Freeze Frame Read Online Free PDF Page B

temples.
    She cocked her head to the side and said, “We have a lot to talk about. Why don’t we just jump right in.”
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    Jump.
    â€œJump!”
    That’s what Jase and I shouted to Mel and Brooke when we went barreling down Elm Street in Dad’s rickety firewood wagon. We were in fourth grade and thought it would be fun to tear down the street. We just never thought about the steering part. Or the stopping part. Jason took the helm, and just as we hit the turn going onto Richmond, Jase shouted “Jump!” He knew we’d never make the turn, and a wall of rosebushes was straight ahead. Jase and I jumped, but Mel and Brooke didn’t. They catapulted forward into the rosebushes, and it took about three hours for Mom to dethorn them. That time neither of us was too bugged about getting busted because it was worth a lifetime of laughs to watch them fly into the bushes—aclassic Buster Keaton moment. But I kind of think Brooke still holds a grudge because of some lame-ass scar she has on her forehead.
    They should’ve jumped.
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    â€œJump,” I whispered, and shook my head. “Jump.”
    â€œKyle?” Dr. Matthews raised her right eyebrow. “Would you like to take a seat?”
    She sat on a colorful couch and leaned against the pillows. I sat on the far end of the same couch. There was nowhere else to go.
    â€œCan you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”
    I looked down at my sneakers. God, I was glad to have those orange sneakers.
    â€œOkay. Maybe you could walk me through what happened yesterday.”
    So I told her the same stuff I’d told the police. She just listened and nodded. When I finished, she didn’t say anything for a long time. I kinda thought she was asleep until she sighed. It wasn’t a regular sigh. It had kind of a hum to it. Maybe it was a hum and not a sigh. I really couldn’t tell. She might’ve just had some kind of respiratory problem.
    â€œCan you remember anything at all between finding the gun and Jason being shot?”
    Scene Three. All I saw were split-second images, like in the old days when the movies flashed subliminal messagesof popcorn and Coke on the screen. Nobody saw the popcorn or Coke images—they just got really hungry. That’s what I saw when I tried to remember Scene Three. Flashes that I couldn’t splice together to make the scene whole. And it made me feel sick.
    I shifted on the couch. “I’m trying.” I picked at a callus.
    She laid her hand on my arm. “That’s okay. You’ll remember.”
    But what if I don’t want to? What if I really did it? On purpose? What if I’m a killer?
    â€œI’m here to help you fill in the blanks—put the pieces of that day back together.”
    I looked up at her and clenched my jaw.
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me how you feel about what happened?”
    Everybody wanted explanations. Everybody wanted to “get” it. Get me. I never had to explain myself to Jase. He got that on Tuesdays I’d always be late showing up to his house to go to school because I had to watch the first five minutes of the re-reruns of The X Files to make sure it wasn’t episode 6X07, “Rain King,” where Mulder is almost killed by a cow that’s dropped into his hotel room—the only one I haven’t seen in all nine seasons. A fucking cow, of all things.
    Most people would just think I should rent it and get it over with. But Jason understood. He knew that renting it would be like giving up. He just got stuff. Or he used to.
    Dr. Matthews cleared her throat. “Can you tell me how you feel about yesterday?”
    It’s like I hit the fucking delete button. Zap! He’s gone. How was I supposed to feel about that? I looked at Dr. Matthews and shook my head.
    â€œOkay, let’s try this. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind as we speak?”
    Sorry.
    â€œIt