Read Online The Night House by Rachel Tafoya - Free Book Online Page A

It’s really delicate, and often it breaks and then I have to start over.
    But this time, when I visualize the thread, I feel it like one of my own veins is leading me to the girl by blood. I know exactly where she is because I feel her pulling on the thread like she’s feeding off me.
    I don’t even notice that I’m running until Shiloh and Ally catch up to me, panting.
    “Dude, calm down!” Shiloh barks at me. “I am not on the track team.”
    South Street Diner’s pale light spills onto the streets, illuminating a girl standing on the sidewalk, talking to herself. Clothes too tight and a hunger so strong it makes my veins hurt. It’s her.
    “Stay here,” I tell Shiloh and Ally.
    I’m a block away from her when she starts to run. She’s running at me. I throw my arms up to slow her down, but she doesn’t see me. My mind is telling me to get out of the way, but my body is slower than ever. So when she bumps into me with her frail body and aching bones, I fall straight on the ground.
    The street spins around me. I’m on a carnival ride, and I have nothing to hold onto.
    When my vision settles, I get back on my feet. “Are you okay?”
    She stands there, silent, huge green eyes trying to focus on me. I move one foot an inch forward, trying to get my balance back. She moves hers backward, preparing to run.
    I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t say a word. She’s so freaked; I start to doubt my own intentions. I shouldn’t have come. She doesn’t need me. She just needs to go home. I have to pull myself back and find my own head again.
    “You,” she says.
    “I’m sorry.” The words stumble out of me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    Fear weaves through her whole body. She lives on that fear. But there is something else, something that she’s been dying to feel. It’s so insignificant in comparison to the rest of her emotions, but it’s a spark waiting to ignite a fire. She hopes this isn’t a coincidence.
    She whispers, “How did you find me?”
    I’m not sure how to answer this question. “I felt you.”
    The expression on her face is indescribable, but what she feels is shock. Confusion. Terror. One of her eyebrows quirks up. “You felt me?”
    I blurt out, “Can we talk?”
    “Who are you?” she asks.
    “You don’t recognize me?” I’m a little disheartened that she hasn’t signified that she understands what I can do. This might have been a really bad idea.
    “I know your face. I don’t know anything about you.” She crosses her arms, trying to protect herself. “Do you know me ?”
    “No. Not really. I know you were in trouble. And you…kissed me,” I add quietly.
    Her face enflames. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t myself.”
    “You don’t have to apologize.” I laugh a little. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
    “I’m fine,” she answers. “Thank you. I need to go.”
    “Oh I, um…” What do I say to make her talk to me? I feel ridiculous. There are people walking by us and cars driving by. It’s hard to think about normal people just living around us. My hand is extended toward her, hanging in the air. I can feel her waiting for me, to see what I’ll do.
    “Please take care of yourself,” I say.
    She stares at me, a little relieved, a little disappointed. Yeah, me too.
    “Goodbye,” she says and turns away.
    I blew it.
    As she gets farther away, so does her mind. I don’t even realize what’s happening at first. Slowly, my mind closes up and I feel lighter. By the time I realize that the connection has been broken, the girl is long gone. Suddenly the only scars I feel are my own.

Bianca
     
    I wasn’t supposed to live past age thirteen.
    It wasn’t a disease or a condition or anything like that. It was my parents.
    To the outside world, my parents were teachers at Bucks County Community College. I knew what they really did, but we didn’t often speak about it. I imagined it was the same for kids whose parents were involved with the military