Forever Freaky Read Online Free PDF

low hum of
anxiety. It had been there, slowly growing, since Mary Jo Mason
vanished. It was a generalized anxiety, not the kind of anxiety I
felt in a single person sometimes. I sensed it the way you sense an
annoying background noise, a tiny persistent buzz you hear
sometimes on a cordless phone. People were concerned and uncertain.
What exactly happened to Mary Jo? Could it happen again? I
realized, then, that maybe I had no choice but than to find Mary
Jo. I had hardly any tranquil moments as it was, but with her
missing, and everybody all nervous, I would never have another
peaceful second. The buzz would probably grow and grow, too, and
maybe, finally, I would pop my cork and end up in Straight Jacket
City.
    Then I sensed him, Jack. What a stubborn
tool! He had searched the lunchroom for me—twice. He had passed by
the table I usually shared with Melody, and she—you have to be
kidding me—checked out his butt as he walked away. I couldn’t
figure out what irked me more, that he was so intent on finding me,
or that she actually sneaked a peek at his man cheeks. It was
probably a tie.
    Now he decided to wander outside. It wouldn’t
be long now. I waited with dread, counting down…
thirty-seven…thirty-six…
thirty-five…thirty-four…thirty-three…thirty-two… By the time I got
down to one, he was sitting at the other end of the bench.
    At first everything was going fine; he didn’t
say I word, and I didn’t have to look over at him and acknowledge
his presence. I looked out at the parking lot, and watched as
nothing happened.
    Then he said, “Hey,” which I ignored;
whenever anybody said “Hey” to me, or even “Hi” or “Hello,” I
treated it like a rhetorical question—really, I saw no reason to
respond.
    Then he asked, “What are you doing?” which I
found extremely annoying.
    “What does it look like?” I asked. “What? I
always have to be doing something more than what it seems I’m
doing?”
    He shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “I brought
those copies.”
    He handed me about twenty sheets of paper,
and I didn’t feel compelled to thank him. I scanned several of the
pages.
    “This all looks—theoretical,” I said, more to
myself than to him.
    “What else is there?” he asked.
    “I need something practical—you know, like
practical applications.”
    “Practical applications in alternate
realities? I doubt that you’ll find anything like that.”
    “Well, that’s what I need,” I said.
    “Why?”
    I sighed. I felt like biting his head off,
but that didn’t seem enough of a punishment. Instead I considered
doing something much worse: telling him the truth. Sometimes,
especially with me, the truth is a horrible weapon.
    “You wouldn’t understand,” I said.
    “Try me,” he said, and sounded a bit
cocky.
    “All right,” I said. “Mary Jo Mason slipped
into an alternate reality, and if I don’t figure out of way of
getting her back, I’m never again going to have another breakfast
that isn’t heinously haunted by a dead cop.”
    “What?” He stared at me, and I savored his
confusion. “I don’t understand,” he finally said.
    “I told you.”
    “Maybe if you explained it a little more,” he
suggested.
    “No,” I told him “You’re curious—I get that.
You like me—I don’t really get that. But here’s the thing: you
really need to leave me alone, okay? I have never been reduced to
begging somebody to leave me alone, but in your case I’ll make an
exception. So, please, please, go away.”
    He didn’t give it a second’s thought. “I
don’t think I can.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    “I just have this feeling I’m not supposed
to,” he said. He was completely sincere, too, I was certain he
wasn’t joking or anything.
    I didn’t know what to say. I understood gut
feelings all too well.
    “Maybe I can help you,” he offered.
    “Help me? Help me what?”
    “Find Mary Jo. Maybe that’s what I’m meant to
do.”
    “Help how?”
    “I’ve read a