Reverie

by Ryan La Sala

  “It’s…” Kane’s eyes widened.

  Ursula was the first to spit it out. “Oh, God, these are awful.”

  Willfully, Kane swallowed.

  “Oh, God!” Ursula snatched it from Kane, staring at the cookie faces as though they could tell her what was wrong with them. They kept their secret.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have tried a new recipe on something so important. I’m so sorry, Kane. Oh my God I’m so embarrassed, this is so embarrassing, you must think I’m like trying to poison you.”

  “Relax, Urs,” Kane said. “It’s cool. They still look good.”

  Her face turned wondrous. “You called me Urs. That’s what you used to call me.”

  It hadn’t been on purpose. Kane shrugged uneasily, feeling no more familiar toward her than before.

  Ursula joined him on the table. Sparrows quizzically circled the fallen crumbs. Ursula snapped off bits of cookie anatomy and tossed them to the birds.

  “You don’t even like sugar cookies,” she confessed.

  Kane held very still. This was true. He thought sugar cookies were for people who had never tasted actual happiness, but he wasn’t about to tell Ursula that.

  “Like, the last time I made sugar cookies, you told me that sugar cookies were for people who had never tasted actual—”

  “Stop.” Kane couldn’t take hearing his own memories repeated to him. The taut feeling in his heart threatened to snap right there, like a piano string ripping through him.

  The silence eased him, but then made it worse. He needed to at least give her the chance.

  “Actually, it would help if you told me about us, I think.”

  “Hmm, okay.” Ursula handed Kane what was left of his cookie. “Well, for one we used to sit out here in the mornings, and you’d toss food to the birds. I used to hate it, to be honest. Like I was absolutely scared of birds. All birds. And I used to get so mad that you would try to get them to come closer, but then one day you showed up with bread crumbs and showed me how you can sort of conduct them if you throw crumbs to one side, then the other.” She demonstrated this by tossing a handful of cookie bits to one side of the courtyard. The flock burst into a wheeling arc that plummeted through the bright air. She did it again, to the other side, and the birds flowed like water.

  “I love that,” Ursula said. “We used to do this a lot, even during summer break. Wherever we went we’d always feed the birds. I miss it.”

  Kane cast crumbs too close to the table, and the birds darted so close that Ursula screamed and laughed, tearing backward and dragging Kane with her.

  “Jerk.” She punched him playfully. “Good to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

  It was odd to learn about himself secondhand, like reading his own biography. It helped that Ursula seemed so sincere. Right now, she seemed like a person who had never successfully lied in her life. The version of her from before—from the path, from the bike rack—seemed at once so improbable and totally expected. When Kane’s world ended, so had the world they once built together. Maybe his limbo hadn’t been so lonely, after all.

  For the next few minutes Ursula talked about baking and their teachers and the frustrations of field hockey. Kane allowed himself a momentary peace. Slowly, somewhere within him, his own flock of sparrows was returning. He didn’t dare get too close. He told himself to be patient and keep casting out crumbs to see what showed up.

  The door banged open—a teacher finally coming to tell them to get back inside. Kane’s simmering nervousness returned. So did his guilt. As they entered, the first bell rang, and the halls congested with students. All the questions Kane had forgotten to ask crowded his mind.

  “Urs, do we…have any friends?”

  Ursula laughed. “Sure, Amity Regional isn’t that big. Most of us have been in school together since like, forever.”

  Kane fought to keep his head down, not meeting the stares of students watching him. He thought of the photo of the shoes he found in his journal. His shoes, Ursula’s, and two other pairs.

  “No I mean like friend friends? Like, other bird-feeding friends?”

  “Afraid it’s just you and me. Sorry, bud.”

  “No, it’s okay. I just thought…” Kane didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. “I thought I recognized someone. Do we know a boy? Tall, brown skin, freckles, greenish eyes, sort of a gaunt, model look?”

  Like a cloud drifting across the sun, the light in Ursula went out.

  “You mean Dean Flores.”

  “Dean Flores?” Kane tasted familiarity in every syllable. “Do we know him?”

  “No. He’s new here. Moved to East Amity late last year, I think. Never talks to anyone. The only reason I know his name is because he showed up at the athletics banquet right before school started and signed up for swim team. Evidently he’s really good. A diver, I think? I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

  “Why not?”

  Ursula frowned. “Um, because you told me not to. You told me to avoid him on, like, his second day last year. I think your exact words were, ‘Anyone that pretty and that gloomy has probably killed their whole family or is planning to do it during the next new moon.’ And we’ve avoided him since.”

  He laughed. The second bell sounded, and Ursula jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  “I’m this way. You have my number, right?”

  He’d punched it into his loaner phone, which he held up to show her. Ursula gave a double thumbs-up.

  “Wait, before you go, can I ask another question?”

  Tentative, Ursula nodded.

  “That night, on the path, there were these…things, with many legs…like, monsters.” A few freshman drifted by, making Kane aware of how strange this sounded. Ursula watched the freshman, as though keeping track of who had overheard. Kane lowered his voice.

  “And after you saved me from them, and I mentioned Maxine—”

  Ursula cut him off.

  “I didn’t save you from anything. I was out for a run. I run outside all the time. I’m very sporty.” This was clearly a rehearsed explanation. Kane was right; she was a terrible liar. She went on. “We can discuss what you think you saw later. Not here. And if you think you see anything else, text me, okay? We usually have lunch together during sixth period. You’ll be fine until then, I promise.”

  And she dashed off. Again.

  Kane was alone in the hallway, baffled. Somewhere in the last few minutes a grittiness had risen up in the girl who baked cookies and feared birds. He’d glimpsed that edge again, and through it had seen another version of the world. A version that Ursula meant to guard.

  His mind returned to the boy. Dean Flores. Even thinking the name brought back that eerie sensation of being watched, as though Dean’s eyes had taken ahold of Kane and never put him back down. Even now, it was like Dean could peer through the bricks and metal of the school to where Kane stood, stupefied, trying to put the pieces together.

  Determination spread over him, straightening his back and clenching his fists. Dean Flores. Ursula Abernathy. These people knew him. Or they knew about him. He was sure they stood between him and the answers he needed.

  And if they weren’t going to give Kane what he needed, fine. He’d take it at any cost. He had nothing left to lose.

  • Six •

  THE OTHERS

  For half the day no one spoke to Kane, and it was lovely.

  In Statistics and Analysis, Kane was allowed to opt out of the pop quiz. In Spanish, Señora Pennington skipped Kane as the class took turns correcting sentences on a handout. In biology, Kane got to sit out the lab and stay at his desk and “catch up on the reading he’d missed.” Instead, he took out the photo and studied it.

  And no one cared.

  Or, if they cared, no one dared say anything. Rumor had likely spread about Kane’s outburst tow
ard Viv, and the warm welcomes of homeroom had gone cold. People gave Kane space. Kane gave Kane space. He watched over his own shoulder as he scribbled shoes into his journal. He drifted beyond himself, like a demon unsure about possessing this body or a ghost debating residency in this house.

  He wondered who wore white sneakers and who wore gray flats.

  The bell rang. Kane pushed the photo into his pocket as his classmates returned to their desks to pack up. Adeline Bishop passed out the homework for Mrs. Clark, and when she got to Kane’s desk she lingered, curious about his journal. He slapped it shut and gave her a scornful look and, because she was Adeline Bishop, her glance back held withering amusement. To spite her, Kane left the homework on his desk.

  Next up was gym. Kane wished he didn’t remember this and could skip on account of his broken memory, but he was on a mission. He scanned the faces in the hallway for Ursula or Dean and saw neither. Anyone looking at him looked away quickly. It was impossible to figure out who might be hiding something from him, because in a strange reversal, everyone seemed to be hiding from him in general. Frustration threaded through him, and by the time he reached the gymnasium he was in a terrible mood.

  And then, suddenly, whatever spell his homeroom outburst had cast wore off as he approached the students in the bleachers and someone whispered: “Dude, check Montgomery out. Looks like he slept on a grill.”

  All eyes turned toward his burns. There was snickering, and a bubbling rash of Ooooooos from the junior boys who were in the process of peaking early in life. They manifested their fleeting superior status by taunting basically everything. Kane was a popular target when he couldn’t get out of their way, like right now. They were the main reason he hated gym this year, and school every year.

  Tragically, they referred to themselves as The Boys.

  “I heard he drove himself to school,” said one of The Boys. Zachary DuPont. “You can smell the wreck from here.”

  “Brooo.”

  “I heard he drives a unicorn now.”

  “I heard it runs on top of a rainbow.”

  “I heard the rainbow comes out of his—”

  Bursting laughter cut the rest off. Kane slumped down on the far side of the bleachers. He didn’t dare take out the journal—it would attract even more attention. He wished he had The Witches, but just then Coach O’Brien showed up and took attendance. Kane began the tedious task of turning invisible again. He was so busy doing this that he almost missed O’Brien’s announcement.

  “There is good and bad news. The good news is no one has to get changed for gym. The bad news is we’re square dancing this week.”

  A sarcastic cheer went up from the students, who were mostly resigned to Connecticut’s strange fixation with folksiness. This happened every year, and there was even a club that sometimes went to regionals in Waterbury.

  Kane went rigid with terror. He dreaded what was next: The Coupling. Boys began to pair up with girls like drops of water joining, but no one picked Kane. In seconds, only two people were left: Kane, and—of course, because this always happened to Kane—another boy. Elliot Levi. One of The Boys.

  Shit.

  The jeering wasn’t concealed this time. Elliot’s friends weren’t going to let him live down dancing with another guy, least of all the only openly gay guy at Amity Regional.

  “Get your jazz hands ready, Elliot.”

  “And your leotard.”

  “Don’t let him get too close.”

  “Make sure to leave room for Jesus.”

  “Yeah, a threesome with Jesus and Grill-Head Montgomery.”

  Coach O’Brien jumped in on that one, but the damage was done. Kane was being used to make fun of Elliot, so now Elliot would do whatever he could to punish Kane and save himself. It was the way straight boys worked.

  “Those guys are idiots.”

  Kane jerked up. Elliot stood over him.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry about those guys. They’re idiots. Ignore them.”

  Kane’s pulse twitched in his neck. “You’re actually going to dance with me?”

  Elliot shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m a boy.”

  “Cool, me too. Come on.”

  Kane began to truly panic. This, somehow, was so much worse. Elliot was willingly dancing with him? What trap was he being led into?

  Elliot put out a hand. Kane spent too long considering it. Elliot was as annoying as the rest of The Boys but perhaps a bit more remarkable because he had moved to East Amity from the west coast in seventh grade, had dirty blond hair but darker eyebrows, and wore a fine gold chain around his neck. It had a glinting Star of David on it, Kane remembered. As the class stood in rows facing each other, Kane could see the ridge of the chain beneath Elliot’s thin white shirt, drawn taut against his collarbones.

  Belatedly, Kane remembered an old crush he used to have on Elliot. He felt himself begin to sweat as Coach O’Brien kicked a speaker to life, shouting steps over the fiddling.

  Elliot took Kane’s hands. Kane continued turning as red as possible.

  “I’m not…” Elliot began.

  “Don’t worry,” Kane rushed in. “I know you’re not gay. We don’t have to do this. I was going to skip anyways.”

  Elliot shook his head. “I was going to say I’m not like those other guys.”

  They parted, rejoined. Elliot’s hands were hot.

  Kane’s jaw clenched. “They’re your friends.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’m not like them.”

  “How so?”

  “They’re assholes. I’m different.”

  Coach O’Brien walked over, observed, huffed, and strode down the line. Elliot’s friends were in a fit about all of this, of course. They kept trying to get Elliot’s attention. Zachary DuPont kept chanting Kiss! Kiss! Kane’s cheeks flushed.

  “You’re not different,” Kane said, looking down. “Whatever you’re trying to do, just get it over with.”

  A long pause.

  “I’m not—”

  Kane pulled away, suddenly. The people next to them stopped dancing, hyperaware as Kane left Elliot in the middle of the gym and dove into the bleachers to grab his bag. The jeering came, but Kane heard none of it as he tore open his journal. He was looking for the photo of the shoes. The white shoes.

  The same shoes he’d just been looking at, on Elliot’s feet.

  Kane found the photo and was instantly sure he was right. The right shoe’s uppermost eyelet was missing, same with Elliot’s. Kane turned, triumph blazing on his face, ready to confront Elliot, but the gym was empty. The music stretched into an eerie keening.

  “Hello?” Kane called into the emptiness. His voice was muffled, like yelling into thick wool.

  “Give it to me.”

  He jumped. Elliot had simply appeared next to him.

  “The photo. Give it to me,” he demanded.

  “Where is everyone? What happened?”

  Elliot’s phone buzzed. He picked it up testily. “Yeah, I know. I’m coming. Just hold on. What? Yeah, he’s here. No, it’s all good. I’ll be down in a bit.” He snatched the photo from Kane’s hand, looked at it, and made an expression indicating it might not actually be all good. He shoved his phone in his pocket and said to Kane, “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

  “About what?”

  Then, in a whoosh of golden shimmer, Elliot vanished, and the gym snapped back to the version full of kids shuffling to a racing fiddle. Coach O’Brien was shouting, “Please stop trying to dip Erica, Mr. DuPont.”

  Everyone else in the gym was completely oblivious.

  “Montgomery, you good?” O’Brien called over his rhythmic clapping.

  Kane had no idea what had just happened. Clearly no one else did, either. Whatever space Kane and Elliot had just occupied, i
t had been private. And it was gone, and Elliot with it.

  With that photo. With Kane’s photo.

  “I’m going to the nurse,” Kane called, snatching up his bag and running after Elliot. If he suspected a connection to Elliot before, he was sure of it now. Logically, he knew he should feel fear, but all he felt was the blue electricity of adrenaline in his blood.

  Kane ran into the hall in time to catch a glimpse of Elliot as he swung around a corner. A moment later Kane was there, waiting a beat before turning in case Elliot glanced back. Then he saw Elliot jogging down the south staircase, which was odd. Students weren’t allowed in the basement. That’s where the theater department stored stuff and where the janitorial offices were. And the boiler room.

  The boiler room.

  Something in Kane bristled. Something under his thoughts, not a memory, but the shell of it, like the brittle husk left behind by a cicada. He tiptoed down the stairs. Whatever the memory was, he held it in his head with a gentle grasp as though it were his only precious thing. To his surprise, it guided him through the basement tunnels, to the boiler room doors, without making one wrong turn.

  The doors were ajar. The hot sigh of machinery breathed out, smelling of grease and dust, and he remembered all the legends about the monsters living in the dark guts of Amity Regional High. Flesh eating. Freshman hazing. Could they be real?

  There wasn’t time to wonder. He wanted his photo back.

  It was easy to sneak into the noisy, dark room. Through the whirring he made out a voice, then two voices, and soon he was able to make out a whole conversation from where he hid among the pipes.

  Except it wasn’t a conversation. It was a debate.

  “How can you be sure?” asked Elliot.

  “Because I just am, okay?”

  Kane clapped his hands over his mouth. That was Ursula!

  “That photo is proof he’s still in there,” she said.

  “The only thing this photo proves is that we didn’t do a good job purging his room.”

  Kane’s whole body went cold, then numb. They were talking about him. They were talking about his room. They had been inside his house.