After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel Page A

then?”
    She swallows. “I’m worried something bad will happen to you, like at the séance, and with Chuck. I’m worried that he’ll notice you again.”
    My heart stops beating, but my mouth still works and I whisper, “Who?”
    “The River Man.”
    Everything stills. Shivers seem to creep around my hair. “He could be a figment of my imagination.”
    “Aimee. We both know that’s not true.” Her face is a crashed-apart painting. Her eyes and mouth are rigid-scared because she knows how bad things can be. “I think he’s doing something, right now, to the town, making people mean.”
    “So you’re saying Blake isn’t a jerk because he’s a jerk. He’s being a jerk because of the River Man.”
    “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”
    About a week after that seventh-grade séance, Court and I tried this Ouija board thing. It’s supposed to connect you to the spirit world. We wanted to find out why Chuck died. The Ouija board has this little pointer that you place your fingertips on. Then it spells out words by moving to letters of the alphabet.
    “Why did Chuck die?” Court had asked the board, because we’d agreed that I was not the person to communicate with the spirits anymore.
    The pointer spelled out, “Because I wanted him to.”
    I took my fingers off the pointer and hugged my arms around myself, terrified.
    Court battled on. “One more question, Aimee. Okay?”
    “I don’t want to do this,” I’d said, my voice edging into hysteria. “I don’t want to.”
    “Aim. One more,” Court said, and like an idiot I put my fingers back on the pointer thing. Then she asked, all strong and calm, “Who are you?”
    And it answered: “The River Man.”
    Hayley finds me outside the door to bio. Her hair is all crazy because she has PE first period. She grabs my hands. “You’re limping.”
    I shrug.
    “You broke up with Blake this morning.” She makes it a statement.
    “Yeah …” I start and stop because Alan’s super-big self is suddenly there. Something flutters in my stomach. His eyes meet my eyes. He takes in the dirt on my jeans and his mouth starts to form a question, but then he clamps it shut again. Instead, he just nods and ducks his head, fast-walking into bio like he’s embarrassed to see me or something.
    “Did he hit you?” Hayley says.
    I have to do a double take. “What?”
    She gets insistent. “Did Blake hit you? You’re walking funny. Your jeans are dirty. And people are, well, talking. Did he hit you?”
    “He dragged me out of the car,” I whisper, because I can’t hold it inside anymore.
    Hayley’s mouth drops open. Then she grabs me, crushing me to her chest. “Oh, baby … I am so sorry. Oh, that asshole. I never thought he’d be like that—not ever. Oh, Aimee.”
    “It’s okay.” I sniff. She smells like rain.
    “No, it’s not. It’s not okay,” she whispers as people move by us into class. “It is never okay. You know we all have times where we freak out a little, get moody, whatever, but throwing you out of the car is not okay, Aimee.”
    “I know. That’s not what I mean. It’s just … I’m okay.”
    She pushes me away to look into my eyes. “You’re crying. You are not okay.”
    I have no answer.
    “Girls. Class.” Mr. Swanson is totally ignoring my teary face, which is nice of him, I guess, or else that’s just a symptom of what Courtney was talking about.
    We walk into the classroom. I’m still limping. Hayley goes to her seat by the window. I slide into my desk behind Alan. He turns to look at me. His eyes are huge and deep and questioning. I try to smile but can’t quite do it.
    “You okay?” he mouths.
    I do this fast nod. His eyes narrow the tiniest bit. I can tell he doesn’t believe me. Opening my bag, I grab some gum and put it in my mouth. Then I take out my notebook and a pen and write: Five minutes. I’ll pretend to faint. You take me to nurse’s office. Okay?
    When Mr. Swanson turns to the wipe board I reach forward