Read Online Gallagher Girls 5 - Out of Sight, Out of Time by Ally Carter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ally Carter
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
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are…together.”
Okay, just to summarize, I had amnesia, a concussion, a knot on my head the size of a golf ball, half a semester’s worth of work to make up, senior pictures to take, and an international terrorist organization that may or may not have still been after me at that moment. And yet, all I could say was, “He spent the summer with her family because…well…I guess he probably didn’t have any place to go. He spent the summer with her,” I said again, more for my benefit than Dr. Steve’s.
“I know,” Dr. Steve said. “I was a part of that decision.”
“You were?”
“Do you think that was a mistake?” Dr. Steve asked.
“No.” I shook my head and remembered that I had been the one to run away from home. But Zach…Zach didn’t have a home to run to. Or from. “I’m glad he had someplace to go. It’s just…he spent all summer with her family.” Outside, Bex was sitting on Zach’s ankles while he did sit-ups. With his shirt off. I felt my heart sink.
“I think I lost him,” I said, and just then I realized that wasn’t the half of it. “And her. I think I’ve lost them.” Then I felt exhausted and turned from the window. I sank down into the chair and admitted, “But I guess they lost me first.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Dr. Steve asked.
“Like maybe I had it coming.”
“Do you think your friends are punishing you?”
“I ran away. I did something…stupid.”
“Was it stupid?” Dr. Steve asked. It was the first time anyone—especially an adult—had said anything of the sort. “You must not have thought so at the time.”
“No,” I said, tugging at the memory. “It wasn’t stupid. I was just…desperate. He said it first, you know—about leaving. About going away to try to find answers. Zach said it first.”
“But you didn’t take him with you,” Dr. Steve said, and I shook my head.
“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“And yet you got hurt.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I leaned back in my chair. I wanted to close my eyes and curl up into a ball, sleep until my memory returned, but I knew that wasn’t an option.
“That’s a pretty tune,” Dr. Steve told me, and I bolted upright.
“What?” I asked.
“That song you were humming. I like it.”
“I wasn’t humming,” I said, but Dr. Steve looked at me as if I were crazy (a fact made far scarier because it might very well have been his professional opinion).
Then he shook his head and said, “I guess not. That must have been my mistake.” He closed a notebook I didn’t even realize he’d picked up, screwed the cap on to a really nice pen, and placed it in his pocket, then rose from the leather couch. “Very well. I think that’s enough for today. It’s getting late.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, turning to the window, but the bright sky was dimmer. Dusk had come and I hadn’t even known it.
“This time of year the days start getting much shorter, Cammie. I imagine—like the trees—that’s something that would sneak up on you. And you slept for a long time.”
“Oh,” I said, standing. “Right.”
“It will get better, Cammie,” Dr. Steve said, stopping me in the door. “You’ll get some rest and some space, and eventually it will get better.”
I don’t know if it was all that talking, or the studying, or maybe the crash course that Courtney Bauer agreed to put me through in the P&E barn, but that night, going to sleep totally wasn’t a problem. I mean, I’m fairly sure I managed to put on pajamas and brush my teeth, but I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow before I was one hundred percent out of it.
And dreaming.
There are a lot of kinds of dreams. Liz and her books about the brain have told me that much is true. There are “it’s finals week and I just remembered a class I haven’t been to all semester” dreams. Then there are “my friends and I are the stars of a popular sitcom” dreams. And, of
Okay, just to summarize, I had amnesia, a concussion, a knot on my head the size of a golf ball, half a semester’s worth of work to make up, senior pictures to take, and an international terrorist organization that may or may not have still been after me at that moment. And yet, all I could say was, “He spent the summer with her family because…well…I guess he probably didn’t have any place to go. He spent the summer with her,” I said again, more for my benefit than Dr. Steve’s.
“I know,” Dr. Steve said. “I was a part of that decision.”
“You were?”
“Do you think that was a mistake?” Dr. Steve asked.
“No.” I shook my head and remembered that I had been the one to run away from home. But Zach…Zach didn’t have a home to run to. Or from. “I’m glad he had someplace to go. It’s just…he spent all summer with her family.” Outside, Bex was sitting on Zach’s ankles while he did sit-ups. With his shirt off. I felt my heart sink.
“I think I lost him,” I said, and just then I realized that wasn’t the half of it. “And her. I think I’ve lost them.” Then I felt exhausted and turned from the window. I sank down into the chair and admitted, “But I guess they lost me first.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Dr. Steve asked.
“Like maybe I had it coming.”
“Do you think your friends are punishing you?”
“I ran away. I did something…stupid.”
“Was it stupid?” Dr. Steve asked. It was the first time anyone—especially an adult—had said anything of the sort. “You must not have thought so at the time.”
“No,” I said, tugging at the memory. “It wasn’t stupid. I was just…desperate. He said it first, you know—about leaving. About going away to try to find answers. Zach said it first.”
“But you didn’t take him with you,” Dr. Steve said, and I shook my head.
“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“And yet you got hurt.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I leaned back in my chair. I wanted to close my eyes and curl up into a ball, sleep until my memory returned, but I knew that wasn’t an option.
“That’s a pretty tune,” Dr. Steve told me, and I bolted upright.
“What?” I asked.
“That song you were humming. I like it.”
“I wasn’t humming,” I said, but Dr. Steve looked at me as if I were crazy (a fact made far scarier because it might very well have been his professional opinion).
Then he shook his head and said, “I guess not. That must have been my mistake.” He closed a notebook I didn’t even realize he’d picked up, screwed the cap on to a really nice pen, and placed it in his pocket, then rose from the leather couch. “Very well. I think that’s enough for today. It’s getting late.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, turning to the window, but the bright sky was dimmer. Dusk had come and I hadn’t even known it.
“This time of year the days start getting much shorter, Cammie. I imagine—like the trees—that’s something that would sneak up on you. And you slept for a long time.”
“Oh,” I said, standing. “Right.”
“It will get better, Cammie,” Dr. Steve said, stopping me in the door. “You’ll get some rest and some space, and eventually it will get better.”
I don’t know if it was all that talking, or the studying, or maybe the crash course that Courtney Bauer agreed to put me through in the P&E barn, but that night, going to sleep totally wasn’t a problem. I mean, I’m fairly sure I managed to put on pajamas and brush my teeth, but I don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow before I was one hundred percent out of it.
And dreaming.
There are a lot of kinds of dreams. Liz and her books about the brain have told me that much is true. There are “it’s finals week and I just remembered a class I haven’t been to all semester” dreams. Then there are “my friends and I are the stars of a popular sitcom” dreams. And, of
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