Blur (Blur Trilogy) (6 page)

CHAPTER
TEN

As it turned out, a domestic disturbance call kept Daniel’s dad out a little later and he didn’t make it home until after seven. He warmed up a fajita for supper, but didn’t sa
y
much to his son.

He usuall
y
took some time to himself when he got home from work and the
y
didn’t alwa
ys
talk much with each othe
r—b
ut it wasn’t a strained silence. It was more the comfortable kind a father and son can develop over time when the
y’
ve been through a lot together and come out on the other side respecting each other more than ever before.

K
yl
e showed up just before eight. Even though he’d eaten at home, he microwaved a fajita for himself and the
y
headed to Daniel’s bedroom.

Basketball and football trophies cluttered the shelves and the top of Daniel’s dresser. Since his dad wasn’t too excited about the idea of his having
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit-issue pics all over his walls, Daniel stuck with posters of his favorite Mavericks and Packers pla
ye
rs instead. It was clearl
y
the room of a kid who was into sports.

K
yl
e dropped his backpack on the desk, quickl
y
finished off his fajita, and then flumped onto the bed and started throwing Daniel’s Nerf football into the air. “So, did
yo
u call her
ye
t?”

“Who?”

“Stac
y,
dude. The new girl. Did
yo
u ask her to the dance on Saturda
y?
”

“I don’t have her number.”

“Oh, that’s lame.”

“How’s that lame?”

“Google her. Whatever. Facebook. See if it’s listed. Some people do that. You can at least message her through there, an
yw
a
y.
”

“No . . . I don’t know. Asking someone out that wa
y,
it’s just . . . I don’t reall
y
want to do it through a text message. Seems sort of cowardl
y.
”

K
yl
e looked at him disbelievingl
y.
“Has no one informed
yo
u that
yo
u are now living in the twent
y-
first centur
y?
”

“I need to talk to her in person, or at least on the phone. I don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Well, I could call Mia, see if she has her number?”

“I don’t know. I guess not. Not right now.”

K
yl
e shrugged. “Your call.” He tossed the football into the air a few more times. “So, do
yo
u have either of
yo
ur blogs written for Teach’s class
ye
t?”

“Still working on
’e
m. You?”

“I’ve been kicking around a few ideas. What do
yo
u have so far?”

Daniel turned his laptop so K
yl
e could see the blank page on his word processor.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“So just jot down
yo
ur thoughts.”

“This kind of thing comes naturall
y
to
yo
u. I’m not a writer.”

K
yl
e stopped with the football. “Do
yo
u have a journal? What about that one
yo
ur mom gave
yo
u last
ye
ar?”

“A journal? You mean write it out instead of t
yp
ing it?”

“Exactl
y.
”

“Now who’s stuck in the twentieth centur
y?
”

“Humor me.”

How the process of writing his blog b
y
hand rather than t
yp
ing it was going to help him do better with the assignment was be
yo
nd him, but if K
yl
e thought it was a good idea, Daniel figured it was at least worth a shot.

He dug the journal out of his desk. He’d dabbled with writing some thoughts in it after his mom left, but he didn’t reall
y
want to see those entries, so he quickl
y
flipped past them to a blank page.

“So,” K
yl
e said, “tell me about a dream
yo
u have.”

When he put it that wa
y,
Daniel immediatel
y
thought of the distressing dreams he’d had last night. He knew what K
yl
e meant, though, so he tried to think of his dreams for the future.

Honestl
y,
however, it wasn’t those kinds of dreams that were on his mind as much as the hope that he would be able to move past Emil
y’
s death without an
yt
hing else m
ys
terious or unexplainable happening to him. “Latel
y,
I’ve been having a hard time . . . well, focusing. You know, like m
y
thoughts are getting awa
y
from me.”

“Getting awa
y
from
yo
u?”

“Wandering out of formation. But that’s not a dream, so much, it’s more o
f—”

K
yl
e tapped a finger against the air. “Keep that. It’s a good image. Thoughts wandering out of formation. I like that. Write it down.”

Daniel made a note of it.

“So,
yo
u’ve got this deal going on with
yo
ur thoughts wandering out of formatio
n—m
a
yb
e fl
yi
ng out of formation, something along those lines. Who knows. An
y
other impressions about what’s happenin
g—s
omething to do with flight?”

“Vultures.”

“Vultures?”

“Yeah, picking them clean.”

“Picking
yo
ur thoughts clean?”

“Picking clean the carcass of m
y
dreams.” The words just came out.

K
yl
e stared at him oddl
y.
“You just come up with that?”

“I guess so.”

Where did that even come from? What’s going on with
yo
u?

“Write that down, bro. You’re on
yo
ur wa
y.
”

It went like that for the next fifteen minute
s—D
aniel throwing ideas out, K
yl
e helping him sort through them. It reminded him a little of how he helped K
yl
e sometimes with calculu
s—n
ot giving him the answers, but reviewing the equations so he could find the answers himself.

At last, K
yl
e said, “Read me what
yo
u have so far. I want to see where this thing’s at.”

“Give me a sec.” Daniel drew lines across the page from one idea to another, marked off the phrases he definitel
y
did not want to use, wrote a few transitions, then read,

The bo
y
remembered a time not long ago, when he was in control of his thoughts, when the
y
lined up where he asked them to, with onl
y
the usual flutter of spontaneit
y,
with the stra
y
ideas wandering into and out of formation like the
y’
re apt to do.

Back then, like most people, he was able to pull them together, keep them in order, and there was a comfort to that, a sense of saneness and rightness.

“Wh
y’
s it in third person?” K
yl
e asked.

“I don’t know, exactl
y.
It just came out that wa
y.
”

“Works for me. Go on.”

But now he sees them, like birds in flight, and the
y
wing into the spaces be
yo
nd his understanding. And sometimes vultures land in their place.

Vultures.

Dark birds that feed on the flesh of his dead dreams. Picking them clean until onl
y
the bones remain.

White bones, clean in the sun. Bones where his carefull
y
ordered thoughts used to live.

K
yl
e stared at him. “I’ve never seen
yo
u write an
yt
hing like that before.”

I never have.

“Well, I’m definitel
y
not reading this one in front of ever
yo
ne. People would think I’m going nuts. I mean, dead dreams being eaten b
y
vultures? That’s prett
y
depressing. And besides, it’s not reall
y
about what I hope to accomplish before I die.”

“I don’t think Teach will have an
y
problem accepting that.
It’s implied that
yo
u want the vultures to go awa
y.
She’ll dig it.”
He tossed Daniel the football. “And besides, I know one of
yo
ur dreams, even if it’s one
yo
u don’t want to write about.”

“What’s that?” He tossed the football back.

K
yl
e went over to the desk, picked up Daniel’s cell phone, and handed it to him.

“What’s this for?”

“Calling Stac
y.
”

“No, listen, even if I wanted to call her,
I—”

“Which
yo
u do.”

“Oka
y,
ye
s, which I d
o—b
ut I told
yo
u, I don’t have her number.”

K
yl
e pulled out his own phone and before Daniel could stop him, he’d speed-dialed Mia.

Daniel just shook his head and listened to one side of the conversation. “Yeah, no . . .” K
yl
e said. “I know . . . . Hang on.” He asked Daniel for Stac
y’
s last name.

“Clern.”

“Clern,” he told Mia. “I don’t know . . . . Seriousl
y?
Cool. Oka
y.
”

End call.

“What did she sa
y?
” Daniel asked.

“She doesn’t know her, but she’s gonna ask around.” K
yl
e put his phone awa
y.
“So, dead end number one, but that just makes it all the more interesting. I’ll go to Facebook. You Google her, like we were talking about before. Let’s see if we can pull up some wa
y
to contact her.”

“I don’t reall
y
want t
o—”

“Of course
yo
u do.” K
yl
e alread
y
had his laptop open. “You’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m just . . . slightl
y
apprehensive.”

“Which qualifies as scared.” He t
yp
ed. It took him onl
y
a few seconds to do the search. “Huh. Nothing’s reall
y
coming up. Tons of Stac
ys
, but nothing for her specificall
y.
You?”

Daniel finished tapping at his ke
yb
oard. “No.”

“Do
yo
u know where she moved from? Her name could still be under some previous town or school or something,
yo
u know, in their class rosters.”

Daniel shook his head. “I’m not sure where she’s from. I’ve . . . well, I’ve never actuall
y
talked to her.”

K
yl
e blinked. “You’ve never actuall
y
talked to her.”

“Not exactl
y,
but I’ve come close a few times.”

“Oh,
yo
u are seriousl
y
snargled over this girl.”

“Snargled?”

“Needed a word, couldn’t think of one, made one up.” K
yl
e gave his attention to his computer. “Well, still, I’d have to sa
y
this is weird. I just can’t believe she doesn’t have a Facebook page.”

“It’s not that unusual. A lot of kids are moving off it,
yo
u know, because their parents and grandparents are on it.”

“Sure, I get that.”

“Ma
yb
e something happened to her at another schoo
l—s
omething she doesn’t want the kids at her new school to know abou
t—a
nd she closed it down. It happens.”

“You mean ma
yb
e she was embarrassed about something or hurt somehow?”

“Yeah.”

“Or ma
yb
e she had something to hide.”

Daniel e
ye
d him. “What would she have to hide?”

“I don’t know. Just throwing it out there.”

Neither of them seemed to know where to take things from there.

Finall
y,
K
yl
e dug out his U.S. Histor
y
book. “Man, to do well on this test, I’m gonna have to dust off a part of m
y
brain I haven’t used in a while.”

“Well, let’s start dusting.”

The
y
spent the next hour poring over the chapter summaries and review questions.

Sometimes when Daniel studied with people, it was more just hangout time than an
yt
hing else, but, despite the fact that K
yl
e acted like school wasn’t a big deal to him, he took stud
yi
ng seriousl
y,
and Daniel could alwa
ys
be sure to get more done with him than with an
y
of his other friends.

The whole time the
y
were reviewing the material, Daniel was wondering if he should bring up an
yt
hing about what he’d seen at the funeral, or about the weird mark that’d appeared on his arm.