Forbidden by Lori Adams

the floor, and the crowd noise increases with confusion. I lean in closer and look.
    Casey James is dead.

Chapter 8
    The Finite Capacity of My Reality
    There are a few select things that I am certain about in life. One, high heels will never be as comfortable as flip-flops. Two, Christian Bale is the best Batman ever so give it a rest. Three, I know when I’m looking at a dead body. And I am looking at a dead body. The words He’s dead are running in a loop in my head. It’s all I can think.
    No, it’s not all I can think; I am telling myself to help. Casey needs CPR. But the place is a madhouse: teachers racing in and out, students embracing one another, an ambulance crying in the distance like a wailing mother. Michael and Raph are hovering over Casey, and Gabe and Milvi won’t let anyone approach. It’s strange, almost like they are carefully blocking everyone’s view.
    Shaking from adrenaline, my legs barely carry me from the vending machines where I’m hiding between Vitaminwater and Jujubes. As I move closer, Mom’s voice pops in my head, warning me to stay back. Her presence grows stronger with each step until she is practically yelling, They know what they’re doing! Stay back! It’s enough to make me pause and doubt myself.
    But Casey is dead and they aren’t doing CPR!
    There’s no time to wait for the ambulance so I creep closer. I can see Raph’s hand on Casey’s chest, and I wait breathlessly for him to start CPR. He doesn’t. His hand remains quiet while the other gently caresses Casey’s forehead, brushing aside sandy-blond hair. Raph embodies the calm, peaceful demeanor I remember in Mom when she soothed away my scrapes and bruises. Michael and Raph are whispering like they’re trying to coax Casey out of a deep sleep.
    And I’m crawling out of my skin with anxiety.
    “He needs CPR!” I yell over the ruckus of shouting teachers and ringing cell phones. I startle Milvi and Gabe and they whirl around, pushing me away. I put up a good fight because every impulse I have is screaming to help.
    Michael’s head snaps up and he barks a harsh, militant order, “Get her back!”
    And then Casey, who is now as blue as my vintage Vans, wakes up. His eyes flutter, blink, and open. I stop struggling and gasp. Milvi is stunned, too, and then Michael repeats his order and Milvi obeys like a well-trained soldier. She propels medeep into the crowd. By now I have gone limp, too dumbfounded to protest. I let her push me down like I’ve been exiled to the time-out chair. She leaves me there and I stare straight ahead as the vision of Michael watching over the nurse at the accident flashes like a double exposure over the scene before me. It’s as if the images are trying to tell me something, but there is too much in my head. All of it beyond reason. I feel woozy so I drop my head between my knees, taking slow, deep breathes to avoid fainting. I have learned this is the quickest way to clear my head.
    When the paramedics march in and take over, Michael and his family withdraw and huddle aside. They talk privately but Michael is animated, jabbing his finger in Gabe’s face. Michael is livid and Gabe looks ashamed. Of what, I can’t imagine. I don’t understand anything that just happened.
    Another ten minutes pass and then Principal Davis announces that Casey is fine and just going to the hospital as a precaution. The paramedics wheel him out, and the crowd slowly disperses.
    I shake off my dizziness, irritated with myself for not eating anything today. Standing carefully, I scan the room for Bailey and find her by the door. Her eyes are glued on Casey rolling by, and she has an oddly exhilarated expression on her face.
    By the time the teachers herd us out, I have Bailey in my grip. “Did you see him?” I demand, as we mount the steps to the main building.
    “Yeah, with both eyes!”
    “He was blue!”
    “As a Smurf!”
    “But he was dead!” I whisper. “And Raph didn’t do CPR!” We stop at my