Free Prism by Faye Kellerman Page A

our way out. Then we saw light.”
    “We began running toward an opening,” Joy said.
    “And then we fell,” I said. “But I don’t remember hitting the ground.”
    “I didn’t hit the ground,” Joy said. “I woke up and my arm was red and sore.”
    “So where are we?” When no one answered, I said, “Everything’s the same, except it isn’t. What is it? Like a bizarro world where everything’s backwards?”
    “Nothing is backwards,” Joy said. “Everything’s the same except no one will help me with my arm. I told my mom about it and she slapped me.” Her eyes grew moist. “She said I was fine. I was really angry at her until I noticed this terrified look in her eyes…like I was going to die or something. It scared the living crap out of me. Then I told my boyfriend about it and he got angry at me and told me to shut up.” More tears. “He never talks that way to me. I was so mad at him, I told him I never wanted to see him again.”
    “So how is your arm?” I asked her.
    “If I don’t move it too much, it’s okay. Please don’t speak about it. I just want to forget about it, okay?”
    “So there is disease.” My head was throbbing, and aninferno was raging inside my stomach. “Disease exists, but no one wants to talk about it.”
    “Wait.” Zeke snapped his fingers. “You said Maria was sick. Did she go home early?”
    I tossed my hair back. “No.”
    “That’s it!” Zeke cried. “There is disease, but there’s no concept of getting sick!”
    No one said anything.
    Zeke exclaimed, “No one truly understands the meaning of illness.”
    “She did get pissed when I suggested she take a sick day,” I added.
    Joy shook her head. “No, then she wouldn’t have gotten pissed. She’d just be confused. They know what getting sick means. And both my mom and my boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend—knew what being hurt was. They just don’t want to acknowledge being sick or hurt. Like getting germs is a death sentence or something.”
    “That could be,” Zeke said. “Leslie was weird when I tried to kiss her last night. And then she looked at me like I was nuts.”
    “And that’s just making out.” Joy smashed her cigarette against my windowpane. “I could only imagine what it’s like for people who seriously hook up—if you know what I mean.”
    I knew exactly what she meant. I got up and began to walkaround my room. It was in a state of chaos. My plaid kilt was rumpled on the floor and my underwear drawer was embarrassingly open. Subtly I tried to close it with the side of my body. “So maybe people do understand sick but just don’t want to talk about it because there are no cures.”
    “That could be,” Joy said. “After my mom slapped me…I went into the kitchen cupboard to look for Advil. That’s where we keep it—or used to keep it. It was gone. Maybe we just ran out, but I wasn’t about to ask my mom about it.”
    “It could be that there’s no pills here. My medicine cabinet was missing my stuff, too.” I glanced at my bulletin board. On it were pictures of Maria and me, Iggy and Stephen. There was also a photo from last year in the hospital when Suzanne had just been born. It was of my whole family and one of my favorites. The photo was right in the middle—
    My mouth dropped open.
    “Kaida, are you all right?” Joy asked.
    I whipped my head around. I was panting.
    “Sit down,” Zeke told me. “You’re white.”
    “More like gray.” Joy pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “Are you okay?”
    I didn’t answer her. “My photo!” I smacked the wall. “It’s gone!”
    Not really physically gone, but it had morphed. We were no longer at the hospital, but at my grandmother’s house. I juststared and stared and stared. “I think I finally get this.”
    “What?” Zeke said. “Clue us in.”
    “No medicine, no hospitals, no nurses, and no doctors.”
    We sat in dazed silence.
    “People do understand sick.” I shivered. “They just don’t