3 - Psycho

Maybe I was hallucinating again. 

I tore a piece of paper from my notebook, crumpled it, and threw it at him. It bounced off the back of his head and landed on the floor. He was real.

And he was turning around to see what had hit him.

“I missed the garbage can, sorry,” I blurted, jumping out of my chair to grab the paper and introduce myself to him. After all, the last time he had seen me I was a child. He might not automatically recognize me. 

“You mean you weren’t trying to pelt me in the head?” he asked. His eyes went big as my foot caught on something and twisted. A few seconds later, I was sprawled out on the industrial-grade carpet, and he was kneeling beside me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I was not thinking rationally. I was too focused on the fact that I’d found Mr. Finn. So, instead of responding like a normal person, I looked up at him from the floor and spoke frantically.

“I’m Ser—ow!” Pain shot through my ankle as I tried to get up.

“Uh, are you okay?” he asked again.

“No—ow! I’m Sera Frey. Aren’t you . . . You mean you’re not . . .”

“Did you hit your head?” he asked. 

Yep, he thought I was crazy, but what did that matter? If he was Mr. Finn, he needed to know who I was so he could tell me what happened all those years ago, how he managed to escape, and why he hadn’t come to find me like he’d promised.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He cocked his head to the side and chuckled. “My name is Bryan.”

“Bryan what?”

“Farris.”

“I . . . You’re . . . Bryan Farris?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

Looking at him up close and without my crazy-colored glasses, Bryan had chestnut brown eyes, not blue like Mr. Finn’s, and he was younger. He looked like a teenage boy rather than a grown man. In fact, he looked like he could have been Mr. Finn’s son, though what were the odds of that? I groaned. Act normal, Sera, act normal.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Did I say that out loud? It’s official, I’ve lost it.

“Nothing. Nothing. I think it’s sprained,” I said, trying to cover my blunder. I wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Your ankle?” 

“Yes.”

“You need to get checked out by a medical professional,” he said. “At the very least, the nurse’s office. Brain injuries are serious.”

“My head is fine,” I said. “I didn’t hit it on the way down.”

“So you’re always this incoherent?”

I took a deep breath in and let it out. “Probably,” I huffed.

“Still. Even the impact from a fall can cause a concussion.”

“What are you? A neurologist?”

He gave a short laugh. “No. I just know a thing or two about head injuries.”

“Hmm.” Was he a football player? Boy scout? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t Mr. Finn. That’s all I needed to know.

“Can you stand?”

I nodded, Bryan helped me up, and I winced at a pain in my side. I favored it as I balanced on my left foot. 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I probably bruised a rib on a chair or desk.” I rubbed the back of my neck to ease the tension that was setting in.

“May I?” he asked, reaching toward my ribs. I paused and looked up at him. He was tall. Well, I was short, so everyone was taller than me, but he was extra taller than me. And broad. And muscled. And he smelled really good.

“Sera?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure.” 

Bryan prodded the side of my torso, counting the ribs as he went. “Here?”

“Yeah,” I winced.

“Feels like you landed between the seventh and eighth ribs, but I don’t think anything is broken.”

“You know about rib injuries as well?” I raised an eyebrow.

“We need to get you to the nurse’s office,” Bryan said, ignoring my question.

“Boy scout.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I meant to think that, not say it,” I said. Where did my brain-to-mouth filter go? “I was trying to figure out where your brain injury knowledge came from. It was between football player and boy scout.”

“Boy scout won, huh?”

“Yeah.” I was acting unhinged. I needed to get away from this guy before he decided I needed to be in an insane asylum. “Look, I’m fine, really. I don’t want to miss class on the first day, and I don’t want to make you miss class either.”

“There’s plenty of time. Can you stand on that foot?”

I put weight on it and immediately hopped back to my good foot while suppressing a curse.

“How do you expect to get around the rest of the day on a sprained ankle?” he asked, looking at me seriously.

“I’ll manage.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously. I’m fine. This isn’t necessary.”

“Sera. That’s your name, right? Sera Frey?”

“Yes.”

“I’m getting you to the nurse’s office right now, or I’m calling 9-1-1 and having an ambulance take you to the hospital. The choice is up to you.”

I studied his face, the one that was eerily similar to Mr. Finn’s, and saw that he meant business.

“So what’s it going to be?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. Fine. Nurse’s office. Whatever.”

Bryan helped me to the nurse’s office, then explained the situation to the nurse, a homely, middle-aged woman who acted like she’d rather be anywhere but there. She poked and prodded my ankle, declared it a sprain, strapped a pack of ice onto it, and gave me an anti-inflammatory and a pair of loaner crutches.

“Do you have someone who can carry your books to each class?” the nurse asked.

“Can’t I just bring a backpack?” I countered.

“Backpacks are forbidden at the school,” she said. 

“Even for special cases?” I asked.

“Zero tolerance policy. There are over four thousand students at this school. Can’t risk anyone sneaking weapons onto school property.”

“Right,” I mumbled. “I’ll figure something out.” She didn’t need to know I was friendless.

“Where’s your next class?” Bryan interrupted.

“E-242.” I didn’t need to look at my schedule. It was already etched into my brain.

“Physics with Mr. West?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Me too. I can carry your books to fifth hour. What about sixth?”

“W-111.”

“You’re the luckiest, most unfortunate girl I know. That’s my sixth hour.”

“You realize you contradicted yourself, right?” I asked, looking up at him.

“I did no such thing,” Bryan said, shaking his head. “I only stated two facts. You sprained your ankle, which is unfortunate, but I’m in the rest of your classes and can help you with your books. That’s lucky. You’re a walking, no, limping contradiction today.” 

The nurse scoffed. I giggled. So he wasn’t Mr. Finn. That wasn’t his fault. He was clever and nice, and he made me feel at ease. Something about his voice was soothing. Plus, he was the kind of guy who would help a psycho who threw things at the back of his head. It didn’t hurt that he smelled amazing.

I thanked him for offering to help me. I was aware that my initial freak out made me sound like I needed to be in a straight jacket, so I stayed with socially acceptable small talk for the rest of the day. 

After the final bell, Bryan grabbed my books.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m helping you walk home,” Bryan said.

“Oh, no. I already feel bad that you’ve helped me so much today.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s not like you live far,” he said.

My heart rate doubled, and my hand went to my necklace.  

“You know where I live?”