“Fast,” added Madison.
“Really sad,” said Philip.
“Ghastly,” said Lilly.
“When did it happen?” I asked.
“Last spring. Before Austin came to Penda.”
I said, “So he was new to the school.”
They nodded and kept glancing at one another, increasingly jumpy.
“Go on,” I urged.
“Okay,” said Philip. “Then, when school started, what people say is that Jessica and that club of hers . . .” He trailed off.
Madison went on. “Right. Jessica found out about Austin’s brother. Don’t know how. She and her Weird History Club told Austin—” She stopped speaking.
Lilly blurted out, “They told Austin that his brother was not dead. That . . . that he was in one of the towers.”
“In the towers?” I echoed.
“Which,” said Philip, “was nuts.”
Lilly said, “People say Jessica told Austin that the Penda Boy was up there—I mean, the Penda Boy’s ghost—and that the ghost was holding Austin’s brother prisoner. Trying to take his soul.”
I was feeling increasingly uneasy.
“Talk about weird,” said Joel.
Austin’s story went on, bouncing from kid to kid.
“Like, people always joke about a ghost in the towers. Not true, duh, but Austin believed it. Even said he saw the ghost.”
“He freaked, totally.”
“Kept talking about how his brother was not completely dead. That he needed to find him in the towers and kill the Penda Boy’s ghost so he could rescue his brother.”
“People say that Jessica—and her stupid club—told Austin she would help him get into the towers so he could get rid of the Penda Boy’s ghost and save his brother. That he should do it at Halloween.”
“This Halloween,” threw in Philip.
I listened, breathless.
“Only Austin couldn’t wait. He tried to open one of the old doors and get into the towers on his own.”
“He was caught trying.”
“Strict school rules about that. There was talk about expelling him.”
“Before it could happen, Austin’s family learned what Jessica had been telling him. They got so upset they pulled Austin out of school and actually moved to Seattle or someplace.”
“I guess his parents were furious with the school, saying that Austin was being bullied by Jessica and her friends. They say the parents were going to sue the school.”
“So we were asked not to say anything about Austin, or Jessica, because, I guess, you know, legal stuff.”
I said, “Did . . . did anyone ask Jessica about it?”
“Sure, but she claimed she never spoke to Austin about his brother. Said she didn’t know anything about the Penda Boy. Said she didn’t even believe in ghosts. Same for the other lame Weird History Club kids.”
“No proof at all that she did . . . except Austin, and he was, you know, gone.”
“And, hate to say it, but a little crazy too.”
“So the school agreed, when Austin left—we all agreed—not to say anything.”
“For the good of Penda.”
“And that,” said Lilly, “is what happened.”
Astonished, I sat there, stupefied, trying to make sense of it all. What I had just heard was so utterly different from what Jessica had told me about Austin. Except the parts about going into the towers and getting rid of the Penda Boy’s ghost. And the business of trying to take souls, like Bokor had said. And . . . Jessica did know a lot about the Penda Boy. She did believe in the ghost.
“I felt so bad for Austin and his family,” said Lilly.
Mia said, “Tony, you have to promise not to say anything. The school would really get upset.”
I said, “Did . . . did anyone look in the towers?”
“You can’t!” cried Patrick. “The doors are all sealed off. The school even resealed the one Austin tried to open.”
Eyeing me, waiting for my response, the kids became quiet. I was too shocked to speak.
Joel poked me. “You hear anything different?”
I started to say, “Well, Jessica . . .”
Mia rolled her eyes.
“No offense, Tony,” Philip cut in, “but Jessica is like, absolutely, totally . . . wacko with a capital W.”
“She says insane things.”
“You can’t ever believe her.”
There was an awkward silence until Philip said, “Yeah, Tony, you’re smart. You had on their black tie. That mean you joined her Wednesday club? How come?”
I couldn’t respond.
Lilly said, “Tony, promise you won’t tell Jessica what we said. She’d kill us.”
“She really would,” agreed Mia.
I think I may have nodded.
For a moment no one spoke. Lilly rescued me. “Oh my God!” she cried. “I forgot to open my presents.”
There was a mad scramble into another room. While Lilly opened gifts, the business of Austin, Jessica, and the Weird History Club was forgotten.
Not by me. According to these kids, the story was all about Jessica wanting Austin to go into the towers to get the Penda Boy, which was exactly what she wanted me to do. Austin to save his brother. Me to save myself. Except these kids didn’t believe in the ghost. I did.
At about ten thirty, parents began to arrive. The boys went home. The girls were staying for a sleepover.
“Are your parents coming?” Lilly’s father asked me when I was the only boy remaining.
“I can walk.”
“Where do you live?”
When I told him, he said, “Come on. I could use a walk. I’ll take you.”
At the door, Lilly gushed a good-bye. “Thanks so much for coming. Your gift was so generous. I love H&M.”
“Sure.”
I headed home with her father.
He said, “Lilly told us you recently started at Penda. Are things going well?”
“It’s fine.”
“Recently moved to San Francisco?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Like it?”
“So far.”
“Lilly says nice things about you.”
“Thanks.”
“Excited about the school Halloween party?”
“Guess.”
“I promise: it won’t be like any Halloween you’ve ever experienced before.”
That was exactly what was chewing at me.
When I got home, my parents had all kinds of questions about the party. I didn’t tell them much. Instead, I went to my room and flung myself onto my bed. The story about Austin the kids had told me was so different from what Jessica had said. But since Lilly and her friends all agreed, it was hard to argue with them.
Why would Jessica tell me such a different story?
What did Austin and I have in common? We were both new to the school. Both in the seventh grade. His brother had died. Austin was unhappy about it. Uncle Charlie had died. I was unhappy about that. The kids said there was no ghost. Austin said he had seen the ghost. I had seen him too. Many times. He was a ghost. I was sure of it. He was stalking me. Had he stalked Austin?
I reached for my phone and was about to call Jessica when I changed my mind. It was late. Eleven thirty. Her mother might object to my calling. My mom would. The next day was Saturday. No school. If I went to her house, I could judge her reaction—face-to-face—about what I’d heard. Just the two of us. Hey, she was my friend. I owed her. “Trust me,” she had said, and I really wanted her to explain away what I’d heard.
According to the school directory, she lived at 1520 Lake Street, only about thirty blocks away. My GPS app gave me directions. Not that far.
I’d go.
Saturday morning, a little after nine, I told my parents I needed to get a special notebook for school down on Union Street. Instead, I headed for Jessica’s home. The closer I got, the more tense I became, worried how Jessica would react. Sensing she wasn?
??t a person you’d want to get angry, I was hoping she wouldn’t be annoyed. I reminded myself that I’d promised I wouldn’t tell Jessica what the kids had said about Austin. I’d say Ms. Foxton had told me. Jessica hated her anyway.
There was nothing special about Lake Street. A quiet, wide street, with evenly spaced trees on sidewalks and not many people around. The usual parked cars. As for the house numbered 1520, it looked like other houses on the street, maybe smaller, simpler. Certainly not old or fancy like Lilly’s place.
I walked up some tiled steps to a windowed door, its inside covered by white lace. I took a deep breath, hoped I was doing the right thing, reminded myself that Jessica was my friend, and pushed the doorbell.
A shadow loomed behind the window. The door opened. A slight, gray-haired woman stood there, holding a book in hand, her finger wedged in the place she probably was reading.
“Yes?” she said in a soft voice. “May I help you?”
“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to see Jessica.”
The woman’s face turned quizzical. “Jessica?”
“Jessica Richards. She goes to the Penda School. I’m in her class. We’re good friends. Are you her mother?”
The woman pursed her lips and then said, “Young man, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong address. No one lives here by that name. It’s only my husband and me. And we’ve been living here for years, so I know all our neighbors.”
“But—”
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, and shut the door with a click. Her shadow faded from the door window.
Not knowing what to think, I walked back to the sidewalk and up to the corner. Once there, I looked back and studied the house. It told me nothing. My cell phone rang.
Mom’s voice: “Where are you? Thought you’d be back by now.”
“Couldn’t find the right notebook,” I said. “On my way.”
When I got home, the first thing I did was check Jessica’s address in the school directory. It read 1520 Lake Street. That’s where I had been.
I told myself that she might have moved since the directory was published last summer. Or that maybe the listing was a mistake, put in wrong, confused with another student. Something explainable. Trouble was, she’d told me she did live on Lake Street.
I called Jessica’s number. No answer. I left no message. She’d know I called.
I did get a text message from Lilly.
TLYK tx for coming to my party. Love the H&M card. Will so wear what I get. Have a great weekend. BBFN. XX L
Her message made me go over what I’d been told about Austin at the party. If he hadn’t disappeared, as Jessica claimed, where was he? The kids had said Seattle. That gave me an idea. Since I had never given Lilly my cell phone number, she must have gotten it from the online school directory. On the first day I was at school, Batalie had given me the printed school directory from the beginning of the term, when Austin was enrolled.
I checked the Sevens page. Sure enough, his name was there, along with a phone number. Hopefully, it was a cell.
I texted:
Dear Austin Ganwell. My name is Tony Gilbert. I am in the seventh grade at the Penda School. I was able to get in because you had to leave the school. I wanted to say I’m sorry you had a bad time.
Tony Gilbert
I was not sure I would get an answer, but any answer would be important. It would mean Austin had not disappeared, at least not the way Jessica said he had. I’d just have to wait.
For the rest of the day I was with my folks searching for a new couch, getting it delivered, giving away the old one—all in a day. It took a lot of time. And I had forgotten my phone.
When we returned home after dinner, there was a text waiting for me.
dear tony gilbert. tks for text. glad u like penda. Seattle pretty nice. say hi to all my friends. tell them i’m ok. Austin Ganwell
In other words, what the kids at Lilly’s party had told me about Austin was true. What Jessica had told me about Austin was not.
What had Philip said? Jessica is like, absolutely, totally . . . wacko with a capital W.
In my head, I heard Ms. Foxton’s words about Jessica: I’m afraid truth is not one of her better character traits.
I thought of calling Ms. Foxton, asking her about Austin. I had asked before, but she’d ducked it. Why?
Mom had given me her number. I searched my desk but couldn’t find it. Anyway, I changed my mind. Me, calling the head of school. What could I say? Besides, Lilly’s friends had asked me not to repeat what they told me about Austin.
It was about nine o’clock, and I was reading, when my cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You called?” It was Jessica.
Thinking fast, I said, “My parents were visiting some friends in your neighborhood, so I went to your Lake Street place, hoping you would be there.”
“I just moved,” she said.
“Didn’t you tell me—”
“Dumb school didn’t make a directory change. Better call first next time.”
“Guess what? I just got a message—”
“See you,” Jessica said, cutting me off. She didn’t want to talk.
I was frustrated. Then, as I thought about it, I asked myself: Why hadn’t she told me where she moved? I also remembered what the woman at the Lake Street house had said: We’ve been living here for years, so I know all our neighbors.
Except Jessica had told me she did live at that Lake Street address.
Maybe the Austin story Jessica told was fake, but I was certain the boy in the tower was something real. I decided I had to see him again, wanting to prove to myself that I was seeing him. That he was not in my head.
I figured out a way. For Sunday, my parents had planned a late-morning trip to the famous Muir Woods, just outside the city. We were to get a rental car and drive there. Before I took that trip with my parents, I’d go to school and look for the Penda Boy.
I set my alarm for seven thirty. Seven again.
Sunday, my alarm barely buzzed when I slapped it off and got out of bed. I dressed, slid keys into my pocket, and eased out of our apartment.
The day was chilly, breezy, the air ripe with the smell of the sea. Branches quivered, dropping fall’s dead leaves, like a barber’s clippings. To the east, the sun was just rising, sending out pink, red, and purple threads of light against the lowering clouds, the threads twisting into knots of color. Other than parked cars, the street was empty. Not one car moving. I did see a skinny man jogging with a lean dog on a long leash. A gray cat loped by. Overhead, a bird flapped its wings in slo-mo. I heard my own footsteps, or was it my beating heart?
Reaching the Penda School, I tried to recall where I’d stood that Sunday when I first saw the school. And the boy. Once there, I looked up.
The building—like the great tree by its side—was massive, dark, with quirky angles everywhere. In the early, low light, those irregular red walls were like shattered shadows. The entry-door glass glistened black as well. Higher windows were equally dark.
The ground trembled. Earthquake, I assumed, but I barely reacted, only thinking how ordinary they had become, like my acceptance of the Penda Boy. Though I believed he was a ghost, I had grown used to seeing him. But in some way I couldn’t explain, I felt that the quakes and the boy were connected. Just as I was the only one who seemed to notice the quakes, I was the only one who saw the boy. And there I was, wanting to see him—whatever he was.
As I continued to stand in place, looking up, the school was touched by sun devils—bars of sunlight piercing through the clouds. The weather vane—the angel Gabriel—seemed to tremble with life. From the top down, the rest of the tower was painted by the sun’s rising glitter. Windows filled with molten gold. The school’s redwood siding fairly glowed. It was as if the entire building was engulfed in fire.
Someone appeared behind the big tower’s window. I was sure it was the Penda Boy. That he was looking at me. I wished I knew what he was thinki
ng, if—whatever he was—he could think. Does he really want my life? My soul? Where does Jessica fit in?
Next second he was gone.
Seeing him removed all doubts. Although I knew the Penda Boy was not alive, I had seen him. He was there, a ghost. He had been staring at me as if trying to make a connection. But what did he want of me?
Wishing he would come back so I could see more, learn more, I remained on the street. He didn’t return.
As time passed, I knew I had to get home before my parents woke and found me gone—which would mean explanations. I started off. At the first corner, the streetlight switched to red. No cars were coming, but out of habit I stopped. With no particular purpose, I turned and looked back at the school. That was when I saw the school doors burst open. Out of the building came Jessica.
After momentary shock, my automatic reaction was to bob behind a parked car, but I poked my head up enough to see her hurry off the school steps, reach the sidewalk, and keep going. As always, she limped slightly, her long black hair swishing like a horse’s tail. My first guess was that she was going to that address on Lake Street. At the first corner, however, she took a right turn and headed downhill. Wherever she was going, it was not toward Lake Street. I watched her go, wishing I could follow and see where she went. But I had to get back.
As I ran home, my mind fairly tumbled with questions. Why was Jessica in school early Sunday morning? Was she the one I had seen in the tower window? No, I was sure it had been the Penda Boy. My mind turned back to the first time I had seen the Penda School, that Sunday, when Uncle Charlie had appeared. Only then did I suddenly recall a girl looking out at me from the school’s first floor. Had that been Jessica? Then, right after I saw her, I saw the Penda Boy in the high tower.
A horrifying thought jolted me: What if they’re together?
I slipped back into our apartment, and my bed, so my parents never knew I’d been out. I lay there, panting, thoughts jumbled, trying to untangle what I had seen. Again, were Jessica and the Penda Boy together? Who was my friend? Who was my enemy?
The truth was, I no longer knew.
That afternoon, my parents and I went to Muir Woods, a forest of gigantic, ancient redwoods. As always, Dad flung facts at me. For example: Some redwoods live for two thousand years. The average age of the trees is between five hundred and seven hundred years old. Certain redwood cones—not all—open up at extreme heat—like during a major forest fire. The seeds pop out only when they’re needed. “If there is a crisis,” said Dad, “old rules don’t apply.”