And I Love Food

                                    

                                          
I didn't speak much I was with George and his siblings. In fact, I curled up on my bed as soon as I got home. It wasn't a surprise when I heard Peter and George talk to Faith about me. I couldn't hear them well because they were in the boys' room, but I heard a little.
                          
"What happened?" George asked Faith.
                          
"We have different believes on things—that's all. She's just being a teenager."
                          
Being a teenager, my butt! I shouted to her through my mind. I turned on the television and flipped through channels. I came across some old—I guess new at the time—wild west show. I turned the volume up so I could drown out their talking. I think it worked for the most part.
                          
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I didn't leave the motel for three days. I rarely ate. I slept and watched TV for the most part. Faith was only in our room to sleep and get ready, but she stayed with George the whole time.
                          
The door opened, but I didn't move. I focused on the wall until I wrinkled my nose and smelled the air. It smelled like greased. I turned around. George held up a bag that was greasy on the bottom. He sat down on Faith's bed beside mine. I took the bag.
                          
"A cheeseburger?" I asked.
                          
"And fries," he added. "I figured you'd want them."
                          
I smiled at him and took the bag. There were two burgers and two fries. I bit into one burger and then the second one right after.
                          
"One of those was meant for me," George said, looking sad.
                          
"I'm a teenage girl who hasn't eaten much in three days. I'm going to eat two burgers." A thought dawned on me as I ate. "Did Faith put you up to this? To get me to eat?"
                          
George shook his head. "We're all worried about you, Tessa. Faith is too, though, she's not saying it. You haven't eaten in three days—"
                          
"That's not true. I've had small stuff everyday."
                          
"—and you haven't left the motel. You're being too quiet. We can all see this."
                          
I swallowed a fry. "Look, I'm flattered that you care and all, but I'm fine for now. What happened Wednesday morning happened because I couldn't help it. I ran out on you because of the futurey and did a bad thing. I get that."
                          
"What is a 'futurey?' Is it something from the future?"
                          
I was actually shocked by his question. I thought Faith would have told him. "It's not from the future. You see, back in my present, I had these . . . visions. I call them pasties. They showed me the past. Well, they showed you—The Beatles. I had one right before we came to the past.
                          
"Well. Ever since I've been in your present, I've been seeing these visions that show the future. Well, objects from the future, never people. I call those futuries. Futuries are more complex. I've had more stuff happen. Like, I've passed out or blanked out from them. Pasties just gave me really powerful headaches.
                          
"But I am not going crazy, and I do not need to see a doctor. I've got this handled." I added the last part because George had a look of worry on his face. It didn't go away, though.
                          
"Are you sure?" he asked.
                          
"Are asking to the crazy part or seeing a doctor? Because I've got two different answers and don't want to say the wrong answer to the wrong question."