Read Online Crash (Visions (Simon Pulse)) by Lisa McMann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa McMann
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turn in here.”
Trey and I escape. He takes off to meet Carter for his ride to school, and I cautiously flip on the TV while I wait for Rowan to finish getting ready. I watch a full five-minute weather segment plus commercials, with no sign of any explosions anywhere. And a bonus—the forecast changed, like it tends to do around here. Now the weatherwoman is predicting clear skies for two days.
“Big sigh,” I whisper, and I’m flooded with relief. I really think it’s over. Even if I’m about to be known at my high school as the weirdest freak on the planet, at least I’m not truly insane. And at the very least, if Sawyer dies, it won’t be my fault.
Jeez. What kind of sick person thinks like that?
Eighteen
On the billboard, I see Jose Cuervo for the first time in weeks. It’s the most hopeful-looking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “I love you, Jose,” I say as we pass it. Rowan doesn’t hear me. She’s got her earbuds in, listening to something while she layers on more makeup in the sun visor mirror.
“Hey,” I say, poking her in the shoulder when we’re stopped at a light.
She pulls an earbud out. “What? Don’t freaking bump me.” She wipes lip gloss off her chin and starts over.
“Sorry. I just wondered how you’re doing.”
Rowan turns her head and frowns. “What?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Why are you suddenly so into makeup? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to say something, then she closes it and says, “No,” in a voice that doesn’t want to be questioned further. She puts her earbud back in.
“Okay.” I feel a little twinge in my heart for her. And then I picture us as spinsters living together forever, her being all sweet one minute and grouchy the next, her face perfectly made up just in case, and me leaving myself notes with sliced-vegetable lettering on the cutting board.
• • •
As usual, I ditch Rowan once we get to school—not that she minds—and keep my head down, avoiding eyes. Avoiding anyone talking with anyone else, because I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me. I don’t even dare take my usual glance to where Sawyer should be standing. Instead, I just stare into my locker and wait for the first whispers to reach my ears.
I grab the books I need and give myself a little pep talk, then slam the locker door and head to first hour. I keep my eyes on the floor, shoulders curved inward, and travel through the crowded hallway like a lithe bumblebee, zigging and zagging and curving around people, one purpose in mind—getting through the morning, one period at a time. Then the dreaded lunch hour, and finally the afternoon.
And I make it through okay, only once narrowly avoiding Sawyer when I see him coming toward meafter school. I duck into Mr. Polselli’s psych classroom until he passes.
“Hi,” Mr. Polselli says. He’s grading papers at his desk.
“Oh, hi,” I say.
“How’s your paper coming along?”
I totally haven’t started it. “Fine.”
“What’s your topic?”
“Um, I think, maybe, I’m not quite ready to tell you yet,” I say with a guilty grin.
He laughs. “I see.”
“But I do have a question. About a . . . possible topic. If a person, like, sees visions or whatever, does that mean they’re, you know, insane, or crazy or anything?”
“Depends.”
“Oh.”
“It could mean that. But it might not.”
“Oh. Well, do you know if . . . if people who see visions, do those visions ever, like, happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like can people see something in the future and know something’s going to happen, and then it actually happens?”
He tilts his head and looks at me over his reading glasses. “Where are you headed with this? You mean like fortune-tellers? Psychics?”
I look at the floor, which has black scuff marks all over it. “I guess.”
“There’s a lot of debate about that. You could probably do some research on it
Trey and I escape. He takes off to meet Carter for his ride to school, and I cautiously flip on the TV while I wait for Rowan to finish getting ready. I watch a full five-minute weather segment plus commercials, with no sign of any explosions anywhere. And a bonus—the forecast changed, like it tends to do around here. Now the weatherwoman is predicting clear skies for two days.
“Big sigh,” I whisper, and I’m flooded with relief. I really think it’s over. Even if I’m about to be known at my high school as the weirdest freak on the planet, at least I’m not truly insane. And at the very least, if Sawyer dies, it won’t be my fault.
Jeez. What kind of sick person thinks like that?
Eighteen
On the billboard, I see Jose Cuervo for the first time in weeks. It’s the most hopeful-looking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “I love you, Jose,” I say as we pass it. Rowan doesn’t hear me. She’s got her earbuds in, listening to something while she layers on more makeup in the sun visor mirror.
“Hey,” I say, poking her in the shoulder when we’re stopped at a light.
She pulls an earbud out. “What? Don’t freaking bump me.” She wipes lip gloss off her chin and starts over.
“Sorry. I just wondered how you’re doing.”
Rowan turns her head and frowns. “What?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Why are you suddenly so into makeup? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to say something, then she closes it and says, “No,” in a voice that doesn’t want to be questioned further. She puts her earbud back in.
“Okay.” I feel a little twinge in my heart for her. And then I picture us as spinsters living together forever, her being all sweet one minute and grouchy the next, her face perfectly made up just in case, and me leaving myself notes with sliced-vegetable lettering on the cutting board.
• • •
As usual, I ditch Rowan once we get to school—not that she minds—and keep my head down, avoiding eyes. Avoiding anyone talking with anyone else, because I’m pretty sure they’re talking about me. I don’t even dare take my usual glance to where Sawyer should be standing. Instead, I just stare into my locker and wait for the first whispers to reach my ears.
I grab the books I need and give myself a little pep talk, then slam the locker door and head to first hour. I keep my eyes on the floor, shoulders curved inward, and travel through the crowded hallway like a lithe bumblebee, zigging and zagging and curving around people, one purpose in mind—getting through the morning, one period at a time. Then the dreaded lunch hour, and finally the afternoon.
And I make it through okay, only once narrowly avoiding Sawyer when I see him coming toward meafter school. I duck into Mr. Polselli’s psych classroom until he passes.
“Hi,” Mr. Polselli says. He’s grading papers at his desk.
“Oh, hi,” I say.
“How’s your paper coming along?”
I totally haven’t started it. “Fine.”
“What’s your topic?”
“Um, I think, maybe, I’m not quite ready to tell you yet,” I say with a guilty grin.
He laughs. “I see.”
“But I do have a question. About a . . . possible topic. If a person, like, sees visions or whatever, does that mean they’re, you know, insane, or crazy or anything?”
“Depends.”
“Oh.”
“It could mean that. But it might not.”
“Oh. Well, do you know if . . . if people who see visions, do those visions ever, like, happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like can people see something in the future and know something’s going to happen, and then it actually happens?”
He tilts his head and looks at me over his reading glasses. “Where are you headed with this? You mean like fortune-tellers? Psychics?”
I look at the floor, which has black scuff marks all over it. “I guess.”
“There’s a lot of debate about that. You could probably do some research on it
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