with the beanie I forgot at the mall yesterday.
I whirl around and glare at his house. It’s dark, the upstairs windows staring back at me like a startled jack-o-lantern.
“Whatever.” I shove the bag into my backpack.
The minute I step into our front hall the smell of chocolate chip cookies assaults my senses. Mom read somewhere that smells could stimulate brain recovery. She’s been baking a lot lately.
I start up the stairs, hoping to avoid her. I’m exhausted and crabby and don’t want to get into the whole J.D. as note-taker issue.
“Catherine?”
I hesitate. Damn. I’ve been holding it in all day, controlling my random thoughts that claw away at my brain trying to escape.
“How was your day?” she says from the foot of the stairs.
With a sigh, I turn around. “How can you let them do that to me?”
“Do what?”
“Assign J.D. Pratt as my note-taker?”
“What?” Her eyes widen and she squeezes the dishtowel between her fingers. She seems truly stunned.
“Mr. Burke said you knew about it.”
“No, when we spoke I agreed that having a note-taker was a good idea, but no one said anything about–“
“Whatever.” I bolt upstairs.
“Catherine—”
“I’ve got homework.”
I turn the corner and escape into my bedroom.
“I made cookies!” Mom calls after me.
I slam my bedroom door and stare at the lock, wishing I could lock out the world, but I can’t. I’m just going to have to deal with the stress of my unstable life and the threat of my next HULU.
I flop down on the bed and take a long, deep breath. I made it. Day one. The first of many and it’s not over yet, thanks to homework. I can’t fall behind or I’ll never get back into AP.
I pull out my assignment notebook and glance at tonight’s reading assignments. Start The Alchemist for Lit, read Industrial Revolution chapter for history, and…
Blah, blah, blah.
I’m already bored and I haven’t cracked a book. Right, and I’m going to work my way back into AP track?
No use procrastinating. I pull Greg’s notes out of my backpack. What the heck? The scribbles are barely legible, reminding me of my doctor’s handwriting.
I sigh and fantasize about being Mrs. Dr. Greg Hoffman, not that he’s ever mentioned being a doctor but I’m sure he could be. I close my eyes and clutch the notes to my chest. We’re at a hospital fundraiser and they’re honoring my wonderful husband for his good work. Everyone applauds. He smiles and kisses my cheek as I stand beside him beaming with pride. My hair is long, blond and perfect. My make-up is perfect; everything is perfect…
Suddenly I’m the doe, frozen in the middle of the street. It’s winter. I can see my breath. Moonlight reflects off a glint of steel as a shadow hunts me from the forest. The roar of a car engine grows louder from below. My heart pounds with fear. I have to move, do something before—
I gasp and sit up. It’s pitch black and for a second I don’t know where I am, or even who I am. Wait, it’s coming. I’m Catherine, the miracle girl who survived a skull-crushing collision with the pavement.
Whipping my head around, I struggle to see something familiar. My heart beats frantically against my chest. I am terrified in my own house, in my own bed. Get a grip, Catherine . You’re just disoriented .
My clock radio reads six thirty. I must have fallen asleep. Dinner will be ready soon. Or is it six-thirty in the morning and it’s time to get up for school?
I switch on my bedside lamp. Papers are scattered across my purple comforter. Homework, right, I was looking over Greg’s notes and must have fallen asleep.
I pick them up. Can’t make sense of them. I grow frustrated. Words can be challenging for me on a good day. Words written in illegible handwriting is hopeless.
I pull J.D.’s bag out of my backpack. I lay his notes on the bed, pull out the beanie and rub it against my cheek. Then I slip the beanie onto my head and feel instantly better. I
I whirl around and glare at his house. It’s dark, the upstairs windows staring back at me like a startled jack-o-lantern.
“Whatever.” I shove the bag into my backpack.
The minute I step into our front hall the smell of chocolate chip cookies assaults my senses. Mom read somewhere that smells could stimulate brain recovery. She’s been baking a lot lately.
I start up the stairs, hoping to avoid her. I’m exhausted and crabby and don’t want to get into the whole J.D. as note-taker issue.
“Catherine?”
I hesitate. Damn. I’ve been holding it in all day, controlling my random thoughts that claw away at my brain trying to escape.
“How was your day?” she says from the foot of the stairs.
With a sigh, I turn around. “How can you let them do that to me?”
“Do what?”
“Assign J.D. Pratt as my note-taker?”
“What?” Her eyes widen and she squeezes the dishtowel between her fingers. She seems truly stunned.
“Mr. Burke said you knew about it.”
“No, when we spoke I agreed that having a note-taker was a good idea, but no one said anything about–“
“Whatever.” I bolt upstairs.
“Catherine—”
“I’ve got homework.”
I turn the corner and escape into my bedroom.
“I made cookies!” Mom calls after me.
I slam my bedroom door and stare at the lock, wishing I could lock out the world, but I can’t. I’m just going to have to deal with the stress of my unstable life and the threat of my next HULU.
I flop down on the bed and take a long, deep breath. I made it. Day one. The first of many and it’s not over yet, thanks to homework. I can’t fall behind or I’ll never get back into AP.
I pull out my assignment notebook and glance at tonight’s reading assignments. Start The Alchemist for Lit, read Industrial Revolution chapter for history, and…
Blah, blah, blah.
I’m already bored and I haven’t cracked a book. Right, and I’m going to work my way back into AP track?
No use procrastinating. I pull Greg’s notes out of my backpack. What the heck? The scribbles are barely legible, reminding me of my doctor’s handwriting.
I sigh and fantasize about being Mrs. Dr. Greg Hoffman, not that he’s ever mentioned being a doctor but I’m sure he could be. I close my eyes and clutch the notes to my chest. We’re at a hospital fundraiser and they’re honoring my wonderful husband for his good work. Everyone applauds. He smiles and kisses my cheek as I stand beside him beaming with pride. My hair is long, blond and perfect. My make-up is perfect; everything is perfect…
Suddenly I’m the doe, frozen in the middle of the street. It’s winter. I can see my breath. Moonlight reflects off a glint of steel as a shadow hunts me from the forest. The roar of a car engine grows louder from below. My heart pounds with fear. I have to move, do something before—
I gasp and sit up. It’s pitch black and for a second I don’t know where I am, or even who I am. Wait, it’s coming. I’m Catherine, the miracle girl who survived a skull-crushing collision with the pavement.
Whipping my head around, I struggle to see something familiar. My heart beats frantically against my chest. I am terrified in my own house, in my own bed. Get a grip, Catherine . You’re just disoriented .
My clock radio reads six thirty. I must have fallen asleep. Dinner will be ready soon. Or is it six-thirty in the morning and it’s time to get up for school?
I switch on my bedside lamp. Papers are scattered across my purple comforter. Homework, right, I was looking over Greg’s notes and must have fallen asleep.
I pick them up. Can’t make sense of them. I grow frustrated. Words can be challenging for me on a good day. Words written in illegible handwriting is hopeless.
I pull J.D.’s bag out of my backpack. I lay his notes on the bed, pull out the beanie and rub it against my cheek. Then I slip the beanie onto my head and feel instantly better. I
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