Pushing the Limits (8 page)

My eyes snapped to Mrs. Collins as my heart thundered in my chest. “This is mine.”

The thundering moved to my head and my chest constricted as another image squeezed out. In my mind’s eye I was accepting not only the ribbon, but a certificate. I didn’t see the name printed there, but I saw the date. It was
the
date.

Jolts of electricity shot up my arms and straight to my heart. Horrified, I threw the ribbon across the room and bolted from my chair. My knee slammed against the desk, causing needle-sharp pains to shoot behind my kneecap. I fell to the floor and scrambled backward, away from the ribbon, until my back smacked the door.

Mrs. Collins pushed slowly away from her desk, crossed the room to retrieve the ribbon, and held it in her hand. “Yes, it’s yours, Echo.” She spoke like we were sharing a pizza instead of me having a panic attack.

“It’s … It … can’t be. I … never won the Governor’s Cup.” Fog filled a portion of my mind, followed by a bright flash of red. A moment of clarity revealed a younger me filling out a form. “But I entered … my sophomore year. I won the county, then regionals, and moved on to state. And then … then …” Nothing. The black hole swallowed the red and the gray. Only darkness remained.

Mrs. Collins smoothed her black skirt as she sat down in front of me. Maybe no one told her, but sitting on the floor during a therapy session was abnormal. She reined in her Labrador enthusiasm and spoke in a calm, reassuring tone. “You’re in a safe place, Echo, and it is safe to remember.” She stroked the ribbon. “You had a very happy morning that day.”

I cocked my head to the side and squinted at the ribbon. “I … won?”

She nodded. “I’m a huge art fan. I prefer statues over paintings, but I still love paintings. I’d rather go to a gallery than a movie any day of the week.”

This lady was a feather-filled quack. No question about it. Yet in the middle of those annoyingly cheerful plaques hung honest-to-God legitimate degrees. The University of Louisville was a real school and so was Harvard, where she’d apparently continued her studies. I focused on breathing. “I don’t remember winning.”

Mrs. Collins placed the ribbon on the edge of her desk. “That’s because you repressed the entire day, not just the night.”

I stared at the file on her desk. “Will you tell me what happened to me?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that would be cheating. If you want to remember, then you need to start applying yourself during these sessions. That means you answer my questions honestly. No more lying. No more half lies. Even if your parents are here. In fact, especially if your parents are here.”

I reached up to where Aires’ dog tags would have rested around my neck if I had worn them. My eyes never left my file. “Did you bother reading that thing?”

One finger methodically rubbed her jaw. “Of course.”

I bit the inside of my mouth. “Then you know. I tried to remember once and you know it isn’t possible.” Not without my mind fracturing in two. The summer after the incident, one psychologist tried to open the steel door in my brain and demons raced out from the crack. I lost myself for two days and woke in the hospital. My nightmares escalated into night terrors.

“You want the truth?” I asked. “You’re right. I want so badly to know what happened. To prove I’m not … to know … because sometimes I wonder … if I’m crazy like her.”

I could hear my father yelling at me to shut up in the dark recess of my mind, but the dam had burst open on my fears. “Because I’m like her, you know? We look the same, we’re both artists, and people always say that I have her spirit. I’m proud to be like her. Because she’s my mom, but I don’t want …” To be crazy.

Mrs. Collins placed a hand over her heart. “Echo, no, you’re not bipolar.”

But why tempt fate? I’d tried once. Wasn’t that enough? Mrs. Collins didn’t understand. How could she? “If you tell me, I’ll know. I think my mind cracked because that therapist tried to make me relive it. Maybe the memories are too horrible. Maybe if you tell me, you know, just the facts, then the black hole in my brain will be filled, the nightmares will go away and I won’t lose my mind in the process.” I stared straight into her kind eyes. “Please.”

Her lips turned down. “I could read you the account from the police, your father, your stepmother and even your mother, but it won’t take the nightmares away. You’re the only person who can do that, but that means you need to stop running from the problem and face it head-on. Talk to me about your family, Aires, school, and yes, your mother.”

My mouth hung open to speak, but then I snapped it shut, only to attempt to speak again. “I don’t want to lose my mind.”

“You won’t, Echo. We’ll take it slow. You run the race and I’ll set the speed. I can help you, but you’ll have to trust me and you’ll have to work hard.”

Trust. Why not ask me to do something easier, like prove the existence of God? Even God had given up on me. “I’ve already lost a piece of my mind. I can’t trust you with what’s left.”

NOAH

After school, I spotted Echo weaving through the crowded hallway. She swung into the main office seconds before I caught up to her. Tuesday was my only night off and I’d planned on shooting hoops with Isaiah. I slammed my fist into the locker beside me. Now I had to wait for some stuck-up head case to be done with her therapy appointment.

I wandered the halls before settling across from Echo’s locker. She hadn’t had her backpack or coat with her, so I figured she’d have to come get them before she left for the day. Forty mind-numbing minutes later, I was questioning my decision. Echo had coat issues. Waiting by her car would have been smarter.

Heels clicking against the linoleum floor signaled her approach. Echo’s red spiral curls bounced with each step. Clutching her books tight to her chest, she kept her head down. Every muscle in my body clenched when she walked past. I’d tolerated her ignoring me during school, but to flat-out diss me in an
empty hallway was beyond cold. With her back to me, she tried the combination on her lock. The metal locker lurched open.

“You are the rudest damn person I have ever met.” I shoved off the ground. Screw her, Mrs. Collins and tutoring. I’d find a way to bring myself to speed. “Give me my damn jacket.”

Echo spun around. For a second, pure pain slashed her face, but then another storm brewed in her eyes. A storm that required hurricane warnings and evacuations. “No wonder you need tutoring. You have the worst vocabulary of anyone I know. Have you ever even bothered learning anything beyond four-letter words?”

“I’ve got another four-letter word for you. Fuck you. You got back with your boyfriend and couldn’t stomach giving me my stuff in front of other people.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know crazy when I see it.” The moment the words flew out of my mouth I regretted them. Sometimes when you see the line, you think it’s a good idea to cross it—until you do.

For the second time since meeting her, Echo looked as if I’d slapped her. Water pooled at the bottom edges of her eyes, her cheeks flushed red and she blinked rapidly. She’d succeeded in making me feel like a dick … again.

She reached into her locker and flung my jacket at me. “You are such a jerk!” She slammed shut her locker and stalked off.

Dammit. Just dammit. “Echo!” I ran after her. “Echo, wait.”

But she didn’t. I caught up to her, grabbed her arm and turned her toward me. Dammit all to hell, tears poured down her face. What was I supposed to do now?

She sniffed. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me. I didn’t see you.” She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I should have given you your jacket back yesterday, but …” Her slender
white neck moved as she swallowed. “But I wanted normal and for a few minutes that’s what I was. Like two years ago … like before …” And she trailed off.

If I’d had the thinnest chance at normal again, I would have burned the damn jacket. I was sure she wanted her brother back as much as I wanted mine. To have a home again, and parents, and dammit. Normal.

I took a deep, pride-eating breath. In the wise words of Isaiah—poof. My muscles relaxed and my anger disappeared. Lowering her head, Echo withdrew into her hair. I would never understand why this girl made me grow a conscience. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She revealed her pale face and sniffed again. One red curl clung to her tearstained cheek. My hand reached out to release it, but I hesitated a mere heartbeat away from her skin. I swear to God she quit breathing and even blinking, and for a second so did I. In a deliberate movement, I freed the curl.

She exhaled a shaky breath and licked her lips when I lowered my hand. “Thanks.”

For the apology or the curl, I had no idea and wasn’t going to ask. My heart pounded in tune with thrash metal. We’d read about sirens in English this fall; Greek mythology bullshit about women so beautiful, their voices so enchanting, that men did anything for them. Turned out that mythology crap was real because every time I saw her, I lost my mind.

Normal. She wanted normal and so did I. “You know what’s normal?”

“What?” She wiped away her remaining tears.

“Calculus.”

No doubt, Echo Emerson equaled siren. She gave me the same smile I’d seen on Saturday night. That type of smile caused men
to write those pussy-ass songs that Isaiah and I made fun of. I’d sit in Mrs. Collins’s office for hours and wake my ass up early to go to calculus in order to see that smile again. This was fucked up.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s do normal.”

And we did. For an hour, we sat against the lockers and she caught me up on a few lessons. She used her hands to describe things, which was pretty damn hilarious since we were discussing math. Her green eyes shone when I asked questions and she gave me that siren smile each time I clued in. That smile only made me want to learn more.

She took a deep breath after finishing her explanation of a derivative. I’d understood a derivative five minutes ago, but I loved the sound of her sweet voice. Part angel, part music.

“You know a lot about math,” I said. You know a lot about math? What type of statement was that? Right along of the lines of “Hey, you have hair and it’s red and curly.” Real smooth.

“My brother, Aires, was the math genius of our family. The only reason I can keep up is because he tutored me. He never turned in his calculus book, knowing I’d need all the help I could get.” Handling it with the same reverence my mother had carried the family Bible, Echo pulled out an old, tattered math book from her backpack and began turning pages. The book contained copious notes written in blue or black ink in the margins. “Guess that makes me a cheater, huh?”

“No, it means you have a brother who cared.” Was my brothers’ foster mom helping them with their homework, or was she like Gerald’s wife? Locking herself in the bedroom, she’d pretended none of her foster kids existed and that he didn’t beat us.

She stroked the handwritten words on the page. “I miss him.
He died two years ago in Afghanistan.” Echo clutched the book like it was a life raft. “IED.”

“I’m sorry.” I’d said that phrase more to her today than I had said it over the past two and a half years. “About your brother.”

“Thanks,” she said in a lifeless voice.

“It doesn’t get better,” I said. “The pain. The wounds scab over and you don’t always feel like a knife is slashing through you. But when you least expect it, the pain flashes to remind you you’ll never be the same.”

Why I was telling her this, I didn’t know. Maybe because she was the first person I’d met since my parents died who could understand. I stared at the pulsating fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling. On. Off. On. Off. I wished I could find my pain’s off switch.

A warm, tickling touch crashed me back to earth. Maybe it sent me straight to heaven. Either way, it dragged me out of hell. Echo’s pink fingernails caressed the back of my hand. “Who did you lose?”

“My parents.” No pathetic sympathy crossed her face, only plain understanding. “Think Mrs. Collins put the two most depressed people together on purpose?” I flashed a smile to keep the honesty of the statement from corroding the remainder of my heart.

Her hand retreated. “Wow. I thought I was the only person at this school faking every moment.”

Craving more of her touch, I shifted on the floor so my arm touched her shoulder. Echo’s lips never moved, but my siren sang nonetheless. Her song seared my skin and my nose burned from her sugar and cinnamon scent.

Her back pocket vibrated, flinging me back to hell … sorry—
high school. I needed one of Beth’s cigarettes and I didn’t even smoke.

She skimmed a text message on her iPhone. Probably that lucky son-of-a-bitch ape boyfriend. Any trace of the siren smile I worked so hard to put on her face faded. That in itself was a fucking tragedy.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. My stepmom stalking my every move,” she said with forced lightness.

I took a relieved breath. Better her stepmom than the ape. “At least you’ve got someone who cares.” I doubted Shirley or Dale knew I owned a cell phone. “I am sorry for making you cry earlier. I promise I’ll play nice in the future.”

“Does this mean that I’m actually tutoring you now?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

Echo pulled her sleeves over her hands. “You didn’t make me cry. You didn’t help, but you didn’t make me cry.”

She had exposed her hands while she tutored me—when she touched me. Shit. I’d forgotten about her scars. Hell,
she’d
forgotten about her scars—until now. I wanted that moment back, and to see her smile again. “Then who did? It’s been a while since I’ve been in a fight. My rep will be ruined if I’m good for too long.”

She fought it, but I won. The smile returned for a brief dazzling moment. “You’d be expelled if you got into a fight with Mrs. Collins. So thanks, but no, thanks.”

I hit the back of my head against the locker. “She fucked with me today, too. Must be a third date thing.” I chuckled when Echo looked at me like I’d tattooed my forehead.

“Third date thing meaning what?”

Did she live in a box? “After the third date, people generally
have sex. Today was my third session and Mrs. Collins royally screwed me over. And by the looks of it, she did a number on you, too.”