,” the little nurse/secretary said, perking up considerably. “That’s so sweet of you. Yeah, let me look it up. If I could just get you to sign in here…”

She pointed at a clipboard, and I scooped it up and scribbled Allison Belle on the visitor sign in portion. The signature was shaky in my frozen hand, but readable. Ally Belle was my alter-ego as a little girl. Sometimes she was a superhero, sometimes a princess, but it was the name I always ran with. Nowadays I mostly used it as my junk email name.

“Looks like Room A6. Just down this hall,” she said, pointing to my right. “And on the left. I think his wife is there right now, just so you know.”

I glanced down at the sheet. Just over my name, written in a measured, steady hand was the name Maria Miller. The sign in time was two hours ago, and there hadn’t been a sign out time. I glanced up the visitor roster to see she’d signed in and out at least five times throughout the day.

“Thanks,” I said. She handed me a visitor’s badge, and I clipped it to my shirt.

Needless to say, my steps down the hallway were measured. What should I do? The wife might have a hard time believing my high school student story, especially if Kent was awake to ruin my identity. Then again, if Kent was awake and he recognized me from the crash, it would be even worse.

Why did I come here?

As I reached for the door, the naked, blinding urge to run hit me. It was pure panic, flushing me with