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

and slide the note over Alan’s shoulder. He catches it.
    There. Step one, done.

• 8 •
    ALAN
     
    I read the note one more time, then fold it once, twice, and stick it between some middle pages of my biology book before I check out the clock. Five minutes. I try to focus on Swanson, but I’m really just staring blankly at him, thinking about Aimee.
    There’s something wrong with her. Her jeans are covered in dirt that looks ground in, and she limped when she came into class. There’d been talk in first hour, talk about her and Blake. Someone said they’d seen him hit her. Someone else said that would never happen. I wondered. Granted, I barely know the guy, but he—
    I sense Aimee standing up behind me.
    “Mr. Swanson,” she says, “I don’t feel—”
    She’s taken a step forward and is beside me when she crumples sideways. I catch her as I’m standing up. Dead silence. All eyes are on us as I hold her up, clamped against my chest, her cheek pressed hard against my medicine bag. The world shimmers and slams just like the last time I touched her. Images swarm into my mind, a river, being pulled deep into the water, a man’s voice … It’s not quite as powerful as last time, but it freezes me for a second. Then I shake myself out of it.
    “I’ll take her to the nurse,” I announce, then put an arm behind her knees and scoop her up. She’s so light! I hold her high enough that her feet won’t kick anyone in the face and head for the door.
    “Across from the front office,” Mr. Swanson calls as I push through the door. I guess he’s telling me where the nurse’s station is. I don’t know.
    The classroom door closes and Aimee whispers, “Go left to the end of the hall and out the door.”
    I move fast, passing closed doors with those little slits for windows. I can’t tell if anyone sees us. No one confronts us, and I keep moving until I get to the blue steel door at the end of the hall. I push it open with my hip and step into the cool morning air.
    “Okay, you can put me down,” Aimee says.
    I look down into her face and think about that. Her skin is so white and flawless, her eyes so green and bright and full of life. A little breeze ruffles her magnificent red hair. I don’t really want to put her down.
    “You were limping,” I say. “Maybe I shouldn’t make you walk.”
    She smiles up at me. What a smile! I mean, it sounds all mushy, I know, but damn, that girl has a smile that makes you want to smile right back at her.
    “I’m good. Really,” she says, but she doesn’t wiggle or try to get out of my arms.
    “Me, too.” Okay, I have to admit that I’m not usually so bold with girls. Looking into Aimee’s eyes, though, I know there is depth here. There’s already some kind of connection. “Where are we going?”
    “You are so not going to carry me all the way,” she argues, but still, she’s not trying to get down. “You’ll get hurt.”
    I lower her feet to the ground and let her go, then realize how warm she’d been against me. She crosses her arms over her chest and hunkers against the cool breeze.
    “All right, but you start limping and I’m carrying you again.”
    “Are you always so gallant, so knight-in-shining-armor?” she asks.
    “Just bossy,” I answer, and I’m still smiling because she is.
    “Come on,” she says. “Behind the field house.”
    We dash across a short stretch of lawn and into the parking lot. I follow her lead, staying low between the parked vehicles. She’s limping, but managing to move pretty fast anyway. We get to the side of the field house and scooch along the wall like SWAT cops until we slide around to the back, where she collapses to the ground, her back against the cinderblock wall.
    “You were limping,” I accuse.
    “Yeah, but you couldn’t catch me.”
    All I can do is laugh.
    “What’s in the bag?” she asks, nodding toward my chest.
    I touch the leather. “It’s a medicine bag. It’s kind of like a good-luck