After the last of the hardcore students left, I decided to work up the courage to go to Landon's place and ask him out. I can't exactly pinpoint when our friendship evolved into romantic affection, but it probably started when we tried to get coffee together. He ran off and I don't know why. Maybe he saw some press cameras that I didn't.
When I stepped out the door, a warm breeze blew past my face. I felt like a middle school girl seeing her first crush as I set out on the path. As if I were walking on air, my steps glided effortlessly along the sandstone road. It led through the jungle, which overflowed with ripe cocoa beans. The air was thick and muggy here, but I barely noticed, much less minded
I arrived outside the door and knocked. After waiting, I had no answer. I looked arou nd the house to find that the bathroom light was on in one of the rooms. That's unusual. I didn't hear the shower running or any other normal activity. I held my ear to the wall. What that...vomiting? I knocked on the wall, which is a way of asking if someone is okay if they appear to be in distress. I got no response. I knocked again. I could make out a weak, raspy "Come in" and more vomiting noises.
Climbing through the window, I found Landon hunched over the toilet puking up what seemed to be all the fluids in his body. He looked lighter than printer paper and sweated bullets as he heaved more from his gut. How can one stomach hold all of that? I bent down, scooped him up, and got his head out of the toilet. I took a moment to examine the contents of the toilet bowl. I didn't see anything that
resembled coffee grounds. Closing the lid and flushing the toilet, Landon sat against the wall still dry-heaving. This wasn't good. I hoisted him up onto my shoulder again and laid him down in his bed. My finger shook as I pecked out a sentence.
"I'll get you a doctor, okay?" I typed out a message to my friend and doctor, Andrew Lai.
Help. Landon's puking his brains out.
Not literally, I hope.
Not funny.
Okay. What's his height and weight?
5'11" and...160 lbs, I guess. It might be less now.
Age?
22 years
How is he?
Tired. He must have been vomiting for a while because, when I came, it was all just thin yellow stuff. After that came dry heaving.
Did he have a fever? I laid a hand across his forehead. It felt hot. I found a thermometer and took his temperature. It didn't seem bad, but it never hurt to check.
100.2. He looks terrible! How can I help?
Get a cold compress to deal with the fever and see if he has any Pedialyte lying around. He's likely dehydrated to the point where water just makes things worse. I scoured the cabinets for Pedialyte until I found an unopened bottle of cherry Pedialyte. Unflavored would have been ideal, but this would have to do.
After pouring a glass of the stuff, I went back over to the bedroom. I shook Landon awake and offered the Pedialyte. He looked at me to indicate that he needed me to hold the cup. As I put the cup to his lips, he sipped. I put it down on his nightstand and dabbed his forehead with the cold compress.
"Excuse me." Landon held a hand to his mouth and started retching. He started to get up, but I found a trashcan. He vomited some more, but hardly anything came out. I got a napkin and wiped his mouth. After that, I dabbed at his forehead with the cold compress and watched as he fell asleep nearly instantaneously. I rubbed his belly gently and slowly as the slightest bit pf pleasure crossed his face. I'd scrub the bathroom with bleach later. Right now, Landon needs me.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Sunday, April 16, 2017
All in a Day's Work (Alisha)
I hate the gifted/talented programs at some schools, not because I hate gifted/talented students, but because it's an easy outlet for the exploitation of gifted/talented students. Why is it that some schools, usually ones that vehemently protect students with intellectual disabilities, are quick to objectify and demean gifted students? I sent a few of my journalists out to find more answers on the age-old question, but I thought of the answers I had from personal experience as I sat down to try to fix the bad school lunch problem. There is no point in attempting to create healthy meals if they are not palatable or enough calories; a few slimy grapes and a cup of questionable tuna salad is not a suitable meal for a first grader even if said first grader manages to choke it down out of sheer desperation.
When I was a child, I envied Caitlin. She was celebrated for well, everything she did, even just existing. Naturally, I was incredibly jealous of her. I wished that I could sing or play the clarinet when she could do both and do them very well. I had no aptitude for either instrument, so I was stuck playing viola. I wished for her beauty and altruism. I wished that I didn't tower over everyone at 6'4". All because of my selfishness, she's dead. As much as I want to grieve properly, I need to get on with my work.
I've researched something called the "prodigy effect" for a while. Its effects become visible as soon as the "prodigy" is recognized, but the toll is most visible some time during adolescence. It comes in stages. The prodigy effect starts as a kind of pride and it either (1) completely falls apart due to an event or series of events or (2) results in chronic, excessive displays of pride akin to narcissism. The former is more common and, if the second does occur, it usually indicates that the fall is about to come. If the fall never occurs, the affected person develops a god complex.
The rest of my journalists are covering the Mindcrack suicide crisis. Some of the bathrooms looked like war zones--and I've been to schools situated right in the middle of some heated disputes between communities. Suicide is a common cause of death, but it does not usually occur on such a scale in such a short amount of time. Mass suicides like these are usually attributed to cults or fear of disease, but that doesn't seem to be the case with Mindcrack.
I redesigned the menu for the elementary school that served questionable tuna salad and went on to conquer other tasks. It's all in a day's work.
When I was a child, I envied Caitlin. She was celebrated for well, everything she did, even just existing. Naturally, I was incredibly jealous of her. I wished that I could sing or play the clarinet when she could do both and do them very well. I had no aptitude for either instrument, so I was stuck playing viola. I wished for her beauty and altruism. I wished that I didn't tower over everyone at 6'4". All because of my selfishness, she's dead. As much as I want to grieve properly, I need to get on with my work.
I've researched something called the "prodigy effect" for a while. Its effects become visible as soon as the "prodigy" is recognized, but the toll is most visible some time during adolescence. It comes in stages. The prodigy effect starts as a kind of pride and it either (1) completely falls apart due to an event or series of events or (2) results in chronic, excessive displays of pride akin to narcissism. The former is more common and, if the second does occur, it usually indicates that the fall is about to come. If the fall never occurs, the affected person develops a god complex.
The rest of my journalists are covering the Mindcrack suicide crisis. Some of the bathrooms looked like war zones--and I've been to schools situated right in the middle of some heated disputes between communities. Suicide is a common cause of death, but it does not usually occur on such a scale in such a short amount of time. Mass suicides like these are usually attributed to cults or fear of disease, but that doesn't seem to be the case with Mindcrack.
I redesigned the menu for the elementary school that served questionable tuna salad and went on to conquer other tasks. It's all in a day's work.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
One-Eyed Train Wrecks (Landon)
Since my hair was still wet from my morning shower, I felt less than prepared when I heard the doorbell ring. Still holding a half-bitten hard-boiled egg in my hand, I opened the door. My visitor, a blond-haired woman, stared at me. She had a percussion stick bag and some other things with her. It's been a while since I've played drums. Looking her over, I decided to let her in.
The woman introduced herself as "Anna". After pouring a glass of water for her, I found a book or something near her titled "One-Eyed Jacks". Though people tell me it's good, I've never seen the movie. Maybe it was the script. However, I got the impression that One-Eyed Jacks was not a book or a script.
"Want to play this?" Anna held the sheet music up. She had me look through the parts. This takes six people ordinarily, but any percussionist worth their salt can multitask.
"All right. What part do you want to play?" Anna looked at me again. "Auxiliaries look fun," I suggested. We didn't have mallet instruments, but I did have some piano skills up my sleeve.
"Sounds good." Anna and I went to get our instruments. I uncovered a snare drum and my piano. "Let's warm up on our own just to make sure our fingers work." Anna giggled.
"Don't tell Farkas I was here."
"Who's that?" I did not hear that name around these parts.
"He's my husband."
"Oh, did you have something else in mind?" Anna cocked her head confusedly. She didn't get my joke.
"What?" It was better that I didn't say it.
"Never mind."
Both of us played some scales and rudiments. Anna surprised me with her skill, to be honest. After that, we played together for a bit. She handed me the music and I counted off. My eyes darted between the parts and I tried to play them. The melody was simple enough, so I kept up. I tried to roll with one finger. Anna played the temple blocks. Apparently, she was amused by me darting around on the piano. She played snare while I rested my hands. I was afraid that she would fall over as she reached for the cymbal, but she managed.
Meanwhile, my xylophone part fell off the piano. I played what I could with one hand while retrieving it. My left hand protested, screaming in pain. This is what I get for not practicing.The xylophone part rode on a sudden draft and, attempting to reach it, I fell over onto the floor. Anna stopped playing.
"Are you okay?"
"Nothing hurt but my ego." I got up and handed Anna her music. "Looks like the one-eyed Jacks became the no-eyed Jacks." She left with the biggest grin on her face. I had the feeling she would tell her friends about our little train wreck.
The woman introduced herself as "Anna". After pouring a glass of water for her, I found a book or something near her titled "One-Eyed Jacks". Though people tell me it's good, I've never seen the movie. Maybe it was the script. However, I got the impression that One-Eyed Jacks was not a book or a script.
"Want to play this?" Anna held the sheet music up. She had me look through the parts. This takes six people ordinarily, but any percussionist worth their salt can multitask.
"All right. What part do you want to play?" Anna looked at me again. "Auxiliaries look fun," I suggested. We didn't have mallet instruments, but I did have some piano skills up my sleeve.
"Sounds good." Anna and I went to get our instruments. I uncovered a snare drum and my piano. "Let's warm up on our own just to make sure our fingers work." Anna giggled.
"Don't tell Farkas I was here."
"Who's that?" I did not hear that name around these parts.
"He's my husband."
"Oh, did you have something else in mind?" Anna cocked her head confusedly. She didn't get my joke.
"What?" It was better that I didn't say it.
"Never mind."
Both of us played some scales and rudiments. Anna surprised me with her skill, to be honest. After that, we played together for a bit. She handed me the music and I counted off. My eyes darted between the parts and I tried to play them. The melody was simple enough, so I kept up. I tried to roll with one finger. Anna played the temple blocks. Apparently, she was amused by me darting around on the piano. She played snare while I rested my hands. I was afraid that she would fall over as she reached for the cymbal, but she managed.
Meanwhile, my xylophone part fell off the piano. I played what I could with one hand while retrieving it. My left hand protested, screaming in pain. This is what I get for not practicing.The xylophone part rode on a sudden draft and, attempting to reach it, I fell over onto the floor. Anna stopped playing.
"Are you okay?"
"Nothing hurt but my ego." I got up and handed Anna her music. "Looks like the one-eyed Jacks became the no-eyed Jacks." She left with the biggest grin on her face. I had the feeling she would tell her friends about our little train wreck.
Monday, April 3, 2017
The Real Rachel (Landon)
I scrolled through yet another Havencraft shooting website and found a familiar name: Rachel Joy Anderson. Intrigued, I clicked. After all these years, her smile was a refreshing sight, even if it was only in pixels. I read, finding that Anderson was considered to be "the joy of our lives" by her friends and her family. She was described as "compassionate" and as someone who "had a real heart for the disadvantaged and downtrodden." Well, where was that compassion and supposed heart when I needed it?
Back in my sophomore year, it seemed that it was Rachel's mission to make my life more difficult. She liked talking to her friends about "that poor kid and his special needs little sister." Um, hello? Lisette has a name! She told guys to beat me up and, even when I was left unconscious on the outskirts of the campus, it was my word against hers. No one believed me when I tried to tell my side of the story. She was practically venerated among teachers and students. People treated Rachel like she was perfect even though the truth hid in plain sight. She spread rumors about me downing potions in the quad when, most of the time, I wasn't even there. Still, people believed her because they were afraid of what they would become if they confronted her about the truth.
Even worse, my parents signed me up for a peer tutoring program and I got placed with Rachel so she could tutor me in English. I don't even know how Rachel got qualified to be a peer tutor other than her ability to pull the strings to get her way. I spent two hours after school with Rachel four days out of the week working on things with her. She didn't even really try to help me; she just wanted me under that saccharine little thumb of hers. Unfortunately, I had to go through with it or risk her ruining my reputation. She would have told everyone that I wet myself in the seventh grade because I was too shy to ask for a bathroom pass. I didn't exactly have a good reputation after that.
"You know that Landon kid? He's probably going to shoot up this place." I heard this while walking down the hall and struggling to keep my books under control. For once, she wasn't wrong. I've planned it since the end of my freshman year. I hated Havencraft High School. I hated the fact that my parents thought their rigorous academic program would be "good for me", but, most of all, I hated being poked and prodded like the school's plaything.
Even so, the guilt that came with taking her life tore me to shreds each day. I remembered her screaming and begging for mercy as I aimed. They didn't matter to me at the time; it was just additional noise in the lunch room as the other students ran for cover. At that point, I just didn't care who the arrows hit. Flames engulfed the building quickly and I saw nothing but red.
After the fact, my parents forced me to attend Rachel's funeral. I protested that no one would want to see me there. You should have thought of that before shooting up your school, my father said as he selected a . At the time, I didn't feel any remorse whatsoever. No one would mourn the real Rachel anyway. The lot of them saw what they wanted to see and that's what they would cry over at the funeral.
When the day came, I dressed my best and made an effort to tame my hair, which, like me, does not take well to being held down. I put a dandelion in my pocket, which was Rachel's favorite flower. I could play the part as well as she could, if not better. That's what all of us "fine arts fags," as she called us, did after all.
Instead of being mostly ceremony like most funerals were, this one was mostly gossip...and it was about me. My MO for the day was to lay low. I didn't speak to anyone or make eye contact. Tempted as I was to correct people when they called me a sick, vile monster, I didn't. Instead, I made myself appear vaguely interested in what little ceremony there was. Lisette sat with my parents and other sister, Lauren. I sat alone. I knew who the real Rachel was, but I didn't let it show.
The reception came more quickly than I had expected. I wanted to avoid the areas where people were mingling, which were the food areas, but I was starving and I smelled food. Naturally, I loaded up my plate with whatever I could find. If I could keep my mouth full, I didn't have to speak. That and I had a raging appetite most of the time. To keep satisfied, I had to eat constantly. I found an empty table and ate. I don't know if it was due the fact that I was a teenager and, thus, would eat anything that resembled a food item, but, somehow, I remembered that everything was delicious. The pile of food vanished and, as soon as I got up to throw away the plate, another girl approached me. She wore a gossamer sundress that was incongruous with the environment and looked to be around my age.
"Emma Brady." She extended her hand.
"Landon LaCoste." I extended my hand. Disgusted, she retracted her hand.
"I should've known." Flipping her hair in my face, Emma Brady stalked off. The same thing happened with about four other people until one of them had the nerve to say "That's him." Immediately, people started confronting me. Some had questions that they weren't interested in me answering. Some just went straight for the insults until some mysterious black-haired girl rose from her seat and said "Enough." The crowd went silent.
"He knows what he's done wrong." After that, the guests looked at each other deciding that the Rachel they knew would never do things like that.
Looking back, I knew that I deserved it. I deserved every single word they hurled at me. The fact that I had committed such an atrocity haunts me to this day. I looked down at the countless presentation notes I had written. That black-haired girl was right. I knew what I had done wrong. Now, it was a matter of what I'd make from it.
Back in my sophomore year, it seemed that it was Rachel's mission to make my life more difficult. She liked talking to her friends about "that poor kid and his special needs little sister." Um, hello? Lisette has a name! She told guys to beat me up and, even when I was left unconscious on the outskirts of the campus, it was my word against hers. No one believed me when I tried to tell my side of the story. She was practically venerated among teachers and students. People treated Rachel like she was perfect even though the truth hid in plain sight. She spread rumors about me downing potions in the quad when, most of the time, I wasn't even there. Still, people believed her because they were afraid of what they would become if they confronted her about the truth.
Even worse, my parents signed me up for a peer tutoring program and I got placed with Rachel so she could tutor me in English. I don't even know how Rachel got qualified to be a peer tutor other than her ability to pull the strings to get her way. I spent two hours after school with Rachel four days out of the week working on things with her. She didn't even really try to help me; she just wanted me under that saccharine little thumb of hers. Unfortunately, I had to go through with it or risk her ruining my reputation. She would have told everyone that I wet myself in the seventh grade because I was too shy to ask for a bathroom pass. I didn't exactly have a good reputation after that.
"You know that Landon kid? He's probably going to shoot up this place." I heard this while walking down the hall and struggling to keep my books under control. For once, she wasn't wrong. I've planned it since the end of my freshman year. I hated Havencraft High School. I hated the fact that my parents thought their rigorous academic program would be "good for me", but, most of all, I hated being poked and prodded like the school's plaything.
Even so, the guilt that came with taking her life tore me to shreds each day. I remembered her screaming and begging for mercy as I aimed. They didn't matter to me at the time; it was just additional noise in the lunch room as the other students ran for cover. At that point, I just didn't care who the arrows hit. Flames engulfed the building quickly and I saw nothing but red.
After the fact, my parents forced me to attend Rachel's funeral. I protested that no one would want to see me there. You should have thought of that before shooting up your school, my father said as he selected a . At the time, I didn't feel any remorse whatsoever. No one would mourn the real Rachel anyway. The lot of them saw what they wanted to see and that's what they would cry over at the funeral.
When the day came, I dressed my best and made an effort to tame my hair, which, like me, does not take well to being held down. I put a dandelion in my pocket, which was Rachel's favorite flower. I could play the part as well as she could, if not better. That's what all of us "fine arts fags," as she called us, did after all.
Instead of being mostly ceremony like most funerals were, this one was mostly gossip...and it was about me. My MO for the day was to lay low. I didn't speak to anyone or make eye contact. Tempted as I was to correct people when they called me a sick, vile monster, I didn't. Instead, I made myself appear vaguely interested in what little ceremony there was. Lisette sat with my parents and other sister, Lauren. I sat alone. I knew who the real Rachel was, but I didn't let it show.
The reception came more quickly than I had expected. I wanted to avoid the areas where people were mingling, which were the food areas, but I was starving and I smelled food. Naturally, I loaded up my plate with whatever I could find. If I could keep my mouth full, I didn't have to speak. That and I had a raging appetite most of the time. To keep satisfied, I had to eat constantly. I found an empty table and ate. I don't know if it was due the fact that I was a teenager and, thus, would eat anything that resembled a food item, but, somehow, I remembered that everything was delicious. The pile of food vanished and, as soon as I got up to throw away the plate, another girl approached me. She wore a gossamer sundress that was incongruous with the environment and looked to be around my age.
"Emma Brady." She extended her hand.
"Landon LaCoste." I extended my hand. Disgusted, she retracted her hand.
"I should've known." Flipping her hair in my face, Emma Brady stalked off. The same thing happened with about four other people until one of them had the nerve to say "That's him." Immediately, people started confronting me. Some had questions that they weren't interested in me answering. Some just went straight for the insults until some mysterious black-haired girl rose from her seat and said "Enough." The crowd went silent.
"He knows what he's done wrong." After that, the guests looked at each other deciding that the Rachel they knew would never do things like that.
Looking back, I knew that I deserved it. I deserved every single word they hurled at me. The fact that I had committed such an atrocity haunts me to this day. I looked down at the countless presentation notes I had written. That black-haired girl was right. I knew what I had done wrong. Now, it was a matter of what I'd make from it.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
Too Late (Steve)
"Steve? Hello? It's me." I turned around. The voice sounded familiar. It was Caitlin! I didn't know what to make of seeing her again. She smiled sweetly as if this were just another day and we weren't on some floating island with golden trees. "I want to talk to you. We have much to catch up on." Caitlin made her way to the edge of the island. No no no. Don't jump. Too late. Caitlin took off and hovered. She had large lavender wings that were at least twice the length of her body. This place gets weirder and weirder with each step. "I need to fall off the island to fly, but you can climb that tree and jump off." She gestured towards one of the golden trees.
Hand over hand, I found branches. How did I not get scraped up? When I reached the top, I looked down, which was a terrible mistake considering my fear of heights. Caitlin looked at me patiently. She came down and stood next to me.
"It's okay. Wings take some getting used to." I looked behind me to spot a pair of blue wings on my back. They shimmered like diamonds. "Just fall forward and you'll know what to do from there." I wasn't so sure about that. Caitlin's gleeful expression turned to a concerned one."You seem a little apprehensive. Is something wrong?"
"No." I could actually speak. It's been a while since I've heard my own voice.
"Then follow me." Caitlin fell, spread her wings, and soared...well...like a bird. I spread my wings. Flapping frantically, I felt as though I had no control. I corkscrewed in random directions and struggled to stay aloft. Eventually, I caught a glimpse of Caitlin soaring. As the wind blew in my face, I realized that I shouldn't to fight it. I should ride it.
Emulating her technique, I got the hang of flying. I looked around to see flying pigs and whales. The biology department should get a load of that! Weird cloud things occasionally dotted the islands. Eventually, Caitlin found an island where we could land. She folded her wings gracefully while I tumbled to the ground. She opened the small basket she was holding and handed me a foil-wrapped bowl and a fork. I peeled the foil back to find a bowl of steaming hot katsudon. I took a bite of the pork and the rice. As Caitlin took a bite of her teriyaki chicken, I decided it was best to be direct.
"I've...recently found another lover."
"Can you tell me who she is?" Instead of being angry like I had expected, Caitlin's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Well...'she' is a he...."
"Then can you tell me who he is?"
"It's Landon." I felt a strange sense of relief after saying that. I thought I was insulting the relationship I had with Caitlin when I first recognized the way I felt about him, but Caitlin seemed to think otherwise.
"I think very highly of Landon. He is an excellent man and your relationship has my blessing." Caitlin looked to the side. "By the way, there's something I need to tell you too." I took another bite of rice. "I never told you that I was autistic."
"Why not?" It was strange for Caitlin to keep something like this from me, especially when it made so much sense of some of her baffling antics. I thought the hand flapping thing was another one of her quirks. To be honest, I was better able to read her hands than her face.
"I didn't know what you'd think of me." She averted her eyes. "I was afraid that you'd leave me to die or use it against me." Now, why would I do that? Had I known, I would have invested in therapy, reducing sensory strains, and, well, anything I could do to help. Now that it was too late, I felt a more intense regret than I've ever felt before. "I'd love to stay forever, but my time here is limited. I have one last task for you before I go."
"What is that?"
"Tell Landon that Rachel forgives him." Who's Rachel?
Just like that, I woke up back in my own bed as tears started forming in my eyes. Blinking them back, I realized again that I was too late. I could have saved Caitlin if I had been more attentive and moved quickly enough. I've had scads of girlfriends in high school whose emotions I've played with for my own pleasure, but I missed one shot I had at a meaningful relationship. I didn't deserve Caitlin's affection, so why should I pretend that I deserve Landon's?
Hand over hand, I found branches. How did I not get scraped up? When I reached the top, I looked down, which was a terrible mistake considering my fear of heights. Caitlin looked at me patiently. She came down and stood next to me.
"It's okay. Wings take some getting used to." I looked behind me to spot a pair of blue wings on my back. They shimmered like diamonds. "Just fall forward and you'll know what to do from there." I wasn't so sure about that. Caitlin's gleeful expression turned to a concerned one."You seem a little apprehensive. Is something wrong?"
"No." I could actually speak. It's been a while since I've heard my own voice.
"Then follow me." Caitlin fell, spread her wings, and soared...well...like a bird. I spread my wings. Flapping frantically, I felt as though I had no control. I corkscrewed in random directions and struggled to stay aloft. Eventually, I caught a glimpse of Caitlin soaring. As the wind blew in my face, I realized that I shouldn't to fight it. I should ride it.
Emulating her technique, I got the hang of flying. I looked around to see flying pigs and whales. The biology department should get a load of that! Weird cloud things occasionally dotted the islands. Eventually, Caitlin found an island where we could land. She folded her wings gracefully while I tumbled to the ground. She opened the small basket she was holding and handed me a foil-wrapped bowl and a fork. I peeled the foil back to find a bowl of steaming hot katsudon. I took a bite of the pork and the rice. As Caitlin took a bite of her teriyaki chicken, I decided it was best to be direct.
"I've...recently found another lover."
"Can you tell me who she is?" Instead of being angry like I had expected, Caitlin's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Well...'she' is a he...."
"Then can you tell me who he is?"
"It's Landon." I felt a strange sense of relief after saying that. I thought I was insulting the relationship I had with Caitlin when I first recognized the way I felt about him, but Caitlin seemed to think otherwise.
"I think very highly of Landon. He is an excellent man and your relationship has my blessing." Caitlin looked to the side. "By the way, there's something I need to tell you too." I took another bite of rice. "I never told you that I was autistic."
"Why not?" It was strange for Caitlin to keep something like this from me, especially when it made so much sense of some of her baffling antics. I thought the hand flapping thing was another one of her quirks. To be honest, I was better able to read her hands than her face.
"I didn't know what you'd think of me." She averted her eyes. "I was afraid that you'd leave me to die or use it against me." Now, why would I do that? Had I known, I would have invested in therapy, reducing sensory strains, and, well, anything I could do to help. Now that it was too late, I felt a more intense regret than I've ever felt before. "I'd love to stay forever, but my time here is limited. I have one last task for you before I go."
"What is that?"
"Tell Landon that Rachel forgives him." Who's Rachel?
Just like that, I woke up back in my own bed as tears started forming in my eyes. Blinking them back, I realized again that I was too late. I could have saved Caitlin if I had been more attentive and moved quickly enough. I've had scads of girlfriends in high school whose emotions I've played with for my own pleasure, but I missed one shot I had at a meaningful relationship. I didn't deserve Caitlin's affection, so why should I pretend that I deserve Landon's?
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