Saving Montgomery Sole (6 page)

Me: I will try.

I think the thing that really makes Thomas, me, and Naoki such good friends, beyond their amazingness, is the fact that we are most definitely—unlike everyone else in Aunty—not from here.

Technically, I've lived here since I was nine. But let's just say, as a girl with two moms, from Canada, I didn't exactly get a warm welcome when I stepped through the doors of Aunty Public Elementary School, vintage Michael Jackson lunch box in tow.

And the number of times, since that first day, that I've been asked if I grew up in an igloo is uncountable.

I've also been asked, more than a million times, if I miss my dad. By which they presumably mean the anonymous sperm donor who I've never met.

Basically, for as long as I've lived in Aunty, I've always been, like, this inexplicable thing, a mystery object that's not like anyone else at this school. I guess it's possible that that's part of why I'm so obsessed with other inexplicable things. With other unsolved mysteries.

There's nothing wrong with being unsolved. Unsolved just means not everyone gets it.

I'm kind of glad no one else but the Mystery Club is into this kind of stuff. It's like my secret treasure. Me and the Mystery Club's thing. It's special.

After I got off IMing with Thomas, I watched this BBC documentary on cryonics, which is where people freeze themselves so they can be brought back to life in the future. Then I spent a few hours rereading
The Outsiders
.

It's a great book.

I looked up foreshadowing, which—surprise, surprise—doesn't have anything to do with darkness. It's a hint of what's to come that a writer leaves for the reader.

Why would foreshadowing have to be bad?
I thought. Everything has a shadow. Plus anyone with a brain knows you need a light to have a shadow. Light is good.

I pulled out my phone and opened my app.

 
Foreshadowing in real life. Maybe fortune telling?

Right under that was:

 
The Eye of Know

I tossed my phone on the bed and looked up the website, just for kicks.

The site was still there, but the shop now had a banner that read
SOLD OUT
.

I called Thomas immediately. “It's sold out!” I cried. “I just checked the website, and the Eye of Know is sold out!”

“Yippee,” Thomas yawned.

“Do you think they only had one in stock? Or do you think there are Eyes of Know everywhere?”

“I don't know,” Thomas said. “I'll tell you, though, I'm so excited for you to get this stone. I'm thinking, maybe then you won't call me at …
midnight
, because you'll
know
that I'm asleep!”

Then he hung up.

And I went to bed, still feeling pretty thrilled.

The Eye of Know.

Was coming.

 

4

 
Séances

 
Tea leaf readings

 
Ouija

People who write about Ouija on the web have the spookiest websites. One time I accidentally left one open, and halfway through the night I could have sworn I heard whispering coming from my computer, which, needless to say, meant I spent the night sleeping in my moms' room, curled up on the floor.

The general consensus among communicating-with-the-dead experts seems to be that Ouija is a kind of remedial way to talk to spirits. This one site I found said that the best thing about Ouija is its clarity. So there's all this chatter, this guy said, made up of all the souls of the universe, and the Ouija reaches out into the void and pulls out a single sound,
yes
or
no
.

I don't have that many dead people in my life that I've known, well, except for Momma Jo's parents, who I never met but I've seen pictures of, mostly on vacation in places like Florida and Mexico. In most of the pictures, they are on the beach, fully clothed. Like, shoes and everything.

“That's how old people vacation,” Momma Jo had said.

This one time, I found an online Ouija board, where you could put your mouse in the center of the screen and ask a question.

Call to your spirit
, the site had read.
If the spirit is there, he/she will answer.

So I asked if Momma Jo's parents were there.

NO.

Then I asked if my biological sperm donor was there. Because I have had this thought, from time to time, that maybe he's dead and maybe he's alive. And it's weird sometimes not to know … if he is or not.

“Is my biological sperm donor there—I mean, dead?” I whispered.

NO.

I feel a little guilty whenever I think about or talk about my bio sperm donor. There was a time when I was little, like eight or something, when I was always asking my moms about it, about what I'd called “the stuff” (i.e., sperm).

I'd wanted to know what it looked like.

“What
what
looked like?” Momma Jo asked. I think on that occasion we were waiting in line at the grocery store. “What stuff?”

“
The man sperm!
” I yelled, frustrated.

“
Ha!
Well. Geez. You're asking the wrong person.” Momma Jo smirked.

It's not like I want to find him. The donor. I don't need to find him. He's just there, I guess, and sometimes I step on him in my brain, kind of. Like a sock left on the floor.

I don't know if the Ouija thing could be taken as proof that he is alive. I guess it would depend on whether the spirits know what a biological sperm donor is.

No one in Aunty has a clue.

There are some people who consult various forms of spirit communication as a way of preparing for the day. There are apps that will show you your tarot reading every day, presumably so you can decide whether to take the bus or just stay home.

It might be nice to know what's coming your way.

To have an app or an Eye you could touch and say, “Trouble?”

And it would say, “Yes! Avoid the letter
L
at all costs. Also the letter
K
and anything white. And watch out for short men with facial hair.”

Or just, “Yes! Go back to bed. Do not pass GO. Do not leave your room until you receive further instruction.”

*   *   *

 
Morning Music Medleys

 
Backmasking

If there is one thing the entire student population of Jefferson High, Mystery Club included, can agree on, it is about the Morning Music Medleys. They are just about the worst thing in the world. Imagine if someone took the ugliest parts of every song ever written, in all of time, and mushed them together into one terrible song.

Whoever decided that song should be played in the hallway every day, top volume, from 8:55 a.m. to 8:59 a.m., is not a nice person.

The rumor at school is that this is a punishment, although the official word is it's an effective way to get students to class on time.

I think whoever wrote this so-called medley must look like some sort of cartoon villain. I bet he sleeps on a bed of nails. Naked.