Ben Y and the Ghost in the Machine

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Ben Y and the Ghost in the Machine Page 10

by K. A. Holt


  and has to stop.

  Javier drops his bag,

  plops his butt

  in a chair,

  makes a quick sketch,

  tosses it out on the table.

  A door slams

  and we all whip around

  just in time

  to see Mr. Mann storming

  again

  from Ms. J’s office

  like a very mad

  cartoon sheriff.

  He doesn’t stop storming

  as he shouts at all of us:

  SOMEONE confesses

  or EVERYONE is suspended!

  And he disappears

  out the door

  without DRESS CODING

  anyone

  at all.

  A few minutes later,

  Ms. J appears

  with her trademark

  caftan swoooosh

  like she was a bat

  a second ago

  and has

  boom

  dropped out of the sky,

  and I have to bite my lips,

  like, really clamp down,

  to keep from asking for

  Jordan’s Hot Take

  on what’s happening

  in school today.

  I don’t have to ask, though,

  because her hot take

  steams like dragon breath

  as she says,

  Who did this?

  WHO?

  And, whoa,

  she’s WAY more mad

  than I thought she’d be.

  I thought she wanted to

  inspire us

  with the zings and burns

  of her middle school words.

  I thought she was secretly saying

  we should all have a hot take

  about all the unfair things

  going on at Hart Middle.

  But her dragon breath steams

  as she hisses,

  Well?

  Who??

  Everyone shouts,

  Not me!

  All at once.

  My shout

  is the loudest.

  I mean,

  as much as I love it

  that everyone

  in the whole school

  is hanging on

  my every word,

  I’m not ready

  for anyone

  to know

  I’m the one

  who did this.

  I want to protect this secret

  and feed it,

  keeping it strong

  and healthy,

  so I can hold it tight

  and visit it

  at night,

  when everything else

  is the worst.

  I want to write more

  and say more

  and get more

  shrieks and laughs

  and hoots and hollers

  and oooohs

  and even some gasps

  the next time I do it.

  I want to have more days

  when no one sees me

  or notices me

  because they’re too distracted

  by the things I WANT them

  to notice

  and see.

  I want to stretch this out,

  hold it tight,

  feel this power every day,

  sleep soundly because of it

  every night.

  I want Ms. J

  to calm down

  and not be mad

  and be excited

  about all the

  hot takes I have.

  NO WAY I’m confessing.

  NO WAY I’m giving in.

  This is the best I’ve felt

  in a hundred years.

  (If I don’t look at Ms. J.)

  I’m ten feet tall right now.

  (If I don’t see the way

  Ms. J’s shoulders slump

  in anger

  and disappointment.)

  Ace walks in

  ten minutes late,

  sees Ms. J quivering

  over us

  and pauses

  before saying,

  Hey, you y’alls.

  What’s up, Ms. J?

  Ms. J holds up the paper,

  shaking it at Ace.

  Was this you?

  And without even a pause,

  Ace winks at me,

  grins that 100-watt

  fresh-mint grin,

  and says,

  Who else?

  Wait.

  WHAT.

  IT WAS NOT!

  I might have just

  said that

  Wait.

  WHAT.

  IT WAS NOT!

  out loud.

  omg

  omg

  omg

  Everyone gasps.

  Ms. J’s mouth

  becomes a very thin,

  very straight,

  very mad

  line.

  You two.

  Follow me.

  NOW.

  We follow her

  to her office,

  which is, like,

  some kind of

  drama portal

  these days.

  Ace winks at me.

  Again.

  And I worry

  for a second

  about NOT getting suspended

  and instead

  going to jail

  for strangling Ace

  with Ace’s own

  wagging

  blabbing

  lying

  tongue.

  Ms. J doesn’t even sit.

  I’m surprised

  she doesn’t take flight,

  diving at our heads,

  pecking at our eyes,

  while she seethes:

  We’ll stay here all night.

  Until one of you explains to me

  WHAT is going on?

  WHO thought this was a good idea?

  WHY you would do this?

  WELL??

  I look at Ace.

  Ace looks at me.

  I honestly

  have no idea

  what to say.

  Why is Ace trying to steal this from me?

  Except Ace doesn’t know it was me.

  Unless Ace does know it was me?

  But how?

  Calm down, self.

  Think.

  Think.

  I mean, anyone

  could be surprised enough

  to shout WAIT WHAT IT WAS NOT!

  Right?

  Not just the one person

  who is guilty

  of doing the thing?

  I cross my arms.

  I narrow my eyes.

  I clench my jaw.

  I refuse to give up

  the one thing

  that’s EVER

  given me control over

  where the beige blob looks

  and what the beige blob thinks.

  I won’t let anyone take that from me.

  Not Ace.

  Not even Ms. J.

  I’ll stay here all night.

  Easy.

  I’m used to never sleeping.

  ###

  When I showed you

  those old Hart Times,

  it wasn’t to inspire you

  to go rogue.

  It was to inspire you

  to pay attention.

  To be creative.

  To show you

  how you can take any topic,

  even authorized ones,

  and make it yours.

  But this . . .

  this is super not okay.

  It’s almost like I can see the thoughts

  skating behind her eyes—

  clouds racing across

  a stormy sky,

  crashing together

  into one

  big

  storm.

  You need to listen to me car
efully.

  It’s as if her mouth and eyes

  and cheeks and forehead

  all got assigned a different emotion

  at the exact same time.

  She chews her lips into a pucker.

  This is a punishable offense.

  A suspended from school,

  on your permanent record,

  really, really zero-tolerance type of offense.

  My mouth goes dry.

  Ace’s army boots

  shuffle back and forth,

  back and forth.

  Ms. J looks at me

  for a really long time,

  takes a long, deep breath,

  rolls her shoulders back,

  sits up straight.

  You know what?

  She exhales her words,

  holds up a hand:

  Don’t tell me anything else.

  I don’t want to know.

  From here on out,

  I need to preserve

  some amount of

  plausible deniability.

  Ace glances at me

  as if to ask the same thing

  I’m thinking:

  Plausi—

  whowhat?

  Ms. J continues,

  her voice lower than before,

  her eyes flashing.

  I know nothing.

  Except for this:

  No more

  unauthorized editions

  of ANYTHING.

  You hear me?

  We watch her nod slowly,

  as if that will make us nod, too.

  What else can we do?

  We nod, too.

  I need some time . . .

  to digest what you’ve done.

  Ace whispers:

  Even though

  you know nothing

  about it?

  Ms. J hisses back:

  Exactly.

  Now go home.

  Work on your authorized articles.

  We both leap up,

  run out,

  before she changes her mind.

  Now that I know

  I’m getting out of the library alive,

  I can plan exactly how

  I will kick Ace in the butt,

  so hard and so many times,

  that the Man in the Moon

  is renamed

  the Ace in the Moon.

  When we’re far enough

  from Ms. J’s office

  that she can’t hear us,

  probably,

  Ace flips around,

  facing me,

  grinning bigger

  and shinier

  than ever.

  Well??

  You’re welcome.

  My mouth gapes,

  surprise paralyzing

  my words.

  You want to know a secret?

  I didn’t even really know it was you.

  Except that you’re funny . . .

  and you’re into fashion . . .

  and you hate Mr. Mann . . .

  and since you and I are the only people I know

  with those three awesome qualities . . .

  it was an easy guess!

  Ace bows,

  stopping me

  in my tracks.

  I took the heat off of you,

  blasted it on me.

  Boom.

  You’re not the only one

  with smooth moves, huh?

  Ace bows again,

  slower and more dramatic.

  What?

  My voice is louder than I want,

  so I choke back my shriek

  before I squeak out,

  You think those

  were smooth moves

  back there?

  You think I wanted you

  to do that

  to say that

  to help by taking credit

  to ruin

  THE ONE TIME

  I had a chance

  to be invisible

  on my own terms,

  and stick it to

  all those terrible kids

  and to Mr. Mann?

  Ace looks as surprised

  as I felt

  two minutes ago.

  Whoa.

  Ben Y.

  No.

  I was just trying to—

  The words are flat.

  Dead in my mouth:

  Ruin everything?

  Ace is so surprised,

  eyes wide.

  No!

  The opposite of that!

  Ben B steps between us.

  It looks like Ben Y

  would like you to take

  three steps back,

  Ace.

  Jordan and Javier

  join Ben B

  in the blockade

  between me

  and Ace.

  This is really weird.

  And confusing.

  But fine.

  Okay.

  Ace’s palms are up,

  in an I surrender pose,

  but Ace’s mouth

  is not ready

  to give up.

  I was trying to take one for the team!

  I thought you y’alls would appreciate that!

  Especially you, Ben Y.

  After you saved me from the Poncho of Doom . . .

  I thought—

  Jordan, Ben B, Javier

  have been moving forward,

  slowly making sure Ace

  moves closer

  and closer

  to the door.

  Jordan’s voice is very low,

  but I still hear him say:

  You can’t take one for the team if you aren’t part of the team.

  Ace’s mouth opens,

  but Jordan’s words

  have chased away

  any words

  Ace might have left

  to say.

  Jordan’s words

  chase Ace away, too,

  banging out the library door

  with a smash

  and a crash.

  So you DID do it? I knew it!

  It was so good and funny! Why didn’t you tell us about it?

  See? T-told y-you. N-not my dr-drawings.

  They all talk at once,

  their questions

  bombarding,

  overlapping,

  yapping,

  and I can’t . . .

  I can’t with any of it. . . .

  Not right now.

  I guess I can see

  how Ace was trying to help,

  but even so,

  the bigger thing I see,

  the blinking sign

  in front of me,

  is that Ace assumed

  I needed help.

  And I didn’t.

  I wasn’t finished

  soaking up the energy

  and the power

  and the . . .

  satisfaction

  of turning everything

  and everyone

  upside down.

  I liked teetering on the edge

  of mystery

  and discovery.

  I liked feeling the danger

  of not knowing

  what I might do next.

  Ace took away

  the one thing

  that’s made me

  really happy

  in a long time,

  and for what?

  To save me from getting suspended?

  Who cares about that?

  For one bright flash of a moment,

  I was in control—

  I held the answers—

  I was saving myself.

  I was actually saving myself.

  I just want to get out of here now,

  away from the questions

  and away from whatever it is

  that Ms. J

  is digesting. . . .

  But where can I even go?

  The library was the last safe s
pace

  I had left.

  BUS STOP

  Hey, Ben Y! Wait up! You seem definitely sad and mad and you’re walking REALLY fast and it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it because maybe you’re riding a big wave of feelings and Mo says you don’t always have to invite other people to ride your waves with you, I just wanted to let you know—

  I’M FINE!

  JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.

  I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

  I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU TALK ABOUT IT.

  I JUST NEED FIVE SECONDS OF QUIET, OKAY?

  DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT QUIET MEANS?

  The words dive-bomb Jordan,

  stopping him in his tracks,

  and I really really really

  didn’t mean to sound so loud

  or so mad

  because I’m not mad at Jordan,

  I’m just thinking about

  so many things,

  and sometimes

  Jordan is like

  a jumping puppy

  who barks

  and barks

  until you just

  want to—

  Ugh.

  Jordan’s eyes say everything

  when they dip down,

  away from me,

  pointed at his feet

  as he speedwalks

  past me

  and up the bus stairs

  and charges all the way

  to the back

  and flings himself

  into the very last seat.

  For the first time ever,

  I sit in the front seat.

  All by myself.

  NOW

  0BenwhY: I don’t know why I keep coming here

  0BenwhY: but maybe I like to pretend

  0BenwhY: or maybe I like to ask What If

  0BenwhY: What if ghosts learn how to play Sandbox?

  0BenwhY: I mean, we taught Ms. J how to play Sandbox, so nothing’s impossible.

  0BenwhY: . . .

  0BenwhY: this is when you’d say, What’s on your mind, grasshopper?

  0BenwhY: and I’d say nothing

  0BenwhY: and you’d say, You must keep coming here for something

  0BenwhY: and I’d say fine, fine, you’re right

  0BenwhY: a little while ago on the bus, I heard a woman say to another woman:

  0BenwhY: *You ever think about how you’re only alive as long as someone remembers you?*

 

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