“Really?”
“Yeah, he was near the principal’s office with one of the guidance counselors. I smiled at him. He smiled back.”
Gabe felt horrible. About so many things. “Well, that’s good,” he said in spite of himself.
Mazzy bit her lip. “There’s more.”
“More?”
Mazzy picked at her cuticles for a moment. When she answered, her voice was soft, barely perceptible. Gabe had to lean close to hear her. “Over the weekend,” she said, “I went to see him.”
His skin felt like an electric current was running through it. “At his house? Alone?” Mazzy nodded. He glanced at Malcolm and Ingrid, who were lost in their own conversation. “Why would you do that?”
“Someone had to,” she said. “I would have asked you to come, but after last week, I had the sense you weren’t really game.” Gabe sighed, but she went on. “Everyone’s been tossing around blame. I figured I’d ask him about it myself. And I’m glad I did. I feel like we made a real connection.”
Gabe shuddered. “About what?”
She paused, secret thoughts playing out in her head. “Well, he explained that he’d been home from school for most of last week because his mom lost her job. He was afraid to leave her there alone.”
A pang of guilt rippled in Gabe’s gut. “Really?”
“I told him what’s been going on here at school. With poor Vincent Price. With the trap we found in the woods after the field hockey game. He looked genuinely worried. But he denied having anything to do with it.”
“Of course he would,” said Gabe, trembling, showing more hurt than he’d meant to reveal. “That’s what he does.”
Mazzy pressed her lips tightly, then shrugged. “Maybe we can go visit him together. See if he’s all right. See what’s going on with his m—”
The room rocked. People screamed and fell away from the tables, knocking into others, spilling everyone backward like dominoes.
With a ringing in his ears, Gabe realized that there’d been an explosion. Mazzy was clutching his arm. He found that he was clutching hers as well. They had been far enough away and had managed to stay on their feet. Others weren’t so lucky. Ahead, several people were sprawled out on the linoleum floor, apparently too stunned to get up.
From the looks of the bake sale, the target had been one of the desserts. Remnants of what looked like crust and fruit compote were splashed across the crowd. Little bits of black icing clung to the ceiling, looking strangely like blood. After a moment, Gabe realized it was what was left of Felicia’s cake.
The throng slowly realized what had happened. People turned to the exits and pushed forward, trying to escape the lobby. Their energy was becoming increasingly frenzied. Malcolm and Ingrid were caught up with the crowd and soon disappeared past the double doors.
Gabe was still too befuddled to move. He planted his feet and knocked shoulders with anyone who came close. Mazzy did the same.
From the opposite side of the table, the vice principal, Ms. Yorne, raised her arms and signaled for attention a few moments too late. Frosting speckled her pale skin. “Please, everyone, stay calm. Do not panic!” As she spoke, someone pulled the fire alarm. The crowd shouted collectively, like the cheering section at a local football game, and pushed even harder to reach the doors. Some of them were getting crushed.
Gabe and Mazzy broke toward the side of the lobby and leaned against the cinderblock wall, barely escaping the wave. Mazzy nudged Gabe and pointed toward the tables. Felicia sat on the floor behind what was left of her display, her spine hunched and her legs splayed in front of her. The two squeezed past a few stunned stragglers.
Mazzy bent cautiously toward Felicia. “Hey!” she shouted over the loud buzzing of the fire alarm. “You okay?” She lifted Felicia’s chin. Her blue eyes were glazed, unseeing, but when Mazzy poked her shoulder, Felicia flinched.
“What…what happened?” Felicia said, noticing her friends.
“We don’t know,” said Gabe. “Let’s get you out of here.” Mazzy helped Felicia to her feet. Gabe crouched and looked around. There was shattered ceramic and glass everywhere. Several singed dollar bills fluttered to the ground. The multitude of coins strewn about the floor made it look like the bottom of a wishing well. Amidst the destruction, most everything seemed to be covered in pitch-black frosting. The blast had likely originated near Felicia’s dessert. If her cake hadn’t been famous before, it certainly would be now.
Gabe was overcome by the need to laugh. He raised his hand to his mouth to hide an uncontrollable grin. An explosive Death by Chocolate cake? Either it was a terrible coincidence, or someone had been trying to make a very silly pun.
“Gabe!” Mazzy shouted from the other side of the table. “You coming?”
“Yeah.” He stood and at that moment he noticed a different sort of object lying on the floor. This one was a thin, burnt string connected to a small twist of blackened paper, the ends of which were ash.
Gabe recognized it—he’d seen something similar only weeks ago in the woods, at the altar of the crooked tree. He’d located the remains of an M-80.
THAT EVENING, GABE SAT curled up on the couch next to his baby sister. The television murmured from across the living room. Elyse sat in her recliner and watched a game show, but he wasn’t paying attention. The sound of the fire alarm at school still echoed in his head.
Miri burbled something nonsensical. The phone rang. Elyse got up and sauntered down the hall to answer it. Moments later, from the kitchen, she called for Gabe’s parents to pick up.
When she came back into the living room, she stared at Gabe, looking like she was about to say something. Instead, she turned around, disappeared into the darkness of the hall. Her cold expression chilled Gabe even more than the prospect of seeing his father’s puppet walking around by itself.
That afternoon, Gabe had told his family about the bake sale disaster. He left out the part about finding the M-80; that was his secret for now. His mother and father had listened, nodding with concern, but almost immediately afterward, they had gone back to discussing plans to rebuild Milton Monster. As it turned out, the producers had seen potential in the new project and given Glen another shot.
Gabe straightened, trying to hear the telephone conversation from across the house. All he caught were hushed murmurs and pieces of words. He listened to the clack of the receiver being put back into the cradle. Now his parents were whispering to each other.
Seconds later, they appeared in the doorway, both looking pale, their expressions slack, as if they’d just gotten news heavy enough to break a camel’s back.
“Did someone die?” Gabe asked, sitting up straight on the couch. He’d meant it to be a joke, but no one laughed. Miri clung to his arm, her little fingernails digging into his skin. He tried to pull away, but she had too strong a grip.
“Not yet,” said Dolores. Her face filled with color. Too much color. She turned red. Stepping closer, she lifted Miri away. The baby whined and reached for Gabe, but he didn’t move. “That was your principal on the phone. He was not happy.”
Gabe was too baffled to respond.
“He wants us to meet with him first thing tomorrow morning,” said Glen. “You too, buddy.” He said buddy in the way you say buddy when you mean the opposite.
“For what?” Gabe asked. Now his own face felt flush. Burning up.
“Something about what happened at the bake sale,” said Dolores. “Something about it being your fault.”
They arrived at the school early, before any of the buses had shown up, before most of the staff had even pulled into the parking lot. Gabe had not slept at all the night before. It had felt as though the shadows in his bedroom were watching him, and if he closed his eyes, they’d come at him with hidden claws.
He followed his parents through the main entrance. Miri was at home with his grandmother. He’d begged them all to believe him that he’d had nothing to do with the bake sale fiasco, that there must have bee
n some sort of misunderstanding. Eventually, his parents considered what he was saying, but it had taken so much convincing, he decided not to share the rest of the story. About the shadow, about the game, about how very frightened he was of Seth Hopper. Not yet.
The principal’s office was smaller than Gabe expected.
“Please,” said Mr. Drover, standing behind his desk, “have a seat.” Ms. Yorne, the vice principal, was there too, leaning against a crowded bookcase, looking much more put together than the last time Gabe had seen her.
He and his parents squeezed onto the stools that the secretary, Mrs. Closkey, arranged for them. The adults all shook hands, a formality that made Gabe uncomfortable, as he was very pointedly left out of it. Mr. Drover sat down in his large leather chair and spoke. “We asked you here this morning because we believe that your son was responsible for yesterday’s incident.”
Glen sighed. “Gabe says he didn’t do it,” he said, “whatever it was.”
Mr. Drover and Ms. Yorne nodded, as if they’d expected this reaction. They both turned toward Gabe. “You can come clean now,” Mr. Drover said. “I promise you, it’ll be less embarrassing for you if you do.”
“But I didn’t—”
“We have proof,” Ms. Yorne interrupted. “We have so much proof it’s not even funny.”
Gabe closed his mouth and squirmed in his seat. He wasn’t laughing.
“What proof?” asked Dolores.
Mr. Drover leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk, and rested his chin in his hands. “An abundance of chocolate frosting,” he said. “Footprints and cake crumbs leading from the lobby directly to Gabe’s locker.”
Glen laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How is that proof?”
“Let me finish, Mr. Ashe. When we opened your son’s locker, we discovered these.” Leaning back, he slid open a drawer, removed three compact gray tubular objects, and carefully set them down on the bright green desk blotter. When Gabe realized what he was looking at, his breakfast’s orange juice burned the back of his throat. “These are dangerous explosives,” Drover said. “M-80s, I believe they’re called. Maybe you’re unaware, Mr. and Mrs. Ashe, but not only are they illegal to sell in this state, but merely bringing them onto school property is a serious offense.”
“Now, Gabriel,” Ms. Yorne went on, “are you going to tell us where you got these? Or are you going to continue playing games?”
“But those aren’t mine.” Gabe’s voice came out like a whisper.
“Games it is, then,” said Yorne. “The school policy for a violation of this magnitude is no less than three days’ suspension. This, however, doesn’t include the county’s plans, which may involve a fine or even incarceration at a juvenile detention—”
“Hold on here!” said Glen, trying for a moment to rise before realizing there wasn’t enough room. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Gabe was adamant last night that he had nothing to do with what happened yesterday. And, I beg your pardon, Ms. Yorne, but your proof is hardly irrefutable.” His voice shook, as if he were the one being accused. Hearing this only made Gabe more nervous. “Exactly how secure are these lockers? You were able to get inside easily enough. What about someone else? Someone who might have something against my son?”
“Entirely possible,” said the principal blankly, as if he’d heard it all before. “Highly unlikely.”
Dolores spoke up. “I think Gabe deserves a chance to explain himself.”
“My point exactly.” Ms. Yorne pulled her lips into a tight smile. “Please, Gabe, I wish you would.”
Gabe stared at the M-80s. Their potential origins raced through his mind, but one rose clearly above the others.
“Go ahead, honey,” said Dolores. “You said you don’t know where they came from.”
“But I didn’t say that,” Gabe answered. “I said they weren’t mine.” His mouth was dry, his tongue like sandpaper. “I know exactly where they came from.”
GABE TOLD THEM ABOUT THE GAME in the woods, about the altar of the crooked tree, about Seth and the explosives. He explained that, according to Seth, a boy in one of the younger grades had met him in the (shadow market) bathroom that day, weeks ago, and sold him the M-80s. And no, Gabe didn’t know who the younger boy was.
Even after everything that had happened, even knowing that Seth may very well have planted explosives in his locker, Gabe felt awful for telling on him. He had wanted to talk to him about it first, to get his story, to find out the truth, if that was even possible anymore.
Mr. Drover was disappointed. He couldn’t punish Gabe without first speaking with Seth. But Seth, once again, had called in sick.
Somehow, everyone learned quickly what Mr. Drover and Ms. Yorne had found in Gabe’s locker. As he wandered the halls, he could practically hear their unspoken question echoing through the school: Did Gabriel do it?
Between classes, he avoided his friends by ducking through halls where he knew they wouldn’t be. He considered skipping lunch to bring his brown paper bag to the boys’ bathroom and hide out in one of the stalls. As he paused in the cafeteria’s doorway, he felt a tug at his elbow. He turned to find Mazzy standing beside him. He flinched—they hadn’t spoken since right before the cake incident. He had no idea what to say to her. She looked concerned. “We need to talk,” she said, and pulled him from the door.
Gabe tried to keep up as she practically galloped away from him. At the end of the hallway, she barreled through a pair of doors that led outside to a deserted patio.
The air was cold, and Gabe, wearing a short-sleeve polo shirt and jeans, wasn’t dressed for it. The sky was the kind of pure blue that only belonged to the month of October. On any other day, the sight of it would have made him happy. Now, though, it looked like a lie. Everything beautiful seemed secretly poisonous.
Mazzy sat on one of the benches near a chain-link fence that cordoned off the tennis courts. She squeezed her knees together and leaned forward, sitting on her hands, staring at the ground. Gabe was too nervous to move, except to rub at the goose bumps covering his bare arms.
“I heard what happened,” she said. “Your meeting with the principal.”
“I didn’t do it,” Gabe said quietly.
Mazzy looked up at him. “I know that. I’m pretty sure everybody knows that. You were standing right next to me when the thing went off.”
“Then Felicia doesn’t blame me?”
Mazzy shook her head. “She’s telling everyone that she wants to destroy Seth Hopper.”
Gabe sighed with relief, but then thought about what Mazzy had just said. That wasn’t good either. “Felicia won’t do anything,” he mumbled, as if to convince himself.
“When I went next door to check on her last night, she could barely speak, she was so livid.”
“I would have been too.”
“Even if Seth planted the M-80s,” Mazzy said, “does he deserve to have Felicia show up at his house and break the windows? Or his knees?”
Gabe was confused. Why had Mazzy brought him out here? “I guess not,” he answered.
“You guess not?” Mazzy stared at him quizzically.
“What are you suggesting we do?” Gabe asked. “Rescue him?”
“You know there’s more to the story,” she said. “I understand that you don’t want to, but we have to talk to him again. At least to warn him about Felicia.”
“After the bake sale, I’m not sure your talking-it-out-with-Seth thing is working.”
Mazzy leaned forward, thrust her face into her hands, and groaned. She stayed that way for several seconds. Gabe sat down on the edge of the bench a couple feet from her. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Why do you care so much about Seth?” he asked.
“Why don’t you?” She looked up at him in surprise.
“I do!” he said. “But he blew up a freaking cake! He hurt people, and he tried to get me in trouble for it! I care, lots, but I also care about myself.”
“Clearly.”
“Because you know what he’s going through. You might be the only one able to talk some sense into him.”
“I’ve tried that already. It didn’t work.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I-I get it,” he continued. “The Hunter’s game is Seth’s escape. I know what it feels like to need that. Last year, every day I wished for things to change. For people to just leave me alone. When my wish came true, when I escaped, it was because my stupid house burned down. Not a fair trade. But I learned my lesson: If there is a choice between living in a fantasy world versus living in reality, then I choose reality. And that is something Seth just doesn’t seem to understand, no matter how much talking we do.”
“You think eighth grade is the real world?” Mazzy said, then burst out laughing. It was a cold sound. She sounded so unlike the girl he knew, his goose bumps only spread farther. “Please,” she went on. “This school, this town, is a holding pen. We’re like sheep pressed up against the doors. You know what I think ‘reality’ is? I think it’s the room on the other side. You sure you want to step to the front of the line?” After a moment, she slowly exhaled. “In a way, I’m like Seth too,” she said. “I seek out the fantasy in my own world.” She made her voice small and high-pitched. “Hooping contests? Hooray.”
Gabe couldn’t help but smile.
“And even though you try hard to hide it, I know you think the same way. Or else you would never have joined up with him in the first place. It’s what makes the three of us different from everyone else. You, me, and Seth. We’re explorers. We know. We’ve seen. We’ve encountered beasts. And we’ve escaped.”
Gabe tried to see through her suddenly cloudy expression. “We have?”
Mazzy bit her lip. “How do you think I got so good at the hula hoop? Plenty of time outside, away from my parents. Away from…a lot of things. Practice makes perfect.”
He suddenly felt sad for her. He wanted more than anything to lean forward, to wrap his arms around her. The breeze came from behind and rustled her hair. Mazzy sighed and ran her fingers through it, tucking it behind her ears. She stared off toward the athletic fields down the hill.
The Haunting of Gabriel Ashe Page 10