Entry 12

After a few days Scott and Ellen decided I was fully recovered. It was nice not to have them worry so much; however, their declaration of my good health was not enough to convince John. My big brother often took his responsibilities as my protector to extremes. I understood why. I was all John had; however, that did not mean it could not be annoying.

After two weeks, John stopped checking in on me during lunch or between classes. I went to marching band practice without anyone worrying I might pass out again. All was right with the world.

And yet it wasn’t. As the weeks passed I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. My delusions haunted me. I simply could not forget them or how real it had seemed. Every time I went to sleep I expected to wake up in some sort of sci-fi environment where the android story was the truth and this normal life was the delusion.

I hated myself for expecting normal life to be a lie. Could I really hate my life so much that I would rather my brother be an android than live a life without such dramatic adventure?

I tried to analyze my feelings of wrongness, but it was hard to do so by myself. I was used to talking to John about everything, but this was something I simply could not talk to him about. I did not want him to think I was still sick. I knew John. If I told him how wrong life felt and how real I thought my delusions were, he would have me in a psychiatrist’s office within the hour.

Life passed by, every day as normal as the next, except perhaps for the fact that I was continuing to understand Algebra II. My teacher continued to teach in the same fashion that John taught. It made me wonder if John had had some sort of discussion with her. John was well liked be all the teachers and held a lot of clout. If he had suggested the teacher might trying teaching in another way she might actually try it.

A month after my illness, I had an Algebra II test. I barely paid attention in French, choosing instead to skim over my notes. I had a low B in the class currently, but with the change in teaching style I was actually understand more. I was hoping to bring my grade up with my newfound understanding, but I was afraid my nerves might doom me.

French ended, and the test was only six minutes away. I walked with one of my friends to class while together trying to remember the steps of Gaussian elimination. We were reciting them back and forth to each other, not exactly paying attention to where we were going, when I literally ran into someone. I almost fell back, but a strong hand grabbed me.

“I’m sorry for knocking into you, you should pay more attention to where you are going,” a surprisingly deep voice said. The low pitch of his voice made me expect to see a large, hulking man like a professional football player or possibly Vin Diesel. However, when I looked up to see who had nearly knocked me down, I saw a tall, lean man not at all like the muscled body builder I had imagined. I stared into a pair of gorgeous dark brown eyes set in perhaps the most handsome face I had ever seen in my life. His face was framed by thick dark brown hair that fell softly into his gorgeous eyes.

“Thank you for catching me,” I managed to say, all thoughts of matrices gone from my mind. I felt foolish, staring like the star struck teenager I was at this man who was probably a teacher at the school, or possibly a substitute. He looked much too old, much too mature to be just another student. He was probably in his early twenties, an age that seemed the height of sophistication to me.

“You are Carlee Earhart?” the man asked, letting go of me. My heart jumped into my throat. He knew my name! He had probably been substituting one of John’s classes, my rational mind said, and any idiot could tell I was his sister.

“Yes,” I responded.

“I am Ven Barker,” the man said. “I’m here to rescue you.”