Read For Ever for Free Online Page B

blackened mass that’s now sitting in the sink. I scrub
three potatoes and poke holes in them before tossing them onto an
ancient cookie sheet.
    The phone rings, and I jump. My mom grabs for
it instantly without looking to see who it is.
    “Hey, Pat!” she says, making her way into the
living room. I hear things being shifted around before she settles
on the loveseat—yet another garage sale purchase.
    Caroline Sullivan. Always moving, always
doing something. Talking, cooking, rearranging furniture. Sometimes
I think it depresses her to slow down too much. Not me. I need time
to decompress and do nothing, or I would go crazy.
    An image of the mirror upstairs looms front
and center. Had that been my imagination, too? Or another
symptom of a full-on freak out?
    On Monday morning, when my mom drops me off,
it’s early again and she’s already fully caffeinated in preparation
for her first day at her new job. After a weekend of
less-than-restful sleep, I could have used the caffeine boost, but
most of the time coffee just makes it feel like I’m having an out
of body experience. I shudder at the thought. There’s no way I’m
going to power up for another episode of full-octane crazy just in
time for first period.
    Rushing through the rain to the school
entrance, I look down at the new pair of boots my mom got me. I’m
still having trouble accepting the result of my weekend Internet
search—and the discovery that the northwestern corner of Oregon is
actually even rainier in springtime than during winter. Which means
I won’t see the sun for another six months. Hearing the squeak of
hurried steps on the linoleum, I spin around awkwardly, momentarily
terrified that someone had been watching me. I breathe a sigh of
relief when I see Josh rushing toward me.
    “Wren!”
    Cool! She’s here.
    “Hey, Josh. How was your weekend?”
    Through his eyes I see a flash of a movie
scene with lots of guns and explosions.
    “Not bad. This paper sucks, though.”
    His smile fades, and I catch an image of a
lone sentence on a computer screen. Our English paper is due
Thursday. I finished most of mine over the weekend, which is highly
out of character for me. Unlike math tests, I do well on English
papers, but I typically need the pressure of a deadline bearing
down on me for proper motivation. For better or worse, with no
transportation to speak of, I didn’t have much else to do over the
weekend.
    “Yeah, Mrs. Rose gave me an extension,” I
smile.
    “Lucky.”
    I nod neutrally, feeling a spike of relief
when we get to Mr. Gideon’s classroom.
    “See you at lunch?” I say, starting to turn
toward the door.
    “Wren?”
    I turn back to face him. His expression is
anxious. Singing off-key in my head, I try to drown out any
thoughts I might accidentally pick up.
    “Never mind,” he mumbles. “See you at
lunch.”
    I watch as he hurries back the way he came.
Continuing to Mr. Gideon’s room, I drop my bag at my easel and walk
over to the old CD player in the corner. It offers the same
classical music as last week. Feeling altruistic, but mostly bored,
I gather up a pile of dirty paintbrushes. After I’m done rinsing
them and setting them out to dry, I wander to the recessed alcove
where Mr. Gideon has collected all the student artwork that hasn’t
been picked up.
    Keeping an eye on the door, I kneel down and
begin rummaging through the stack. After twenty or so projects, I
notice a distinct pattern. Even with no artistic credentials to
speak of, I can tell that some of the projects are gallery quality.
One of them has a sticky note on it.
     
    Ever, needless to say, this is quite a
portfolio you’ve built up. Keep up the good work! – Mr. Gideon
     
    The sound of footsteps—and Mr. Gideon’s
singing—forces me to abandon my snooping. Jogging to the door, I
hold it open for him.
    “Thank you, Ms. Sullivan,” he smiles.
    I stop on the way back to my easel.
    “Mr. Gideon?”
    He looks up.
    “How long has Ever been in