I blinked, startled out of my sobs as I struggled to see what the object was through my fuzzy vision. It was a bag of chocolates. I looked up at the boy, feeling confused.
He sighed again. “Eat some. And don’t say one more word until you’ve had at least five of them.” He folded his arms in front of himself, as if he would bully that chocolate down me if he had to. Too tired to argue, I opened the bag and unwrapped a candy. I didn’t see how it would help anything – chocolate wouldn’t make my visions go away – but I did want this boy to get off my case so that I could sulk.
Amazingly, my mood began to perk almost instantly, and I found I could breathe. By the third candy, I was thinking more clearly. I didn’t know for sure the boy was dead in my vision, and I knew the injury I saw could be prevented – it’s logically impossible to set the future in stone, and therefore impossible to have unshakable visions.
As I ate the fourth chocolate, I realized blaming myself for my mother’s drinking problems was silly – I didn’t make her cruel – she did that to herself. There was no reason I shouldn’t be happy right now. I practically had a boyfriend all of the sudden, and I was safely out of angry high-schooler reach.
I was half way through my fifth candy when I finally realized why the boy had insisted I eat at least five – by now I was starting to get too giddy to remember what sad felt like, and if I ate any more of the things I wouldn’t be able to think at all. This boy was crafty, and normally I’d be mad, but now it made me giggle.