The store was not busy tonight.
Customers wandered in and out, solitary dancers to the muzak that floated down the aisles. Cady watched them with unfocused eyes - her job didn't take a lot of concentration.
"Good evening, ma'am, do you have Flybuys?" Hands moved automatically, packing groceries into plastic bags with unconscious precision. "That will be $11.90, thank you, have a good night. Good evening, sir, do you have Flybuys?"
Her eyes focussed with a snap - he hadn't handed over a card.
"Sir?"
There weren't any groceries on the counter, either.
"Sir?"
The man's face was unremarkable, the kind of face that had passed her a hundred times that night, forgotten before they reached the door. But, his eyes - they were remarkable, a golden brown that drank in the light and glinted hypnotically.
"Arcadia," He said, "Wake up."

-

"Good evening, sir, do you have Fly-" Cady's mouth gaped for a moment, and embarrassment burnt her cheeks. She was on the wrong side of the counter - the cashier looked amused.
"Don't worry, love." He said kindly, "I understand."
Still blushing she paid for her lunch, then carried the tray through the cafeteria to where her friends sat.
"Did you hear, there's a new maths teacher," Amy announced. Her silky hair slipped over her shoulder as she leaned forward, the ends hanging just out of her soup. "He starts today."
"You'll have to tell us all about him." Meg attacked her salad with a plastic fork and Cady frowned inside, wishing her friend wasn't so concerned with her weight.
"I'm sure he'll be boring," Cady replied lightly, "Maths teachers always are."
The words sounded right - her friends laughed and nodded and moved onto another topic - but they didn't feel right. Cady's head felt stuffed with cotton wool. Sounds were slightly muffled, colours slightly dimmer; the conversation felt pointless and inane.
"Excuse me, can we help you?" Amy said suddenly, looking at someone over Cady's shoulder. She turned, and saw a stranger. He was too old to be a student, and too unfamiliar to be anyone else but the new teacher.
"Did you want something, sir?"
"Arcadia," He said, and when she looked into his eyes she felt a tingle of deja vu. "Wake up."

-

"Did you want something, sir?"
"Yes, Miss Jones, the answer will suffice."
Cady's cheeks burned as her classmates laughed. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was meant to be sitting, not standing, and why was she thinking about soup? Her eyes scanned the whiteboard frantically, and she wished she was better at fractions.
"Uh - x equals seven fifths?" She hazarded.
"Sit down, Miss Jones," The teacher sighed, and did not continue until she was seated. "Another volunteer, please, to show me where Miss Jones went wrong."
Cady sank low into her seat, wishing she could disappear, and someone dropped a note into her hands. She opened it carefully, on her lap where the desk hid it from the teacher's view.
Arcadia, it said, and though she couldn't say why, it made her heart sink. She turned around, and the student behind her was not a student at all but a man with sparkling brown eyes. He spoke softly.
"Wake up."

-

"X equals seven fifths?" Cady guessed.
"What did you say, hun?" Her mother called from the kitchen. Cady pulled her robe more tightly around her.
"Nothing," She replied quickly. "Meg and Amy will be here soon, I'm gonna go get ready okay?"
Her room was a mess of course - it always was. There was more clothing on the floor than in the cupboard and her bed looked as if it had never been made. Long-empty coffee mugs were lined up on her desk, and long-undisturbed daddy-long-legs' had built palaces on the corners of the ceiling.
There it was, though, the red dress, hanging in the near-empty wardrobe, soft and wrinkle-free. It slid over her head easily, and molded to her curves like it had been made for them. She twirled in front of the mirror - but her reflection was wrong. The Cady in the mirror had lank and greasy hair, and wore not the red dress but jeans and an old jumper. She stared at Cady, and her eyes were empty. Cady slammed the cupboard door shut; the mirror shattered.
"Arcadia," Said a voice behind her, a voice that tugged at her memory.
"No," She whispered, "No..."
"Arcadia," He repeated, more forcefully, and she had to turn, had to look at him - his brown eyes seemed to glow as he spoke.
"Wake up."

-

"If you don't walk faster we'll miss the bus," Amy complained, tugging at Cady's arm.
"No!" No-" She bit her lip. "Uh, no, we won't. Any there'll be others after that one anyway."
"Leave Cady alone," Meg commanded, linking arms with them both, "You know she's not used to heels."
Cady let them drag her along, but their idle chatter slipped by her unheeded. Her stomach was churning and she didn't know why. A man across the road turned to them, called out.
"Wake up!"
"No!" Cady shouted at him, holding tightly to her friend's arm. A cleaner in a hotel foyer looked up as they passed.
"Wake up, Arcadia."
She hurried on, now moving faster than her friends, but they didn't seem to notice. A policeman stepped out of his car-
"Wake up."
A beggar held out his hand.
"Wake up!"
Cady could see them all around her now, all with ordinary faces and extraordinary eyes that drank in the light until they sparkled.
"Wake up," They said, their voices no more than a whisper beside the roar that seemed to fill her from every direction. "Wake up."
"No!" She cried. She searched frantically for her friends who'd kept moving when she stopped - they sat in the bus shelter, chatting unconcernedly, as if they hadn't noticed the crowd that surrounded Cady.
"No," She insisted, as the bus came into sight.
"Wake up!" They commanded as a cat ran across the road.
"NO!" Cady screamed, and the bus skidded on the icy road, out of control and into the bus shelter where, as if in slow motion, her friends tried to escape.
A hand on Cady's shoulder made her turn, and hypnotic brown eyes caught hers.
"Wake up."

-

The doctor looked into Cady's eyes, searching for a spark of awareness. So far they'd seen nothing - the girl simply sat there, staring into space. Her parents had brought in her favourite clothes and books, but the well-worn jumper and untouched novels emphasised the emptiness of her expression.
"Wake up, Arcadia," He murmured, though he knew it was useless. "Wake up."
For a moment it almost seemed as if she'd heard - her eyes focussed on his, and her mouth opened.
"Good evening, sir," The shell of Arcadia croaked, and her voice seemed to crack in her throat. "Do you have Flybuys?"