Read The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare for Free Online Page B

stupid!” In a fit of pent up frustration, Claire slams a foot against Mega Couch.
    â€œHey.” Mom pushes herself to her feet. Her fierce expression dares Claire to continue with her tantrum. But Claire never stops once she gets going. Punishment be damned.
    â€œDo you know how embarrassing it is being her sister?” Claire says, flicking her wrist at me. “Everyone makes fun of her. I mean, she’s scared of movies. We live on the coast and she freaks out if she gets too close to a boat. We can’t have a cat, even though Audrey really wants one, because it’ll ‘upset Alex.’ Everything ‘upsets’ Alex. Why can’t she just be normal?” She storms out of the room just as Dad and Gran come in bearing trays of pizza. Mom darts after her to lay down the law. I sit on the floor, poking at a seam in the carpet, reminded yet again of the huge wake my visions leave behind.
    If only Claire knew how much we both want the same thing.
    If only Dr Farrow had listened to me and given me some sort of medication. I’d be well on my way to becoming the person my family needs me to be. All their attention could go back to Audrey, where it belongs. But I guess since I’ve gone seventeen years without any medication, Dr Farrow thinks a little while longer won’t do any harm.
    She couldn’t be more wrong.

CHAPTER 4
    Â 
    IN WHICH “A LITTLE WHILE” AMOUNTS TO EXACTLY ONE DAY
    Â 
    The next day at school goes by just like any other. Classes are slow, teachers lecture in sensible shoes, and the cafeteria pizza is so greasy I have to blot it with a stack of napkins before it’s remotely edible. In Driver’s Ed, I fail the parallel parking test. Again. Madame Cavanaugh keeps me after French to let me know my grade is slipping. Again.
    Same old, same old.
    In English, Mr Draper taps and screeches his way across the chalkboard, filling its surface with definitions of words like denouement and omniscient. He loves deconstructing classic literature and pointing out symbolism his students would never discover on their own. For him, that’s what makes the text come alive. For me, it’s what helps keep my grade above a D.
    Turning fiction into mechanical puzzle pieces – like something you could manufacture in an assembly line – was the only way I could pass his literature assignments. Plug protagonist into slot A. Attach conflict and dramatic irony, using two minor characters and one antagonist. Rotate ninety degrees and locate symbolism. Slide climax into place, and fasten with resolution. Use the provided bonding compound if structure seems unstable.
    No problem.
    We’re right in the middle of discussing hidden meanings in The Great Gatsby when the classroom sounds fade away, leaving only a faint resonance like the school bell after it rings. Mr Draper is still talking and gesturing. I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear his words. Papers shuffling, books opening and closing, pages turning, sneakers scuffing the tile floor – it all disappears.
    I grip the sides of my desk as the darkness slinks in and around Mr Draper and my classmates like satin cloth, swallowing them whole. I curse the fact that Dr Farrow refused to write me a prescription, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I just have to let this new vision run its course. It’ll all be over in a few minutes.
    They never last longer than that.
    Â 
    VISION HALLUCINATION NUMBER FIVE
    Â 
    When the darkness receded and the light poured in, I found myself standing smack in the middle of a busy city street. Cars puttered past on either side of me. They were classics – old Fords, Cadillacs, Oldsmobiles – but they looked brand new, all shiny and black with tall, whitewall tires. I gaped at them as they passed by, their engines sounding like ratchets. The drivers gaped back, some even shouting at me to get out of the road. One of them honked a horn