All In My Head (First Tracks Book 1) Read online

  Switching meant turning the board around, getting ready as we sailed up. I knew because Marcus did. I could see things the way he saw them, and I even saw what he planned to do with this one. We were both on the board. I experienced it like I was doing it all, like I was in control.

  At the top, I turned my head and did something with my shoulders, flipping horizontally in the air.

  180, baby!

  I landed on the downhill smoothly. Whoa! I did it!

  Wait—the board wobbled on the bottom.

  Don’t worry. Just some chatter. We can take that out, right? It’s our daydream. Okay, that was a small turn. Let’s hit a 360 on this next one.

  We’ll fall!

  No, you won’t. I got you.

  My body dipped down as I flew up the side again. Marcus knew exactly what to do. It was instinct. I lifted off and spun around in a full 360 before landing, both Marcus and I whooping.

  I heard my rapid breathing and blinked, surprised to find my bed under me, my room around me. That felt so real … How did you do that?

  Just picturing it. Seems like my daydreams are more realistic without a real life. Like blind people hearing more, ya know?

  “Don’t you ever fall?”

  Every boarder wipes out. We just get back up again. Hey—we should hit the slopes sometimes. Shred some gnar.

  Maybe.

  Marcus took me through more jumps, and I knew I couldn’t have fabricated all twenty jumps and the technical names. I didn’t draw that picture of me, and I didn’t run up to that guy and tell him off. That was all Marcus.

  But even though it was Marcus telling that guy off, I didn’t flinch. I marched right up in that guy’s face. I wasn’t afraid. Not in that moment. Now I felt empowered by it, even while wondering if that was an inappropriate response.

  And how’s that?

  “I should have worried about my safety. You know, I’m supposed to be smart, not start things, walk away, yadda, yadda.”

  Except we found the rebel in you, remember?

  I sat up, reached down to my backpack and pulled my notebook out to look at the drawing again. But I couldn’t look at it for very long because I thought about how Marcus saw me. I carefully tore the paper out of my notebook and put it in my dresser drawer, my spot for personal stuff and odds and ends.

  Then I couldn’t stop myself from pulling out an old photograph of my mom from when she was about twenty. It was in color, but faded, and I’d been worried for several years that her face and expression would fade away as the photograph aged. There had always been a slight resemblance between us, but I saw it much more clearly in the picture Marcus drew today. If only I could tell my mom about all of this.

  “I’m not sure which is scarier,” I told Marcus. “That I’m crazy and imagining you, or that you’re real and in my head.”

  I don’t have any choice in what I believe. Of course I’m real. I can’t just make myself up.

  “So how do we fix this?”

  Make me disappear?

  “Get you back where you belong.” We both ruminated on that for a while. Then I told him, “Thanks for distracting me.”

  My pleasure …

  He sounded sincere instead of flirty for a change.

  I woulda tore that jerkwad apart for you.

  “Except we’re in my body, remember?”

  I’m not sure it matters. Seriously. You could have taken him, with me running the show.

  That didn’t comfort me. He could have taken over and run the show. I spent a few minutes trying to picture his life: where he came from, what he did for a living, why he knew how to do the things he did. We didn’t have many clues. A last name or information about his job would help me track him down, if there was a real person out there, past or present.

  Warm sunlight soaked into the room, making me sleepy. A nap sounded great, but I needed to catch up on homework for this week. I turned to my notes and opened my laptop so I could work. As I typed, I remembered I still hadn’t texted Nash back. I grabbed my phone, seeing more texts from him, Kristina and Jasmine. I answered while Marcus paced in my head.

  I want to get out of here for a while.

  “Out of my head?” I asked him, a bit distracted.

  What’s around campus?

  “Ashland is small, but it’s pretty. Lots of little shops and Lithia Park. The park’s huge. You can walk along a creek for a long ways.” I rambled for a while about the area until Marcus asked about Medford.

  “It’s bigger. We could go, just goof around. At least I’m less likely to run into classmates who will think I’m acting weird.”

  No one has thought you were acting weird anyway.

  I hopped up and got ready, leaving the green sweater on, and feeling excited about getting out too. It was technically by myself, but it’s hard to feel like I’m alone with Marcus here and ever present. I walked into the garage to my Toyota Corolla.

  By the way, is that your bike over there?

  “Yeah, but we’re not pedaling to Medford, because that’d actually be me pedaling.”

  We should go sometime.

  Oddly enough, I actually got the urge to go out for a ride and told him, Okay, maybe sometime.

  For now, I got in the car and backed out. The sky was dotted with giant puffy clouds, like drops of biscuit batter, and they blocked the sun here and there as they cruised across the blue sky on a high wind. It was another blustery-sunny-rainy Oregon spring day. On the ten-minute drive up the freeway, he asked about Nash.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, and I feel funny talking to you about it.”

  But it kind of involves me, since I’m here and all.

  “Can’t you go out boarding by yourself, like you did in my head? Pretend you’re doing something?”

  He didn’t answer, which I think meant yes. I found it funny how he said “and all” with a lot of stuff, but he pronounced it “an all.”

  I laughed as another car passed me—an older gentleman was talking away, one hand in the hair gesturing. “I’m talking to invisible people and it’s perfectly normal.” I laughed until something occurred to me. What if this was my new normal? I felt Marcus react with a jolt, but we didn’t talk about it. The first Medford exit came up and I took it.

  “How about the mall?”

  Let’s explore instead. Take that road.

  I drove around awhile, ending up in an area that wasn’t a McDonald’s and Mc-stores kind of place, and then parked in a lot. There were small local businesses to check out. I wandered through several, just getting lost looking at things. A secondhand store. A pet store. A used and new bookstore. I looked through books until Marcus started pulling his hair—like literally, in a figurative kind of way. I could picture him raking his fingers through his hair and making fists.

  What is your problem with books? Or with me looking at them for a while?

  Just all this standing around. Looking. Hoping for a clue.

  Oh. Looking for meaning. It was probably frustrating.

  I bought a couple books, even though I had a long to-read pile at home and more on my Kindle, and then we walked back to the sidewalk and looked down the street. About half a block down, there was a music store.

  There.

  He was really itching to get inside. I hesitated.

  I waited around during the bookstore.

  Yeah, yeah, but not very patiently. All right.

  Instead of a big, open area, the store was in an older building with smaller rooms, the walls filled with instruments and accessories, so I meandered through. Two twenty-something guys were looking at basses, both in T-shirts and baggy shorts that showed their underwear and hung below their knees.

  I didn’t do band back in middle school, and I’ve never been much of a music person, meaning I’m not fanatical about any band or anything. But this was interesting, all the different instruments I’ve never thought about.

  Marcus was looking for something specific.

  I p
icked up a guitar and strummed. Holy crap. I froze, my right hand at the top, holding down different strings, my left mid strum.

  That’s an F sharp. Move your hand up a fret.

  What’s a fret?

  My hand moved anyway, and a song played on the guitar. I played the guitar! I wanted to laugh, hysterically, but I just listened in wonder as Marcus played and sang “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz.

  I know he was just playing a song, but it felt a little like he was playing it for me. My heart melted, and I hoped Marcus was too lost in his music to notice. Wasn’t it sad? The first guy to draw me and play music for me and he was invisible.

  Marcus started a song I didn’t recognize. He hummed instead of singing, then sang some of the notes.

  I’m working on that one still.

  Then he played part of an old song called “More Than Words,” making me almost tear up. My dad sang that song to my mom when he twirled her around the kitchen. Marcus sensed my mood, or just wanted to play something different, because mid-song he switched to that happy song by Pharrel Williams. It wasn’t as put together.

  Marcus laughed.

  Yeah, I know. Haven’t heard it as much or figured out all the chords yet.

  But, wait, you remembered something! That has to help. Maybe … maybe you’re famous. That would make it easy to find you.

  Don’t I wish. But I doubt it.

  Someone cleared their throat to my right. “We’re running a sale today.”

  I turned to a middle-aged short man, balding and wearing glasses. He looked like a high school band teacher, when I’d been expecting some cool rocker dude in a place like this.

  “That one’s a steal, if you’re interested. It’s older, and the price is even better because it’s half off today.”

  I nodded and lifted the little white tag. $300.

  “Just one fifty today.” He smiled, his hands behind his back as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

  Buy it! Get it, baby. Come on, Avery. This one thing for me.

  Not wanting the sales guy to see my face, I stared at the tag and told Marcus, You will owe me big time.

  Done.

  “Okay, I’ll take it.”

  The salesman flashed a big smile. “Come on up and pay if you’re ready, or browse some more. Music books and picks are up front. Stands, cases, tuners and whammy bars are on special today too.”

  Whammy bars?

  Naw, we don’t need any of that for now. Maybe just a few picks.

  I felt giddy as I went to pay. It had to be Marcus’s emotion, or buyer’s remorse. I had no idea what I was doing, blowing a hundred and fifty on a guitar when I couldn’t play.

  Can too!

  Outside, I told Marcus, “I’m not made of money, you know. I usually think about it and plan out big purchases.”

  That’s a big purchase for you?

  “Hello, I’m a college student … and hungry. We’re going to lock this in the trunk and get some lunch.”

  Sweet. Thank you, Avery.

  Warmth washed over me, almost stopping me right there on the side walk.

  But I’m a bit confused … you’re paying for your education. You have money from somewhere.

  “I like to be smart with my money … but, I guess it wasn’t that expensive.” At the car, I locked the guitar in the trunk and started off in the other direction, following my nose. Mixed with the normal large town smell was something like grilled steak. The first place we came to was small and rustic. I grabbed a small table by the window, away from two men in business clothes at another table and a group of women eating lunch together. After glancing through the menu, I caught up on texts.

  So … Nash really wants to get together tonight.

  You could tell him you have to catch up on homework. Which you do. You’ve been slacking a lot lately.

  Whatever, Mr. Let’s-take-off-for-the-day.

  I ordered fish and chips and a Shirley Temple. Marcus was jonsing for a beer. I was still twenty so legally I couldn’t order him one, even if I wanted to.

  Did you like that song, the one without words yet? I’ve been working on it a long time. It’s called “Sweet Night.”

  Yeah, I did. It was … it had a longing to it.

  I opened the novel and tried to read a few lines, but my mind was buzzing. He remembered something!

  “So, Marcus, we know you like snowboarding, running and playing guitar. Oh, and drawing. You can remember a song you’ve been writing... Can’t you remember what inspired it? If it’s about someone?”

  I noticed a woman across the restaurant watching me. Oops. I’d said that out loud, but I didn’t think she could hear me …

  Marcus was quiet, thinking. I didn’t want to interrupt in case something was forming. I read a couple pages; I was dying to get lost in a book again. I hadn’t gotten back to Goldfinch since this whole thing started. Sighing, I opened Google on my phone and searched, “Marcus, guitar player.” I followed several links: a guy’s Facebook page but he was sixteen and didn’t look right at all.

  Uh … how’s that?

  The guy in the picture was too skinny for one thing, and his face looked mean to me for some reason. What do you think?

  Okay, sorry. No.

  He laughed and I checked out several other results. It didn’t look like there was some famous Marcus in a band.

  You know … there’s a few things that have popped up, like a memory, but I don’t know what they mean.

  Okay, share.

  So different words and phrases have come to me in a foreign language. It’s clear in my mind for a second and then gone again before I can really pick it apart. I think some are French and German, maybe even Russian.

  Russian? Whoa. Well … interesting. What could that mean? That you traveled a lot, maybe for work?

  Could be. I have seen a lot of airport scenes. And then snow, but that’s a part of snowboarding. Then I’ve been dying for some good micro brew and a Swiss mushroom steak, which doesn’t tell me anything because that’s so typically male.

  My food arrived. While eating, I got another text from Nash … and I went ahead and said he could come over that evening to hang out. It was just my luck that he was finally interested when things were so messed up for me. That might be partly why I decided to see him, to feel normal again.

  Oh, Avery. Normal is boring.

  Chapter Ten

  Halfway home, something in the engine went thump. I listened, wondering if I’d hit something, then black smoked puffed out of the edges of the hood and flew back and over the windshield.

  I pushed the brake and put on my hazards—but now what? Marcus?

  A car honked because it had to swerve around me. Jerk! I pulled off onto the shoulder, making the car jostle over the edge and wind down to a stop. I turned the key off even though it sounded like the engine had died already. Traffic zoomed by while I stared, open-mouthed, at the smoke.

  I asked Marcus, “Do you know anything about cars?”

  I know to put gas in the gas tank and get the oil changed.

  Terrific. The smoke caught up into the air and whiffed around, swirling one way and then the other. A semi-truck blared by, making wind push against the car, and more cars zoomed behind that. The clouds from earlier had cleared out, leaving a pristine blue sky that contrasted against the vibrant green hills. Out in the distance, it looked like a perfect, sunny day, until the black engine smoke got in the way.

  “What am I going to do?” I picked up my phone, wondering who to call, and scrolled through my contacts.

  No, not that doosh.

  “Screw you.” I touched Nash’s name to call him.

  Avery, dang it. Why him?

  “Hey, there,” Nash greeted, his voice sounding happier than usual. I hadn’t realized until that second just how very serious he was all the time.

  “Hi … are you doing anything right now?” I asked. “I’m sitting beside I-5 with smoke coming out of my engine. I broke down on the way back from
Medford.”

  “Are you past the first Ashland exit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, okay? I just have to drive up to the next exit and come down. Just hang tight.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  We hung up, and I ignored the mean thoughts running through Marcus’s head. (My head, actually.) Before, this would have been great. It was an excuse to call Nash and do something outside of class. We’d gotten such a slow start … I wasn’t sure what it was. In high school, you start going out and that’s that. In college, you do about the same thing, but you don’t have to sneak around behind any adults’ backs. I thought dating would be easier.

  Should be.

  “Do you have to ruin everything for me?”

  I just don’t see why you had to call him. We could have called a tow truck and taken the car into a mechanic in Medford.

  “Oh. Nice that you tell me that now. I didn’t know what to do. You said you didn’t either. So I’m sitting here kinda scared about being broken down on the freeway, and you didn’t have any ideas—”

  So call him back and say you don’t need him.

  “I do need him!” I hit the steering wheel. “You’re a flipping voice. That’s it! You can’t help me do anything. You can’t touch me. You can’t be here.”

  Relative silence. Just the traffic whipping by with a zoom, zoom, zoom and burst of wind. Another vehicle honked. What the hell? The car was all the way onto the shoulder. What did they expect me to do? You’d think someone would stop to help.

  The smoke was clearing. Maybe that was why no one stopped. But that didn’t matter. Nash was coming. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

  I’m real enough to draw pictures and play the guitar with your hands.

  I shook my head and looked out the side window. My hand lifted to my face and rested against my cheek, the way someone would hold your face while looking into your eyes.

  Feel that?

  “Yeesss.”

  Does it feel real?

  My hand moved against my face and I closed my eyes. It was my hand but I felt tenderness from Marcus, something I wouldn’t think he could feel for me in the midst of all his frustrating limitations. I saw him in front of me, except that I couldn’t picture him clearly. Just features coming through a dream fog. Warm eyes: light brown, like crystal amber. Wavy blond hair in startling contrast to his light brown eyes.