he asks.
I nod.
“Bad, right? Possibly the worst you’ve ever had?”
I look up into his piercing gaze. “How did you know that?”
He smiles. He has nice teeth, a little crooked, but appealing. “You should go home before it gets worse. You probably won’t make it through the day in your condition.”
“My condition? It’s just a headache. I need more painkillers, that’s all.”
“Painkillers won’t help.” He lowers his voice a little and says, “Go home. You need to be somewhere safe.”
“Safe from what?” I’m leaning away from him now; I can’t seem to stop myself. He’s so strange, and the fact that he’s taking a sudden interest in me has me worried.
He doesn’t answer. He looks away, then turns back to me, his brow furrowed. “Your friend’s coming back. Just go home, Conyza. OK?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He slinks off into the shadows just as Lebz returns, clutching a bottle of water and a fistful of pills.
Lebz opens her fist. “Brufen,” she declares proudly.
I wrinkle my nose at the pink tablets, but my mind is focused on wondering how Lizard knows my name.
Lebz clicks her tongue in annoyance, grabs my chin in her hand and yanks me forward. “Open up.”
I open my mouth like a good girl and let her drop a tablet onto my tongue, then I take a big swig of the water and swallow. Usually the psychological effect of medication kicks in instantly, but not this time. If anything, the headache seems to worsen. It must be pissed off by my attempted rebellion.
“Oh, crap!” I groan, putting my head between my raised knees. “I can’t take it any more.”
“Connie?” Lebz’s voice sounds strangely distant. “Oh, no. Connie!”
When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the bed in the sick bay, staring at the paint peeling off the ceiling. I try to lift my head and someone starts playing drums in my skull.
“Connie?” It’s Lebz. “Are you feeling better?”
“No. What happened?”
“You fainted.”
I turn very slowly to stare at her. “Fainted?” Nonsense. I don’t faint. I’m not a fainter. “Oh, my head! Give me some pills, please!”
“OK, I’m taking you home,” she declares firmly. “Come on; can you get up?”
I sit up, fighting through the pain, and let her lead me to the door. We have just opened it when the nurse comes rushing down the corridor.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“She’s getting worse,” says Lebz. “I’m going to take her home; it’s not far.”
“You think she can walk?”
“Yes, yes!” I mutter, desperate to get into my own bed.
“OK,” the nurse replies uncertainly. “I’ll write her a note and you can collect it for her when you come back.”
The next several minutes pass in a haze. Somehow we make it back to my house, and I end up collapsing on the sofa. Lebz says something about tea, but I’m not quite sure what happens next because I fall asleep. When I wake up, it’s already getting dark outside and my father is sitting in the armchair across the room.
“Connie! Thank God!” He jumps up and comes to kneel at my side, peering anxiously into my face. “How do you feel?”
I sit up and look at him. “Hungry.” That Brufen has finally kicked in. The headache is gone. It’s a little strange actually, because now my head is clearer than ever, as if the headache never happened. But I’m used to strange occurrences so I brush it aside, kiss my dad on the cheek and get up to make some dinner. “I hate Thursdays,” I mutter. “Thank goodness it’s over.”
“Today’s Wednesday, Connie, not Thursday,” Dad says cautiously. “Maybe you need to lie down a while longer.”
What? I swivel round to face him. “But… my headache!” I sputter in disbelief. From the moment I got up, the day had Thursday written all over it. How can today be Wednesday? I like Wednesdays. They’re good to me.
“Connie, let me make dinner,” Dad suggests, pushing me back onto the sofa. “You just stay here, OK?”
I should stop him because we both know no one can stomach his cooking, but I’m in shock. It’s not Thursday! For a second I’m relieved. Maybe all the bad Thursdays were just a coincidence. Maybe it was self-fulfilling prophecy. Or maybe…. My relief disintegrates. Maybe the headache was just a prelude. Maybe tomorrow is when the real trouble will begin. Ouch. I think I need another painkiller.
Chapter Two
I wake up the next morning feeling rather bizarre. My head is fine, but it’s buzzing with thoughts and I can’t seem to keep it still. I need to speak to Black Lizard, and soon. I need to understand how he knew what was going on with me.
But I can’t just go up to the guy and ask him. I need to take my time and plan my attack very carefully. I text Lebz to meet me at school so I can stop by the library before registration. I’ll hang around for a few minutes and see if Lizard turns up.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” my father asks, frowning down at me as he rummages in his pocket. “Where the devil are those blasted keys? God, I hope she’s not getting sick, I’m lousy with illness… Her mother was the one who was good at these things. Where are those bloody – ah!” He locates the keys and pulls them out.
I look up from my breakfast in surprise. It’s not like him to be so vocal. “Dad, don’t worry. It was just a headache. Probably all the stress from that Business Studies test I wrote on Tuesday.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles doubtfully. “Take it easy today, OK? And call me if anything happens.”
I nod. “And you’re not lousy with illness, Dad,” I add softly. “You’re great.”
He gives me an odd look and backs towards the front door. “Um, thanks darling. OK… see you later.” He stumbles out of the house. Through the window I catch him looking back at the house with a bewildered expression on his face.
I wave, and as soon as his red Volvo disappears round the corner I jump into high gear. There was something about the way Lizard spoke yesterday that made me certain he knows more about me than he’s letting on. It’s almost as if he expected me to have that headache. The thought scares and intrigues me. If there’s something weird going on here I’d love to know what it is, and Lizard, like it or not, is the person who can tell me.
I wash the breakfast dishes, pack my bag and lock up, leaving the key under the doormat for Auntie Lydia. It’s already bright outside although it’s barely six-thirty. I pass a couple of kids from school and since
