The Key to Extraordinary

by Natalie Lloyd

  Topher’s band, Dogwood Foxtrot, was already set up near the front of the room. Topher tuned his violin while our town librarian, Alice, lit the tall candles situated behind them. Lighting the candles meant they’d start out with a slow set, maybe a few old, haunting ballads that’d roll out into feisty dancing songs.

  The candles sparkled directly underneath the large stained-glass window that’s been in place since back when the cafe was a church. The window is pieced together with hundreds of multicolored glass shards, all connected to form the image of an old, bearded man. He’s raising his arms toward the sky, toward a flock of long-winged blackbirds. When the candles flicker and the glass catches the light, all those wings look like they’re fluttering. Like they might fly right off the window and into the sky, where they can scrape the stars with their glassy beaks. That window is one of my favorite things about the Boneyard Cafe. Some people think the picture is too sad, but I like it. I like to imagine those blackbirds are kind, like Penny Lane. Maybe they offered to take all the man’s sorrows and carry them a million miles away. After the ballads, the band breaks out the fast songs. Those are my favorites.

  At least, they used to be. I don’t really dance on jamboree nights anymore. I just don’t feel right, dancing without Mama. I would rather watch, and remember.

  After helping stir and bake and deliver orders to tables, I took a Brew Break with Cody Belle. “The Destiny Dream really has you wound up, doesn’t it?” Cody Belle observed. “You know how I know? Because there’s nothing in this world much sadder than cold hot cocoa.”

  I stared into the depths of the mug-gone-cold in front of me. Truly, this was a travesty. This batch of Boneyard Brew was warm and creamy with a heart-shaped marshmallow floating on top. And it’s not just the taste of the stuff that’s so divine; it’s the way it makes people feel. Just one sip can calm a person’s nerves in a way that seems almost magical. Blue says it’s the secret ingredient. Of course, she won’t tell anybody exactly what that ingredient is. Not even me. You have to put in your time doing dishes and mopping floors before you get promoted to Brew Duty.

  “I’m going to help you figure out the dream, Emma,” Cody Belle assured me. Her forehead scrunched, the way it does when she’s trying to remember something important. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you something: Earl Chance is back in town.”

  This sudden change of such an important topic might seem strange to those who don’t know my BFF. But Cody Belle’s brain bounces around like a ping-pong ball. I just try to keep up.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Who?”

  “You remember Earl Chance!” Cody Belle nudged my knee with her sneaker toe. “He went to school with us all the way to third grade, just in a different class. Beretta Simpson was crazy about him.”

  “I might remember him,” I said. I vaguely remembered standing beside someone named Earl during our Christmas carol sing-along. I vividly remembered mixing up the class dance moves we’d learned. I kicked to the side at the wrong time, and sent everybody on my right toppling like dominos. “So he moved back?”

  “Yes. And everybody in town’s talking about him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Earl’s a little bit famous now. He was on the national news because he—”

  Cody stopped talking mid-sentence. She looked past me, toward the front door of the cafe, her eyes going shiny and wide as the quarters in the town fountain. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “What?” I didn’t get worked up at first. Cody Belle has a flair for dramatics.

  “He’s here,” Cody whispered. “Earl Chance is in the cafe. He just walked in the door. That’s crazy! I just talked about him and he showed up.”

  “That’s not crazy,” I said. “This town’s tiny. Everybody comes through here eventually. Don’t stare at him.” But then I leaned toward her and whispered, “Does he look any different, though?”

  Cody shook her head. “No. He’s still cute. Really cute.”

  I rolled my eyes. First, because Cody Belle embarrasses me when she talks about guys that way. Cody Belle herself isn’t embarrassed over anything. She just flat-out says what she thinks and feels. I don’t think I’ll ever be that brave. Second, because of course he was cute. Beretta Simpson only surrounds herself with people who know how to play sports or know how to be attractive. Ideally, her friends must do both things well.

  “We need to talk to him,” I said, pointing to the flower in my hair. “Daisy Brigade, activate!”

  Back when Cody Belle and I went to the same school, we formed a secret club called the Daisy Brigade. In an effort to thwart all the crummy rudeness Beretta and her friends sent out into the world, we decided to make friends with anybody and everybody who felt alone. Admittedly, lots of people don’t want to be friends with a graveyard girl. But I still want people to know they never have to sit alone in the cafeteria, not if they don’t want to.

  “Daisy Brigade, activate!” Cody repeated. “Let’s go meet Earl.”

  I sighed and twisted around.

  And my heart pounded out a frantic, fearful rhythm.

  I had seen Earl Chance before.

  I’d seen him just last night … in the Blackbird Hollow Cemetery.

  I could barely breathe as I watched Earl Chance saunter toward the counter beside a woman I figured was his mother. She kept her hand on his shoulder the whole time, and leaned into him as she walked, as if her presence alone could protect him from anything. And Earl did indeed look mostly normal: He wore sneakers, jeans, and a Superman T-shirt. And, okay, he was really cute.

  By the light of day, he didn’t look ghostly at all.

  He glanced in my direction, and I reacted in the most obvious way: I slid underneath the table.

  To hide.

  “Gah!” I yelped as I looked up to see Cody’s face two inches from mine. Cody Belle is gloriously tall, which gives her plenty of cool opportunities in life. I’ve seen her run across the soccer field in six strides. But right at that moment, she looked like a human paper clip all scrunched up under the table. I’m small enough to fit easily into tight spaces. I consider this the Lord’s way of making sure the dork species survives.

  Cody Belle narrowed her eyes, studying my expression. “This is not effective, Emma. It’s Earl Chance. What’s the big deal? What happened to the Daisy Brigade?”

  “You were right,” I said. “I have seen him.” And I proceeded to tell her about how we just happened to run into each other while I was chasing a ghost through the graveyard.

  “This is so embarrassing,” I said. “He’ll think I’m an idiot.”

  Cody Belle scrunched up her face. “I don’t know why you care so much about what people think.”

  I pressed my hand over the holes drilled into the old floorboards. Years ago somebody’d drilled a constellation of holes into the far corners of the room. It was Granny Blue who pointed this out to me. Most people in this town don’t notice, she said. They’re in such a rush to get to the counter and order a fried banana sandwich that they don’t even realize they’re stepping on stars.

  I peeked out from underneath the table again. Earl and his mom stood at the counter, picking out fresh-made apple fritters.

  Blue came around the counter with the bag of fritters and smiled down at Earl. “Do you remember my granddaughter, Emma? She’s about your age, I’ll bet. She’s right over—”

  I ducked back under the table before she pointed me out.

  “Cody Belle, he’s going to recognize me and he’s going to tell Blue I chased him through the graveyard.”

  Cody Belle shook her head. “He definitely won’t do that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He doesn’t talk anymore,” Cody Belle said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He talked when he was here. But Earl survived the tornadoes that tore through the area last spring. People call him the miracle kid. His home, all the homes around him, even a barn and some trees, were flattened by the tornado. But Earl survived. He h
asn’t talked since.”

  “Get ready to dance, Blackbird Hollow!” yelled Alice as she pulled her guitar up over her heart. “The sun’ll set soon, but we’ll kick up some stardust when it does.” She nodded at Topher. Topher widened his stance and tucked his violin beneath his chin. His bow sparkled when he twirled it in the air. He pulled it slow and steady across the strings.

  At the sound of that first, long note, the small crowd in the cafe let out a happy “Whoop!”

  Folks who’d been propped against the corners ran out into the middle of the floor. A group of little kids clasped their hands together and circled up near the center.

  Everybody in Blackbird Hollow knows this song. It’s called “Darlin’ Daisy,” and it might sound like any old folk song you come across in the mountains. But this song is special; it belongs to us. It’s so old, nobody even remembers when it started.

  Topher sliced his bow through the air, pressing an easy scream out of his violin. Alice stomped her boot heel against the beamed floor and sang out the first, familiar lyric:

  “Darlin’ Daisy, lace your boots up,

  Take the lantern, shine it bright,

  Oh, these summer days are dwindling,

  But we’re going to dance tonight!”

  Cody Belle and I crawled out from under the table and just dodged a couple swinging around the corner. We stood back against the wall, hoping the commotion of the dance might give us some cover to get a better look at my graveyard assailant. Earl Chance and his mom watched the dancing from the counter. Earl sipped some Boneyard Brew.

  “We need to talk to him,” Cody Belle said. “It’s rude just to stare.”

  I shook my head. “I’m too embarrassed.”

  The song tempo began to speed up. I saw Aunt Greta sipping Boneyard Brew in the corner of the room. She didn’t wheel out on the dance floor, and she didn’t crack a grin. But even she couldn’t help but tap her toes.

  “Do-si-do through the windy forest,

  Write your name on the tall oak tree,

  Catch a little star,

  Put it in your pocket,

  But don’t forget to wait for me.”

  Alice stomped her heel harder against the worn-out floors and shook her hips. The candlelight flickered happily against the stained-glass window. The tempo sped up as folks reached out for one another, arm in arm, hand in hand, swirling around the floors.

  If God had a stethoscope, and if He held it up to this part of the dreary world to check for a heartbeat, I hope these are the sounds He’d hear: The sound of boots stomping rhythms out of the dust. The sounds of happy squeals and laughter when people spin out, nearly dizzy from joy. The sound of a scratchy voice, a thumping guitar, a plucky violin. That’s what pure joy sounds like.

  Sometimes that’s when I miss my mama most. Not just when I’m sad, but when I’m happy … and I can’t share that happiness with her.

  “Darlin’ Daisy, pass the schoolhouse,

  Creep as quiet as a mouse,

  Sneak down Dutch and Vine and Main Streets,

  All the way to the old church house.

  Sing—

  “HALLELUJAH!” The crowd shouted, clapped once, then carried on dancing.

  The happiness in the room was so thick when people sang and danced, but I could almost feel my heart breaking. If I’d found the treasure the night before, we’d all be fine. We’d be safe. And we would have this perfect little dancing place forever. But I hadn’t found it. And if I didn’t … it’s not just my home I’ll lose. This place I love, that keeps my whole town bound together, will be gone.

  I saw Earl’s mom lean down and whisper in his ear. They walked toward the door together, her hand steady on his shoulder. But just before Earl stepped through the door, he paused, still as a statue. He shivered.

  And so did I.

  Here in Blackbird Hollow, there’s a phenomenon that everybody experiences at least once.

  Folks call it the Touch.

  It’s like a light breeze that finds you anywhere—outside sometimes, but often in rooms with no windows or doors propped open. Suddenly, you feel … tingly, as though someone walked by and brushed their fingertips across the back of your neck.

  Some people think the ghosts are responsible. Maybe you accidentally stepped in a spirit’s invisible space. Maybe you crushed his foggy toe. So the ghost whispers, “Boo,” down the back of your neck.

  Others say it means an angel is close by; it’s the air you feel from their wings trembling against the wind.

  Some think it’s the prayer of a loved one, whispered over you from the Great Beyond.

  Some people think it’s made-up nonsense. Granny Blue believes it’s something only mountain people understand. She says it’s the way of the woods and the trees, breathing deep, just taking a moment to be grateful for being alive. She says it’s the mountains’ way of saying, Pay attention here.

  Earl touched the back of his neck, too, trying to brush the tingly feeling away. And then he turned his head and looked right at me with his dark, lonesome eyes.

  Heat bloomed across my cheekbones but I didn’t turn away. I smiled at him. Or tried to, at least. Without realizing I’d even done it, I lifted my hand to cover the scar over my mouth. I guess that meant most of my smile was covered, too.

  Cody Belle slapped my hand away. “Quit doing that.”

  Earl didn’t smile back at us. He just stared.

  I don’t know if it was the fiddle music, the flower in my hair, or the Destiny Dream that gave me courage. But something did, and I stepped toward Earl Chance.

  “Oh, sweet Daisy, don’t go fearing,

  When we dance along the ridge,

  All the ghosts around are friendly …

  … Unless you try to dig!

  In the buggy, Darlin’ Daisy,

  Now ride faster!

  None can follow!

  Look back once over your shoulderrrrr …

  Wave good-bye to Blackbird Hollow!”

  Just as folks began to hoot and applaud, the front doors of the cafe burst open. A mighty gust of wind howled through the room. The big lights flickered, and then went out. The candlelight fluttered madly against the wind, but extinguished … drowning the room in semidarkness. The stormy gray light coming through the windows didn’t illuminate much.

  A mug of Boneyard Brew hit the floor, shattering somewhere close to me.

  Dancing partners squealed and clung to each other, as if the wind might blow them away.

  “What in the world?!” Aunt Greta hollered.

  “Everybody relax!” Blue yelled over the sound of the wind. She stepped out onto the dance floor, shining her flashlight around, patting people’s arms in reassurance. “Everybody be calm.”

  But the wind tunneled through the room again, howling louder this time. Another shimmering crash, and I heard a terrifying sound … like something between a scream and a moan.

  I was close enough to Earl Chance to know the sound had come from him, so I jumped for him. The room was dark, but I reached out and found him kneeling on the floor. He was trembling all over, and he kept his hands pressed tight over his ears.

  “It’s okay,” I yelled just loud enough for him to hear me. “It’s just the wind.”

  “Is everybody all right?” Blue called, swirling the flashlight toward us, as the wind finally began to die down. “Who screamed?”

  “It was me,” I said, even though it was Earl. I just thought he might be embarrassed if folks knew it was him. Everybody already knows I’m nuts. “The wind sound scared me.”

  Earl’s mom leaned on his other side now, looking at him with concern. He dropped his hands from his ears, but kept his eyes on the ground. His cup of brew lay spilled and splattered across the floor. Even with people all around him, Earl seemed so alone.

  “Ugh!” Uncle Periwinkle hollered. “Is that bugs I feel? What is this?”

  The lights came back up.

  Cody Belle’s gasp broke me out of my Earl Chance tr
ance. I stood and walked toward the window, where everybody was turning their attention.

  The clouds still drooped big-bellied and heavy over the hills, but it wasn’t the storm holding our gazes just then.

  Red rose petals were falling all around the cafe, as thick as rain. They blew past the windows and across the front porch. They caught in the tangle of ivy around the cemetery gate, like little prickles of blood. They fluttered past the treetops. They freckled the stormy skies.

  They blew through the open door, scattering across the old wood beams, catching in our hair and tickling our noses.

  Blue walked toward the doorway, her eyes on the dark skies. “It’s true, then,” she said, plucking a petal from her white hair and pressing it between her fingers. “It’s a Gypsy Rose summer.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  It was Aunt Greta who answered, of course. “Only happens every so often. It’s been years since the last one. When the Gypsy Roses blow through town, it means—”

  “It means the ghosts are trying to get our attention,” Uncle Periwinkle said softly.

  Earl Chance said nothing as his mom helped him up. He stared down at the rose petals stuck to his hand. He opened his fingers wide and watched the petals fall like ruby rain.

  “C’mon, Earl,” I heard his mom whisper as she led him out the door.

  “Be right back,” I whispered to Cody. I scampered to the kitchen and filled a to-go cup full of Boneyard Brew. Then I pushed my way through the chattering crowd and ran outside.

  “Earl!” I yelled.

  He and his mom both stopped and waited for me to catch up with them. Earl’s mom patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  It occurred to me then that I should have pulled Cody Belle outside with me. She’s a natural at small talk. I’m not particularly good at any kind of talk.

  “I’m Emma,” I said to him. “We met last night. I chased you through the graveyard. I didn’t want you to leave, necessarily. I just hoped you were a ghost. It’s sort of a life goal of mine to see one.”