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Authors: Lisa McMann

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Fade

BOOK: Fade
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FADE

BY LISA MCMANN

Wake sequel

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real

people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,

places, and incidents are the product of the author"s imagination, and

any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSEıAn imprint of Simon &

Schuster Children"s Publishing Divisionı1230 Avenue of the Americas,

New York, NY 10020ıCopyright © 2009 by Lisa McMannıAll rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any

form.ıSIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.ıLibrary of Congress Cataloging-inPublication DataıMcMann, Lisa.ıFade/Lisa McMann.—1st Simon Pulse ed.ıp. cm.ıSequel to: Wake.ıSummary: Using her ability to tap into other people"s dreams, eighteen-year-old Janie investigates an alleged sex ring

at her high school that involves teachers using the date-rape drug on

students.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-5654-4ıISBN-10: 1-4391-5654-9

ı[1. Dreams—Fiction. 2. Lucid dreams—Fiction. 3. Undercover operations—Fiction. 4. Sexual abuse victims—Fiction. 5. Interpersonal

relations—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7. Schools—

Fiction.]ıI.

Title.ıPZ7.M2256Fad 2009ı[Fic]—dc22

ıVisit us on the World Wide Web: ıhttp://www.SimonSays.com

[http://www.SimonSays.com]

For Matt, Kilian, and Kennedy

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to:

My fabulous agent, Michael Bourret.

My incredible editor, Jennifer Klonsky.

Sammy Yuen and Mike Rosamilia, who create the Best. Covers. Ever.

Matt Schwartz for way too many things to mention. Lila Haber and Kate

Smyth for their tireless promotional efforts and for always being available. Also to Victor Iannone and the awesome sales team; to Rick

Richter, Paul Crichton, Bethany Buck, Lucille Rettino, Kelly Stocks,

Bess Brasswell, Mary McAveney, Matt Pantoliano, Emilia Rhodes,

Jeannie Ng, and Molly McLeod. Cassandra Clare, Chris Crutcher, Ally

Carter, Richard Lewis, Lauren Baratz-Logsted, A. S. King, Melissa

Walker, FanLib.com, and BookDivas.com.

All the awesome teen and adult reviewers and fans who plaster my

books all over their websites and blogs.

My parents, siblings, in-laws, and outlaws for all the support.

Shout-outs to:

Alyssa, Jamie, Hannah, Kevin, Max, Casey, Chloe, Jack, and Lili Eva

Bethel at Primlicious.com.

Scott, Michelle, Danielle, Tyler, and Morgan Bloyer. Lori Rourke, hairdresser to the stars.

Jade Corn and Cori Ashley at Phoenix Book Company, and to Faith

Hochhalter and all of the book club ladies and gents. Treehouse Books,

Anderson"s Bookshop, Changing Hands Bookstore, and Kepler"s. My invisible friends who rock: Juliana, Ashlea, Cassie, Nicole, Chelsea,

Melissa, and James Booth, and all the peeps at that one place who have

given me so much support—you know who you are. Jill Morgan at Flat

Rock High School.

And to Vickie, Sahrie, Tashia, Nikki, and Katherine, the first five MySpace friends I met on book tour. You guys rock!

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A NEW YEAR

ASSIGNMENTS AND SECRETS

POINTED VIEWS

BIRTHDAY, UNDERCOVER

THE GREEN THE GREEN AND THE BLUES

ON HER OWN

NITTY GRITTY

DURBIN DAZE

ROAD TRIP

SHOWTIME

NOT ALL RIGHT

NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE

GLIMMERS

DON’T LOOK BACK

A NEW YEAR

January 1, 2006, 1:31 a.m.

Janie sprints through the snowy yards from two streets away and slips

quietly through the front door of her house.

And then.

Everything goes black.

She grips her head, cursing her mother under her breath as the whirling

kaleidoscope of colors builds and throws her off balance. She bumps

against the wall and holds on, and then slowly lowers herself blindly to

the floor as her fingers go numb. The last thing she needs is to crack her

head open. Again.

She"s too tired to fight it right now. Too tired to pull herself out of it.

Plants her cheek on the cold tile floor. Gathers her strength so she can

try later, in case the dream doesn"t end quickly. Breathes.

Watches.

1:32 a.m.

It"s the same old dream Janie"s mother always has. The one where a

much younger, much happier mother flies through a psychedelic tunnel

of flashing, spinning, colored lights, holding hands with the hippie who

looks like Jesus Christ. Their sunglasses reflect the dizzying stripes,

making it even harder for Janie to stop the vertigo. This dream always makes Janie sick to her stomach.

What’s her stupid mother doing sleeping in the living room,
anyway?

But Janie is curious. She tries to focus. She peers at the man in the

dream as she floats alongside the oblivious pair. Janie"s mother could

see Janie, if only she looked. But she never does. The man can"t see her, of course. It"s not his dream. Janie wishes she

could get him to take off his sunglasses. She wants to see his face.

Wonders if his eyes are brown like hers. She can never focus her attention in one place for long, though, with all the spinning colors. Abruptly the dream changes.

Sours.

The hippie man fades, and Janie"s mother stands in a line of people that

stretches on for what seems like miles. Her shoulders curl over, worn,

like thin pages in a well-read book.

Her face is grim, set. Angry.

She"s holding—jiggling—a screaming, red-faced baby.

Not this again.
Janie doesn"t want to watch anymore—she hates this part.

Hates it. She gathers all her strength and concentrates. Hard. Groans

inwardly. And pulls herself out of her mother"s dream. Exhausted.

1:51 a.m.

Janie"s vision slowly returns. She shivers in a cold sweat and flexes her

aching fingers, grateful that she never seems to get sucked back into a

dream once she"s successfully pulled out of it. So far, anyway. She pushes herself to her feet as her mother snores on the couch, and

walks shakily to the bathroom, stomach churning. She gags and retches,

then makes a halfhearted attempt at brushing her teeth. Once in her

bedroom, Janie closes the door tightly behind her. Falls to the bed, like a lump of dough.

After last month"s ordeal with the drug bust, Janie knows she"s got to

get her strength back or the dreams will take over her life again.

That night, Janie"s own dreams are blasted with churning oceans and

hurricanes and life jackets that sink like stones. 11:44 a.m.

Janie wakes to sunlight streaming in. She"s ravenous and dreaming

about food now. Smelling it.

“Cabe?” she mumbles, eyes closed.

“Hey. I let myself in.” He sits on the bed next to her, his fingers drawing

her tangled hair away from her face. “Rough night, Hannagan? Or are

you still catching up?”

“Mrrff.” She rolls over. Sees the plate of eggs and toast, steam rising.

Grins wide as the ocean and lunges for it. “You—best secret boyfriend

ever.”

ASSIGNMENTS AND SECRETS

January 2, 2006, 11:54 a.m.

It"s the last day of winter break.

Janie and Cabel sit in Cabel"s spare bedroom—his computer room—checking the school website for their exam grades. It"s a good thing Cabel has two laptops. Or there might be an allout fight when the grades are posted at noon. But who are they kidding.

They might have to roll around on the floor and wrestle, regardless.

Janie"s nervous.

She turned in a blank blue book for the math exam after the drug bust

went down a few weeks ago. She had a good excuse; there was still

blood on her sweatshirt, after all. And the teacher gave her a second shot

at it. Too bad it was on the day after a rough night of dreamhopping at Fieldridge High"s annual al -night fundraiser danceathon. Also too bad—it was a lock in. No escape.

Janie and Cabe might have skipped the whole dance if they could have,

but it wasn"t possible. They were on assignment. Undercover.

Captain"s orders.

“We"re looking for anybody who dreams about teachers, Janie,”

Captain

had said. “Or any teachers who are dreaming about students.”

Janie thought that sounded odd and intriguing. “Anything specific?”

she"d asked.

“Not at this time,” Captain said. “I"ll fill you in more after the New Year,

once we"ve got some things sorted out. For now, just take notes of

anything teacher/student related.”

For Janie, staying up all night isn"t the problem. It"s the dreamhopping that sucks the life out of her. And after spending six hours stuck in other

people"s dreams from her hidden location under the bleachers, she was

completely spent.

Of course Cabel was there, at the dance, slipping Janie cartons of milk

and PowerBars (she"d reluctantly switched from Snickers). The dreams

were on the fertile side, to say the least.

Too bad she didn"t pick up anything substantial. Nothing teacher/student

related. Only student/student related, to Janie"s chagrin. And when Luke Drake, the Fieldridge High football team"s star receiver,

fell asleep on the gymnastics mats, already totally plastered when he

arrived at the lock in, Janie cried, “Enough.”

“Cabe,” she gasped between dreams, “wake him the fuck up, and don"t

let him sleep again. I can"t take it.”

Luke tends to dream about himself, and it turns out he"s a bit overconfident when naked. Cabel"s seen Luke in the showers after PE

“Luke"s definitely overcompensating in his dreams,” Cabel says when

he hears Janie"s description.

Cabe may or may not have had more success in his assignment that night.

He"s a relationship builder, so his work takes more time than Janie"s to

see results. He makes connections, builds trust, and has the uncanny

ability to get people to admit the most amazing things while bugged.

And Janie plays cleanup. At least that"s how beautifully it went the first

time.

Needless to say, Janie knows she didn"t ace the second math exam either.

And today, the last day before going back for their final semester at

Fieldridge High, Janie"s stressed about her grades.

She doesn"t need to be.

She has a terrific scholarship.

But she"s funny like that.

At noon exactly, according to Cabel"s police scanner, they log on from

their respective computers and scan their pages. Janie sighs. Under different circumstances, it would have been an A.

Math"s her best subject. Which makes it all the worse. Cabel"s sensitive. He doesn"t react to his row of straight As. He feels

responsible for Janie"s face-first free-fall at the police station that landed

her in the hospital during exam week.

They simultaneously close their screens.

Not that they"re competitive.

They aren"t.

Okay, they are.

Cabel glances sidelong at Janie.

She looks away.

He changes the subject. “Time to go see Captain,” he says. Janie checks her watch and nods. “See you there.”

Janie slips out of Cabe"s house and runs across the yards of two small

residential streets to her house. Janie looks around, sees no one, so she

peeks into her mother"s bedroom. Her mother is there, passed out but

alive, bottles strewn about as usual. She"s not dreaming, thank goodness.

Janie closes the bedroom door softly, grabs her car keys, and heads back

BOOK: Fade
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