Compulsion by Heidi Ayarbe Page B

just need some air. Give me a second.” I push away from the table, dragging my chair with me, fumbling to set my watch, wind it, get the time back.
    I shove my chair in front of the wall clock, covering my ears from the screams, unable to tell the difference between then and now—what’s real and what’s in my head.
“I’ll be right back, Jakey. Look at the time. Here.” She paints a minute and an hour hand on my watch. “When your black hands line up with these marks, I’ll be here. Take care of Kasey.”
    The second hand isn’t steady—it catches every time it hits fifty-three seconds, then continues. I hold my watch, my thumb on the face. One, two, three, flick, one flick, two, flick, three flick . . . listening for the clicking, whirring sound. Twenty-three times, ninety seconds. Counting. Counting. I shiver, wishing I had a warmer sweatshirt on. Ten flick, eleven flick, twelve flick . . .
A draft comes from under the door. It’s cold. I shiver and go to the hall closet to pull out my coat. The door swings and clicks shut behind me, enclosing me in blackness except for the green light of my Indiglo watch. The doorknob is jammed.
There’s a snap and the sickening sound of bones breaking—the rat’s chest rises and falls, then shudders. It whines out its last breath, the trap shoved between a rubbery Halloween clown mask with bulging eyes and a box of tangled tinsel from last year’s Christmas tree.
Silence.
    Somebody rakes her bow across violin strings, see-saw, see-saw . Screaming violins.
She’s awake. “Mama? Mama?” Her voice muffled by the door.
“She’ll be right back!”
“Mama?! Mama?!”
“Stay. Just stay!”
Screaming.
    See-saw, see-saw . Laughing. “ Psycho , dude. Total Psycho . Can you do the banjo duel from Deliverance? ”
I throw myself against the door; it won’t open. And Kasey keeps screaming.
A thud. High-pitched terror.
Muffled sobs.
    The violins stop. The speakers boom: Magic Martin! M&M!
    “Speech! Speech! Speech!” They chant.
    I swallow back the bubbling acid that works its way up my throat.
    What if she’d gotten more hurt? What if she’d broken more than her arm?
    What if . . .
    Stop it.
    Stop.
    I stare at the numbers on the clock, working them out, making the patterns.
    A heavy silence until Jenny Roark talks into the microphone. “Apparently, M&M, the greatest athlete to come out of Carson High, is concentrating? On—” She taps my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
    “Winding. My. Watch.” I try to keep my voice steady. Tick-tock, tick-tock .
    “Winding his watch,” she says.
    Luc says, “He’s got to be on time one more day. We’re all responsible for his punctuality today. Who’s going to chaperone Jake to his classes?”
    A spray of hands goes up like drowning swimmers—desperate to take on the impossible task of harnessing Jacob Martin’s challenged time-management skills.
    Everybody cheers.
    I push my chair between Mera and Riley, the saxophone guy. “Can I sit here, please? Just for a second?”
    Mera nods and dives into a yogurt parfait, like me sitting next to her is the most normal thing in the whole wide world.
    Focus. Focus. Focus. I work out the numbers to try to get ahold of the day.
    The room has cleared out. I’m still wedged between Mera and Riley. Tanya stands with Luc and Amy at the door—her arms crossed in front of her chest, eyes all red and puffy. Oh Christ.
    “Hey, guevón !” Luc hollers. “You coming?”
    “Thanks,” I whisper to Mera, then turn to Riley. “Thanks.”
    Mera squeezes my arm. “Are you okay, Jake?”
    Are you okay?
    No. I don’t think so .
    Wrong answer.
    I’d nod if I didn’t think my head would explode from excessive movement, so I just grunt, “Uh-huh.” Then Luc corrals me into his car and we leave the Nugget, pulling up to Carson High just a few minutes before the bell.
    But I’ve got to get back home—to start the day over.
    I have no choice.

Forty-One Merry-Go-Round
    Friday, 7:43