Useless piece of shit, thinks Janie.
3:09 a.m.
The van pulls into Fieldridge High’s parking lot. All the students’ cars are blanketed in nearly two feet of snow.
Janie shoves Mr. Durbin awake.
“We’re here,” she says gruffly. She just wants to go home to bed.
The group stumbles out of the van.
“See you in the morning, bright and early for school,” Mrs. Pancake calls out into the crisp night as the students wearily shove the snow from their windshields.
Janie calls Cabel.
“Hey. I’ve been waiting up for you,” he says, sounding worried. “Are you safe to drive?”
“I can’t imagine any people will have their windows open on a night like tonight,” she says.
“Come to me.”
“I’m five minutes away.”
Janie falls into Cabel’s arms, exhausted. Tells him about Mr. Durbin in the backseat of the van.
He leads her to the bedroom, helps her into one of his T-shirts, and whispers in her ear as she falls asleep, “You did great work.”
Closes his bedroom door.
Makes his bed on the couch.
Lies awake, pounding his pillow in silence.
February 21, 2006, 3:35 p.m.
Janie, dark circles under her eyes, and Cabel, concerned look on his face, sit in Captain’s office. Janie snacks on almonds and milk as she relays the events of the chemistry fair adventure.
“It looked sort of like Durbin’s house,” she says. “His living room.”
“But you couldn’t see anyone’s face?” Captain presses her.
“No,” Janie says. “Just Lauren’s. She’s the one who was dreaming.”
She wrings her hands.
“It’s okay, Janie. Really. You’ve given us a lot of information.”
“I just wish I had more.”
Cabel reaches over and squeezes her hand. A little too tightly.
Afterward, Janie heads home, checks on her mother, grabs dinner, and hits the sack. Sleeps twelve hours straight.
February 27, 2006
Cabel calls Janie on the way to school.
“I’m right behind you,” he says.
“I see you,” she says, and smiles into the rearview mirror.
“Hey Janie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got a huge, terrible problem.”
“Oh no! Not that horrible toenail fungus that takes six months to cure?”
“No, no, no. Much worse. This is shocking news. Are you sure I should tell you while you’re driving?”
“I’ve got my headset on. Both hands on the wheel. Windows rolled up.
Go for it.”
“Okay, here goes…Principal Abernethy called me this morning to let me know I’m in the running for valedictorian.”
There is silence.
A rather loudish snort.
And guffaws.
“Congratulations,” she finally says, laughing. “What ever are you going to do?”
“Fail every assignment from today onward.”
“You won’t be able to.”
“Watch me.”
“I am so looking forward to this. Oh, and also? You suck.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”