Uncanny Day by Cory Clubb Page B

and hit the ground. The landing rattled my teeth. Note to self: don’t do that again . I stood slowly and answered, “Nothing.”
    â€œSure, right.” Dean gave me an eye of interest, a sort of I-know-what-you’re-up-to angled look.
    â€œYou’re looking to take off again?” Dean asked. I realized he knew me pretty well.
    â€œI’m not,” I said, kicking a piece of wood through the grass. Dean nodded, just like his dad would.
    â€œListen, man, I was in the wrong back there. My bad. I just… I just want to be sure you’re making the right decisions.” I didn’t say anything. He went on. “First of all, I want you to know I don’t fully agree with you reconnecting with your dad.” He looked up at me now, his clear blue eyes cutting through the night to mine. He broke the gaze.
    â€œAfter what he did to you…” Dean’s words trailed off. Then he captured another thought. “But I do think you should see somebody about those nosebleeds.”
    I nodded. Dean was right. I had no clue what was going on with the blood. I guess I could admit I was a bit scared to find out.
    Dean walked over to me and took a seat on the porch steps. He grabbed a water bottle and chugged down a few swallows then spit into the grass beside him.
    â€œWe had this foster kid staying with us once. Maybe it was a few years back. I think I was in seventh grade.”
    I sat down next to Dean and listened.
    â€œThis guy was a little more messed up than you. Bad home, background, all that junk.”
    I shot him a look. “Oh, what? He could summon demons from hell or something?”
    We both laughed.
    â€œNo, he just had a bad attitude toward everything. He made rash decisions and got into trouble—a lot. You’d think with your foster dad being a cop, you’d try to stay out of trouble.” Dean was looking off into the night sky now, letting memory fuel his words. “Anyway, one day this kid and I got into it over a pack of cigarettes. It got physical, and we started wrestling each other. And when I say wrestling, we weren’t faking the stuff. We’d gotten so pissed off at each other that we started throwing stuff, just whatever we could grab. We’d forgotten about the lit cigarette.” Dean’s expression turned serious, and his eyes glossed with tears.
    â€œMan, I don’t know how it happened.” Dean wiped his forearm across his face. “Somehow a fire broke out. Everything went up so fast. I tried to contain it. See here.” Rolling up his right sleeve, he bared his shoulder. A wicked melted scar ran over his skin.
    â€œIt got me before I could get out.” He rolled his sleeve back as more steamy breaths came in and out of his mouth. “You would never believe how fast that house took to the flames, the whole place just gone in a matter of minutes…everything.” Dean’s voice wavered and trailed off.
    Holding back tears now, Dean took another drink of water. I let him hang for a few seconds, considering that retelling the story was hard enough.
    â€œWhat about the other kid? Did he make it out?” I asked.
    Dean nodded.
    â€œYeah, they pulled him from our house. He was charged with causing the fire and was in juvie for a few months.”
    â€œWow, that’s intense,” I said, my thoughts replaying my own actions. They were selfish and rash. All the Mitchells wanted to do was help me out—maybe Dean most of all.
    Dean brought the conversation back around to the present. “I’m not saying you have to explain everything to them.” He looked at me again. “Who knows what’s going on up there?” He tapped the side of his head and returned his eyes to the ground. “There could be a tumor or something else crazy growing like a weed and you’d never even know it,” he said.
    Goose bumps rose on my forearms, not because it was cold but because the