All In My Head (First Tracks Book 1) (4 page)

“Climb a mountain? Not really my thing.”

Don’t you want to run two miles without falling over?

“I didn’t fall over, for the record, and you should be proud
of me for running at all. And, also for the record, I’m totally skinny.”

Skinny, but your endurance is … Listen, I’m not trying to be a
jerk. Sorry about the shower. I’ll go work on our exercise plan and you can
enjoy your coconut shower gel.

Yeah, you go do that
.

Five minutes later, I was out, wrapped in a towel and
staring at the clothes in my closet when he said we need to think about
nutrition. Hmm, breakfast. After a run like that, I probably deserved a big ol’
maple bar.

No, no, no! That totally ruins the point of the run. We need
protein.

I pictured one of those Facebook memes with the Cookie
Monster: num, num, num, me want more protein! Marcus chuckled until I pulled
down a black skirt and long sleeve brown sweater.

Okay,
I told him,
now go somewhere else while I
change.

***

An hour later, I discovered a new twist in my nightmare as I
sat in my movie theory class, trying to listen to the professor over Marcus and
his asinine commentary.
This is worthwhile stuff
, I explained, trying to
quiet him. I actually needed to hear the discussion.

I’d sat by Jasmine and Ettore like usual. She was an art
major but took some writing classes too, along with an oddball acting class.
Ettore glanced over and gave me a small smile and lift of his hand. He loved
this stuff, and Ettore made it more interesting than the professor. He could
even point out the same techniques in modern movies. Kris wasn’t wrong about
him being too skinny and maybe a bit odd looking, but it’s almost like he
didn’t care. At least, he never acted like it.

Matt, as the professor liked to be called, discussed how the
light on an actor’s face could reveal him as the good guy, or reveal a mood, or
simply reveal that the character was revealing something in their dialogue.
Images flashed on the screen from older movies, scenes where the character
gazed somewhere (close to the camera but not directly) as they confessed or
implored, the light falling across their face.

You seem to like lighting a lot. Do you like photography?

Marcus asked that as class ended and everyone got up to
leave.

I joined the slow-moving mob toward the door and Jasmine
fell in beside me, her super-long black hair swept all over one shoulder. “Ave,
you made it back to class.”

Ettore turned around, along with a couple of other nosey
people.  Marcus was in the middle of saying something too, but there were so
many conversations that I could hardly concentrate on what Jasmine had said.

“Thanks for sharing notes.”

“What happened?” Ettore asked, tugging on his shirt collar
to pull it away from his neck, which made me notice his Adam’s apple. “I
wondered why you were gone.”  The noise level dropped around us as other
students listened.

“I fell while snowboarding,” I explained. “Got a
concussion.” We made it out the door, through the students pushing their way
in, and walked down the hallway. The three of us stopped at the intersection,
knowing Ettore had to head in the opposite direction.

“Wow, bummer.”

“I’m fine now,” I said. “And I got a couple of days in bed
over it.”

Ettore was shuffling through his notebook and handed me a
sheet with class notes. We talked for a minute or two, but he had to hurry to
his next class. Jasmine and I started off down the hall together. It’s funny
how a week will go by when we don’t see each other at home, but she’s always in
class. Kristina spent a lot of time trying to figure Jazz out. She’s just a bit
mysterious, is all.

Think I’m warming up to her. Sounds like she’s interesting.

“That was pretty scary,” she said, somewhat out of the blue
but I could follow her train of thought.

“I actually don’t feel that bad today,” I said,
simultaneously realizing I wanted to convince myself that I was healthy as ever
and doing well. Hello, I went running this morning! “No headache or anything.”

“Cool.” Her eyes were scanning the crowd, people watching.
It’s something we all tend to do around here.

I noticed a passing guy give her the elevator look. “You
know,” I said, “A lot of guys check you out. It’s true! What’s-his-name can
take a number.”

His name was actually Drake. I had decided early on I didn’t
like him so much, since he didn’t have time for her.

She smiled suddenly and broadly. “He can take someone else’s
number because I dumped him. In a text because the bastard doesn’t call or text
me. Ah!”

“Good for you!”

We reached the math building, where she turned off, calling
a “See ya at the house” as she went.

Babe, guys are checking you out constantly too, but you keep
looking away.

Marcus sounded … a little reserved as he said that. I
considered that briefly and quickly realized anything down that avenue would be
difficult right now. Marcus laughed about that.

Yeah, I don’t think I can handle kissing a guy. I don’t think I
can handle listening to you …

Flirting?

Not what I was thinking, no. But along those lines.

There was no way I was discussing that with him. I double
timed it to the library and back to a quiet nook in the stacks with a big chair
by a window. I normally liked being around people and the buzz of conversation,
but it was overwhelming to have one going on inside my head competing with
everything else. I leaned on my hand and closed my eyes, hoping to let my mind
drift to nothing. Instead it went straight to my current problem, because,
really, what else could I think about? This didn’t make any sense or have any
easy solutions, and I’d sound like a nut case if I told anyone, even Kris or
Jazz.

Could I have simply made him up, like a female edition for
Fight
Club
? Well, except that I didn’t think I
was
Marcus, and I couldn’t
see Marcus … no, that story wasn’t any help at all. The only thing I’m familiar
with that’s anywhere close to this is schizophrenia. Delusion.

But if I made him up, how would I have come up with some
athletic, blunt jock that wanted to go running at dawn? Plus, if I created him,
I should be able to picture him.
So, Marcus, what do you look like?

Dunno.

Really? You don’t know what you look like?

I bet I have nice hands that could make you happy.

Shut up with the sex talk!

Not exactly “sex” talk. Just offering. Anyway, what happened to
your parents?

How did Marcus know that? Was he digging around in my head?
Watching my dreams?

It’s none of your business
.

And what about Kyle? You thought something about dating him
before Kristina. How close were you two? And how did he hook up with your best
friend … and with everyone still being friends?

Again, none of your business
.

Seems like we’re at a stalemate. Maybe we should skip out on
your classes today and hit the slopes.

I heaved a sigh. This was getting to be too much. But, wait,
I’m here on campus where I can go talk to a counselor.

No, no, no!

I glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing
distance. “And why not? No offense, Marcus, but this isn’t working. You wanted
out of there, remember? Said you were stuck? And if you’re just a figment of my
imagination, or some mental illness, I should talk to someone. Take care of
things. I can’t function like this.”

No! Avery, no. Do you really want your friends and everyone
else hearing that you cracked?  They’ll lock you in a psych ward for
evaluation.

“But what if something’s wrong with me? Maybe I have a brain
aneurysm. What if they could figure it out and fix it?”

And where does that put me?

“You’re not frickin’ real!”

He stormed off. I could actually feel him stomping and
slamming things.

My face burned—with my own anger, but also hurt. How could I
be so confused and emotionally mixed up over a voice in my head?

I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder. It wasn’t a bad
thing if he left. That’s what he wanted. He said so repeatedly. And it was for
the better. Hello, he was a voice in my head, and it shouldn’t be a good thing
if I felt like something was missing without him.

Why, did it get too quiet in here?

Of course Marcus couldn’t stay away for long. We picked up
where we’d left off as I speed-walked across campus, my head down so I wouldn’t
glare at anyone by accident. When I entered the English building and approached
my classroom, I looked through the small windows to see if the last class had
cleared out. My class was seated already! Mr. Finley stood leaning back on his
desk, lecturing.

“You made me late!” I spoke out loud before I noticed a guy
slouching on the floor, back against the wall. He gave me a stay-away look
behind his glasses but I pulled open the door and hurried in, making sure to
slink into a desk without looking at Mr. Finley. I held my breath in the hope
it’d keep me from blushing.

I
hate
being late. I hate people who come in ten
minutes after class starts, all nonchalant, like they’re gracing the class with
their appearance. Keeping my face down, I pulled out my notebook to take notes,
then of course I couldn’t concentrate and figure out what he was talking about.
It didn’t make much sense at all.

“Okay, homework,” Mr. Finley said, turning to the board to
write.

But that’s what he always said at the end of class …

Oh, shit.

I glanced around. These weren’t the people in my class.

Marcus!

How’s it my fault? Guess you were early.

And now I was melting through the floor, literally—well, in
a figurative sense, but it felt literal. My skin heated to sun temperature and
slid down my face. The blood rushing into my ears kept me from hearing anything
as students stood and left. Oh. My. God.

I slid down in my seat, trying to fold in on myself.

Ave, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal.

Yeah, it’s not your face everyone is staring at either.
My
face had to be bright red under my freckles.

You’re my little Tiger Lily.

Would you buzz off!

New people came in and sat down, but I wasn’t going to talk
to anyone right now. I doodled on my paper, making little lines between the
blue lines. Mr. Finley didn’t come over. Maybe he felt sorry for me. Class
started, and I tried to listen as other people read their short stories, but I
couldn’t speak up and offer any feedback after what happened. I really couldn’t
look up at Mr. Finley.

The minutes ticked by painfully. And by painfully, I mean it
was just like the time I ate a bottle of my dad’s medicine when I was little
and had to get my stomach pumped.

Ave …

I’m not talking to you!

Everyone jumped up to go and I realized class was over.
Maybe I should have stayed home today to recover. Even if I felt okay
physically, my mind was elsewhere. I could have researched more online or slept
this whole thing off.

“Avery?”

I looked up at Mr. Finley, right next to me. “Yes?”

“Are you feeling okay?” He perched on the edge of the next
desk, his hands crossed on his lap. He went for a beatnik look with black
rimmed glasses, alternative clothes, and a huge love of nonsensical poetry.
Normally I liked talking to him.

“Oh, I’m feeling great. Thanks, Mr. Finley.” Again, trying
to minimize my unexplainable condition.

“It’s just, I heard you had a fall up on the mountain, and
today … you seemed to be somewhere else completely.” The sweet man chose not to
mention how I’d run in here and interrupted his class. But, news about me was
all over campus? Even the professors heard? I pulled in a breath, feeling my
lungs stretch painfully after that morning’s run. The classroom had emptied out
because there wasn’t another one after ours. I glanced down and felt my face
turn red. My notebook was open and completely blank; I didn’t take a single
note during class. But he can’t tell that, right? For all he knew, maybe I had
all kinds of notes on the other side.

“I’ll email my notes to you, okay? You can go over anything
you missed.”

“That’d be great, thanks. Maybe I will go home early.” I
stood, sliding my notebook into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. We
walked into the hallway together.

Nash Phillips was leaning against the opposite wall, hands
in pockets, obviously waiting. For me? My breath caught and I tucked my hair
behind my ear, trying to look without being super obvious.

Nash is about six foot tall with olive skin, almost black
hair and very dark eyes. He was looking at his phone but glanced up and met my
gaze. Time stopped for a few seconds. He started to give a subtle smile until
he saw Mr. Finley, and his eyes dropped back down to his phone.

Mr. Finley hesitated, taking in that look too, but we kept
walking and he continued talking. I waited about five steps before throwing a
look back. Nash lifted a hand. I smiled.

This thing with Nash has been building so slooowwwwly. I’m
on the quiet side with people I don’t know, and he’s super reserved. Kristina
called him stuck up, but I think he’s just shy. I’m okay with things going
slow—after the thing with Kyle, I wasn’t sure I wanted to date at all.

I followed Mr. Finley outside, and as he talked, I happened
to actually read one of the fliers up in the front of the English building …
about a crisis hotline for students. This was my third year here, and I’d only
used student services a few times to see a nurse. What could it hurt to just
call and talk to someone?

 “See you later.” Mr. Finely waved as he headed the other
way.

I waved back but didn’t leave right away. Odd that Marcus
hadn’t said anything through all of that. In fact, he didn’t jump all over me
for pausing and reading the flier several times, or for writing the number on
my hand. He didn’t say anything about anything, but he was eerily silent, icy
even.

So I asked him,
what is your problem? If you’re not a
ghost haunting me or a schizophrenic voice in my head, what do you have to
worry about?

Not why I’m being quiet, babe.

He exhaled slowly, like he was ten shades past frustrated.

And what’s going to happen if you spill this to someone?

It’s anonymous. I’m not going to tell them who I am.

I stepped back inside the English building for a sec, just
to see if Nash had hung around. I didn’t see him. I wondered about him waiting
outside the classroom. I was the only person left so he must have been waiting
for me. After a quick glance around to make sure Nash wasn’t somewhere
watching, I checked my phone. He’d gotten my number last week but we hadn’t talked
much yet.

There was a text.

Sorry to miss you. Chat later?

I texted back,
Sure.

Then, while walking, I checked my phone a few times, feeling
those phantom buzzes, but he didn’t text back.

So your type is Tom Cruise lookalikes?

I puffed out my breath, irritated. There wasn’t anyone right
by me, and I realized most people walking by themselves were talking on their
cell phones or a Bluetooth. Maybe we all looked crazy.

“
Kyle
looks like Colin Egglesfield … who, come to
think of it, does look like a young Tom Cruise. But anyway.
Nash
is much
taller, with darker hair and dark brown eyes.” I wasn’t going to say so, but I
could see what he meant about Nash. Something about his face structure. “Why?
Are you short with blond hair and green eyes or something?”

Marcus didn’t answer and I felt bad. Actually, I didn’t know
if I had a type. My mind wandered, remembering. There had been a guy one time.
I was up in Portland with Kris, and we rode the Max train downtown. At one of
the stops, I noticed a man with sunny blond hair, long and wavy, but not
exactly messy. Just doing what it wanted. He had a gray knit sweater on with a
black T-shirt underneath, and it struck me as something a guy would wear
walking on the docks.

So, were you attracted based on his looks or because he looked
adventurous?

“I’d have to say both … and I can’t believe I’m telling you
something like that.”

I turned at the corner and walked down to the student
parking lot to my classic red Toyota. It was two miles to the house, but I had
a backpack full of books. I got in the car and started driving home.

Seems only fair if you share that kind of stuff. Here I am
caught up in some kind of
Sex in the City
with guys wanting to crawl all over you while you play Miss Cool. They think
you’re deep and mysterious.

“Are you saying I’m not?”

Well, babe, I’m inside your head. But, yeah, you’re
complicated.

This
was complicated.

The house was empty when I got home, so I locked myself in
my room, and called the number I’d written down.

Avery, this is a bad idea!

 “Student crisis hotline … I’m Brian, and I’m here to listen
and talk. What’s your name?”

“Hi Brian, I’m … Chelsea.”

“Hi Chelsea.” He didn’t flinch at the obvious lie. “How’s it
going?”

 “Good, I guess. I mean, not so good all the time. My life
was good, but then this thing happened …” I rambled on for a while without
conveying any kind of useful information, and it wasn’t making me feel any
better. I had to talk over Marcus part of the time too. I probably sounded like
I was strung out on drugs.

“So something upsetting happened? Are you physically hurt?”

“No.”

“So this didn’t involve any kind of … invasion into your
space?”

I thought I knew what he was getting at, like someone trying
to rape me, but right at first, I thought he somehow knew about Marcus in my
head. I waited too long, sounding suspicious I’m sure. “No, it’s nothing like
that.”

I was about to hang up when Brian started talking. Just
general stuff, but a little helpful too, about dealing with stress. “Just
talking things out can really help.”

“Okay. So this will sound really, really crazy.” My entire
body lit on fire. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t sure I could go through with
this, anonymous or not.

“There’s no judgment here,” he said kindly.

“Well … I’ve been hearing this voice talk to me. It’s the
same one all the time. And it’s not like … not like the movies where he’s
trying to get me to do anything. He’s just as frustrated as I am about being
stuck here, but he doesn’t know who he is, or where he lives, or how he’ll get
back to his life.” I couldn’t stop it. Everything rushed out.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A few days, I think.” It felt like a year.

“How were things going for you before that?”

“Good, life was pretty normal.” I had made sure not to
mention specifics like my friends’ names, or that we rented a house, or that
we’d been snowboarding.

“Any problems with your family? A boyfriend? Or even a
friend? Any stress at school?”

“No, nothing that big.”

Liar.

You didn’t want me sharing in the first place!

“Did anything happen around when you started hearing this
voice? Anything at all?”

“Well, I was in an accident and hurt my head a little.”

“It really sounds like you need to see a doctor.”

“I did, actually, right when it happened. Everything was
fine.”

The line was quiet for a minute and I panicked, thinking he
was tracing the call. Could they do that? Then, “Maybe you should go back in.
Have you told your doctor about this?”

“No, it didn’t seem like a physical symptom, and the scan
showed everything was fine.”

“Did this voice tell you not to tell anyone about him?”

 A chill ran up my spine, clear to the base of my head, and
gave me goosebumps down my arms. “I’m not sure. I need to get going, but thanks
for listening.” I heard him saying my name—my fake name—as I hung up, breathing
heavily.

What did you do? What if they come looking for us?

I checked the hallway again. Empty. “He’s right, Marcus.
It’s totally weird that you don’t want me to get help. And this is messing up
my life.”

How?

“How? I can’t think straight. I’m stressed out. Then there’s
Nash.”

Marcus laughed bitterly.

We can’t go telling people about this, babe. I know it’s
frustrating for you, but imagine being in here with
nowhere else to go.

But I couldn’t go on like this forever!

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t been eating
much. I went to the kitchen and dug around, not feeling like eating anything I
found so I settled on an avocado. I pushed Kristina’s text books out of the way
to make a spot to sit down, and then I ended up picking up the rest of the
clutter, losing myself in the task. Finally I cut the avocado in half, salted
and peppered it, and took a bite.

Marcus gagged.

What are you eating?

“It’s just avocado.” I took another bite, wondering if he
really tasted everything I did, but he just kept gagging. With a loud sigh, I
chucked it in the trash and went to my room, where I fell into bed so
frustrated I felt hot tears tickling through my squinted eyelids.

You hide in your bed a lot.

His voice was quiet, but there wasn’t a way for him to be so
quiet that I couldn’t hear him. I growled into my pillow. There wasn’t a place
to hide from him.

I woke two hours later to my cell phone buzzing. Three
texts.

Kristina:
Nachos? We’ll bring home.
 

Nash:
Hi Avery. How are you? Are you okay?

Nash again:
Dawn said you fell hard on the slopes. Hope
you’re okay.

I told Kristina:
Yes, please!

To Nash:
Thanks, Nash. Feeling okay. Went home early
today just to rest. No more snowboarding!