Page 52 of Saving Sparrow
“No more nightmares,” I whispered back. They were few and far between now but not gone completely. The other night, Quentin had topinch my nose to wake me up. I couldn’t remember what the nightmare was about, or at least that was what I told them.
“You don’t remember anything at all?”Miguel had asked.
“No.”
I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them that there were thoughts and feelings and visions that haunted me in my sleep. None of which I understood, but all of it made me feel evil and wrong. They’d hate me for it, and I couldn’t go back to a life of being hated. Not by them.
“I wish I could meet you in your dreams and protect you,” Quentin said, yawning in my ear. “Tell them I said to stop fucking with you.”
“I will,” I breathed, holding Miguel’s hands tighter as I started my silent prayers. I was the happiest I’d ever been with them, the safest I’d ever felt. No one knew that in just a week things would change.
Elliott
Then
Locklier High was a twenty-minute drive from where we lived. I spent every second of it counting my breaths while Quentin held my hand. Miguel sat in the back seat, his hand on my shoulder, keeping my anxiety from completely overtaking me.
I glanced down at the outfit I’d chosen. A simple pair of blue jeans, Miguel’s black Chucks, and a white button-down shirt. “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked no one in particular. Quentin thought I should wear the skirt he’d gotten me for my birthday.
“Fuck ’em all, pretty girl. If anyone says anything, I’ll pound their faces in.”
The idea of him getting into a brawl over me, or of someone singling me out because of my clothes, had caused me to hyperventilate. The headache and dizziness that hit me out of nowhere reminded me of other times when I felt too stressed to cope, times when I wanted to run away, to escape.
Miguel talked me down, his voice the rope I’d grabbed onto. Quentin stepped in, squeezing my shoulders and calling my name. He’d given me the strength to pull on the rope Miguel provided.
“You look fine,” Miguel said, leaning between the front seats now. “Just a typical guy.”
Quentin glanced at him before focusing on the road again. I understood what theydidn’tsay. I was awkward and pretty—according to them. No matter what I wore, I’d stand out.
I’d wanted to cut my hair, but Miguel drew the line at that. Secretly, I was happy he did. I liked the way they loved my hair too much to cut it.
Why can’t we all just be homeschooled together?I wanted to ask. It would’ve been unfair, though. Quentin had football, and Miguel wanted to be wherever he was. I’d just need to face this, to remember that Miguel was my rope, and Quentin the strength I needed to pull.
I closed my eyes and began praying everything would work out.
“We’re here,” Quentin said. I opened my eyes in time to see him pull into the school parking lot. There were tons of students outside. Some stood around talking, others gripping their backpacks as they hurried to the building. School buses formed a line near the front entrance, and kids filed out, greeting the faculty waiting there before hurrying inside as well. All the activity made my stomach clench.
The sound of paper rustling brought my attention back to Quentin. He pointed down at the wrinkled schedule. “You and Miguel share the same homeroom and first period. I’ll walk you guys to homeroom in the mornings and then meet up with you for second period.”
Quentin and I had second, third, and fourth periods together.
“After that, Quentin will walk you to our fifth period,” Miguel said. I was on my own for sixth period. “Sixth period will be a breeze. Everyone’s antsy by then. They’ll be too busy watching the bell to focus on you. Just grab a corner seat in the back.”
“My last class is PE,” I reminded him.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Even better. They’ll be too busy running circuits or dribbling balls. You’ll be fine. And my last class is close to the gym, so I’ll be there as soon as you step into the hall. Okay?”
“The three of us share the same lunch period,” Quentin said, “and we’re allowed to leave the school premises. We can grab burgers at the Sonic down the street.” He held up the forged parental waivers giving us permission to leave during lunch. We wouldn’t have needed to forge them if his dad and my aunt had bothered to sign them for us before our first day of school.
“And feel free to throw my name around,” Quentin added.
“Will I need to?”
“No.” Miguel cut off whatever Quentin was about to say. “Stop scaring him.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Come on.” Miguel handed us our backpacks. “We’ve got ten minutes to make it to homeroom, and we still have to stop at our lockers.”
