I propel myself up, gasping for air when my head emerges. Water splashes against my face as I stare up at the bridge I just fell from in the distance.
I don’t understand how I’m okay. I spit out the water in my mouth and swim until I can reach the rocky floor, dragging myself out of the river.
I collapse onto the rocky shore, panting.
How am I okay when Mallory isn’t? We fell off the same bridge.
This is wrong. I have to be dreaming or imagining things, but I can’t think straight. Adrenaline rushes through me as I stare back at the spot I fell. The rocks are back.
My head pounds and I can’t catch my breath.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, everything slightly blurry, but I force myself to get up. I need to get away from here.
Somehow I manage to drag myself back up to the main road. With wobbly legs, I stagger the whole way home. Dad isn’t here yet, and even if he was, I don’t think I could bring myself to tell him what just happened. I don’t believe it myself.
My mind spirals trying to understand what’s happening, but as soon my head hits my pillow, my eyes are too heavy to keep them open.
My alarm blares on the nightstand, and I jerk out of bed, smacking the table until my hand slams onto the hard plastic. I’ve always hated my alarm, but if it wasn’t so annoying and loud, I wouldn’t wake up. I practically need a siren to pull me out of my dreams.
I squint at the harsh sunlight seeping through my lace curtains. My head pounds like a hammer against my temples and my muscles are sore from simply shifting my weight.
I’ve never been so excited to wake up in my bed. Yesterday is a blur, or maybe a nightmare? Either way, I welcome the soft sheets against my body. Did I really fall off the bridge? I couldn’t have because I would’ve shared the same fate as Mallory.
I shiver, pulling my covers over my head, and close my eyes again.
My door creaks and footsteps shuffle into my room.
“Time to wake up,” Dad says.
Dad? In my room? I don’t remember the last time he walked in here. Did he come in here because of yesterday? Did he find out I fell off the bridge? Or did the school call and tell him I skipped?
I peek out of the sheet, expecting my dad to have his eyes cast down, scared to meet my gaze. Instead, he’s staring right at me.
He’s dressed up in a suit like he used to wear instead of his jeans and uniform T-shirt. He almost trips walking over to my bedside table to set down a coffee cup. “You have to clean your room after school. This is getting out of hand.” Then he checks his watch and grimaces. “I have to go. I’m going to be late.”
He bends down to kiss my forehead.
“Have a good day,” he says, rushing out the door.
I’m left lying in bed stunned. I can’t move because it feels like I hallucinated him. What just happened? He kissed me like he did when I was little. It’s the first time in a year where I haven’t felt like I was dirty and untouchable.
Reluctantly, I swing my legs out, stuffing my feet into my slippers. My head is aches, but I can’t skip school after Dad treated me like that. Not after he kissed me.
My room is chaotic like usual, and Dad is right. I need to clean it. Nothing is ever in the right spot, and I almost trip on a sopping wet pile of clothes on the ground. It’s my uniform.
They’re wet, but there’s no way I’m remembering yesterday right. I’ve stared at those jagged rocks a million times. If I really fell off the bridge, I would’ve landed on them, not sunk deep into the water, right? I shake my head, hoping it’ll clear my mind, but all it does is intensify the pain in my temples.
I pat the pockets of the wet jacket where I usually keep my phone and sure enough it’s there. I slip it out, confirming my fear. It’s wet too.
No matter how long I hold down the power button, it doesn’t turn on. I could try putting it in a bag of rice, but I doubt I’ll be able to resurrect it. It doesn’t take a genius to know it’sdeaddead.
So much for being a good kid. Dad will be disappointed when I tell him I ruined another phone.
I sigh, setting it down because I can’t think about that now. I have enough to worry about. I have to figure out how to talk myself out of detention for skipping class yesterday. Maybe I can keep Dad from finding out and ruining his good mood.
I head to my closet to search for another uniform. I find one toward the back, but the buttons strain when I put the shirt on. I must’ve shrunk it in the wash with my terrible laundry skills. My skin pokes through where the shirt pulls apart in between the buttons. To cover it up, I opt for my school sweater instead of my blazer.
Then I stagger down the stairs and make my way outside with my coffee in hand.
