Ken . . . Hey, Ken, what’s up, man? Are you there? Can you listen?
Ken slumped back in his seat. This was the one voice he could never order to leave him alone.
Yeah, I’m listening.
And as the voice in his head began to talk, Ken’s thoughts went back to how it all began for him . . .
CHAPTER TWO
SOME PEOPLE HATED THE first day back at school after a vacation. Not Ken Preston. Why would he be unhappy about it or unwilling to return to the place where he ruled?
Of course, he wasn’t the only king at Meadowbrook. There were plenty of other popular guys. But in all modesty, he had to admit that he was way up there, on the upper rung of the middle-school social ladder.
‘Yo, Preston! Hey man, what’s up?’
Ken saluted the freckled, red-haired boy who strode towards him. ‘Hey, Jack. How was California?’
‘Extremely cool,’ Jack Farrell told him. ‘Not much in the way of surf, but lots of action on the beach, if you know what I mean.’ He whistled. ‘I’m telling ya, man, those California girls are a completely different kind of female species.’
Ken laughed. In this particular way, Jack had always been a little more mature than the rest of the gang. ‘Better not let Lucy hear you say that.’
‘I just looked, I didn’t touch,’ Jack assured him. ‘Not like any of them would let me get close enough to do that anyway. Blondes in bikinis are out of my league. What about you? Did you have any adventures with the opposite sex this summer?’
‘Not really.’ They were inside the building now, and Ken lowered his voice. ‘Well, actually, I kissed Amanda Beeson underwater at Sophie Greene’s pool party last month.’
‘Oh, yeah? You like her?’
‘It was a dare,’ Ken explained with a shrug. ‘I barely know her. And I haven’t seen her since.’
‘She’s pretty hot,’ Jack mused.
‘Yeah, I guess. Not really my type, though. I think she’s kind of a snob.’
They rounded the corner to the hall where lockers lined the wall. A whoop went up from three boys gathered at one of the lockers, and Ken and Jack paused to greet them.
‘Guess we’ll be seeing you two at practice this afternoon,’ one of them said.
Ken grinned. ‘Yeah, we thought we might drop by.’ He and Jack were captain and vice-captain of Meadowbrook’s soccer team that year. ‘See ya there.’
They moved on, and Jack stopped at a door. ‘Here we are.’
Ken opened a notebook and looked at the print-out of his class schedule. ‘Not me. I’ve got homeroom in one-one-eight.’
Jack gave a look of exaggerated dismay. ‘You’re kidding! They’re splitting us up?’
Ken shrugged. ‘Guess so. We had a good run though. Two years in the same homeroom. What else have you got on the schedule?’
The boys compared timetables and discovered they had their lunch breaks and English classes together.
‘Excellent,’ Jack proclaimed. ‘I’ll eat your lunch and you’ll write my essays.’
‘Dream on, pal,’ Ken responded. ‘Later.’ He moved on down the hall to his own homeroom.
At least a dozen students were already seated in the classroom when he entered. A pretty blonde girl perked up when she saw him.
‘Ken, hi!’ She indicated the chair next to hers. ‘Nobody’s sitting here.’
Ken couldn’t remember her name, but he gave her a friendly smile anyway. He’d been getting a lot of attention like this from girls lately. ‘Thanks, but I like the back of the room. Less chance of getting called on.’ He joined the four boys who already lined the wall at the far end.
He was greeted with welcoming smiles and the usual calls of ‘Hey, man!’
Ken slapped hands as he moved to the end of the row. He knew them all. None of them were on the soccer team, but Ken had never limited his socializing to the jocks. Funny thing though – when people knew you were an athlete, they thought your only interest was sports.
‘You gonna get that lousy team of ours out of the dumps?’ one boy asked with a grin.
‘Absolutely,’ Ken assured him. ‘We’re going all the way to the finals this year. Farrell and I have big plans!’
The warning bell sounded and a wave of students rushed into the room, followed by a teacher. Then the final bell rang and the teacher spoke.
‘Hello. My name is Mr Kingston, and—’
That was as far as he got before the intercom on the wall emitted a shrill buzz, indicating that the High and Mighty was about to address them.
First came the voice of the secretary. ‘May I have your attention for the morning announcements?’
In keeping with tradition, the students in the class yelled out, ‘No!’ Naturally, this had no effect.
The next voice was booming and authoritative. ‘Good morning, students, this is your principal. I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome you back to Meadowbrook Middle School.’
Since this was the third time Ken had heard Mr Jackson’s first-day-of-school speech, he knew what was coming – the usual exhortations to do well, study hard, behave properly, blah, blah, blah. He tuned out the principal and thought about his own plans for the new school term.
This year, ninth grade, would be his last year at Meadowbrook, and he needed to leave his mark on the middle school. He’d already had two good years here and he wanted this one to be outstanding. Next September he’d be a lowly underclassman at Central High School, so he was determined to enjoy this final year of being on top of the heap.
First of all he’d lead the soccer team to the play-offs, maybe even to the state championship. This would take some real work. He was relying on his popularity with his teammates to keep them enthused and practising harder and longer than they had the year before. If they had a good season, his reputation could secure him a place on Central’s varsity team. Most high school freshmen were stuck playing on Central’s B team, but Ken knew they made exceptions for exceptional players. And if he became a star on Central’s team, a scout might notice him and he could be up for a university scholarship.
But Ken was a realist. He knew there had to be lots of soccer players as good as he was, and he knew he couldn’t count on soccer to provide him with a university education. He had to keep his marks up too. What he’d said to that blonde-haired girl about sitting in the back of a classroom so he wouldn’t be called on wasn’t really true. He’d always done pretty well at school, and he was proud of it. If he did really well this year he could get advanced placement classes at Central, which would give his parents a big thrill.
As for his social life, he had some goals in that area too. Most of his classmates didn’t really go out on ‘dates’ – they just hung out in groups. But lately his friends had started pairing off. Jack and Lucy had been together since last spring. Ken was beginning to think it might be kind of fun to know one girl really well, to talk to her on the phone every night, exchange text messages on their cell phones and meet between classes. Not to mention what they might get up to when they were alone. Ken grinned to himself. Yes, there were definite advantages to having a girlfriend.
But what girl? Amanda Beeson? Jack was right – she was pretty hot. He didn’t much like the clique she hung out with though. It seemed to consist of a lot of girls who were mean to other girls. And Amanda was rumoured to be one of the meanest. He remembered the previous year when she’d been in one of his classes, and she’d said some really nasty things to that strange, sad girl, Tracey . . . Something. It was weird, but Ken couldn’t begin to recall her last name.
Anyway, there were plenty of other girls. And even though Ken would never admit it publicly, he knew many of them wouldn’t mind hanging out with him. Like that blonde in the front of his homeroom. What was her name? Ken shook his head ruefully. Not such a great start to finding a girlfriend. But someone would turn up in the end.
His first day back at school progressed nicely. Some of the teachers were halfway decent. In his Civics c
lass they were going to debate capital punishment, they would dissect crayfish in Biology, and in English they were going to read modern novels, so there wouldn’t be any of that ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ stuff he hated.
But what he really looked forward to would come after all the classes – his first day as captain of Meadowbrook’s soccer team.
After changing into his football kit, he met with Jack and Coach Holloway in the coach’s office for a private consultation. As usual, Coach Holloway looked worried.
‘You guys have a lot of work to do. We don’t have a decent goalie and the whole team looks flabby. I don’t know how we’re going to whip them into shape for the season.’
Jack responded in his typically cocky way. ‘No sweat, Coach. Leave them to us. We can handle them.’
Ken was a little less optimistic, especially after they met up with the whole team on the field. A lazy summer filled with too many picnics had taken its toll, and they all looked pretty pathetic.
‘You do the pep talk,’ Jack whispered to Ken.
‘Why me?’
‘Because people like you better.’
Ken grinned. This was true – Jack could be a show-off, and it had been known to get on people’s nerves sometimes. Ken didn’t particularly like public speaking but he did what he had to do.
‘OK, guys, we’ve got less than one week to prepare for our first game. We’ll be going up against Sunnydale Middle School. Sunnydale made it to the semi-finals last year, and I’m sure they think they’re going to blow us away. It’s going to be a battle, but we can be ready for them. We gotta hit ’em hard and show them there have been some big changes here at Meadowbrook.’ After a few more encouraging words, he turned the team over to the coach.
‘Start off with some laps,’ Coach barked. ‘Three times around the field.’
This took the wind out of a few boys, but Ken was pleased to see a decent survival rate. After that, Coach put them through a series of gruelling exercises, and finally it was time to practise some real set pieces. The boys split up into two teams, with Ken in charge of one side and Jack taking over the other.
Ken worked on psyching himself up. It wasn’t easy seeing your friends – especially your best pal – as your enemy, but that was the only way to get anything out of these mock matches. Squaring his shoulders, he was ready to get down and dirty.
One of the guys kicked the ball, and it flew past him. He took off after it. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jack coming up from behind, so he picked up the pace. Then he saw a couple of defenders just ahead, ready to tackle him. He couldn’t let that happen. Quickly he passed to Freddie Ryan, who shot the ball back to Ken as soon as he was clear of the defenders. The pass was high and Ken turned to head the ball to another teammate.
The last thing he remembered seeing was Jack’s face. And then – darkness.
Complete and utter nothingness. No sensations, nothing to see, nothing to hear. No pain either. Just – nothing. He was without form, floating in space.
At some point he thought he felt a prick in his arm, sharper than a mosquito bite. Another time he was vaguely aware of lights. And then some indistinct voices. Hands on his body, something cold pressed against his chest.
And finally, pain. It was almost a relief, because that was when he knew he wasn’t dead.
‘Ken? Ken, can you hear me?’
He opened his eyes and saw his mother’s anxious face. What was she doing on the soccer field? He tried to sit up, and she rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.
‘Don’t move, darling. Stay still. George, ring for the nurse!’
George – that was his father. So he was on the field too. This was all very strange. And why were they calling for a nurse?
Then things began happening quickly. He could hear, he could see . . . he was aware. And he realized he was in a hospital.
Gradually the memory of what had happened started to come back to him. He remembered Jack right behind him, moving fast. Apparently the collision had been pretty bad. They’d both been running at full tilt when they hit each other. Both he and Jack must have been knocked out.
‘What time is it?’ he asked his mother.
‘Almost midnight,’ she told him. ‘How do you feel?’
He winced. ‘Everything hurts.’
A nurse appeared. She looked into his eyes, took his pulse, and then gave him an injection. ‘This is for the pain,’ she told him. Then she had a whispered conversation with his parents, and left.
Ken was trying to think, and it wasn’t easy. His brain seemed to be operating in slow motion. Training had started at four. It must have been nearly five o’clock by the time they started the match. His mother had just told him it was midnight. Twelve minus five . . . simple subtraction made his head hurt, but he persevered.
‘I’ve been unconscious for seven hours?’
His mother spoke gently. ‘It’s Friday, Ken. You’ve been in a coma for four days. You had a concussion, some broken ribs, and you’ve got some badly torn tendons in your left ankle. But you’re going to be OK.’
All he really heard was ‘Friday’. ‘I’ve got a game tomorrow . . .’ and then the rest of her words sunk in. ‘I suppose I won’t be playing.’
‘No, dear. But you’re going to be OK eventually. It will take some time though.’
Was she saying he’d be out for the season? he wondered in dismay. Then he realized he hadn’t even asked about the other victim.
‘How’s Jack? Can he play tomorrow?’
The injection the nurse had given him must have been pretty potent. He had drifted off to sleep before he could get an answer, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d actually asked the question out loud. Maybe it was the painkilling medication that made his dreams so vivid.
He was back on the soccer pitch, running after a ball. But every time he got close enough to kick it, the ball moved further away. He kept running, the ball kept moving. From behind, he could hear Jack’s voice. Ken, wait for me! Wait up, Ken! Or maybe he was yelling, Wake up, Ken, wake up!
And he did.
He was alone in the hospital room now. Light poured in from the window. He lifted his head and tried to sit up but it was too painful, and his head sank back down on the pillow.
The door opened, and a young woman in a pink pinafore came in wheeling a tray. ‘Good morning!’ she said in a bright voice. ‘How do you feel?’
‘OK. It hurts a little.’
‘The nurse is coming around with your medication,’ she told him. ‘How about some breakfast? Are you hungry?’
‘No,’ he replied, but she didn’t pay any attention to his response. She pressed a button on the bed, and it raised him painlessly into a halfway sitting position. Then she set up a tray over his lap.
He looked at the food without interest. ‘I’m really not hungry.’
‘Try to eat a little,’ she urged him.
Without any enthusiasm, and mainly just to get rid of this perky girl, he picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. The girl smiled with approval and left. He took another bite, and to his surprise, he managed to get both slices down. Moments later, an orderly came in with a basin. Ken suffered through a sponge bath, but at least he was allowed to brush his own teeth. A nurse appeared with some pills for him to take. The pain went away, but he stayed awake. And he actually began to feel almost human.
He must have looked almost human too, because when his parents arrived they seemed very relieved to see him. His mother began to prattle about the doctor’s report, how Ken could probably come home tomorrow or the next day, as soon as he learned how to manoeuvre some crutches, but his father was oddly silent. And even as his mother continued to prattle, Ken sensed something behind her determinedly cheerful expression.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
His parents looked at each other.
‘Is Jack in worse shape than me? Is he going to play tonight?’
His father took his hand. ‘Son . . . you have to be stro
ng. We have something difficult to tell you.’
Ken had a terrible feeling he knew what they were about to say. That he’d never play soccer again. He steeled himself to deal with it.
‘What is it, Dad?’
‘Jack didn’t make it, Ken. He died.’
Ken hadn’t prepared himself for that.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in front of his parents. Probably not since he was five or six. But he felt absolutely no shame in crying now. Jack was his best friend, they’d been buddies since they were little kids. And now he was gone.
His parents stayed with him and tried to comfort him. Then a nurse came in to give him another shot.
‘This will help you sleep,’ she said.
He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to think about Jack. He wanted to stay awake and ask questions. Why had Jack died and he’d survived? Was he to blame for the collision? But the medication was stronger than he was.
Much later, he opened his eyes to a room that was still dark. He could just make out the flowers and balloons that friends and family had sent. He was alone, and he was glad to be alone, because now he had a chance to think.
What happened? How did it happen? Had Jack suffered? And where was Jack now . . .
He hadn’t spoken out loud and he didn’t expect an answer, but he got one.
I’m here.
He didn’t see anyone, but he’d know that voice anywhere. ‘Jack?’
Yeah, it’s me.
Relief flooded over him. ‘So you’re not dead.’
Oh, I’m dead, all right. Bummer, huh?
So this was a dream. It had to be a dream. Ken didn’t believe in ghosts.
In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You know how I never learned to fall right. I broke my neck. I guess that’s the way the cookie crumbles.