by Jody Casella
“What?” Maddie’s voice is quiet. “What don’t you want to think about?”
The wind lashes tears out of my eyes. It’s truly amazing how cold it is out here. “My brother and I, we did this stupid thing. We—well, really, it was me. Last summer I did this stupid thing. See, I—” The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not sure I can say it. I’m not even sure I can think it. “The truth is—” I suck in my breath and it’s like I’m gasping for air. “I just have to see him.”
“So what are you going to do?” she says.
“I don’t know. I was kind of hoping you’d have an idea.”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” Maddie wraps her arms around herself.
“Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go inside before we freeze to death.”
“I’m not sure—”
I cut her off. “It’s okay. We’ll go to my house.”
The last time a girl sat in my kitchen was August, the double date from hell. My brother and I ordered a couple of pizzas. Faster and a little cheaper, we thought, than going out to dinner. We were both nervous that night. The girls, of course, had no clue. The four of us sat around the table, right here, where Maddie and I are sitting now.
“It happened in the nineteen fifties,” Maddie is saying. “A quarterback named Robert Hinton got tackled on the twenty-yard line and he never got up. It didn’t seem like he’d been hit that hard, so it was this big, shocking thing. The obituary went on and on about how the whole town showed up at his funeral.”
“Maybe he had a heart problem,” I say. I pour Maddie a glass of milk, drop a bunch of cookies onto a plate, and set it on the table. I’m feeling kind of rusty about my hosting skills. I notice that Maddie’s sitting in the same chair Logan sat in that night.
“That’s kind of scary,” Maddie says, taking a bite of cookie. “You could walk around with a defective heart and never know it. Anyway, I stepped over the twenty-yard line and nothing happened. Maybe I was off a little, or maybe he didn’t die exactly on the line.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “I already tried it. I walked the whole field back in September. What else have you got?”
“A kid passed out in a science class. That was in nineteen seventy-six. He had a seizure.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yeah, but he didn’t die until a few days later in the hospital. So that one’s out.”
She’s still nibbling the same cookie, while I’m popping them in my mouth whole, one after another, something my brother used to do too. One thing we had in common—our appetite. That night, nervous as we were, we wolfed down the majority of the pizza.
“So.” I clear my throat. “Is that it for school deaths?”
Maddie laughs then covers her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just kind of a weird thing to talk about. But yeah, no one else died at Andover High as far as I can tell.” She tugs her jacket off, folds it over the back of her chair. “It’s so warm in your house. Our house is crazy cold.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, grabbing the last cookie off the plate. “I thought someone came over to fix your furnace.” I’m trying to stay present in this conversation, but as usual I’m having a hard time with it.
“The same maintenance guy’s been out three times already, and my mother’s freaking out because it’s so expensive, and it’s still not working—”
The funny thing was how easy it turned out to be. The trick, I realized, was to ignore both girls. Shrug away the breath tickling my ear and the arms draped around my brother. If I just concentrated on the pizza, I was okay. Every once in a while, though, I’d catch what they were doing, and I’d want to punch him.
“—I’ve got a pile of blankets on my bed, and I have to wear socks. I hate that, wearing socks —”
Twenty minutes of pizza and I just wanted to get the hell out of the house. Get the stupid date over with. We were halfway out the back door when my parents got home. Neither one of them gave us a second look. Just my mother calling out Drive careful and that was the end of it.
“Marsh.” Maddie’s waving a hand in front of my face. “You’re zoning out on me.”
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.”
“You know you do that a lot.”
“I think I might do that with everyone.”
“So”—she tilts her head to the side—“I shouldn’t take it personally?”
I nod.
“I’m sorry too.”
“Why?” I see another flash of Kate and Logan in the kitchen. Red fingernails trail my brother’s cheeks, flutter over his smirky face, and I have to shake my head to push the memory away.
“I feel bad,” Maddie says quietly. “About what happened to you. It’s awful. I mean, what I heard about the accident . . . ” Her voice trails off.
Another flicker of the pizza boxes yawning on the table, of my brother. The black T-shirt he wore that he’d borrowed from me.
I grind my teeth, force myself to focus on Maddie. Her pink face, her ponytail, the strands of hair coming loose from her hair tie.
“It seems like a really hard thing to get over,” she says. “To live with.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the half-eaten cookie in Maddie’s fingers, her sweatshirt, the sleeves tugged up, baring her pale arms.
When I sense the red fingernails and black shirt starting to shimmer again, I clear my throat. “Tell me what else you read when you were doing your research.”
Maddie opens her mouth, and I notice that her two front teeth overlap a little. “It goes back to the druids,” she says. “Only priests were allowed to step in thin spaces. When they did, they believed they were standing in both worlds at the same time. Ours and the other world, the spiritual world.”
“I don’t remember Mrs. Hansel saying anything about druids.” For the moment, surprisingly, I’m still here, with Maddie, in the kitchen. “Did you read anything about how to find one?”
“No. Their thin spaces were always outside, though, under old trees or near a cave or a spring. The druids would sort of mark off the area with stones.”
“Stones?” I think of those pebbles Mrs. Hansel had scattered all over her house.
“And later, people built churches on those sites because they were considered sacred.”
“Yeah, so that doesn’t help us.”
Maddie smiles. “Unless we want to go to Ireland.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see them laughing, kissing.
“And I couldn’t find anything about making thin spaces. I scrolled through a lot of stuff, and there’s nothing. A lot of it’s just speculation anyway. There aren’t many written records from that time period.”
I notice Maddie’s still rolling half a cookie around in her hand. “Are you going to eat that?” She shakes her head and pushes it across the table toward me. It’s not even good, one of those organic brands my mother is nuts over, but I take my time chewing it. It keeps me here in the present moment.
“Plan B,” I say, and I have to clear my throat. “It’s almost impossible.”
Maddie shrugs. “But what else are we going to do?”
I like how she says we.
16
Plan B
Apparently, last summer, a guy collapsed playing tennis at the park in our neighborhood.
“Yeah, but did he come through in the same space?” I ask Maddie. It’s funny how you forget how cold it is and the minute you step outside you remember. Wind blasts our faces as soon as we open my front door.
“Probably not,” Maddie admits. “But who knows. His mother might’ve strolled across the tennis court. Or maybe the courts weren’t built back then, and she just went for a walk in the park one day.”
We hurry down the dark street. Snow’s already swirling down. We race with our heads bowed, tilted toward each other.
“You’ve got to get another jacket,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “My mother keeps saying she’ll take me shopping but she’s so str
essed lately. Her new job, moving . . . ”
I peel off my coat, and she waves her arm. “What about you, though?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I stop, glance over my shoulder. We’re already halfway there. No time to turn back. Technically, I’m still grounded, and Sam doesn’t want Maddie hanging around with me. So we have to be fast. Get to the park and get home before anyone figures out we’re gone.
The sweatshirt I’m wearing does nothing to block the cold. And why didn’t I throw on a hat? At least I thought to bring a towel. I’ve got it folded up under my arm. We can use it later, to wipe off our feet.
“So when we get there,” Maddie says, panting, “I’ll start on one end, and you go to the other side and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“There are two courts out there,” I say. “Maybe three.”
She groans. “The article didn’t say which court the guy died on.”
We’re running full out now, down the center of the street. I grab Maddie’s elbow to keep her from slipping.
I have a one second flash of my brother and me riding our bikes down the same street, those early morning workouts during football, but I brush away the memory and focus on clutching Maddie’s arm.
The park’s deserted, of course. No one else is crazy enough to be outside on a night like this. A couple of streetlights flicker over the tennis courts. Maddie races ahead of me toward the chain-link fence.
“It’s unlocked,” she says. I can hardly hear her over the wind. She bends down, starts pulling off a boot.
“Wait.” I sprint toward her. “I should do it. No sense both of us freezing our feet off.”
But both boots are off and she’s already barreling through the gate. “That’s stupid,” she says. “We can do it faster this way.”
I tug at my wet bootlaces. My cold fingers shake as I fiddle with the knot.
Maddie’s tramping along, walking a line. “Holy moly!” she cries. “It’s cold out here.”
I head toward the far end of the court. Pass the nets that hang stiff and frozen over the drifting snow. Then start my own trek, skiing across the snow. The wind stings my face. It comes back to me fast, the way the icy ground stabs your bare skin, shooting right up to your knees. It’s the only thing I can think about.
It doesn’t take that long, but when we meet in the middle of the center court, we’re both shivering. Maddie drops to the ground, throws her legs up in the air.
“I can’t feel anything,” she gasps.
I plunk down beside her, cradle her feet in the towel.
“Oh, oh,” she keeps saying, and she’s half laughing. “This is crazy, isn’t it?”
“Insane.” I slide one foot into her boot, still holding the towel around the other one.
“Thanks,” she says. “That’s better. Let me do you.”
She’s gentle, but my feet still burn and throb in her hands.
Boots back on, we stand up, look at each other. “I guess the guy’s soul didn’t come through on the tennis courts,” Maddie says.
“It was a long shot.” But the funny thing is, I don’t feel that horrible about it. “Got any other ideas?”
She nods. A gust of wind smacks her ponytail against her face and she swipes it away. “I’ve got a list.”
“Really?”
“A homeless guy died outside the bus station downtown three weeks ago. Two people passed away at a convalescent home. An old woman died in her house. That’s probably not a good lead though. I’m not breaking into someone’s house.” She shakes her head. I notice her teeth are chattering. “The best bet is the hospital. Most people who die in Andover die there.”
“Hmm,” I say. I’m not thrilled about going back to the hospital. But maybe if Maddie is with me . . . “Yeah, I guess we could try that, the hospital.”
I hold her elbow as we tramp out of the park. I’m thinking about nothing except my boots against the snow, my numb fingers around Maddie’s sleeve.
When we reach her driveway, she shrugs out of my coat. “Well, that was . . . fun.” She flashes me a smile, then sprints across her yard. I watch her stamp her feet on Mrs. Hansel’s welcome mat and disappear into her house before I turn against the wind and head home.
My parents have to accompany me to school the next morning, the first day after my suspension. Really, only one of them has to come with me to sign me back in, but it’s a serious situation, they tell me, so they’ve both decided to go. We drive past the bus stop and I catch a glimpse of Lindsay and Heather, hitched to each other like a two-headed girl, and Maddie, swaying a little off to the side. Still not dressed for this weather, I notice, in that flimsy jacket.
Mrs. Golden’s waiting for us in her office. I only half listen to her spiel. “Hope you had time to think . . . completed your assignments . . . accept responsibility . . . get along with your fellow . . . ”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just glad it’s Friday.
My parents fill out some forms. My mother gives me an awkward hug. My father chucks me on the shoulder, not looking at my face. When they finally leave, I take a step toward the door, but Mrs. Golden stops me.
“Marsh,” she says. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about if you don’t mind.” She motions toward my usual chair and I sink down in it.
She sits down at her desk. One hand’s over the other on the desk blotter, and she’s fiddling with her diamond ring.
I tilt my head back and check out the status of the ceiling fungus. It’s inching across five tiles today and looking a little furry. When is the school going to take care of that?
“I’ve noticed something interesting,” she says. “You know the family who moved into Rosie Hansel’s house?”
I keep my head back, my eyes focused on the mold blotch.
“Madison Rogers, she’s a sophomore here. I think you might know her.”
“Yeah, I do.” My mind’s reeling. Where’s she going with this? Something about Brad and the fight? Is she thinking it had to do with Maddie? Or did she overhear Sam griping about me and his sister?
“Interesting,” Mrs. Golden says again.
I force myself to lean forward, look at Mrs. Golden’s face. Her eyes are hidden behind the glare of her glasses.
“Did you know that the PE teacher caught Madison Rogers walking around barefoot?”
Uh-oh. I shift around in my chair.
“Outside,” she continues. “The other day that girl took her boots off and ran around barefoot on the football field.”
What am I supposed to say here?
“Marsh”—Mrs. Golden stands up, walks around her desk, sways over me—“do you have any idea why she would do something like that?”
There truly is no answer to this question that will satisfy Mrs. Golden.
“Is this a weird . . . club you’re starting? Some kind of polar bear thing?”
I blink at her. “Polar bear?”
“Listen to me. I’ve talked to Mr. O’Donnell and to your parents too. We’ve made a decision. No more. We’re not going to tolerate it—the bare feet. Do you understand?”
“Uh, okay, I—”
She cuts me off. “And we sympathize. We do. I do. I’ve told you before that we—the teachers, Mr. O’Donnell, and I—are sorry for your loss and we want to help you in any way we can as you work through your grief. But there are some things that we just can’t condone.” She bobs her yellow head. “You are going to wear your shoes in this building and on school grounds from now on.” She pauses, looks down at my boots, then back up at my face. “And whatever is going on between you and Madison Rogers, you can pass this information on to her too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I don’t see Maddie until the end of the day. No lunch together, we decided, to make it easier on Sam. It’s not me, Maddie keeps saying, he’d be that way with any boy, but I have my doubts. I don’t want to push the guy. I don’t need more complications in my life right now. And protective older brothers clearly fall
into that category.
“I’ve got a weird message to give you,” I say as we head toward the bus. “From Mrs. Golden.”
“Now what?” She rolls her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Every time we turn around, she’s, like, there. She’s been to our house every day practically since we moved in. Just wants to see how we’re settling in, she keeps saying. Yesterday, she gave us a plant, a giant fern that probably won’t last two seconds in the meat locker we call home.” She laughs.
I laugh too. Then stop because it’s sort of pathetic. “Maybe she’s lonely. I don’t know. She probably misses Mrs. Hansel.” I shake my head. “They were pretty close.”
I give her the quick rundown of Mrs. Golden’s warning.
“Polar bear club,” she says. “That’s funny. But who cares? We’re done with the school, right? No thin spaces there.” She presses a folded up piece of paper into my hands. “My list”—she lowers her voice—“of possible thin spaces.”
We sit down in the back of the bus, and I flip open the paper. It’s a chart listing the places Maddie told me about the day before: convalescent home, bus station, hospital. Across the top, she’s written Plan B. The first entry, tennis court, has an x marked next to it.
“This should keep us busy,” I say.
The bus jerks forward, knocking her into me. She grabs my arm and her face flushes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, letting go quickly.
“So”—I clear my throat—“where should we start?”
The coast is clear for both of us that afternoon—all parents working late and Sam off with his lacrosse buddies—so we walk downtown to the bus station. This time we’re more prepared for the weather. I insist that Maddie wear my coat again. I’ve found another coat—actually it’s mine—tucked away in the closet of my room. I’ve also dug up an extra hat and gloves because I know Maddie doesn’t own much winter gear.