Wake Page 0,11

she thinks.

Next time, she will be ready.

Maybe she should have bought an automatic.

She hopes to God it doesn’t happen on a highway.

12:46 a.m.

Janie lies awake in bed. Scared.

In the back of her mind, she hears the distinct sound of knives sharpening. The more she tries not to think about whose dream that might have been, the more she thinks about it. She can never drive that street again.

She wonders if she will end up like her friend Miss Stubin from the nursing home, all alone.

Or dead in a car crash, because of this stupid dream curse.

August 25, 2005

Carrie brings in the mail to Janie’s. Janie is wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. It’s hot and humid.

“Schedules are here,” Carrie says. “Senior year, baby! This is it!”

Excitedly, they open their schedules together. They lay them side-by-side on the coffee table and compare.

Their facial expressions go from excitement, to disappointment, and then excitement again.

“So, first period English and fifth period study hall. That’s not terrible,” Janie says.

“And we have the same lunch,” Carrie says. “Let me see what Melinda has. I’ll be right back.” Carrie gets up to leave.

“You can call her from here, you know,” Janie says, rolling her eyes.

“I-I would, but—”

Janie waits for Carrie to explain. Then it dawns on her.

“Oh,” she says. “I get it. Caller ID. Sheesh, Carrie.”

Carrie looks at her shoes, then slips out.

Janie checks the freezer for ice cream. She eats it out of the carton. She feels like shit.

September 6, 2005, 7:35 a.m.

Carrie and Janie drive separately to school, because Janie has to work at 3 p.m. Janie waves from the window when she hears Carrie’s car horn beep. This is it, she thinks.

Janie is only mildly excited to start her senior year of high school. And she is not at all excited to have study hall right after lunch.

She brushes her teeth and grabs her backpack, checking the mirror briefly before heading out the door. She is stopped by the flashing red lights of her former bus, and she smirks when she sees the noobs all climbing the steps to board it. Most of them are dressed in the styles of five years ago—hand-me-downs, or secondhand thrift clothing. “Get jobs, and get the hell out of South Fieldridge,” Janie mutters. At least there’s strength in numbers.

Ethel purrs.

Janie continues when the red lights stop. A block before the “bad” house on Waverly Road, she turns to take a detour. She’s not taking any chances. She slows as she sees someone walking toward her along the road, wearing a ratty backpack. At first, she doesn’t recognize him.

And then, she does.

He looks different.

He’s not carrying a skateboard.

“You missed it,” Janie says through the open window. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

Cabel eyes her warily. His features have matured. He’s wearing eyeglasses, the new cool rimless kind. His jaw is decidedly angular. He looks both thinner and more muscular at the same time. His hair, wavy at shoulder length, is layered slightly, no longer blue-black or greasy, but golden light brown. His long bangs that hung in his eyes last year are tucked behind his ears this year. And it looks freshly washed. He hesitates, and then opens the passenger door.

“Thanks.” His voice is low and gruff. “Jesus,” he remarks as he tries to fit his knees inside.

Janie reaches down between her legs. “Grab yours too,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Your seat adjustor, you ass. We have to pull them together. It’s a bench seat. As you can see.” They pull, and the seat moves back a notch. Janie checks the clutch to make sure she can still reach. She shifts into first as Cabel shuts his door.

“You’re on the wrong street,” he remarks.

“I know that.”

“I figured you were lost or something.”

“Oh, puhleeze. I-I take a detour. I don’t drive on Waverly anymore. I’m superstitious.”

He glances at her and shrugs. “Whatever.”

They ride in awkward silence for five minutes, until Janie rolls her eyes inwardly and says, “So. What’s your schedule?”

“I have no idea.”

“Okaaay…” The conversation fizzles.

After a moment, he opens his backpack and takes out a sealed envelope. He rips it open as if it’s a chore of great difficulty and looks over his schedule.

“English, math, Spanish, industrial tech, lunch, study hall, government, P.E.” He sounds bored.

Janie cringes. “Hmmm. Interesting.”

“And yours?” He says it too politely, as if he is forced to chat with his grandmother.

“It’s, ah…actually…,” she sighs, “…pretty similar to that. Yeah.”

He laughs. “Don’t sound so fucking excited, Hannagan. I’ll let you cheat off my papers.”

She smiles