Backwards. Part 7

"h.e.l.l, yes," I said. "Aren't you?"

"Not of falling," he said. "I'm more afraid of not falling."

I realized that was it exactly. Beneath the ordinary fear of smacking the ground lurked this deeper, more disconcerting fear. What if I didn't fall? What if I just floated away and detached from everything?

"Fear will cause what you fear," I said, reciting the message etched into the wall.

"Then we better not chicken out," replied TR. "On three?"

I nodded.

"One . . . two . . . three!"

I shut my eyes and let go.

At first, I thought my fear of floating away had come true, because the wind didn't rush past my ears. In fact, nothing seemed to change. But when I opened my eyes, I saw the metal rungs of the radio tower drifting by slowly.

I looked up at the stars in the black sky above. Then I turned and looked down at the lights twinkling in the distance like a whole other universe of stars below. Each one was a streetlamp. A neighborhood. A home. A car. A family. A person. I thought of Cat sleeping beneath one of those lights. And the zombie. And Teagan. The more I imagined people beneath the lights, the more they called to me, sure as gravity. I started to fall faster. The rungs of the radio tower drifted by at a walking pace. Then a jog. The ground below grew larger and more defined.

"Yeeeee-haaaaa!" yelled TR. He fell face-first with his arms spread wide, like he wanted to hug the ground. "Holy freaking b.a.l.l.s, this rules!"

I kept falling.

Hills, rocks, sand.

Trees, leaves, gra.s.s.

Father, mother, sister.

Teagan, Dan, Cat . . .

"Yes!" shouted TR once he touched down. "That was awesome!" He grinned at me. "Want to go again?"

We climbed the tower a few more times. We had to keep jumping to see what called us back.

By the time the stars dimmed and the sky started to lighten, I almost looked forward to returning to the zombie. After all, this might be my chance to change things. Yesterday is a new day.

TR and I split up at the cutoff to Dan's house. He paused at the end of the block. "Look for me in school," he said.

"How will I know it's you?"

TR's eyes crinkled as he flashed his goofy, lopsided grin. "You'll know," he said. "I'll make sure of it."

From the moment the zombie woke up, I tried to make him do things. Following TR's advice, I sank into Dan until his thoughts surrounded me. I couldn't make out what went through his head, yet I could feel all these whispers brus.h.i.+ng against me and tugging at my being like currents in a river. Then I found it - a quiet s.p.a.ce between him and the world. A gap.

I slipped into the s.p.a.ce, feeling more connected to Dan's senses than ever. He continued shaving, the tiny vibrations of the electric razor tight against his skin. Your nose itches, I whispered. Scratch it.

The zombie's hand lifted, causing the razor to snag a b.u.mp on his cheek. A sharp sting p.r.i.c.ked his jaw. Instantly, Dan's presence snapped into place, forcing me aside. He studied where the blade had nicked him and held a tissue to the cut. I distanced myself from the pain, uncertain whether or not the zombie had raised his hand because of me.

Dan messed with his hair for a while before he gave up and left the warmth of the bathroom. He shuffled to the kitchen. I tried to find another gap. He tensed when he saw his mom, and his whispering thoughts increased, taking on an anxious tone. She had her back to him as she fiddled with the coffeemaker. He pulled a bowl down from the cabinet and filled it with his usual cornflakes. Then he opened the refrigerator to get some milk.

Orange juice, I said, sinking into a gap again. Grab the orange juice.

He picked up the orange juice, poured it onto his cereal, and took a hearty bite of citrus-soaked cornflakes.

Dan gagged. Immediately, he shoved me aside and took over.

"What's wrong?" asked his mom.

"Nothing," Dan grumbled, dumping his cereal out in the sink.

"Did you just waste a whole bowl?" asked his mom. She went on, ranting about how they had to make the cereal last because she wouldn't be able to go to the grocery store for a couple days, but I didn't listen. I was too busy pumping my invisible fist in the air, shouting, Yes! Yes! Yes!

The zombie had done exactly what I'd commanded.

For the rest of the morning, I experimented with a.s.serting control. The more I did it, the better I got at finding gaps - small s.p.a.ces that I could slip into and briefly take over. When I was in control, it was like steering a s.h.i.+p or driving a car. I could almost make the vehicle an extension of my thoughts while Dan zoned out in the pa.s.senger seat. But it was tricky. If I drew too much attention to myself or did something abrupt, Dan would yank the wheel out of my hands and force me back.

For instance, trying to get Dan to tell his mom he'd kill himself in four days got me immediately b.u.mped to the backseat. The same went for attempting to make him tap-dance in the school parking lot and sing "I Feel Pretty" at the top of his lungs. And even the thought of having him write a note telling his future self how to avoid setting Cat's abandoned house on fire was enough to prevent me from getting anywhere near the wheel for almost an hour.

Basically, if I went along with Dan's expectations - driving down streets at a somber, law-abiding pace - then his presence withdrew. He even seemed to drift off a few times, taking a backseat and s.p.a.cing out while I took charge. I managed a few five- or ten-minute stretches where I did everything without opposition, until I got c.o.c.ky and took a wrong turn, raising my hand in cla.s.s to answer one of Mr. Shepherd's questions or telling the person next to me there'd be a quiz tomorrow so they should do the reading (that one got me b.u.mped out before I even finished the sentence). Every time I lost control, I'd get tossed around in Dan's incomprehensible thoughts until I managed to put some distance between us.

The whole process was exhausting, and after a few periods of working at it, I needed a rest. By lunchtime, though, I felt ready to try again.

The first thing I noticed, as I sank into Dan, was that the cafeteria made him even more anxious today than usual. His whispers sounded like a swarm of crazed bees. Perhaps he worried about people making fun of him, the way they would in the library. He scanned the long white cafeteria tables. Then his gaze settled on Cat, standing in one of the lunch lines, and he froze.

From the outside, he probably looked like he was doing his best zombie-in-headlights impression. His mouth gaped open, and his arms and legs locked mid-stride. But inside, his heart fluttered and his stomach twisted.

Cat got a slice of pizza and headed back to her table. She spoke with Tricia for a few seconds, wrapped the pizza slice in a napkin, and left the cafeteria.

Follow her, I suggested. See where she's going.

Dan glanced at Tricia, which puzzled me. Why worry about her? Luckily, she had her back to him, which helped him make up his mind. He stepped out of line and left the cafeteria just in time to glimpse Cat turning down the portrait hall.

Don't lose her, I whispered.

Dan scuffed his heels against the floor as he walked. I sank deeper into him, searching for an opportunity to take over, but he had a pretty tight grip on the wheel.

When we got to the portrait hall, he paused and peeked around the corner. The self-portraits were all hanging, just as I remembered them, but Cat was gone. It confused me, until I noticed a door near the end of the hall that had been cracked open. Dan continued toward it. Guess he was curious, too, so I didn't need to egg him on.

A sign warned that an alarm would sound if the door was opened, but obviously, the alarm wasn't working. Dan peered through the crack at a patch of weeds growing next to the school. Then he gently pushed the door open farther. An overgrown courtyard stretched between the gym and some cla.s.srooms. He focused on a gnarled crab-apple tree near the corner. It took me a second to make out the silhouette of a person nestled against the wall behind the tree. She had her legs bent in front of her, and a book rested on her knees.

Dan held his breath, not daring to make a sound. Cat looked peaceful - more than she usually did in school. She brushed a lock of hair across her lips as she read.

"What are you doing here?" someone snapped.

Dan jerked back, letting the door slam shut. Tricia was standing in the hall behind him, looking p.i.s.sed. In her hand, she cupped a pack of cigarettes. She must have been going out to meet Cat.

"Did you say something to her?" asked Tricia.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what you're up to." Tricia glared at Dan. "If you keep hara.s.sing her, I'll call the cops. I'll tell them everything."

This must have unsettled Dan, because his presence recoiled slightly. I seized my chance, darting into the gap that had opened.

"What's there to tell?" I asked, Dan's voice echoing my thoughts.

Tricia's eyes darkened and a scowl creased her cheeks. "You're sick, you know that? I can't believe Cat actually liked you once."

"She did?" Dan slammed against me, causing my control to slip. His body twitched.

Tricia stepped closer. Even though Dan was a foot taller than her, he backed up until his heels struck the lockers. "She doesn't like you anymore," said Tricia. "In fact, I'll make sure no one here makes that mistake again."

The bell rang, and students poured into the hallway. Tricia glanced at them, but she didn't step back. "I'm warning you," she added. "Stay away from her."

Cat didn't come to biology cla.s.s that day. She must have ditched with Tricia. They missed a colorful lecture on the systems of a frog's body. While Mr. Huber talked, I kept replaying the confrontation in the hallway. Clearly, Tricia disliked Dan. I didn't blame her for being suspicious of him, although her anger seemed to go beyond ordinary disapproval. And what did she mean about Cat liking Dan once? Had they dated? If so, then all I had to do was travel backwards until Cat didn't avoid Dan or distrust him anymore. Then I could take over and talk with her. I could be with her.

A sense of possibility filled me. For the first time, being trapped in the zombie didn't seem so bad. He had potential. We had potential.

When the period ended, Dan grabbed his backpack and hurried for the door. He was so eager to leave that he slammed into a short, stocky guy who was entering.

"Sorry," Dan said.

"Dude, where's the fire?" replied the guy, flexing his oversized muscles.

Dan tried to step through the door, but the other guy moved at the same time, and they b.u.mped into each other again.

"You got a problem?" asked the guy.

Dan scowled. The guy looked Hispanic. He had a thick neck and a broad, angular chest from lifting too many weights. For a moment, I thought they might get into a fight, but then Dan backed off. "Hey, I remember you," he said. "You're Terc, right?"

Waster! I thought, surprised that Dan knew him. This is Waster. He didn't look at all like I'd expected.

"You were fixing your truck, remember?" continued Dan.

"d.a.m.n, that's right." Waster's expression softened. "You're that crazy gringo. You find your car yet?"

"Yeah."

"That was the . . ." Terc's voice dwindled as he seemed to remember something else. "That was a weird day."

Dan nodded, and the silence became awkward. A few students piled up behind Waster, trying to get to cla.s.s. Terc's cheeks suddenly dimpled with an unmistakably goofy smile. TR must have taken control. "Funny running into you here," he said.

I found a gap and hurled myself into it, taking over the zombie. "No kidding," I replied. "Quite a coincidence." Dan started to push back. I feared I'd get the boot if I said anything out of character, so I stuck to more neutral ground. "Guess I should get to cla.s.s," I added.

"Guess so," he said.

I stepped back to let Waster go first, but Waster waited as well. Then, right as he started to move, I urged Dan forward.

The two of them b.u.mped chests. It was like a high five from me to TR.

"Dude, that ruled!" said TR when I met him later at the Coffee Spot. "Our corpses were like doing a tango together. Told you I'd find you."

"How'd you know who the zombie was?" I asked. I didn't think I looked like Dan, although I couldn't be sure. Riders didn't show up in mirrors. I certainly didn't feel like the zombie. He was tall and gawky - a plodding ogre of a person, while I was small, swift, and light. And, anyway, TR didn't look anything like Waster. TR had a bit of a belly, round shoulders, and a soft, laughing face, while Waster - with his bulging muscles, wide chest, and stocky build - resembled an upside-down walking triangle.

"Piece of cake," TR said. "At lunch I saw this tall dude staring at Cat and drooling so I knew you had to be in there. Then I got Waster to drink out of the wrong end of a milk carton, and he spilled milk down his s.h.i.+rt. Flipping hilarious, dude."

I kept an eye out for Cat while TR and I traded stories about the things we'd gotten our corpses to do. It wasn't very late - not even ten. TR and I had both managed to slip away from our corpses early. Waster had pa.s.sed out after swallowing a couple pills he'd bought off a kid at school, and the zombie was so dull, he'd practically bored himself to sleep by nine. Then again, the early bedtimes could have had something to do with us. I'd certainly suggested to Dan that he lie down and close his eyes, and TR might have encouraged Waster to take the pills.

As it got closer to ten, I began to worry that Cat wouldn't show up at the diner. "Let's take a walk," I said.

"Just a walk, huh?" TR replied, grinning. He stepped through the wall and headed toward Cat's neighborhood, guessing that's where I wanted to go. I waited for him to tease me about her, but he didn't. We cut across the empty lot behind the Coffee Spot.

"Do you think we're changing their futures?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"When we take over and do things, do you think it changes what happens to them later?"

"Dude, I highly doubt that getting Waster to put his boxers on backwards is going to save the world."

"Maybe not. But what if we change other things?" I asked. "Things that matter."

He shrugged. "We can't change too much."

"Why not?"

"Because then we wouldn't be here." TR dragged his hand through a row of hedges. "Think about it. We both came into this existence the moment our corpses died, right? So if too much changes and the corpses don't die, then where do we go?"

"If we weren't here, then we couldn't change things," I pointed out.

TR frowned. "Now you're making my head hurt."

"Anyhow," I continued, turning onto the street where Cat lived, "I'm not talking about changing things for the corpses. I'm talking about changing things for others."

"Like weird girl?" TR asked. "The one you're supposed to save?"

I nodded.

"I don't know, dude," TR said. "I don't think it's easy to change stuff. Things seem pretty set, so there's no use stressing about it, you know?"

I did know. Call it fate or destiny, but I'd had the same sense that most things would happen no matter what I did. Yet that didn't mean everything was set. The fact that the message etched into Dan's wall had changed proved that things could s.h.i.+ft. "What if they're like trains and they all have a track that they're on?" I asked.

"Train people," said TR. "Nice image. Waster watched a cartoon like that the other day."

"Just because everyone's stuck on a track doesn't mean things can't change," I continued. "Little things might change along the way. After all, every time a train goes down the track, things are slightly different. It's never exactly the same."

"The train still ends up at the same place," TR pointed out.