In science class the following morning, Pamela had another test. This one wasn't worth as much as her math test was, but that meant nothing to her. Lewis was in her science class as well, and Lewis was an automatic A, or a B at the very least, depending on how many questions Pamela purposely got wrong.
After receiving her test sheet, Pamela scanned the questions so that she absorbed the gist of the test. If Pamela knew any of the questions, she'd fill those out first, then consult Lewis. With only three questions, none of which had answers that immediately jumped out at her, Pamela used her usual tactic to avoid anyone discovering the existence of her Looking Glass: she shielded her eyes with one or two hands, appearing deep in thought. Then she'd close her eyes, hiding the cloudy membranes her closest family members knew simply as nictitating membranes.
Upon shielding her eyes with her Looking Glass, the darkness cleared way for a different scene. The effect was surreal yet jarring; it made Pamela think of a movie with terrible editing. But the movie Pamela played wasn't the one she expected. A test should have been spread across Lewis's desk, pencil scribbling circles representing the foundations of an atom. There was no test, no desk, and Lewis—or rather, whoever this was—was staring at Pamela's English teacher as she went over the assignments the class was to be working on this morning.
Pamela didn't recognize the voice of this person's inner thoughts since she found that people think with the voice they hear themselves speak with as opposed to the one they actually speak with. Pamela found it interesting to hear how people sounded to themselves—usually another piece of trivia known but to one individual—but in this case, it was of no help.
She tried a process of elimination by crossing off the names of people in the field of vision of this person, but that left her with too many names to still go through. When the teacher told the class to get to work, this person fished their agenda book from their backpack. The backpack looked familiar, but Pamela felt no closer to learning who this was.
Their thumb flipped through the pages as though a strong gust of wind caught hold of them. When they found the page they wanted to be on, their finger browsed through the days, reading the assignments due for the week. Pamela identified with most of them, having written most down in her agenda book as well. Their finger slid over Thursday, and they thought, That's right: Lindsey's birthday is in a month. There was only one Lindsey in the school this person could have been talking about: Lindsey Jordan, a junior and Josh's girlfriend. I wonder what I should get her. This person didn't dwell on that thought for too long, perishing it with, I've got a month to figure it out.
They flipped the page, which Pamela scanned quickly for any clues, but there wasn't anything of use. She recalled the morning, if she had bumped into someone without being aware of it. Nothing she could remember. It might have happened, but Pamela was careful not to come into contact with others. When she absolutely had to avoid it, she wore long sleeves and walked with her hands in her pockets. Else, she avoided large crowds and shrunk when given no other option but to spear through a crowd,
Pamela skipped to yesterday, replaying her memories of the bus ride home, heading to her locker before hopping on the bus, and her last class of the day. Again, nothing she could remember. She couldn't remember the people she came into contact with at the beginning of the week, but her awareness was sharp when it came to knowing when people touched her. She spent the last thirteen or so years of her life calling out in her head when someone touched her, that way she'd know they were the target of her Looking Glass. To slip up like this baffled her.
She relived math class and found nothing. Until, that is, she remembered the end of class as she stood by the door. Josh was launched at her, and their arms brushed together.
Pamela rocketed out of Josh's head and returned to her own body feeling as though she had gone dumpster diving. Scrubbing her arm yesterday was one thing; scrubbing her mind, her eyes—what would she scrub?—was something else altogether.
Pamela's nails drove into her skull. She wished could rip apart her skull and remove her brain. She might not be able to clean the mental part of her brain, that which came into contact with Josh, but she might feel better that she cleaned something. It might cast the reminder away; it played like a broken record blaring at Pamela again and again whose mind she was in a moment ago: Josh, Josh, Josh. She started reading the first problem's paragraph for the test to distract her, but she didn't finish the first sentence before the record blared again. She gripped her pencil in her hand the same she might a stress ball. With the force she gave the pencil, she thought she was liable to snap it in two.
You're being irrational. Calm down. Deep breaths. One, two. One, two, Pamela told herself, breathing in on her counts. She liked to think that her breathing exercise helped, but she believed she was being optimistic. She restarted the first problem. The record loomed in her head, but Pamela tried to usher it towards the rear of her head, into some dark corner where it may stay forever. But Pamela wasn't able to shackle or cage it, and it blared its message again before Pamela finished the paragraph.
Pamela tried to outperform the record with a soundtrack of her remorse: remorse that her Looking Glass's ability was so limited; that she was nothing more than a passive observer; that she couldn't control Josh's actions and have him punch the biggest guy in class or bury his face in the chest of the nearest female. Then she would have dealt with Josh long ago, and she wouldn't be in this situation right now.
The record spoke to her, told her that she saw what Josh saw, heard what he thought. How he doesn't checkmark completed assignments the way she does. How he realized Lindsey's birthday is next month. How he doesn't know what to get her. How—
Then like that, an idea sprouted, and Pamela covered her mouth so that nobody could see the wicked smile her lips twisted into. She wanted to make sure that on the day of Lindsey's birthday, she would receive a present she'd never forget. And Josh would receive a gift in return in the form of his just desserts.538Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzD61FSYnpH
