Underneath Read Online Free PDF Page A

can hear the clock ticking in the living room and the sprinkler going outside. A rumbling feeling of frustration starts welling up inside me like an earthquake about to let loose, but I just clench my jaw and put my fork down. I take deep breaths and try to envision a calm ocean.
    Calm. Ocean. Calm.
    My mom coughs, takes a sip of water, and then says, force-
fully, “I just wish she would have told us, that’s all. We could have done something.”
    â€œI know , Mom,” I say. “I know exactly what you mean.” And I do. All of a sudden, I’m frustrated again, almost uncontrollably so; and sad.
    Mom looks at me strangely, her fork halfway to her mouth.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œWhat you just said. I was agreeing with you.” I eat another green bean since she’s looking at me.
    â€œ I didn’t say anything, honey. You must have been thinking out loud.”
    But I know I heard it, loud and clear.
    â€œNo, you just said you wish we could have done something for Shiri,” I insist. But she looks so surprised that I’m no longer sure.
    â€œI was thinking something along those lines. Did I say it out loud, Ali?”
    â€œHm? Sorry,” Dad says. “I wasn’t listening.” He goes back to cleaning his plate, still preoccupied with his own thoughts. I try to go back to my meal, but it’s hard. My head is spinning, confused. Full of static fuzz with bursts of coherence like a poorly tuned radio station.
    â€œPoor girl,” Mom sighs. “Poor Mina.” And I’m not sure now if she’s talking out loud or if I’m going crazy.
    But as I stare at my mother, her words trickling to a stop, I know it in my bones: It’s in my head. Her mouth isn’t moving, but I can hear her voice in my head. Her bewilderment, her grief—they’re filling me up, ready to overflow.
    My jaw involuntarily clenches, and my teeth grind to-
gether. I shove my chair away from the table and run up the stairs. I can hear my mom’s questioning tone and a mumbled response from my dad. It makes me want to plug my ears.
    By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I’m in a cold sweat and I’m shaking. I go into the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and duck into the shower, blasting myself with hot spray. I must have been dreaming. Or hallucinating.
    I shudder, despite the warmth of the water and the suffocating steam. The less-appealing explanation is that I’m somehow going crazy. That I’m cracking from the pressure of everything that’s happened.
    I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. My mom’s voice comes through the door, muffled, asking if I need anything. Tea. Aspirin. I say no, I’m fine.
    Normally, I’m a perfectly functional person under stress. I even like it. Coach Rydell can tell you that. I’m the one she boasts about having ice in my veins before a swim meet. This kind of thing—it’s not me.
    I read something in Shiri’s journal yesterday, though. There was something unexplained happening to her, too, a mysterious “that.” “ THAT happened again, ” she’d say, never quite saying what “that” was. But it got worse and worse until eventually she couldn’t take it anymore.
    Going back into my room and sitting on the bed, still wrapped in my towel, I glance at the desk drawer where I hid the journal away. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. What if she was hearing voices, too? What if something was seriously wrong with her, and now it’s happening to me? I can’t even fix my mind on that idea—that what’s happening to me isn’t just stress, but something weird.
    Really weird.
    From Shiri Langford’s journal, January 31st
    Another “incident.” I was hoping it would stop once I got back to school, far away from everything my dad says and does and how my brother gets everything he wants all the