The Ghost Runner (15 page)

T
he antique store is located in an alley off the square, with a homely sign hanging above the door advertising
antiques, gold & silver
. I never would have come to this little place if Roman hadn't recommended it. I open the creaky door and step inside.

I pause to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The place does have lights, but they are mostly dim bulbs in antique desk lamps with green shades. I feel the urge to duck as I walk farther in because there are chandeliers, old neon signs, and rusty farm implements hanging from the ceiling. I have to turn sideways to get between two overstuffed bookcases. Everywhere there is clutter, and dust, and overflowing boxes of postcards and
Life
magazines, and even the occasional brass spittoon.

I finally make it to the front desk, or what I believe is the front desk. There is a shiny antique cash register there, and when I see a silver bell I ding it. But I hear no signs of movement behind the doorway just beyond the desk. As I look around the shop, I glimpse a collage of faded black-and-white photos against one wall.

I approach the wall, feeling a surge of excitement as I get nearer. The photos appear to be from the Gold Rush era: men standing next to rivers with pickaxes, men standing next to mine shafts, and one picture of a man behind a huge water gun aimed at the side of a hill.

One photo in particular catches my eye: a group of men standing in front of a saloon. They are smiling, all except for one, a young man who looks strikingly similar to Roman. I squint and move in, closer and closer until my nose bumps the glass.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, I jump back so quickly that the man behind me lurches backward himself—right into a bookcase, sending books cascading to the floor all around us.

“Easy!” he says. “You scared me.”

I look him over. His gray hair is standing on end, as if he's just been caught in a vicious wind, and his glasses hang off his weathered nose. He's wearing suspenders and worn gray slacks, which look too big for him.

“You scared me first,” I say.

“I thought you heard me coming.”

“I didn't.”

“Well, that bell you rang—what did you think would happen when you rang it? And, by the way, you woke me up.”

I'm starting to wonder why Roman suggested I come here. “If you didn't want me using the bell,” I ask, “why do you have it out there in the first place?”

“It's an antique,” the man says. “I keep hoping someone will buy the darn thing instead of ringing it. It's yours for ten bucks.”

“No, thanks.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Your sign says you sell gold. Do you buy gold, too?”

“Sometimes. Whaddaya got?”

I take the rock from my pocket and hand it to him. He holds it up, then goes to his desk. He flips on a lamp and holds a magnifying glass up to it.

“Where'd you get this?” he asks.

“I found it.”

“I figured that much. Where?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I ask.

“Because what you've got here is a chunk of twenty-four carat gold.”

“It is?”

“Darn rooting tooting. And a damn fine specimen.” He taps a small hammer against it. “See how soft it is, how it bends so easily? That's one way you can tell it's real gold and not fool's gold.”

“The guy at the pawn shop told me it was fool's gold.”

“Figures. That joker was hoping that you were the fool that would give it to him for next to nothing, right?”

I nod.

“I'm glad you didn't. He's probably out looking for the source right now. You tell him where you found it?”

“I just told him that it was along the Lost Mine Trail. But I was far off the trail when I found it.”

He weighs it with his hand. “This here's worth about eight hundred dollars, maybe more. I'll have to weigh it and all if you want to go through with selling it.”

“Eight hundred dollars? Really?”

“You think I'd lie to you? Now, are you going to tell me where you found it?”

“I don't remember exactly.”

His eyes are wide and focused hard on me, and I feel a bit uncomfortable suddenly.

“Don't be coy with me, missy,” he says. “I know you know.”

“Even if I did,” I say, “I want it to remain a secret.”

“It will be our secret,” he says. “I help you mine the rest, we can divvy it up fifty-fifty.”

“No.”

“Fine, I'll give you sixty percent.”

He takes a step toward me, and even though he's old and I'm taller, I take a step backward and bump into another bookcase.

“Excuse me, Mr.—”

“Call me Max.”

“Excuse me, Max, but I honestly can't remember. I was just out for a run, and I'd probably never be able to find that spot again. And I've changed my mind about selling it, so I'll take it back, please.”

He looks away from me, then down at the gold. I extend my hand and glare at him until he snaps out of whatever spell he was under. He exhales and shakes his head, then drops the nugget into my hand. He retreats back behind his desk.

“What's wrong?”

“You just witnessed what's wrong. You saw how I got when I held onto that nugget.”

I nod.

“That's what gold does to people. Makes them crazy. Makes them do things to the land, to each other, that they shouldn't be doing.”

This I understand all too well. “Those photos on the wall,” I say. “Those are gold miners, right?”

“Yeah, they were gold miners, before they got buried alive. Poor souls. But that's what I'm telling you. People have been fighting over this land long before I got here. You've got some who'd just as soon tear it all down, and then you got those who stand up and say no. But with gold—well, it's hard to say no to gold.”

“I guess you're right,” I say.

“Let me give you some free advice, missy. Don't ever tell anyone about this place. You hear me? Never. There are people here who'd leave you for dead if it meant finding a line of gold. That metal does something to people. It ain't just the money either, though that's what people think it is. It's something else. It's about feeling special. Like you've been given a gift from the earth, fortunate enough to touch this rare substance at its source. Not many people are so lucky in life, and they'll lose their minds if they think you know where that source is.”

“I suppose some secrets are better left secret.”

“That's right. Now, if you want to sell that off, you know where I am. Otherwise, I'd keep my mouth shut about it if I were you.”

I thank him and exit the store. I should be happy that my little good-luck rock is worth so much, but as I walk back through town I feel a sense of insecurity that I didn't feel before I learned that this was real gold. Now I'm worried about that strange man at the pawn shop, who definitely knows. And I'm worried that he's got people scouring the woods right now looking for that hole that I fell into.

I look down at the sparkling nugget in my hand, at the way it catches the light. I think about the good it could do—but this is only eight hundred dollars' worth, not nearly enough to solve my problems. And how can I find the rest and sell enough to buy my land back without causing the next big gold rush?

Max is right. Even if I ever do manage find that place again, I already know what needs to be done. I would need to cover that hole up for good.

I
've missed more school—and more rehearsals—than I can bear to admit, but I'm determined not only to finish my class but to remain in the play. I've been reading lines before going to sleep every night—I've heard that the brain can memorize while you sleep—but I'm not sure how much is sinking in. Especially since I'm not sleeping well these days.

Most of all, I've missed Lucy. At first, she understood when I told her I was having “family issues,” but after I missed yet another day of school and rehearsal, she left me a voice mail that included a long, dramatic sigh.
I hope you know what you're doing, Kat
, she said.
People aren't going to be patient with you forever
.

I still haven't had a chance to call her back.

Today, Professor Lindquist is already talking when I enter the classroom, and I hope he doesn't notice me as I slink over to my seat. I catch Lucy's eye, and she raises an eyebrow at me.

“Here in Lithia, we are surrounded by volcanoes,” Lindquist is saying. “From Mount Lassen in Northern California up to Crater Lake, Mount Hood, Mount Saint Helens, Mount Rainier, and so on. This chain of volcanoes is part of a giant circle known as the Ring of Fire.”

For the rest of the class, Lindquist talks about volcanoes, eruptions, and how we are but the blink of an eye in the life span of this planet. He talks about trees, how they are the elders among us, the long-lived members of our communities, and how unaware most people are of their contributions to life on earth.

The other students are surprisingly engaged today, asking questions and even joking with Lindquist. As for me, I lie low. I feel lost, which I am. I haven't kept up with the reading, and I missed an exam last week, which I remembered only this morning when I finally looked at the syllabus. I still have hope that I can catch up, even though I spent most of last night reading my lines for the play.

I sneak a peek at Lucy, who is staring straight ahead. I wish I could catch her eye again—I'd like to see a look from her that is less disapproving. But she doesn't even glance in my direction, as if she's purposely ignoring me.

I've been trying so hard to save the land that I haven't truly realized how much I've neglected everything else. Now I'll have to work overtime to save my grade, my role in the play, and, most of all, my friend. If there's even any hope left for that.

Finally, class is over, but before I have a chance to talk to Lucy, Professor Lindquist heads toward me. “Nice of you to join us, Ms. Healy,” he says.

That's when I notice that he's strolling from desk to desk, returning the exams from last week. The exam I'd completely forgotten about.

“Can anyone tell me what's the easiest way to flunk an exam?”

Lindquist directs his question not toward me but toward one of the guys in the class, whose eyes go wide with alarm. “What, did I flunk?” the guy says.

Lindquist sighs loudly. “It's a rhetorical question. You, sir, passed the exam, albeit barely. How about you, Ms. Healy? What would you say is the surest way one can fail an exam?”

“By not taking the exam.”

“That is correct.”

So while the rest of the students, including Lucy, file out of the room, I stay behind and endure an extended lecture from Lindquist. He says he's disappointed in me, that he thought I would be the leader of this class, that now he doubts whether I'll even manage to pass.

“I'll make up the exam,” I say. “I'll come take it anytime you want.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Healy,” he says. “I don't allow makeup exams.”

As I leave the classroom and head for Nate's office, I feel drained and defeated. I was so hopeful that Lindquist would give me a second chance. And if I don't pass this class, that means David won't continue helping me in school. Which means my dreams of college are over.

I pick up my pace, holding out hope that Nate will be more forgiving than Professor Lindquist.

~

The drama department is on the other side of campus. When I finally get to Nate's office, I hesitate before knocking. A part of me is hoping he's not inside, so I won't have to do this. But I know I have to face him eventually.

When I first took the stage for my audition, I was terrified. But after I got the part and returned to that stage for rehearsals, I began to fall in love with it—the feel of the well-traveled wooden floor beneath my feet, the way my voice projected into the empty theater. Most of all, I liked the way I could become someone else. I feel as though I need to have that again—that ability to disappear for a while—in order to keep my sanity through all of this.

I knock.

“Come in.”

I open the door. Nate is seated at his desk, laptop propped on his knees; it looks as if he's checking his e-mail. His office is cluttered with books—they cover every available surface—and there's a nice view of Mount Lithia out his window. I wonder if that mountain, too, is volcanic.

“Take a seat,” he says, without looking up. As if he's been expecting me.

I do as instructed. I wait, but it soon becomes clear that he is waiting for me instead.

“Nate,” I begin, “I'm so sorry I missed rehearsal.”

“Three rehearsals. You missed three.”

“I know that, and I can explain.”

“No, I don't think you can. Not only did you miss these rehearsals, Kat, you didn't let anyone know, least of all your director. Not a phone call. Not an e-mail or a text. You do remember the rules that I mentioned on day one, don't you?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“You said that anyone who misses a rehearsal without calling in sick or dead or whatever would be let go.”

“Then what are you doing in my office after missing three rehearsals?”

“I can explain.”

“I'm sure you think you can. And I'm sure you think that I'll let this all slide because we have only a week to go before opening night and we have no understudies.”

“No, that's not it at all.”

“I can't let this slide.”

“I know, but please hear me out. Please. I have been spending all my time trying to get back land that my father stole from me—land that will be destroyed if I don't succeed. I should have called, I know that. But I'm here now, and it won't happen again. I promise.”

He stares at me, and I begin to think that I'm getting through. Maybe he can see the tears threatening to drip from my eyes, or maybe he's actually listening to me, empathizing with me the way he has told us to empathize with our characters from the very beginning.

“Kat,” he says.

“Yes?”

“I need your playbook.”

“What?” I don't understand. “Why?”

“You're no longer with the play, that's why. I need to give it to the new Isabella.”

I reach into my bag, fish out the worn playbook, and hand it to him. He turns away, tosses it onto his desk, and begins to tap away at his laptop again. I stand there for a moment, waiting, until it sinks in that this is for real.

I'm out.

I leave his office and wander down the hall. I want to see Lucy, but she'll be in the theater by now, and I can't go there. I no longer belong there.

How quickly Lithia had become a place I thought I belonged—and how quickly it all disappeared.

I think of Roman, of how glad I am that he's back. The two of us, outsiders together. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along.

That is, if he is able to stay in Lithia himself. I hope he is having better luck with his director than I had with mine.