WATER(3)
895 Words
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Monica paced her room in her bathrobe, wet hair dripping onto the floor. Her heart hammered as she jabbed at Annalise’s contact.
“Pick up, pick up…” she whispered, breath uneven.
The line clicked.
“Monica?” Annalise’s voice came through, quick and breathless, like she’d been running.
Monica gripped the phone tighter. “We need to meet. Now.”
There was a pause, then Annalise’s tone dropped, low and shaky.
“You… you saw it too, didn’t you?”
Monica’s stomach twisted. “Oh my God. You saw it too?”
“I—I don’t even know what I saw,” Annalise admitted. “But it didn’t feel… normal.”
Monica dragged a hand through her damp hair, pacing faster. “Do you think the others noticed?”
The silence on the other end stretched.
_____
Mr. White arrived with Dr. Kenley, their longtime family doctor, striding quickly into Clara’s room.
Mrs. White was seated at her daughter’s bedside, her fingers brushing over Clara’s limp hand.
“She’s been in and out,” Mrs. White said in a rush, her voice tight. “When she stirs, all she says is… ‘My feet.’ Over and over.”
Dr. Kenley set his kit down and leaned over Clara, his movements calm but practiced. “Let’s take a look.”
He checked her pulse, then her breathing, before shining a small light into her eyes.
“No fever,” he said softly, more to himself than to them. “Pulse is fast but steady. Reflexes are normal.” He gently flexed her ankles, then pressed along her calves. “No swelling. No sign of injury.”
Mrs. White’s hands gripped the edge of the blanket. “Then what made her faint like that?”
Dr. Kenley glanced at her, his expression unreadable but steady. “Exhaustion. Possibly stress. Sometimes the body gives out without warning.” He hesitated a beat before continuing. “For now, she needs rest. I’ll leave a mild sedative. If she doesn’t return to herself by morning, I’ll want to see her at the clinic for a full work-up.”
Clara stirred faintly, whispering again: “Feet…” Her tone cracked like she was caught between dream and waking.
Mrs. White leaned closer, brushing damp strands of hair from her daughter’s temple. Her heart squeezed at the sight of Clara’s pale face.
Dr. Kenley straightened, gathering his kit. “Stay with her tonight. If anything changes, if she becomes confused, doesn’t wake, or the fainting repeats, call me immediately.”
As the doctor left, Mr. White lingered at the door, his jaw tight.
Mrs. White remained seated, eyes fixed on Clara, her hand never leaving her daughter’s.
_____
Monica’s phone buzzed.
A single message lit up the Chitchat group:
Beyoncé: Urgent. We need to meet.
Monica’s stomach dropped. She didn’t need details to know this wasn’t about school or gossip.
Moments later, the others replied:
Elina: Where?
Miranda: We really need to meet.
Annalise: When?
Monica typed quickly:
Monica: Let's all meet at 10:00 AM. Lightwood Café.
She set her phone down, her pulse racing.
If Beyoncé thought it was urgent, then it meant only one thing.
They had all seen it.
____
Miranda paced her room, restless energy buzzing in her chest. Thankfully, her father had already left for work.
She stepped into the living room where her mother was sorting through a stack of mail.
“Mom?” Miranda’s voice wavered slightly.
Her mother looked up, immediately noticing the tension in her daughter’s face. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Miranda hesitated, twisting the hem of her sleeve. “I… need to go meet the girls. It’s important.”
Her mother studied her carefully, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Important how? Miranda… is something wrong?”
Miranda swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t explain right now. Please, Mom. I just really need to go.”
Silence hung between them for a moment before her mother sighed, her expression softening. “Alright. But you must be back before your father. You know how he gets.”
Relief swept over Miranda. “Thank you, Mom!” she said quickly, and went back to her room.
Miranda sat on the edge of her bed, twisting her phone in her hands. She’d gotten permission to go out, but something gnawed at her.
Clara.
Miranda’s chest tightened. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt the sudden urge to hear her voice, to know she was okay. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed call.
The phone rang twice before someone answered.
“Um… is this Clara’s phone?” Miranda asked carefully.
“This is her mother. Who’s speaking?”
“Miranda. I’m… one of Clara’s friends.”
Mrs. White’s tone softened. “Oh, Miranda. Hello, dear.”
“Is Clara there?”
A small pause. “She’s resting. She’s not feeling well today.”
Miranda’s chest tightened. “Oh… I see. Could you… tell her I called?”
“Of course. She’ll be glad to know her friends are thinking of her,” Mrs. White said warmly.
“Thank you, Mrs. White.”
“Take care, dear.”
Miranda hung up, the unease in her stomach only growing stronger.
Miranda ended the call, staring at her screen. That unease hadn’t gone away.
- Writer
