A Soul's Kiss by Debra Chapoton

you think?”
    Keith laughed and yawned at the same time. “I don’t know, man, it was just a dream.”
    “Try.”
    “Try what? To get unconscious? I’ll get right on it.” He closed his eyes.
    “No. Like, like just relax and try to get into one of those zoned-out states.” That’s when a really cool thought hit me. “Never mind, get some rest. I’ll see you later.” He probably thought I was wacked out or else mad at him, but I’d just put it all together—Rashanda’s cat nap, the zoning out, concentrating on Jessica at school, feeling her presence. I could do it myself. All I needed to do was find an empty room and fall asleep. I know—crazy.

 
    Michael
    Friday afternoon

     
    I woke, stretched, and looked at the clock. I let fly a string of curses as my foggy brain interpreted the numbers on the clock: I’d missed the bus to the away game.
    “Mom!” I yelled. I couldn’t remember if my car was here or at school. Yesterday seemed like a month ago. I leaped up as she knocked and opened my door. Then I dropped back to the bed and groaned. My vision blurred.
    “Are you all right?” She rushed to my side and sat on the bed next to me, felt my forehead, and slobbered over me like a dog.
    “I’m okay,” I lied, “but the game . . .”
    “Don’t you even think about it. Your coach called. He just wants you to rest and he’ll talk to you on Monday.” She patted me like a baby. I considered burping just to get her to let go, but she released me anyway and pushed me back onto my pillow. “Are you hungry? I can bring you up some dinner in a little bit. Hmm?”
    I nodded. Food was always the answer. Maybe it would help with the dizziness.
    She started for the door and then blew me a kiss and a smile. I ignored her.
    She closed the door and I rolled over. My thoughts swirled around the big event of yesterday. Keith was such a dweeb for losing control. It wasn’t my fault for showing him Emma’s wicked picture.
    My phone started vibrating on the night stand and clacked its way into the radio. I checked it: there were over twenty texts, four from Hannah, and two from Emma,begging me to delete all previous messages. I thought about that. She was really the one responsible for the accident. I should make her take the blame. I deleted everything from her except the second picture. If I sent it to my email first . . . no, I stared at it for awhile and then deleted it, too. If Emma asked on Monday I would act confused and tell her I never got anything from her . . . ever. I glanced over at the dresser mirror and practiced one eyebrow up and one down. Huh? What picture? Good.
    Hannah was another matter. I texted back, told her I’d talk to her tomorrow. Then I texted again and asked her how she was. She answered with the shortest message ever. Two letters. I didn’t get why she’d be mad at me. I’d get the silent treatment now.
    But she wasn’t silent for long. Before I could set the phone down she texted again asking: what if the flower dies? That was code. We always referred to our victims as flowers when we talked at school. Jessica was the flower. Hannah’s question was a good one, but I didn’t see how it affected us. Keith was driving; he didn’t know about the prank. And Hannah didn’t know about the naked picture that distracted Keith. Keith couldn’t prove it now. I wanted to text back something like: so what? Flowers die. I’ll get you a new one, but my mom came in then with a tray of food and I put my phone back on the nightstand.
    “Here, sweetheart,” she said. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you one of your friends came by. She said she’d text you.”
    “She?” I thought of Emma and glanced at my phone again.
    “Oh, what was her name again? Something strange. Like a black girl’s name, only she didn’t look black. Russian maybe.” My mom set the tray on the bed and waited for me to guess names. Russian made me think of Rashanda, but I shrugged my shoulders.
    My mom stood there