Page 238 of Fame & Rhythm

A strange image flashes in my head, bright colors, something unreal, and a giggle slips out before I can stop it.

“Annie, are you okay?” Dad’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with panic.

It takes me a second to remember he’s not actually here.

He’s on the phone, somewhere far away.

I blink slowly, trying to focus on the concrete floor swimming beneath my feet before my gaze drifts lazily back to my hand, still taped awkwardly to the arm of the chair.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, the words slurring together as a smile I don’t remember choosing stretches across my face. “Actually…” I let out a soft laugh. “I feel… really good.” Another giggle bubbles out of nowhere. “Everything’s kinda…” I squint, searching for the right word before giving up. “… floaty.” My head tips back against the chair. “My thumb doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

The silence on the other end of the line lasts barely a heartbeat.

“What did she do to your thumb?” Dad demands, his voice suddenly harder, tighter.

My eyes drift back to my hand as though I’m seeing it for the first time.

It looks… funny.

Crooked.

I frown.

Why does it look like that?

Without thinking, I give it an experimental wiggle. Agony tears through my hand with enough force to rip the breath from my lungs. Every nerve ending explodes at once.

The haze evaporates for one blinding second, replaced by pure, white-hot pain that shoots from the base of my thumb all the way to my shoulder. A strangled cry escapes before I can stop it, my body jerking violently against the ropes binding me to the chair, and fresh tears sting my eyes.

“Annie!” Dad shouts, his voice cracking with helplessness.

Loretta laughs. “Fifteen minutes, Colter,” she says. “No cops. Or her blood’s on you.” She ends the call. “How are you feeling?” she asks, watching me closely. “You’re floating, aren’t you?”

Something flutters near my face. A small bluebird lands on my shoulder, chirping softly. I giggle, tilting my head, brushing my cheek against it.

“That’s a yes,” she mutters. “Come on.”

She unties my ankles and hauls me to my feet.

The world tilts.

I sway, but she grabs my arm, steadying me.

“Walk.”

Each step feels wrong, like I’m sinking into something soft. I look down—

Purple.

Liquid.

It rises up my legs like silk, smooth and warm, and I laugh softly. We reach the stairs. Climbing them is clumsy with my hands tied, but Loretta shoves and drags until we make it to the top. She unlocks the door and pushes me outside.

The air feels strange. Too bright.

The bird flutters around me again.

“In,” she orders, opening the car door. I drop into the seat awkwardly, my hands still bound. It’s uncomfortable, but I don’t care. The purple is still there, still moving.