Read Online Tunnel Vision by Susan Adrian - Free Book Online

skiing, he says. And visit. Just me.”
    She purses her lips up. “Well, he’s always been an odd bird, but it sounds like fun. It looks like I might be in Chicago next weekend, but I suppose you can go, if you don’t have anything else on. If we like her okay, Mrs. Delgado will be here to stay with Myka.” She perks up, gives me a wide smile. “See? It’s working out already.”
    Mrs. Delgado, huh? I’m reserving judgment on how well that’s going to work out until I see her for myself on Monday.
    Crud. That’s tomorrow. Plus school. Plus whatever else DARPA may bring.
    Maybe it isn’t too late to go back to bed.

 
    8
    “Eye on You” by Rocket from the Crypt and Holly Golightly
    I’m late. Even after crashing most of Sunday, I still slept through my alarm. Almost twenty-four hours of sleep is apparently not enough after a marathon tunneling session plus headache plus experimental drug plus stress. The morning is a blur of shouting and throwing things: throwing clothes on, throwing my books in my backpack, throwing some food in my mouth. Nice and relaxing.
    I manage to get Myk to her school on time, barely, but then I still have to make it back across town to VHS in Monday morning traffic. It’s ugly.
    It’s fifteen minutes past the bell when I push into Mr. Vargas’s class and stumble to my seat, muttering an apology. Then I pull out my calculus books, notebook, and figure out what the hell we’re working on today.
    So it’s a few minutes before I realize that Eric Proctor is sitting next to me, head down, writing the problem from the board.
    There’s no doubt. It’s him, red hair and freckles and all, wearing a black sweatshirt and jeans instead of his DARPA white coat and badge. My first thought is that I’m right: he does look my age. He fits right in here.
    All the next thoughts are four-letter words.
    I lean over, pretending to dig in my backpack, and whisper to him. “What are you doing here?”
    He glances at me. “I’m sorry?” His lips hardly move.
    “What the hell are you doing here, Eric?”
    He shrugs, shakes his head, and drops right back into working on the problems, paying attention to Mr. Vargas.
    It is Eric, isn’t it?
    I sit up, bang my knee on the desk, and swear under my breath. A few people laugh. Mr. Vargas shoots me a look, but I look straight back at him until he goes back to his talk.
    It’s him. He’s pretending he doesn’t know me, but it has to be him. I can’t believe it. My house and my school. They’re invading every part of my life. What am I supposed to do? Play along? Pretend like I don’t know him either?
    I did make the deal. But somehow I thought “we’ll post security for you” meant there’d be … oh, security guards following me around at a good distance. Cars tailing me. Not strangers intertwining themselves into my school and my home.
    They really are going to follow me everywhere. I can’t hide from them, escape them. I am completely and utterly screwed.
    When the bell rings Eric goes to talk to Mr. Vargas, not acknowledging me at all. I wait for a couple minutes, but it gets too stalkery and awkward and I have to leave for world history.
    I’m sitting by Chris, trying to straighten my brain out enough for a halfway normal conversation about Operation Massive Lies part 3, the imaginary ski trip I had with my family on Saturday, when Eric comes in and heads straight for Mrs. Skinner, a slip of paper in his hand. He’s in this class too.
    She nods, white curls bouncing, eyes crinkling. Mrs. Skinner is ancient—the joke is that she teaches history because she’s lived through it all. It’s not a very good joke. It’s still my favorite class, favorite subject.
    My major when I get to Stanford. Remember that too, Jake. This deal’s not all bad.
    “Class,” she croaks. “Please welcome a new transfer student, Ed Hanson. Ed, I believe there’s a seat there at the back.”
    Eric nods to the room and threads his way through legs to the