into your vocabulary.”
Quinn put down his fork. “You’re chicken, aren’t you?”
“It’s better for everyone if I get a part-time job and take some classes at a junior college.”
But Quinn wasn’t buying it. “You’re scared! I can’t believe you. I mean, you paste your room full of places you’ll never go, and when you actually get the chance to have a life, you’re too scared to take it!”
He had a point. But so did I. “If I go to junior college, I can live at home,” I reminded him, “and maybe keep some balance around here. Besides, you never know when someone might need their ass saved from a roller coaster again.”
“Oh, right. So it’s my fault?”
“Do you really want to face life with the newlyweds alone? What if they do crash and burn?”
“You mean like you’re doing now?” Quinn crushed a fortune cookie in his fist and let the flakes fall away. “Fine! See if I care. Go turn your life into a car accident. Or should I say a bus accident?”
I spun to face him, feeling his words like a slap. So he did know! But to use his knowledge against me like that—it was unforgivable.
“Accident?” I said. “No, Quinn. You’re the only ‘accident’ in this family!”
I regretted it the moment I said it, but it was too late. I couldn’t take it back. Quinn’s expression hardened into hate, and I braced myself for a serious verbal beating. But instead, he broke eye contact, looking down at the mess on the ground. He brushed the cookie flakes from his hand, pulling out the fortune.
“Hey, don’t worry about me, bro,” he said, waving his fortune. “It says here YOU ARE EMPEROR OF ALL YOU SURVEY .” He crumpled the paper into a ball and flicked it away.
I wanted to say something to him. An apology, maybe, but it was like I’d just thrown a stone at a glass house and the shards were still falling all around me. I just had to get out, so I went to my room and lay down on the taut blanket of my perfectly made bed, looking up at the Parthenon and the Eiffel Tower and the Kremlin and the Great Wall of China—things that existed somewhere out there in one of the many dimensions I knew I’d never have access to. Things that were all so frighteningly far away.
Screaming. Spinning out of control. Gripping tightly on to the seat. So dizzy . . .
I am there again. I am seven, on a school bus, spinning. Crashing through the guardrail, caught on the edge of the canyon now, balanced like a teeter-totter, tilting, tilting. Me, crawling down the aisle, toward the emergency exit at the back. The floor rising like a black wave before me as the front end of the bus tilts forward, and I’m climbing the rising floor toward the back of the bus. Pounding, pounding, pounding the emergency exit door. A teacher screaming, “Open it, Blake.” What’s her name? I can’t remember. I’m hitting the door, banging, kicking. I’m not strong enough to open it. I’m not strong enough to open the emergency exit door.
The floor of the bus is a rising wave. The wave hits. It swallows me.
My eyes shot open, and I shivered uncontrollably until the warmth of my room brought my mind and body back from the nightmare. It was two o’clock in the morning—definitely not my favorite time to be awake. The dream was fading, but something wasn’t right. Strange light flashed through the blinds, casting shifting slits of light on my travel posters. I sat up and looked out of the window.
An ambulance was parked on our driveway.
“He was just lying there on the living room floor,” Mom was telling the paramedics as I came out of my room. “I couldn’t wake him up.”
It was Quinn.
They had him on the couch now, but he wasn’t moving. One of the two guys shone a light into Quinn’s eyes and checked his pulse.
“Accelerated pulse. Eyes fixed and dilated,” he said. “Do you know what he was on?”
What he was “on”? The question infuriated me. “He wasn’t ‘on’ anything,” I said. They
Quinn put down his fork. “You’re chicken, aren’t you?”
“It’s better for everyone if I get a part-time job and take some classes at a junior college.”
But Quinn wasn’t buying it. “You’re scared! I can’t believe you. I mean, you paste your room full of places you’ll never go, and when you actually get the chance to have a life, you’re too scared to take it!”
He had a point. But so did I. “If I go to junior college, I can live at home,” I reminded him, “and maybe keep some balance around here. Besides, you never know when someone might need their ass saved from a roller coaster again.”
“Oh, right. So it’s my fault?”
“Do you really want to face life with the newlyweds alone? What if they do crash and burn?”
“You mean like you’re doing now?” Quinn crushed a fortune cookie in his fist and let the flakes fall away. “Fine! See if I care. Go turn your life into a car accident. Or should I say a bus accident?”
I spun to face him, feeling his words like a slap. So he did know! But to use his knowledge against me like that—it was unforgivable.
“Accident?” I said. “No, Quinn. You’re the only ‘accident’ in this family!”
I regretted it the moment I said it, but it was too late. I couldn’t take it back. Quinn’s expression hardened into hate, and I braced myself for a serious verbal beating. But instead, he broke eye contact, looking down at the mess on the ground. He brushed the cookie flakes from his hand, pulling out the fortune.
“Hey, don’t worry about me, bro,” he said, waving his fortune. “It says here YOU ARE EMPEROR OF ALL YOU SURVEY .” He crumpled the paper into a ball and flicked it away.
I wanted to say something to him. An apology, maybe, but it was like I’d just thrown a stone at a glass house and the shards were still falling all around me. I just had to get out, so I went to my room and lay down on the taut blanket of my perfectly made bed, looking up at the Parthenon and the Eiffel Tower and the Kremlin and the Great Wall of China—things that existed somewhere out there in one of the many dimensions I knew I’d never have access to. Things that were all so frighteningly far away.
Screaming. Spinning out of control. Gripping tightly on to the seat. So dizzy . . .
I am there again. I am seven, on a school bus, spinning. Crashing through the guardrail, caught on the edge of the canyon now, balanced like a teeter-totter, tilting, tilting. Me, crawling down the aisle, toward the emergency exit at the back. The floor rising like a black wave before me as the front end of the bus tilts forward, and I’m climbing the rising floor toward the back of the bus. Pounding, pounding, pounding the emergency exit door. A teacher screaming, “Open it, Blake.” What’s her name? I can’t remember. I’m hitting the door, banging, kicking. I’m not strong enough to open it. I’m not strong enough to open the emergency exit door.
The floor of the bus is a rising wave. The wave hits. It swallows me.
My eyes shot open, and I shivered uncontrollably until the warmth of my room brought my mind and body back from the nightmare. It was two o’clock in the morning—definitely not my favorite time to be awake. The dream was fading, but something wasn’t right. Strange light flashed through the blinds, casting shifting slits of light on my travel posters. I sat up and looked out of the window.
An ambulance was parked on our driveway.
“He was just lying there on the living room floor,” Mom was telling the paramedics as I came out of my room. “I couldn’t wake him up.”
It was Quinn.
They had him on the couch now, but he wasn’t moving. One of the two guys shone a light into Quinn’s eyes and checked his pulse.
“Accelerated pulse. Eyes fixed and dilated,” he said. “Do you know what he was on?”
What he was “on”? The question infuriated me. “He wasn’t ‘on’ anything,” I said. They
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