Inexplicable

Chapter Four

I jolt out of the dream at the sound of the bell. I suddenly have a splitting headache that almost makes me cry out. The bell chimes again, signaling that I am going to be late, and I cross the room on my way to Calculus, all the while still holding one hand on the side of my head as if it will help and the other holding a notebook and some drawings I was working on. I wasn't paying much attention and crashed into someone when turning the corner. Papers fly all around us.

"Sorry," we both say simultaneously and begin picking up our spilled papers. I file through them and hand him his while he hands me mine.

"Sorry again." He says.

"It's—" I stop when I see his face. He looks so familiar, but I can't place him. He has shaggy brown hair that hangs just above his eyes. His eyes seem unnaturally dark, but I find myself studying them, visualizing how I would draw them. A strange feeling that I had drawn his eyes before crossed my mind, but I had never seen this at school before, so it couldn't be possible.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and I realize I'm staring. The halls are almost clear now as everyone makes their way into their classrooms.

"Uh, yeah. Just... Do I know you?" I ask, confused and trying to focus through the headache. I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere, but my mind felt foggy.

"I don't know," He says with a corner of his mouth lifting into a half smile that made my heart skip. "Do you?" Then he starts to walk away with one look back. I try to shake him from my thoughts and rush to my next class.

I pay little attention to Calculus. I can't when my mind is consumed by the blue-eyed boy from my dream. I try to decide if I should go or not. That's ridiculous though, right? Going to meet someone you met in a dream who could also potentially be a murderer? Is there even an abandoned building on Third Street? I've never paid much attention when we drive by that side of town.

Lunch goes by quickly, and my thoughts engulf me. I was having a full-blown argument with myself, trying to make a decision. Now, I'm wondering if the Smiths should check me into a psychiatric center. When my art class comes after lunch, I welcome the distraction of drawing. Before the final bell even rings, I start a new outline of the familiar landscape, this time from a different angle.

"Alright, class," The teacher, Mr. Varens, begins to say with a clap of his hands to draw attention to himself, "We have a new student today. His name is Jax. Please make him feel welcome and help him get caught up on what we are doing." I don't bother looking up. Why should I? I will probably never even talk to the guy. "You can sit anywhere, but the class is pretty full. Sapphire has an empty table, though." My body tenses for a moment, then relaxes. No one would sit with me, especially a new student. I'm sure he will be too occupied with the girls in the class.

The chair across from me screeches across the floor. I finally look up to see the poor guy about to join me at the bottom of the food chain. My body goes rigid again. It's the guy I ran into earlier. His dark hair hangs over his eyes, only showing me the lower half of his face. My heart skips a beat yet again for a reason I don't know, and I quickly suppress the feeling, whatever it is. His features look so familiar, and I file through my brain to figure out why. Where have I seen him? Was it a group home? Or maybe it was my last high school? But that was all the way back in Georgia, so that seemed unlikely.

"Still think you know who I am, huh?" He asks, taking a seat and throwing his bag on the floor. His voice snapped me back to the reality that I was staring at him again.

"No. Just having pity for you." I say, returning to my drawing and trying to calm the flutter of my heart. Why was it doing that?

"Pity?" He says with slight amusement, a half smile on his face as he leans back in his chair. He studied me curiously as if I was the most interesting thing he had encountered all day. "Why?"

"You just ruined whatever chance you had at a social life at this school by sitting at this table," I say. I don't lift my eyes from the drawing, afraid I might not stop staring this time. I felt rattled to the core by a guy I just met. What the hell was wrong with me?

"What makes you think I care about my social status here?" He says, leaning closer and encasing me with his intoxicating cologne. It was a natural smell, familiar and foreign all in one.

"Everyone wants to be at the top of the social food chain in high school, especially this high school," I explained with a shrug as if it made perfect sense.

"But you don't?" He lifts an eyebrow, trying to follow my logic.

"No, I don't," I say dismissively.

He stays quiet for a moment and I feel the heat of his stare on me. "What are you drawing?"

"A landscape."

"Of?" He presses.

"A picture I found off Google." I snap the lie out, hoping to get him to stop talking.

I begin shading the drawing, and he stays quiet, studying me while I draw. Mr. Varens eventually comes over to tell him about our assignment. Throughout the next hour, I felt his eyes on me, even as he worked on the assignment, but he didn't say anything else. Not until the bell is about to ring at the end of class.

"You seem conflicted." He says as we wait by the door.

"What?" I ask, taken aback by the random statement and how spot-on it was.

"You just seem conflicted about a decision." I stare at the door, still avoiding his hypnotic gaze.

"And what makes you say that?"

His answer to my question is a small laugh. "Whatever the decision is, you should say yes."

"Yes?" I turn toward him now, regretting it the moment I do. He's close to me and has me trapped against the door.

"Yes." Then he leans next to my ear, lowering his voice so no one else can hear. You should go tonight." The bell rings, and he slips past me and out the door into the crowd of students. I turn and follow him, ready to demand an explanation, but I stop dead in my tracks as I realize why he looks so familiar.

He was the boy in my dreams.