Cloudburst (Storms 2) - Page 106

I could just imagine what else they had planned. They wouldn’t let me be anywhere alone. To me, it was like being attacked by killer bees.

“I don’t want to forget him, Jessica. You don’t want to forget people you like just because something terrible happens to them. You don’t erase human beings as easily as you change songs on your iPod.”

Her eyes widened. I didn’t realize it, but I was raising my voice. It had stopped all conversations.

“That’s what everyone here is used to doing,” I continued. She had opened a door that had kept years of frustrations trapped. “Whenever something unpleasant happens, you buy something or something is bought for you.”

“Well, who wants to be unhappy?”

“No one wants to be unhappy, but no one should want anything and everything to be written off as just another bad hair day,” I snapped. I looked back at Shayne. “Tell everyone not to do me any favors.”

Homeroom began with the day’s announcements, and I stopped talking. My outburst had the desired effect. They all kept their distance. In a way, I was grateful that they had gathered to decide on this plan. It made me so angry that rage took the place of sorrow for most of the morning. I didn’t participate in class discussions, but I took notes and paid more attention than I had thought I would.

The only one I did talk to was Gary Stevens, the one Ryder had been comfortable talking to. I had always thought of Gary as a gentle, modest boy.

“I wish I had gotten to know him better,” he said. Then he smiled. “But once he became friendlier with you, I knew my chances were slim.”

That brought a smile to my face. “Save me a place at lunch,” I said.

His face lit up. “Sure will.”

Just before lunch, I went to my locker to put my morning-class textbooks away. I was feeling stronger and felt sure that I could not only get through the day but also get through the remainder of the school year. I would discuss my college choices with Dr. Steiner and, despite the turmoil that was soon to set in at the March household, concentrate on my future. I would never forget Ryder. I would never treat any of the loving moments we had had together as something I could easily replace.

I opened my locker and started to put my books on the top shelf, but there was something already there. I laid the books down on the floor of the locker and reached in to take out a shoe box. There was a note attached to the top of it. I tore it off, unfolded it, and read: “This one is for you.”

I opened the box and lifted out a small bottle with a delicate-looking sailboat inside it.

He had put it there before he started out to meet me, I realized.

It was so beautiful.

The sight of it brought my sorrow and shock back in waves. I just managed to put the bottle back in the box and the box back on the shelf before something inside me seemed to snap. It was as if my heart had cracked in two. My legs softened, and my eyes rolled back. It seemed to take me forever to hit the floor, but before I did, I was unconscious.

19

An Unwelcome Visitor

I awoke in the nurse’s office. She and Dr. Steiner were at my side. Mr. Huntington, whose classroom was right across the hall, had rushed to me first, picked me up in his arms, and carried me to the nurse’s office. Seeing them all standing there looking at me as our nurse, Mrs. Millstein, took my blood pressure confused me for a moment, because I didn’t realize that I had fainted. When she was finished, she looked up at Dr. Steiner.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Her pulse is okay, too.”

“What happened?” I asked. I felt

the cold cloth on my forehead.

“Apparently, you fainted, Sasha. I tried to reach Mrs. March, but she wasn’t at home and didn’t answer her cell phone. I did, however, reach Mr. March, and he’s on his way here.”

“Donald?”

“Excuse me?”

I closed my eyes. It was all coming back to me quickly. “What happened to the ship in the bottle?”

“Ship in the bottle?” Dr. Steiner asked, and looked at Mr. Huntington.

“I think it might be something in her locker. Should I go look?”

“Yes,” I said before Dr. Steiner could respond. “Please, Mr. Huntington.”

Tags: V.C. Andrews Storms
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