Chapter 22

JEROME DIDN’T FORGET. OF COURSE HE DIDN’T FORGET. I saw an invisible woman and ran away from class. No one forgets that. And then I’d hidden myself away for the rest of the day, which didn’t help.

When I walked into breakfast the next morning, I saw him sitting with Andrew. He raised his head when he saw me come in and nodded. Boo and I got into line. She filled up a plate with a full English—eggs, bacon, fried bread, mushrooms, tomatoes. Like me, she could put it away. That morning, though, I had no appetite. I took some toast.

“No sausage?” the lady behind the counter said. “Feeling ill?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Don’t worry so much,” Boo said.

We took our seats, sitting on the opposite side of the table from Jerome and Andrew. They’d left space for us, as normal.

“Hi,” I said.

Jerome looked over at me from the remains of his breakfast.

“No sausage?” he asked.

Apparently my pork consumption habits were a matter of public record. Boo dropped down next to me, her spoon bouncing off her tray and clanking to the floor.

“Rory here,” she said. “Sick all night. Crazy fever. Babbling her head off about ponies.”

“Fever?” This caught Jerome’s attention. “You were ill yesterday?”

“Mmmm,” I said, glancing over at Boo.

“Babbling and babbling, like a babbling thing,” Boo went on. “Madness. Wouldn’t shut up.”

“Have you been to the nurse?” Jerome asked.

“Mmmm?” I said.

“She’s really fine,” Boo said. “Probably some period thing. I go completely mental too. Period fever. It’s the worst.”

This effectively killed all conversation for a while. Boo charged right on, telling us a very long story about how her friend Angela was getting cheated on by her boyfriend, Dave. No one tried to interrupt her. I just got through my toast as quickly as I could and excused myself. Boo was right behind me.

“Fixed that,” she said.

“You told him I had period fever,” I replied. “There’s no such thing as period fever.”

“No such thing as ghosts either.”

“No, there is really no such thing as period fever. There’s a difference between being a guy and being an idiot.”

“Let’s get your essay,” she said, looping her arm through mine.

Boo waltzed me into the library, and I allowed myself to be waltzed. Alistair was tucked into a deep corner in the extremely unpopular microfilm section, behind a machine. Boo had provided him with a tiny iPod, and he was listening to something, eyes closed. I guess the earphones didn’t stay in his ears because he didn’t really have ears, but he managed to hold them up. The music flowed out of them into the air. As we came up, he opened his eyes slowly.