Liminal - Excerpt Only

Liminal - Excerpt Only (Chapter Two)

LIMINAL 

By Maree Anderson

CHAPTER TWO

First period, Friday. One more school day to endure before the weekend—not that I was obsessively counting down or anything.

The weekend. Something any high school student in their right mind would be looking forward to. Me? Not so much. Whenever a weekend loomed I had a hard time imagining enough good stuff happening to balance out the inevitable bad.

Look on the bright side, Wren. The weekend means two whole days—and nights—to find a way to beat this. No more hiding out in your room feeling sorry for yourself, okay? There has to be a way to fix this. Just stay strong, focused. You can do this. And as my teacher shuffled into the classroom I rolled my shoulders and pretended the inner pep-talk had worked a treat.

Mr. Brook likes to start each class by comparing his seating chart to occupied desks, noting each student present or absent in his register. This morning was no exception. His head bobbed up and down, reminding me of those bobbing-head toys old people stick in the back windows of their cars. His gaze drifted past me. He focused on his chart again, frowned, then raised his head to scan the classroom. The frown etched deeper between his brows.

I knew that expression. He was going to mark me absent. Again.

The ever-present headache ratcheted up a notch. My vision temporarily skewed, and everything and everyone in the classroom went all shimmery round the edges, as if some cosmic force was saying, "Neener neener! Full-blown migraine alert—try ignoring this one, Wren Gibson."

Craptastic. I shouldn't let it get to me like this. I have strategies in place to beat the constantly being marked absent problem. Usually I wait 'til the lesson ends, and stop by the teacher's desk on my way out. Fiddling with an item on their desk, or asking a question I already know the answer to, often works. Ditto with personally handing over a homework assignment rather than leaving it on the pile with the others. If those tricks fail, the best way to get noticed is to get physical. But that's last resort material. Teachers don't much appreciate students yanking on their sleeve. And accidentally on purpose stepping on their feet isn't recommended, either. Some teachers don't handle the whole student-they'd-marked-absent-getting-in-their-faces-about-it particularly well.

Bottom line? I've learned to be blunt and straight out ask my teachers to please mark me present. Then stick around 'til they do it, otherwise when I exit the room it can slip their minds. But Mr. Brook's reaction to my "strategies" always makes me feel like crap. His gaze turns hunted. His ears redden, and he invariably stammers something about my grades while he fumbles to correct his register. He's a cool teacher. I love his class. I kinda cringe every time I end up making a scene and embarrass him. But today, now, I was sick and tired of being invisible. I'd had enough.

Heat danced across my skin and a spike of frustration drove through my skull. Not good. Getting all emotional always makes the headaches worse. Need to calm down. Calm down! Suck in a breath. Hold it... keep holding it.... Slowly exhale....

Didn't help. Neither did clenching my hands until the tendons in my wrists ached. I tried visualizing a calm pool of water—like I'd read about in one of Mom's meditation books. Ripples spoiled the surface. And when my virtual pool erupted into choppy waves, I gave up.

Energy flushed through my veins, compelling me to do something. Anything.

The "anything" turned out to be shooting to my feet so fast I knocked over my chair. While I stood there, jaw clamped tight, wondering what to do next, my classmates eyed the chair and cast suspicious gazes around the room. I didn't need to be Einstein to figure out they were all wondering what unseen force of nature had tipped it over.