Page 83 of Hits Different

“Parker”, Millie says, in an odd voice. She’s stood at Brandon’s desk, where he’s left his laptop open. “Look at this”. I walk over and peer at the screen. Something cold clutches my heart.

“Did you know?” she asks. I shake my head, feeling panic rising in my stomach. I cross to the window, and stare out over the training fields. Rain batters against the windows. I can barely see anything.

He’s out there, somewhere.

Alone.

Chapter 34

Howls

Brandon

I line up each ball on the penalty line, blasting each one with imperfect precision towards its target as the rain whips around me.

Some hit. Most miss. I care and then I don’t. The misses correlate with my increasing frustration. The more I miss, the louder my thoughts get. They’re fighting to make themselves heard over the howl of the wind.

Greta shakes her head, ‘You’re never going to play soccer again’.

Freddie toasts me from an Italian bar, ‘The team is better off without you’.

My dad doesn’t look up from his newspaper, ‘Give it up, Brandon’.

The most painful thought of all jostles to the front.

Parker glances over his shoulder, his arm wrapped around Millie, ‘You didn’t seriously think we were more than just an experiment, did you?’

I don’t know how long I’ve been out here.

It’s weird. I know it’s raining, but I can’t feel anything. I can’t stop. If I can just do it. One more mile. One more penalty kick. One more shot. Then I’ll be good enough.

I don’t realise that I’m falling until it’s too late. I lie there, I don’t know for how long. Everything feels fuzzy. My vision blurs, as shapes get closer and closer.

Brandon, can you hear me?

The earth remains upturned beneath my feet.

I try to get up, but the haze that wraps itself around me whispers that it’s much easier to just lie down and stay down.

What’s wrong with him?

And let it all fade away.

* * * *

“Good”, I blink. I’m in my room, tucked up warmly in bed. “You’re not dead”.

Parker’s face comes into view. Instinctively, I try to get up but he pushes me carefully back down. “Don’t even think about it, Carter”.

“What happened?” My throat is scratchy.

“You freaked the hell out of me”, Parker says, “Is what happened”.

I open my mouth but he shoves a thermometer in it. “You can knock off the death glare. You’ve probably got hypothermia”.

“I’m fine”, I say. “I can get up”.

“Great. Then we can go get you checked out at the hospital”. Parker glances over to the small kitchen area, where pans rattle busily. “Right after we get some food inside you”.

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