Ghost Time (11 page)

But wait, it gets better—because the crane showed up at lunch, when everyone was on the front lawn, eating. Everyone just sitting there, watching, while this huge crane started stretching upward, and then Mr. Gray walked out, barking, clapping: Inside! Everyone inside! Now! practically blowing a rape whistle at us. For two weeks, things had been so slow to boil, and then, in that moment, you could feel it simmering, everyone was so amped up.

The next day, it really hit the fan. Because someone posted a video, like everyone in school got a text with this video link, and it was time-lapse photography of the first starless flag, blowing in the wind, with sped-up blue sky and puffy white clouds passing behind it. Which was weird, yes, but the thing was, the time code on the video was dated for the day before, Monday, April 18, the day
before
. I mean, it must have been a trick with the date, right, but how’d they do it? And what really upset people was, could it be possible our flag had been defaced for an entire day and
no one noticed
? I kept thinking about that all day, listening to all the chatter in the halls, between classes.
Because if it wasn’t a trick, what other explanation could there be unless
, I thought… and then I heard my answer, right behind me. A voice, clear as day said: Unless someone hacked the code, and practically jumping out of my skin, I turned around, and no one was there. The bell had rung, and it was just me, alone in the hall.

Everyone kept going on and on about the flag, and it’s like I couldn’t even hear myself think. So I didn’t even go to the library at lunch, I just wanted to find a quiet corner where I could be alone, but of course who do I run into but Ricky. Hey, I said, raising my hand. He was sitting on the window ledge—it’s wide enough, it’s like a window seat, and he was just about to pull something out of his lunch bag. Mind if I join you? I said, and he raised his brow, meaning sure.

Last year, after I moved here, Ricky gave me a red rose for Valentine’s Day, and it was so sweet—he was the first boy to ever give me a rose, but the thing is, I just didn’t like him that way, you know. And of course my friends—my ex-friends made fun, and it was so embarrassing, I just avoided him as much as possible. I’ve always wished I hadn’t done that, treated him like that, but then he started avoiding me, and then, by summer, it seemed for the best.

People go after me, but they used to be so mean to Ricky. One of the junior guys, Tyler Hendricks, used to call Ricky
Special Needs
right to his face, like it was his nickname, then he went and told everyone Ricky has Asperger’s, when he doesn’t, he’s just different. Last year, I got in all this trouble after I got drunk at a party and there were all these pictures of me and all my so-called friends quit talking to me, but Ricky was always nice to me—that’s what I mean by different. That’s what’s truly special about Ricky: he’d never do or say anything hurtful to anyone, and how many people in this world can you say that about?

So all last spring, we’d eat lunch together—not in the cafeteria, in this little window seat under the staircase next to the
Chemistry lab, in the east wing. It always smells sulfuric, but it’s a good place to be left alone. That’s where I found Ricky, just like old times. I got up in the window, across from him, watching him shove his hand back in his bag, and pull something out. And then he threw his head back, practically pounding it on the brick wall behind him. Why? he said, staring at the ceiling, holding a sandwich in his hand.
Why, why do you do this to me?
he said. I looked at him, waiting for him to finish, and then he showed me. She does this
every day
, he said, more annoyed than I’ve ever seen him, because his mom had cut his sandwich into four triangles.

I know his mom, Blanca. She’s Honduran—her family was dirt-poor, like ten kids, and then they came here and built a business from nothing, total American success story. Now his parents own a title company, land deeds, something like that—my mom’s done some work with them before. Anyhow, Ricky huffed, rolling his eyes, then he goes, What, like my life isn’t hard enough without my mom mothering me to death? I think it’s sweet, I said, trying not to laugh. Here: have a turkey sandwich triangle, he said, so I took one. I didn’t know what else to say, so we didn’t say anything, we just shared his sandwich, sitting in silence until the bell rang. It was just what I needed, actually.

Hey, Thea? he said, sounding shy, and I said, What’s up? standing up from my seat. He stared at his feet, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to tell me, and I said, Ricky, is everything okay? You okay? I wasn’t talking about Cam or school, I was talking about his health. Ricky’s epileptic, and maybe because of what Nanna said about me, I always felt we had some sort of
connection—I know that’s strange, but it’s true. Also, Ricky hid it for a long time and no one knew, but then he had a seizure in school once, right after I moved to Fort Marshall. Now they have him on these new drugs, and I think that’s why he seems a little doped up sometimes, because he is.

It’s just that—I don’t know, but something weird happened last week, he said, and I braced myself, thinking it was Cam. Then he said, I had a seizure, and hearing him say that, I felt so relieved—I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I haven’t had a seizure in almost a year now, he said, nothing, but this was different—it wasn’t like any I’ve ever had. Different how? I said, and he said, Like I—I can remember. You remember what was happening around you? I said, and he said, No, I remember things that didn’t happen. Like a dream? I asked, and he said, Yes. But not my dream, like someone else’s dream, he said, his face looking so pained, so embarrassed, and he said, Never mind, then second bell rang.

I looked at him, waiting for him to finish and then he said, Better get a move on or we’ll be late, he said, stuffing his rumpled up paper bag in the trash and walking off. Hey, Ricky? I said, looking back, and he turned around. Thanks for the sandwich, I said, and he shrugged, like no problem: Mi triangle es su triangle, he said, giving a wave. For the first time all week, I could feel it, a smile on my face.

It didn’t last long. Because of course my very next thought was to tell Cam, thinking how much Cam would like Ricky’s line, and how I’d probably never hear the end of it. Then I remembered a day last year when we were in Cam’s car, leaving
school, and we saw Ricky walking out the front door. You know the Greeks believed epilepsy was a sign from the gods, that you were touched, Cam said, and I tilted my head, like, What’s up with you and the Greeks anyhow? Cam raised his eyebrow, like, What can I tell you? Well, I don’t know about that, I said, and even if it’s true, I doubt that’s any consolation to Ricky. I felt so bad for Ricky, because I know how he hates being on the drugs they have him on, and I get it. Believe me, I totally get it. For what it’s worth, Ricky Meyers is one of the smartest kids I’ve ever known, Cam said, and I said, He’s flunking Algebra I. Cam tutored Ricky, too, that’s how they knew each other, and then Cam said, So? That doesn’t matter. Look at you, and I was just like, Oh… that’s
low
. I’m telling you, Thee, he said, honking and waving at Ricky as we drove by: That kid’s going to surprise you someday. Big time. You just wait, he said, looking in the rearview. Remembering that, I could hear Cam’s words as if he were standing right beside me, and watching Ricky walk down the hall, readjusting his backpack over his shoulder, it looked like someday was coming after all.

Anyhow. By the end of the day, the air in the halls turned to static and started spreading through town. By Wednesday, the next morning, you got shocked, practically, stepping out your front door. Everything started wobbling, like someone was holding up one of those circus mirrors to the whole town, and suddenly, it seemed like anything could happen. It got everyone’s wheels spinning, kids started smiling at each other, like we were all in it together—we’re talking loser freshman boys and all the other outcasts, everyone, united.

Thing is, those tire tracks that end in the middle of that field, the missing stars in the school flag, it wasn’t about someone getting away with vandalism or destruction; this was different. This was the kind of rejoicing you imagine they must feel in prison when one of the prisoners escapes. Because someone had figured a way out, and the rest of us, maybe we never thought about it before, but now we all knew there was a way out. And for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same.

(FIVE WEEKS EARLIER)

3:43 PM

One day, I was sitting at my computer, and I was wearing this baggy sweatshirt, and when I leaned over, the shirt fell off my shoulder, right? I didn’t even think about it, because I was looking at my notebook, and Cam goes, Thee, can I write you something? He got up, walking over, squeezing my shoulders, and I go, Write
on
me, you mean? And Cam goes, If you insist, and I go, What, a love letter? He goes, You read my mind, and I knew he was up to something. But I handed him a Sharpie, then he pulled the sweatshirt down some more and started drawing on my shoulder blade, and it was long, too. Like on and on, and it tickled, and he goes, Hold still. And five minutes later, he finally waved his hand over my back, drying the skin, and then he goes:
Voilà!

So I went to the bathroom to read it in the big mirror, and you know what it was?
Pythagorean Theorem
—all over my back—ohmygod. I was just like, Cam, you are such
a geek
! That’s not
a love letter, I whined, and he goes, It is, too—I love it, and I ignored him, trying not to smile. Help me wipe it off, I said, so he grabbed the sponge from the shower and helped me scrub all the ink off. Then, of course, he just happened to spill a sponge full of water over my chest: Oops! he said, putting his fingers over his lips. Then he goes, Oh, you’re all wet, Thea, better take off your shirt, and I go, If I take off my shirt, will you write something nice? Cam held out his hand: Deal, I said, shaking, and we went back to my room and I took off my shirt.

He kissed my ear, and then he put the pen in his mouth and pulled the pen out, and he drew something in like ten seconds. I go, Done? Already? And Cam goes, Done, and I got up and went back to the bathroom to look again, thinking, like,
What is it this time? The Transitive Property?
And then I saw what it was. He’d drawn over my scar—this scar I’ve had since I was a kid, on my shoulder blade. Cam had used it as an arrow that shot through a big heart, and in the heart, he wrote TD + CC = TLA. He was leaning against the door frame, watching me read, and then I looked at him. What’s it mean, TLA? I said, and he grinned, then he leaned forward and whispered,
True. Love. Always.
And at the moment, I would have given anything to stop time, just the two of us, and stay right there, forever.

(SEVENTEEN DAYS LATER)

12:13 PM

Every day now, when all the kids got off the bus, everyone looked up at the flag, making sure it was all there, that all the stars were still there. It was, too, far as we can tell. But the thing is, deep down, we’re all hoping they’ll disappear again. We all wanted to see if all hell would break loose, if it does. Really, what better place for hell to break loose than a small-town high school like ours?

Well, I knew something was up, next time they called me to the office. I mean, one look at Cheswick, and I knew Agent Foley was back, for one thing, but something more than that. Because when I passed Cheesy’s office, I stopped, and he said, Special Agent Foley is here. He stood up, joining me, and I nodded yes. I know, I said, and he followed behind. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was dreading it more than I was.

When I knocked and walked into the conference room, Foley was sitting across the table from the door, with some sort of laptop I’d never seen before, open. It was black, and it had this huge screen, and when I walked in, Foley was watching something, totally entranced. So I pulled out a chair and sat down, and he goes,
When grown people speak of the innocence of children, they don’t really know what they mean.
But it’s like he was saying it to the screen, not to me, so I just looked at him, not sure I heard him right. He kept watching whatever it was, but then he goes, In any case, thank you for coming in, Theadora, but then I couldn’t stop staring at the computer, because it looked like a MacBook, but a lot bigger. And for some reason, it gave me the chills, almost like he was watching us, or—I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.

Cheesy closed the door, and he said, I’ll stand in the corner—pretend I’m not even here, Special Agent Foley, and Foley smiled and said, Of course, and I pulled out a chair, taking a seat across from him at the table. Then Foley goes, Tell me. Do you do well in your classes, Theadora? And I knew he knew I’m not the greatest student, but I said, Some. And he goes, Oh, really? Which? And I go, Art classes, and he goes, Yes, I’m told you are quite gifted, Theadora, so I took a look for myself. I must say, you are extremely talented—I’m particularly fond of this drawing, he said, removing a print from a black folder, behind his computer, pushing it toward me. I picked it up, wondering how the hell he’d seen any of my drawings, and then I just froze: because it was the drawing I’d done at Silver Top. That one of the Elders,
The Last
Cupper
. Looking at it, I was shocked, because that’s in Hubble—I didn’t show that to anyone but Cam, and my first thought was that someone must’ve broken into my house or something, and I was trying not to panic.

This one, too, Foley said, pulling out another drawing, and my mouth fell open. Because it was the same drawing, exactly the same, except that the Elders weren’t wearing any clothes. They were just four old men, hairy and short and tall and saggy and skinny and fat men, sitting in a red leather booth at Silver Top, and the only thing attractive about them were their elk heads—I drew each old man with their own crazy crown of antlers. But what’s really screwed up is that I didn’t draw that one—I only thought it. What I mean is that I thought of it, but I never actually drew that picture.