Total Constant Order by Crissa-Jean Chappell Page B

you counting out loud? Or in your head?”
    My blood pumped. “I’m not crazy,” I said, scooting back. The crinkly sheets on the cot smelled like dust and germs. I was clocking my heartbeats, wondering if they would stop.
    â€œI’m calling your mother,” she said.
    â€œFine. She’s not home.” I hopped off the cot and headed for the door. Before I could open it, the nurse snagged my arm. Her grip surprised me.
    â€œLet go,” I said, jerking away.
    I wrestled out of her death-claw grasp and bolted outside. I didn’t know where I was running. The elementary school playground seemed like the safest place.
    I saw a boy hunched on the swings. There was something familiar about his punky sneakers, holes blasted into the sides from doing flip tricks, ollies, or whatever they’re called. This was all I could detect of his identity. If I stared long enough, he would talk to me. Sure enough, his eyes tilted up, turning clear for a moment. He coughed. Thayer.
    â€œI’m collecting audio evidence,” he said. He showed me his tape recorder.
    I stared. “No kidding.”
    I had seen the tape recorder in class, assumed it was a lazy student’s method of note taking. But when Thayer played back the tape, I heard the relentless thump of the school’s vending machine,wind muttering in the hallway, the metallic clang of a locker. On tape, these noises sounded like an alien language. They were all in 4/4 time.
    His splotchy hands were covered in marker stains.
    â€œYou’re NERS,” I said. Four letters. One boy.
    Thayer bowed. He looked like a homeless kid. The cuffs of his ratty jeans were tucked into his sneakers, the mesh tongues flapping over the cuffs. His dirt-caked sweatshirt was ten sizes too big. Not to mention, it was way too hot outside.
    I tried to picture him in the girls’ bathroom, sketching undersea murals with felt-tipped markers. I checked out his hands. They were swarming with ink.
    â€œWhat exactly does NERS mean?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “Why does everything have to mean something? It sounds fast and it’s easy to write, in case the cops show up. So now I’ve got a question for you.”
    â€œOkay.” I waited.
    â€œYou didn’t answer,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI asked if you wanted a bite.” He held up a half-eaten Moon Pie.
    â€œWell, I didn’t hear you,” I said.
    â€œThat’s because I said it inside my head.”
    â€œYou mean, like, psychically?”
    His smile was an explosion of pink gums. “So you did hear me!”
    Geez, this boy was odd. He motioned to the swing beside him. I thought about running. Instead, I eased myself into it.
    Thayer grinned. “You don’t seem like the type to cut class,” he said.
    â€œIs that what you’re doing?”
    He didn’t answer. “Let’s take a walk.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œAnywhere.”
    Thayer jumped off the swing. He was smiling at me.
    â€œI don’t have time for this,” I told him.
    â€œTime is a human invention,” he said. “There is no such thing. Look at the stars. It takes millions of years before their light reaches earth. By then, they could already be gone. No use wishing on them.”
    We walked past the principal’s office and the gum-caked water fountains, endlessly gushing l’eau du tap. We passed through empty halls, the basketball court, and a barren row of lockers.
    â€œWhere is everybody?” I nibbled my thumbnail.
    â€œTeacher’s prep day,” Thayer said. “We get out early.”
    â€œOh. Right.” I giggled. If we had only a half day of school, why was Thayer still hanging around? I was so busy chewing on this question, I didn’t even notice that my headache was gone.
    He grabbed my hand. “I want to show you something.”
    I looked at Thayer’s ink-smeared fingers. He might have been crazy, but