I lean forward and squint, unable to tell whether I see a hand resting on the steering wheel through the windshield. I try to make out what’s inside the car, if anything. As I do, a figure in the driver’s seat jerks forward.

I jump back. The blinds clang against the glass as I run to my bed. I yank the covers over my head and try to shake the burning image of two eyes glowing beneath the streetlights, glaring back at me.

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I massage my temples, trying to stop the throbbing, like it’s possible in a lunchroom packed with five hundred juniors.

If my mom had any idea my head hurt this badly, she’d insist I go home. But after spending two days tethered to my neb under her scrutiny, this is a welcome relief. Between her hovering and the reporters surrounding our house, I was itching to escape. Without distractions, I was too easily consumed by everything that happened on the pier, including the fact I had nothing to show for it. No evidence to put Lip Spikes behind bars and stop the Swarm from striking again.

My mom must have recognized my restlessness. When I told her I wanted to go to school today, she didn’t exactly approve. But she didn’t argue either. Doubtless it’s because of what happened two years ago, how bad things got when my catastrophic thinking turned into hallucinations. Instead of anticipating the worst-case scenarios wherever I went, scenes would play out in my head so vividly that they felt real—especially my dad’s attack. I couldn’t stop imagining it as if it were happening to me. Dr. What’s-His-Name convinced my mom that I belonged at Compass Health Center. He said I’d continue to plummet without more support. But before she could register me for their Intensive Therapeutic Outpatient Program, I started getting better on my own. Proving Dr. What’s-His-Name wrong became all the motivation I needed to control my spiraling. I became stronger. Empowered. Smart enough to figure out how to keep it all in check. Even now, with the Swarm threatening to stab me, sideswipe me, or toss me into the Chicago River, I’m not crippled by fear like I might have once been. If they expected to scare me into submission, they failed—an epiphany that came to me late last night after I figured out my next possible lead.