Spirited (19 page)

“Uh, Jake—”

“Josh.”

“Don’t you have to be home?” I ask.

A brief flash of pain creases his face before he shrugs. “Not really.”

“Oh.”

At five o’clock the librarian kicks us out, and Josh disappears. Typical. When my father arrives, he knows better than to ask about my day. We eat at a local diner and return to our hotel room. I sit by the window reading my book and watching traffic as my dad laughs at one of those ridiculous reality TV shows. Reality is
not
entertainment.

~*~*~

You’d think Josh would ignore me after my rude behavior, but you’d be wrong. He shows up in the library after school again.

I don’t say a word or encourage him in any way as I do my homework. His stream of chatter seems endless.

“Michael Klein asked Jenna to the prom, and she said no,” he says.

“Do you know Mr. Hedge can do fifty one-arm pushups? That’s awesome for an old dude.”

“Death Kombat Ten is coming out this Friday. And I’m gonna have the whole Prez’s day weekend to play it. Three days of heaven. I can’t wait.”

I look up at this last comment. “Uh, Joe—”

“Josh.”

“President’s Day was two weekends ago. Today’s February 28.”

“Oh.” He stares at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. “My friend Matt’s addicted to video games. You’re sitting in his favorite seat. He says it’s the only place where the librarian can’t see you.”

A rough edge in his voice catches my interest. And despite my promise not to encourage him, I ask, “Matt? What’s his last name?”

“James.”

“Is he in any of my classes?”

“He used to be the captain of the swim team, and it bugged him I never learned how to swim.”

He didn’t answer my question. “Did he quit the team?”

Josh fiddles with his pencil. “No.”

“Did he get cut?”

“Oh, no. He made the state finals last year.” He notices my confusion. “He just doesn’t swim anymore.”

“Why not?”

“There was an… incident.” Josh looks down at his homework. “What did you get for number ten?”

Matt was probably caught doing ‘roids or drugs. And since I’ve learned it’s best to stay uninvolved, I flip my Algebra folder open.

~*~*~

After a few weeks in town, my father rents an apartment with a loft. Now before you get too excited, he’s done this a few times in the past, and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a sign that he might want to stay here for more than a couple months. Not at all.

“Look, sweetie,” he says, raising the blinds in my “new” room, which is basically the loft. “You have a view of the river. I know how much you love a view.”

I do. Tight quarters don’t seem so bad with a decent view. And I’m surprised by how much I like the loft and having my very own level. I’m missing it already.

~*~*~

Despite my best efforts Josh doesn’t give up, so I now have a friend. He manages to get a few personal details from me. Only child. Mother dead. Father unable to stay put.

In the library after school, I warn him. “Look, Jim—”

“Josh.”

“I won’t be here long. And when I leave, I’m not going to do the whole text/Facebook thing. I know how it goes. Lots of texts at first, and then more and more time will pass between replies until we’re apologizing for not getting back to each other sooner, and then the messages will stop all together. Not worth the effort.”

“Cold turkey, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Do I get a warning, or will you just not show up one day?” he asks.

“You’ll get a couple days notice. That’s all I get.” I try to keep the bitterness from my voice.

Josh looks glum and twirls his pen on the table. “Better than no notice. It sucks when you don’t get a chance to say good-bye.”

The librarian rounds the bookcase. Her annoyance causes the wrinkles on her face to multiply. Considering she’s at least a hundred years old, I didn’t think she had room for more lines. Go figure.

“Cell phones are not allowed in the Media Center, miss. Please turn yours off or leave.” She stabs a gnarled finger at the exit.

I spread my hands wide, showing that they’re empty. “I don’t—”

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady. I might be old, but I know all about those ear things.”

But she can see my ear, because my hair is pulled into a ponytail. It’s straight and brown, so there’s not much else I can do with it. I turn so she can see my other ear.

She squints and huffs. “I heard you back here talking so don’t play cute with me.”

She’s lost her mind. I glance at Josh. But he’s gone. Stifling a laugh at his cowardice, I apologize to her. She leaves muttering about “kids these days.” Josh doesn’t come back. Chicken.

~*~*~

“So why won’t your father stay in one place?” Josh asks.

We’re at our table in the library, doing homework. I consider ignoring the question—he’s getting better at reading my moods and won’t press the issue. But I’m curious to see what his reaction will be. Especially since I’ve never shared my theories with anyone.

“I think he’s running away from grief,” I say, keeping my voice low so the librarian doesn’t accuse me of using my cell phone again.

Josh sits a little straighter in his chair. “Really?”

“Our nomadic existence started right after my mother died, and I recovered from my head injuries. I think the… excitement of moving, meeting new people, and starting a new job keeps him from thinking about my mom. But after the newness wears off, he has nothing to distract him and so… we move again.”

“Wow. That sucks for you. Running from grief…” He pulls a sketchpad from his backpack. The cover is almost torn off, and the metal spine has seen better days.

“I didn’t know you liked to draw,” I say ‘cause this isn’t what I expected.

“I don’t. I doodle.” He sketches two figures. One looks like a zombie-wolf hybrid that you’d see in a manga comic book. It’s chasing the other who appears to be a normal guy.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to the monster.

“It’s Grief.”

I lean back. He’s lost his mind.

“Like a personification,” he says. He gives me his goofy grin. “I learned that in Comm Arts last week. A personification is… like Death. He’s always a skeleton wearing a hood and black robe, carrying a scythe. Grief is his… younger brother. What weapon do you think he’d carry?” Josh looks up. “A knife?”

He sees the answer in my expression.

“Dumb question,” he acknowledges. “Of course he’d have a knife. ‘Cause Grief always goes right for the heart. One thrust and you’re done.” He gives Grief a long, wicked-looking dagger.

Josh’s had some personal experience with grief. My mom’s been gone two years, and when I think about her, it’s like Josh says, a cold steel blade stabbing right through to my backbone. But I don’t want to commiserate with him or anyone.

So I quickly backpedal. “The whole running-from-grief thing is probably nonsense. I’m sixteen. What do I know?”

My joke falls flat. There’s a strange shine in his eyes. “A lot can happen in sixteen years. For some people, it’s all they get.”

Oh crap. Is he talking about his ex-swimmer friend Matt? Maybe the “incident” wasn’t ‘roids, but something more dire. I decide to stick with the original topic. “Well, I learned about people avoiding their feelings from the Internet. My dad fit the profile for someone in denial. But that’s just some website. It’s probably wrong.”

“The Internet knows everything,” Josh says with a reverence only a sixteen-year-old boy could have. “Humanity is so screwed when the Internet becomes self-aware. You do know that, don’t you?”

He sketches another mutation that’s half human and half computer with big pointy teeth.

“You do know you’re insane, don’t you?” I ask.

“Oh yeah.” He gives me a sad smile. “My friend Matt used to tell me that all the time. He also called me a genius.” Full-out sorrow erases his smile. “Too bad I can’t talk to him anymore.”

Awkward. Very awkward. I don’t want to know anything about Josh’s personal life. That makes it harder when I leave. So instead, I say, “If you’re such a genius, then why are you failing Algebra Two?”

“Albert Einstein had trouble in school.”

“You’re no Albert Einstein. At least, not yet. You need bushier hair.”

“Tell that to my mom. She was nagging me to get it cut.”

With that, we return to normal.

~*~*~

The next day, he asks, “Why don’t you tell your dad how much you hate moving?”

“He knows how much I hate it. Doesn’t matter.”

“How does he know? Did you do the girlie thing?”

“What girlie thing?” I demand.

“You know. The silent treatment. Pouting. My mom does it all the time. Well, at least that’s what my sister says she does.”

“No. I’m not like that.”

“Then how does he know? We guys can be pretty dense sometimes.”

“I already know
that
, Jeff—”

“Josh.” He grins.

I think back to all our moves and really can’t recall telling my father how unhappy I am. We also never talk about Mom. Am I running from grief too?

~*~*~

That night during dinner, I tell my dad about Josh. Since I never talk about school, he’s surprised. But he’s smart enough not to make a big deal about it or question me too much.

“Why don’t you invite him over to watch a movie or something?” Dad asks. “We’ll order pizza and wings.”

“I can’t.”

Dad waits. His bushy eyebrows hover at the midpoint of his large forehead. Poor guy has only a few hairs doggedly clinging to his scalp. The silence goes on a little too long. I didn’t realize how hard this would be.

“I can’t be friends with Josh,” I say. “‘Cause, you know.” I wave a hand.

“No, I don’t know.”

He’s denser than Josh, and I didn’t think that was possible. I huff. “‘Cause we’ll be moving in a couple months. No sense making friends. It’s pointless.”

“You can always email.”

“And how many of
your
friends do you email?” I ask.

The answer is in his haunted gaze. Communicating with friends reminds him too much of Mom.

“As I said, pointless. Unless…”

He focuses on me.

“Unless we stay. I really like this place and the school. And I really… hate moving.” There I said it!

“We’ll stay… for a little while at least.” He bustles around the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner dishes.

“How long?” I rub my temples.

Dad won’t say.

~*~*~

The next day, I wake up with one of my migraines. Since the accident, I get them from time to time. Stress-related, or so the doctors claim. They might not be too far off—talking to my dad is always stressful.

After downing mass quantities of caffeine and aspirin that will dull the pain from OMG-I’m-ready-to-spew bad to just plain rotten, I head to school. It’s better than hanging out in our lonely apartment all day.

When classes are over, I round the bookcases at the library and say, “Well, I took your advice—”

I stop. Josh isn’t there. Some blond-haired guy is sitting in my seat.

“Took my advice?” he asks.

He’s wearing a blue swim team hoodie, black jeans, and high tops. A jock. So what’s he doing here? Is he Josh’s friend?

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

He gives me the once over. His blue eyes are as pale as the winter sky. “Are you the new girl?”

“No, I’m the
newer
girl. The new girl is now the old girl.”

Completely missing my sarcasm, he smiles and pushes the chair across from him out with his foot. “Have a seat.”

“That’s Josh’s seat.” Yes, I know it’s a stupid thing to say.

His humor is gone in an instant. He surges to his feet. Anger pulses off him as he stares at me. I shrink back. He’s tall, and the only other person in the library is the hundred-year-old librarian.

“You’re one sick girl.” He hefts his backpack and strides away.

I watch him go. That was… odd.

~*~*~

Josh doesn’t show up the next couple of days. I’m not worried. I never see him during the day. Well, I don’t usually look for him. I was just… concerned. I pay more attention to the school gossip than I usually do, hoping to hear if Josh is sick or something. But talk about an upcoming swim meet fills the halls, and how losing Matt really hurt the team.

When I spot Josh at his usual seat in the library, I pause a moment in relief before joining him. He’s been gone three days.

“Hey, where’ve you been?” I ask.

“Did you miss me?”

“No. I enjoyed the quiet.”

“Yeah, right. You were bored.”

Pretty much, but I’m not gonna admit it. “Oh, not at all. Some jock was here. He asked me to the prom.”

Josh laughs. “Yeah, right.”

“He was sitting in my seat. Maybe it was your friend Matt?”

His humor disappears. “No. Matt doesn’t come around here anymore.”

I think back to Josh’s earlier comments—the ones I paid attention to anyway. “Why not? Isn’t Matt’s your friend?”

“He was.”

“Why aren’t you friends anymore?”

“I did something… really stupid.” Josh doodles on a clean page of his sketchbook. The jagged lines resemble waves.

“Does it have to do with the incident about the swim team?”

“Something like that,” he mutters.

I know what I said about not getting involved, but I like Josh. “Is there some way you can apologize? If you’ve been good friends, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“No. I ruined… everything.” He shakes his head. “It’s not possible.” His pencil point breaks off. “Crap.” He pulls out a pencil sharpener.

“What did you ruin?”

Concentrating on his pencil, he ignores me. I shrug and pretend to work on my homework as I listen to the crunch-squeal of the sharpener. The smell of pencil shavings reminds me of my childhood. Getting ready for my very first day of school, I filled my pencil box and tucked my favorite book into my backpack. I love books. My mother used to read to me when I was little. All my childhood books are packed in a box that we lug from place to place. I never have time to unpack them.