She shook her head no, but just a touch too emphatically.
What? he asked.
Nothing. She was blushing. It was obvious.
Some guy you wish was your boyfriend?
She shook her head, even more forcefully than before. Suddenly she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
He smirked. There is! He was flirting with The Deaf Girl. There was him being charming and there was flirting, and Harlan knew the difference. But why not? The Deaf Girl would be kind of cute when her acne finally cleared up. Does he know? he asked.
No! Definitely not.
You might be surprised. Not all guys are as clueless as you think.
He’s not clueless, Elsa said. He just doesn’t know.
Maybe you should tell him.
She leaned back in her chair, splayed out like she’d been stabbed with a knife. No! I could never!
Harlan looked back at the stage. They were singing now, to a piano accompaniment—Julian Mercurio as Lancelot singing “If Ever I Would Leave You” to Amber as Guinevere. They looked like they were really in love. Harlan couldn’t remember the last time he and Amber had looked like that. Maybe never. Even so, Harlan wasn’t jealous. On the contrary, he hoped Julian really felt what he was singing. Then maybe he’d ask Amber out—she might go, even though Julian was in Drama Club—and Harlan wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.
He felt Elsa watching him.
What? he asked.
You want to break up with her, don’t you?
What? Her signing had been fast, but the truth was, he’d understood her perfectly.
She looked away. I’m sorry; never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.
Why did you say it? Harlan signed.
Something about the way you were looking at her.
He was immediately uneasy. Elsa wasn’t going to tell, was she? She might not “talk,” but she could still get the word out. And it would definitely get back to Amber. Everything did. Amber was a satellite dish for school gossip.
But he couldn’t lie to Elsa. Not now. It just felt wrong.
She doesn’t understand anything, he said. I can’t believe we’re even together. He hesitated. Should he tell her the rest? She’s not the reason I came into the theater. I’m not waiting for her.
You’re not? Elsa said.
It’s complicated. You’ll think I’m crazy.
She shook her head—not enough to make it seem like she was dying to hear what he had to say; just enough to make her seem sincere. I won’t, she said.
My life is all screwed up, he signed. I don’t get to decide anything for myself. I don’t have any control.
Sounds pretty normal to me.
This is exactly what Amber had said; it’s what everybody said. Everyone seemed to think that his problems were just the same as any other teenager’s. But he’d seen his friends’ lives up close, and yeah, they all had their shit. But his situation—his mother, that is—really was worse. Or maybe he was just being arrogant—poor little rich kid? It’s not like he was being raised by a crack whore.
But it must be tough, Elsa went on. Being the son of a senator.
He looked at her, swallowing her with his eyes. You have no idea. It didn’t used to bother me. But suddenly it does.
She stared at him too, not taken aback, just curious and genuinely sympathetic. Why? What’s going on now?
I have these feelings, he said. That something terrible is going to happen to me, and I have no way to stop it.
Feelings?
Premonitions. Why had he told her this? Was it still the sign language thing? And what if she told others?
But she wasn’t going to tell. Somehow he knew that. His secrets were safe with her.
I need to do something—a specific thing—to keep them from coming true, he went on. But I don’t know what it is.
You need more control, Elsa said. Boy, do I get that.
“What?” Without thinking, Harlan had spoken out loud.
What what?
“What do you mean about control?”
Isn’t that what you just said? Elsa said. That you feel like you don’t have any control? I thought that’s what you thought was causing the premonitions.
Harlan kept looking at Elsa. If anyone understood the whole issue of control, it would probably be a deaf person—someone who lost the ability to communicate when the other person’s back was turned, and who always depended upon the interpreter’s showing up on time. But was Elsa right about him? Was that really what the premonitions were all about?
It sure felt right. The two issues were definitely connected: the premonitions made him feel out of control, and his mom didn’t let him have any control.
He needed to stand up to his mom. What did Harlan have to lose by doing that? If that was the answer, his premonitions might stop for good—and he might also be preventing some very real disaster. And if he was wrong, well at least Harlan would have stood up for himself at last!
What about you? Harlan asked. Are you going to tell that guy you’re hot for him?
Elsa smiled. God, no! Besides, we’re talking about your problems, not mine!
Harlan smiled too, even as they went on signing. For the first time in a long time, he was actually having fun. It felt like he’d come up for air at last and he could finally really breathe again.
MANNY
The head of a camel. That’s what was inside the jack-in-the-box: the grinning head of a silly, big-nosed camel. Manny knew that now, but not because he’d seen the thing again. No, he’d searched all over the house and, sure enough, there’d been no sign of it anywhere.
Finally, Manny had had the bright idea to look it up online. He didn’t have much to work with, just his memory of what it looked like on the outside—the colored sides and the carved letters. It had taken a while to track it down, but eventually he’d found it on eBay—a classic Shropshire Sahara jack-in-the-box, made in England in 1912.
The current bid was four hundred and twenty-five dollars.
In other words, it was an expensive jack-in-the-box. He wondered if his dad knew that. For that matter, how in the world had he bought it for Manny in the first place? He sure didn’t have that kind of money now. Had he been a lot richer when Manny was a kid?
Seeing the inside of the jack-in-the-box, knowing it was a smiling camel’s head, hadn’t triggered any repressed memories of his childhood. At least the on-screen image hadn’t done it. Manny knew he needed to see the actual jack-in-the-box. He needed to hold it in his hands, feel it, turn the crank and watch the camel head pop up out of the box.
He heaved a sigh and pushed himself away from the computer. Manny felt a little like a jack-in-the-box himself: if he didn’t get out of his house right then, he was sure he was going to burst right up through the roof.
It wasn’t until after he’d bought a burger and onion rings, then taken a seat in the dining area, that it occurred to Manny how ironic it was that he’d chosen this particular restaurant. Out of all the restaurants in the city, even all the different fast food restaurants alone, he had to come and eat at a damn Jack in the Box? Apparently his subconscious mind had a sense of humor. Between that and his nightmares, his brain was just a barrel of laughs.
But Manny was starving and he’d already bought his food, so he figured there was no sense in wasting it.
He took a bite from his burger. As he did, he spotted a second reason why coming to this Jack in the Box had been a bad idea. Ricky Loduca, a jock from his school, was over by the order counter. He was carrying a tray heavy with food and scanning the seating area for an empty table.
Manny immediately looked down at his onion rings. This was just what he needed: to be hassled by a jock. It was impossible that Ricky wouldn’t see him—the restaurant only had six tables. But maybe he’d pretend like they didn’t know each other. For that matter, maybe Ricky really didn’t know him. After all, Ricky was a star swimmer at a school where the swim team was actually a pretty big deal,
and Manny was just a theater geek.
“Hey!” Ricky said, stopping in front of Manny’s table, grinning from ear to ear. “I know you!”
Against his will, Manny looked up. “Oh. Hey.” Did they “know” each other? Yeah, they went to the same school, but they’d never even said three words to each other before.
“All by your lonesome, huh?” Ricky said, and Manny shrugged. “It’s Manny, right?”
“Yeah,” Manny said, surprised that Ricky knew his name. And that’s when Manny remembered something important about Ricky. He was gay. He’d come out the year before, in an article in the school newspaper. Manny wasn’t quite as shocked as everyone else; after all, Manny was in the theater, so he knew openly gay people. But it wasn’t every school where one of the star jocks comes out of the closet, so Manny had still been surprised.
“You alone too?” Manny said.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Awkwardly holding the tray in one hand, Ricky scratched his nose.
“You wanna sit?” Manny said. He didn’t want company—he had too much to think about already. But it did seem like Ricky was waiting to be asked.
Sure enough, Ricky said, “Yeah, okay!” Then he took the seat across from Manny. There was no hesitation in Ricky’s eyes at all. Looking at his face was like looking right into the sun itself, all bright and warm and open—too bright, if you asked Manny. Still, he had to admire the fact that the guy had come out. Unlike the guys in theater, Ricky had had a hell of a lot more to lose.
“So,” Ricky said. “What’s goin’ on?”
Manny took a bite of his burger. “Nothing much.”
There was another silence. Manny was already regretting the situation. They were from such different worlds. What would they have to talk about? What if Ricky thought Manny was trying to pick him up? What if Ricky was trying to pick him up?
“You’re a swimmer, huh?” Manny said. Even across the table, he could smell the chlorine.
Ricky nodded. “You do sports?”
Manny shook his head. He barely knew how to swim. His dad had never been able to afford lessons, or even admission to the pool. “But I did this video about a soccer player once,” Manny said. “No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t kick a goal. Even when she got up really close.” Hearing himself out loud, Manny was struck by how stupid he sounded.
But Ricky laughed anyway. “You make movies, huh?”
“Yeah. Plus I do web design. And lighting design for the school plays.” Why did Manny suddenly feel the need to justify his existence?
Ricky nodded. “That’s cool.” He ate his French fries five at a time, like a jock would, not like a gay guy. “Funny. We’ve been at the same schools for years, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked.”
Yeah, Manny thought. And now they knew why.
“How are things?” Manny asked.
“Things?”
“You know. At school.”
“Oh,” Ricky said. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I have friends—more girls than guys, but still. Everyone’s cool. But it’s hard sometimes. I know people are watching me.” Manny hadn’t meant the whole gay thing. Or had he?
“How are things with you?” Ricky asked.
Manny crunched down on an onion ring. “Me? Oh, I’m great. Fantastic.”
“Yeah? Then how come you’re eating dinner by yourself?”
For a second, Manny felt defensive. Then he saw that Ricky’s face was just as sunny as ever, that he hadn’t meant anything by it. “I don’t know,” Manny said. “I just needed to get away for a while.”
“Parents?”
“Parent. I don’t have a mom.”
“Yeah? I don’t have a mom either. Well, I have one—she’s just not around. People always say it must suck, but I’ve never known any different.”
“Yeah,” Manny said, nodding. “That’s it exactly. How can you compare it to something you’ve never had?” Could it be that he actually had something in common with Ricky Loduca, Gay Jock, after all?
“What’s goin’ on?” Ricky asked. “With your dad?”
Manny didn’t want to have this conversation. He had things to think about, antique jack-in-the-boxes to figure out. He shook his head. “It’s a long, boring story.”
“Come on!” Ricky said. “I still got half a thing of French fries left.”
Manny had to smile. He had a feeling that Ricky had that effect on a lot of people. Could Ricky be one of those legendary high school students who were rumored to exist, but whom Manny had never actually encountered before: a popular kid who was also genuinely nice?
“He’s hiding something,” Manny said. He told Ricky about the nightmares, and the way his dad had reacted when Manny had told him about them.
“Dude!” Ricky said. “That heaps!” This was an expression popular lately—short for “heaps of shit,” or something like that. Neither Manny nor any of his geek friends had ever used it.
There was another silence, but not as awkward this time. Ricky’s French fries were gone, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.
“What about you?” Manny asked. “How come you’re eating dinner all by yourself?”
“Huh? Oh. Well, my best friend, he’s been kind of distracted lately.”
“That’s lousy.”
“It’s okay,” Ricky said. “After last year, I owe him. Mostly, though, it’s my dad.”
“What about him?”
Ricky wadded the foil wrapper from his hamburger into a ball. “It’s stupid.”
“Come on!” Manny said. “I told you my long, boring story!” He could hardly believe it. Was he actually joshing around with a jock? And it didn’t seem all that strange! In another place and time, Manny could almost imagine being friends with a guy like him.
Ricky smiled. “Okay, okay!” he said. “My dad makes windows. Stained glass, custom-made. It’s the family business, and he wants me to take it over. Loduca and Son. But I don’t wanna take it over!”
“What do you want to do?” Manny asked.
“Teach, maybe? But I know what I don’t want, you know? I mean, I’ve watched my dad work glass my whole life, and it’s just not fun. And then there’s the whole gay thing. No son of his, and all that crap.”
“That heaps,” Manny said quietly. So he’d used the expression at last. And the thing was, it didn’t feel all that weird.
“Yeah,” Ricky said. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t adopted. I hate that he can tell himself that I’m not ‘really’ his son—that ‘his’ son wouldn’t be gay. ’Cause I know that’s what he thinks.” Ricky turned and tossed the crushed foil wrapper at a garbage can on the other side of the room. He made it perfectly—a natural athlete.
“You’re adopted?” Manny asked.
“Yeah. You?”
Manny shook his head. But halfway through the shake, he froze.
“What?” Ricky said.
“Am I adopted?” Manny said out loud.
“What do you mean? Don’t you know?”
“No baby pictures! And no toys, except for that single one!”
Ricky was confused. “What?”
“Don’t you see?” Manny said. “Maybe that’s what my dad has been trying to hide from me!”
“Really?”
Manny was thinking out loud. “I mean, that’s why there wouldn’t be a crib or a trike! And that would explain the jack-in-the-box! I mean, there’s no way my dad could have afforded that thing!”
“Okay,” Ricky said.
Manny stood up. “Look, I’ve got to go! But it was really nice talking to you!”
Ricky smiled. “Sure. See you at school.”
Would Ricky talk to him at school? Probably, Manny had to admit.
“And Manny?” said Ricky.
Manny turned.
“Good luck!”
Manny smiled back. Then he headed for the door. He was going to confront his dad. And this time, he wouldn’t take anything for a
n answer except the truth.
HARLAN
Harlan was certain he was being watched. It was Tuesday of the following week, and he’d just arrived home from swimming and walked into his bedroom. His dad was away in Washington—of course—and his mom wasn’t home yet. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone staring at him. It was crazy: the curtains in his room were drawn, and his webcam wasn’t turned on.
He sat down at his computer to check his e-mail. There was a message from Ricky about some cool guy he’d had dinner with. Could it be that Ricky had a boyfriend at last—or was at least finally talking about his love life?
Harlan glanced back at his room. Why did it feel like he wasn’t alone? Maybe his mom had installed some kind of hidden camera—like when parents hide camcorders inside teddy bears to spy on the baby-sitter.
Now he really was being crazy.
He turned back to stare at his e-mail inbox. There was nothing from Amber, just like there hadn’t been anything from Amber in days. Two weeks ago, before the party and the Ouija board, there would have been five e-mails just from one afternoon alone—links and pictures and stupid jokes. His relationship with Amber was over. So why didn’t he have the guts to officially break it off?
Harlan shivered. He could feel an eye on him! But whose? He was all alone in his bedroom. Or was he? Maybe it wasn’t someone watching him—maybe it was something. He turned his chair around to face the empty room.
And that’s when he saw it. His mom had left his mail on his bed. The envelope on top was glossy white, with a close-up photo of a large eyeball. The eyeball looked like it was staring right at him.
Harlan was being watched—by a piece of mail! He almost laughed out loud.
He rolled his chair closer to the bed and picked up the envelope. It was from the local eye bank—one of the largest in the country. It held an annual fund-raiser called the Eye Ball, which was taking place that weekend. One of the highlights was the Retina Raffle, where people bought tickets for a chance to win these really expensive prizes—trips and cars and weekend getaways. Then, at the end of the dance, there was a drawing. The organizers brought out this big clear plastic bin filled with Ping-Pong balls that had been painted to look like eyes. Each eye also had a little number on it.