Page 58 of Dirty Daria
Or am I moving?
I think I’m still moving my head, but I think they are also moving. I bring my hand up to my face in front of me, the trails follow my fingers, flying past my hand once it stops, and then settling back into alignment.
Whoa.
I squint toward the dance floor trying to find where Quinn is now. I think I see her, still with Theo. Are they fucking? Right there in front of everyone? Like hell I’ll allow this to happen. I step forward toward them, but my body doesn’t move from the stool.
I do it again, same results.
I look down. My foot keeps traveling through the floor when I try to step off the stool. Sothat’sthe problem, there’s no floor anymore. That’s why I can’t move. Right. Okay. How do I fix that?
Wait a minute. There has to be a floor. Otherwise, what is my stool standing on?
But when I check to make sure the stool is on the floor; I notice the legs have actually grown exceptionally tall. So, while they still touch the floor, if I try to do the same, I’ll fall.
No one else seems to be as concerned about this as I am. I turn to the woman sitting next to me and tap her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, are you able to touch the floor?”
She looks at me curiously, then shakes her head and turns back toward her friend. Not shakes her head like she’s saying no, more like she doesn’t speak English and so she can’t understand me. I lean in the other direction, over the stool where Quinn should be sitting, and tap the guy on the shoulder sitting there. My hand gets stuck on his arm and I can’t get it off.
“Help. Please.”
“Fuck off,” he says, but he’s stretching the words out to be impossibly long and low. He throws my hand back at me, I catch it before it falls to the floor far below.
That was close.
Okay, now, where is Quinn?
Refocusing in the direction of the main room, I scan the occupants waiting for one to materialize as Quinn. My brain moving rapidly from person to person, digitally scanning the facial features of each, rejecting those who don’t match. Again and again until I’ve gone through them all.
Quinn isn’t there.
I yell for her.
Nothing happens.
No one turns in my direction; Quinn fails to appear in front of me.
I try it again; no new results.
Huh.
Left with no other options, I resign myself to climb on top of my stool and get ready to jump over the chasm below. It’s new, having only developed a moment ago. But it’s a problem, because now the only way to reach the dance floor beyond it, and save Quinn, is to jump over it.
That is until the whole space fills with water. Shark infested waters, like Quinn is always afraid of.
I have to get to her now.
Shit.
I need to dive. The dance floor is fluid. Everyone on it treading water to stay afloat. Their movements in sync with the beat of the music. So, once it slows again, the motions of the swimmers on the dance floor do too. I’m a fast swimmer, I can get past most of the dancer swimmers, and I think the sharks, with a decent surge forward. And, if I stay underwater, I can reach Quinn the fastest by using the breaststroke.
Problem solved.
I make it to the top of the stool, place my palms together, and prepare to jump.
“Reed?”
