by J. A. White
Cordelia woke up the next morning in a foul mood. She had been half-asleep by the time her California friends finally returned her Skype request, and although she understood that there was a three-hour time difference at play, it still left her feeling unwanted. The actual conversation only made things worse. Cordelia tried to tell them about the ghost, but Ava and Mabel kept rambling on about their day, their teachers, their friends, and she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. By the time the opportunity finally presented itself, Cordelia no longer felt like sharing.
They’ve already forgotten about me, she thought, staring out the window at the small houses set far back from the rural country road. The bus ride took forever, with huge gaps between stops. Since she had no one to talk to, Cordelia took out her drawing pad and colored pencils. Drawing always made her feel better. She did a few quick sketches of things she missed back home. The tiny box garden in their backyard. The sun setting over the ocean. She turned to the next page, allowing her mind to wander, thinking she might draw the carousel at Golden Gate Park.
Instead, she found herself sketching the boy. Train pajamas. Teary eyes.
“Who are you?” Cordelia asked.
Just looking at the drawing brought a rush of terror to her chest. But . . . if the boy had truly meant her harm, why had he been crying? Cordelia felt like she was missing something important. Instead of throwing the sketch out when she got to school, she taped it to the inside of her locker door. She wasn’t sure why.
“Hey,” Agnes said, squeezing between two chatting girls and joining Cordelia by the locker. Agnes was wearing a bulky green sweater and brown sweatpants. In her hands she held a brownie that had been carefully folded in wax paper and tied with a red ribbon. “My mom said if you want to be someone’s friend, bake them something. It shows you mean business. And so I made this brownie. Actually, I made a whole tray of brownies. You can’t just make a brownie on its own. But this was the one I brought to school. I put nuts in it since you said you didn’t have any allergies.”
“Wow,” Cordelia said, stunned. “That was really nice. Thanks.”
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t—”
“Of course I want to!” Cordelia said, snatching the brownie with a smile. She had skipped breakfast that morning in an effort to make her parents feel bad. “You want half?”
Agnes shook her head.
“I made it for you, not me.” She glanced over Cordelia’s shoulder at the drawing of the boy. “Whoa! You’re wicked talented! Who is that?”
Cordelia considered telling Agnes the truth but quickly rejected the idea. Her own parents thought it was all in her head. Why would a girl she barely knew believe her?
“No one,” she said, closing the locker door.
Cordelia absentmindedly munched on the brownie as they walked to homeroom, but not even chocolate could improve her sour mood. They passed through yet another area of the school that was completely new to her. Copper tiles with floral accents decorated the high ceiling, while red velvet curtains, drawn closed, permitted only a hint of sunlight.
“I still can’t believe this is a school,” Cordelia said, shaking her head.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Agnes said. “There are all sorts of secret passageways. The supply closet in Ms. Soney’s language arts room has a door in the back that leads to a hidden hallway—you actually have to go through the closet to get to some of the seventh-grade classrooms! And Mr. Blender’s room has a trapdoor with a ladder that leads down to the library!”
That actually sounded pretty cool to Cordelia, but she was in a bad mood and determined to stay that way.
“I thought Elijah Shadow was some sort of brilliant architect,” she said. “Sounds to me like he had no idea what he was doing. My old school made a lot more sense. I never got lost there—not even once.” Cordelia paused, recognizing the whiny tone in her voice and hating it. “I overheard some boys talking about the attic yesterday,” she said, changing the subject.
“Mason and Reggie. I heard them too. I wouldn’t believe a word of it.”
“That’s what Dr. Roqueni said.”
“You told the principal?” Agnes asked in surprise.
“We met in the hallway. It came up. Dr. Roqueni said that attic stuff is just an urban legend.”
“I’m sure she’s right. Some of the eighth graders swear they’ve heard fire crackling on the other side of the attic door, but they’re probably just trying to scare the younger kids. I’ve never gotten close enough to listen for myself. There’re all these Do Not Enter signs. I’m not worried about ghosts. I’m worried about getting in trouble.”
Agnes sounded nervous just talking about it. Ava and Mabel would have laughed at those signs and raced to listen first, Cordelia thought. She looked at Agnes lugging her huge rolling backpack behind her and wondered if the girl had ever broken a rule in her entire life.
“Is everything okay?” Agnes asked. “You seem kind of down today.”
“I’m fine,” Cordelia said. “I guess I just miss my old friends. They were the coolest, you know.” Cordelia grimaced, realizing how bad that sounded, and nudged Agnes with her shoulder. “Not that I don’t like my new friend too!”
“It’s okay,” Agnes said with a look of resignation. “I’m sure your California friends are much cooler than me. I’m not offended.”
“I really didn’t mean it like that,” Cordelia said, turning toward Agnes. “You’ve been so nice to—”
Since she wasn’t looking where she was going, Cordelia didn’t see the man coming from the adjoining hallway, and it was up to Agnes to grab her arm before she walked right into him. He was carrying a long wooden plank over one shoulder and holding an orange bucket.
“Watch where you’re going, kid!” he snapped.
The custodian was a giant of a man with a bushy gray goatee. Cordelia knew she shouldn’t judge people based on appearances, but she couldn’t help feeling a little afraid, especially when the custodian leveled his gaze on her. She noticed a scar above his left eyebrow and a second, longer one along the side of his neck.
“Sorry,” Cordelia mumbled.
The custodian grunted and continued along his way.
“That’s Mr. Ward,” Agnes said when he was out of earshot. “I think he’s a little scary.”
“Me too,” Cordelia said, still shaken from the encounter.
“There’s a rumor about him,” Agnes whispered as they started to walk again. “Years ago, there was another custodian who worked here. One day he just vanished.”
“David Fisher,” Cordelia said. When Agnes looked at her with surprise, she added, “I got bored last night and did some surfing. They never found out what happened to him, right?”
“Right,” Agnes said. “But the night before he vanished, people heard him and Mr. Ward having this big argument.”
“What about?”
“No one knows,” Agnes said. “But it must have been pretty bad, because the rumor is that Mr. Ward killed David Fisher and burned up the body in the furnace downstairs.”
“Seriously?” Cordelia asked in horror.
“It’s just a rumor,” Agnes said. “There’s no actual evidence. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Ward is just a grumpy old man who hates kids. That other stuff is an urban legend, like the attic.”
“You’re right,” Cordelia said. “It’s kind of ridiculous if you stop and think about it.” On the other hand, she would have laughed at the idea of a ghost just a few days ago, so a murderous school custodian didn’t seem that far-fetched. At this point, Cordelia didn’t know what to believe.
Now that names had been memorized and notebooks labeled, the actual learning began. Ms. Patel broke them into groups for a project on lab safety; Cordelia met a couple of kids she liked, though it was too early to tell if the friendships would stick. Mrs. Aickman discussed an upcoming field trip to the local cemetery, where they would be doing gravestone rubbings and discussing the “poetry of epitaphs.”
Mrs. Machen gave them a packet. Mr. Derleth did an interesting lesson on how the past shaped the future, though he often got distracted and lost his place, staring out into the distance with his sad brown eyes. Cordelia was having a hard time concentrating as well. Yesterday’s fear lingered like a low-grade fever, and she kept glancing up at the open door, certain the boy would be standing there.
She had gym sixth period.
Although her initial instinct was to feign some illness in order to skip the class altogether, Cordelia forced herself to go. I’ll have to eventually, she thought. Besides, things will be different with other people there. Ghosts only show up when you’re alone. Nevertheless, it was hard for Cordelia to enter the gym, especially when she saw that the students were sitting on the bleachers.
“Everything okay?” Agnes asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Not a big gym fan,” Cordelia said.
She crossed the floor with jittery steps and sat on the edge of the first row, away from any little hands that might try to reach through the cracks and grab her.
“Welcome to physical education,” said Mr. Bruce. He looked like he had been an athlete back in his prime, though much of the muscle had run to fat. He was wearing a red jersey with an A on it. “Before you ask, I did not attend the University of Alabama, as you might guess from what I’m wearing. I’m not even a fan of the Crimson Tide.” He crossed his beefy arms and grinned with obvious pride. “I do, however, own exactly one hundred eighty different sports jerseys. I’ll wear a different one every day of the school year, in alphabetical order according to the team’s state of origin. When I wear my Minnesota Timberwolves jersey, you’ll know we’re about halfway through the year. And when you see the Washington Nationals, you can start getting really excited, because summer is right around the corner.”
As Mr. Bruce talked, Cordelia tried, as nonchalantly as possible, to peek between the cracks of the bleachers. The boy wasn’t there. She felt some of the tension leave her body.
Maybe he hides when there are too many people around, she thought. Or maybe he’s in a different part of the school right now.
Benji Núñez strolled into the gym, face hidden beneath his hoodie. He hurried past the teacher and found a spot on the bleachers as far from everyone else as possible.
“Benji Núñez,” Mr. Bruce said, reaching for his clipboard so he could check off the name. “How nice of you to join us this afternoon. And a mere four minutes late. Not bad!” He mimed the removal of a hood. “You know the rules. Earbuds too.”
Benji threw back his hood, revealing long, wavy black hair and a surly expression. He yanked out the earbuds. Cordelia heard a thrumming bass line before he swiped off the music.
How does that boy manage to be late for every single class? Cordelia wondered.
She turned her attention back to Mr. Bruce, who had begun to enumerate the class rules. By rule number four (“All hail the mighty whistle!”), Cordelia started to relax. The boy’s gone, she thought. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
A few minutes later, the sobbing began anew. Cordelia stiffened. “You hear that?” she whispered to Agnes.
“Hear what?”
“Crying.”
Agnes listened intently for a few moments before finally shaking her head. The boy’s cries grew in intensity. Cordelia scanned the bleachers. The other students were listening to Mr. Bruce with bored expressions.
They didn’t hear the crying at all.
How is that possible? Cordelia wondered. Why am I the only one who—
Her eyes settled on Benji.
The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing down with frightened eyes. He pulled the earbuds from around his neck and started to slip them into his ears, then noticed Mr. Bruce looking his way and twisted their cord between his fingers instead.
He wants to put them on to block out the crying, Cordelia thought. A smile spread across her face. He hears the boy too!
Cordelia wanted—no, needed—to talk to him. She had so many questions. Was this the first time he’d heard the ghost? Did he have any idea who the boy was? It wasn’t exactly something you could bring up in the middle of gym class, however, so Cordelia was forced to wait through stretching exercises and an interminable kickball game before she could make her move. Finally, the bell rang. Cordelia ran up to Benji as he gathered his stuff from the bleachers. He was already wearing his earbuds.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m Cordelia. Can we talk?”
Benji didn’t even acknowledge that she had spoken. He ducked beneath his hood, wove past the departing students, and vanished around the corner.
5
A Brief Game of Soccer
It was impossible to pin Benji Núñez down and have an actual conversation. He was always the last student to arrive, usually after the teacher had already begun the lesson, and the first to leave, bursting from his seat the moment the bell rang. Cordelia had no idea where he ate lunch. She couldn’t find him at recess. The boy was a master at avoiding people. Cordelia even tried following him from one class to the next, just to see why he was late. It turned out that Benji took the craziest, most convoluted path possible, stretching a two-minute walk into ten.
The boy made no sense.
While Benji Núñez remained a mystery, Cordelia learned plenty about Agnes. Her family spent summers touring national parks, she had never seen an R-rated movie, and she wanted to be an environmental scientist when she grew up. The two girls eased into a comfortable friendship. They didn’t have a lot in common, but they both needed a friend. Sometimes that was enough.
“What’s Benji’s deal, anyway?” Cordelia finally asked Agnes one day.
“You tell me,” Agnes said with a knowing smile. “You’re the one who stares at him all day long.”
“That’s not—” started Cordelia. “I don’t like him. Not even as a friend. I’m just curious.”
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Agnes said, “but only if you walk faster. I don’t want to be late.”
“But it’s math,” Cordelia said with a grimace. “Hallway time good. Math time bad.”
“Mrs. Machen is sweet.”
“You just like her because she lets you use the Chromebook all period. You don’t even have to pay attention!”
“It’s not my fault that regular math is too easy for me!” Agnes exclaimed. “And working on those websites is not as great as it seems. It’s kind of boring, and it makes the other kids really mad. Mason threw a gum wrapper in my hair yesterday, and even Kate Muloni laughed. I thought she was my friend.”
“Kate Muloni walks like a penguin,” Cordelia said. “Did you tell Mrs. Machen?”
“Ugh,” Agnes said. “Everyone already thinks I’m the teacher’s pet. That’s the last thing I need.”
Although Agnes was clearly the smartest kid in their grade, Cordelia didn’t think she was any teacher’s pet. In fact, she wasn’t convinced that their teachers even liked Agnes. She wasn’t easy-smart, like Aaron Weber, who spoke only when spoken to and got a hundred on every test. Instead, Agnes asked questions their teachers didn’t understand and corrected them when they were wrong. When they sent Agnes off on her own to complete special enrichment assignments, Cordelia suspected they were doing it to get rid of her.
“Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks,” Cordelia said, giving Agnes a little hug. “They’re just jealous because you’re a genius.”
“I guess,” Agnes said.
“Now tell me about Benji.”
“Which Benji? This year or last year?”
“Huh?”
“He was totally different last year,” Agnes said. “Always smiling and talking. Popular, but not mean popular like some other kids. He was really good at soccer, too. Helped win our town’s travel team some big trophy.”
“What happened?” Cordelia asked.
“I don’t know,” Agnes said. “All of a sudden Benji started missing a lot of school. He quit the soccer team. There
were rumors that he was really sick. Then one time in science he just started screaming and screaming until the nurse had to come and get him. He was absent for a long time after that. People said he’d gone crazy.” Agnes shrugged. “When he finally came back, it was a completely different Benji. Always off in his own world. The earbuds. The hood.”
Benji must have seen the ghost for the first time last year, Cordelia thought. That’s why he freaked out.
Cordelia knew exactly how he felt.
“Why are you so interested in Benji Núñez?” Agnes asked. “For real?”
“I guess I feel bad for him,” Cordelia said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “He needs a friend. Trouble is, I can never seem to talk to him. He’s a tough one to track down.”
“I know he plays soccer behind the school during recess. Maybe you can talk to him there.”
“Thanks, Ag,” said Cordelia. “I’ll give it a try.”
They arrived at math. A few kids smiled at Cordelia or gave her a wave. Lily Chen asked her what she got for problem fourteen on the homework last night.
No one talked to Agnes at all.
It was a crisp autumn day, and Cordelia paused to zip up her new coat. A few sixth graders lounged in the wooded area, while the more athletically inclined played four square on the blacktop or soccer in the grassy field that adjoined the parking lot. She continued along the tree-lined path that led toward the back of the school, passing an empty playground on her right—popular with the fifth graders, who had recess the following period, but shunned by the older students. On the other side of a lonely swing set, Cordelia came to a wooden gate sandwiched between the wall that surrounded the school and the school itself. She could hear a distant thwack behind it.
She passed through the gate and found Benji kicking a soccer ball against the back wall.
Cordelia’s knowledge of soccer began and ended with “get the ball in the net,” but she could tell that he was really good. The ball made a whizzing noise as it sailed through the air, smacking the wall in the exact same spot over and over again.
Benji didn’t look sullen when he was playing soccer. He looked relaxed. Happy. A typical sixth grader enjoying recess.