by Anthea Sharp
When our New Student Orientation packets came in the mail, we opened them together. We tore into them so fast, you’d think we were opening envelopes with winning lottery tickets. We’d both gotten accepted into the majors we’d applied for. Kai got accepted into Shamanism for Empaths, and I got accepted into Journalism in a Broken World. Good thing my mom wasn’t home. We’d been sitting on my bed. Suddenly, we were jumping up and down and screaming and throwing our arms around each other.
When we finally calmed down, we started looking through all the material.
Things kept getting better and better. Not only had we been admitted into an awesome college on full-ride scholarships and been assigned some pretty darn amazing majors, they had a summer school with the most incredible courses.
Kai found them first. I was reading up on what Journalism in a Broken World entailed and looking over all the courses when Kai, so excited she was practically out of breath, said, “Oh, wow, Shade, look at the brochure titled Summer School Classes!” Waving it in front of my face, she said, “Look! Look! Look!”
Summer school? I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to school in the summer. I kinda wanted to relax.
Until I saw the courses.
There was an entire section on Virtual Reality courses.
Ghost Whispering within a Virtual Reality Context. Description: Students will practice communicating with spirits in a variety of virtual reality computer games. Holy camole! There was a photograph of students using the equipment. They were all wearing shiny black helmets with visors. Some were battling with weapons. Others were sitting at tables, moving their hands in various gestures.
Developing Empathy through Virtual Reality. Again, students wearing those cool helmets with black visors.
Traveling the World, Experiencing Different Cultures through Virtual Reality.
I thought about Brandon, the friendly ghost who lived in the attic of our old house, and how much he loved playing Angry Birds on cell phones. He’d go nuts over these courses. I felt an incredible pang of sadness. I wished I knew how to contact him. He’d left to move on into the afterlife and that was that unless he contacted me.
Kai leaned over my shoulder and looked at my brochure. “Isn’t that amazing? Virtual reality! We have to sign up for a bunch of those classes! Did you get the same letter I did? Our scholarships cover all the costs of summer school!”
The monster of self-doubt reared its ugly head. I said, “Yeah, I saw it. I hope we don’t stand out as charity cases. Look at that equipment. The school’s got to be filled with rich kids.”
Kai dismissed my concerns with a wave of her hand. “Who cares? Virtual reality, Shade! Where else are we ever going to have an opportunity like this?”
She was right. I couldn’t even afford regular game systems and my laptop didn’t have a lot of games on it.
As we read through the brochure, we discovered that Ocean View’s Summer School was actually a kind of Summer Camp for Gifted Nerds. By gifted, I don’t mean super-smart. I mean gifted…or cursed, as it often feels…with magical abilities. I’m a Ghost Whisperer, meaning ghosts communicate with me when they need help. And Kai’s an Empath, which means she not only has an extraordinary ability to feel empathy toward others, she’s also a Navajo healer with dreams of becoming a shaman.
But, anyway, back to summer camp. We’d get to leave our lives in the dreary trailer park on the outskirts of Roswell, New Mexico and stay overnight at Magic School’s version of summer camp for seven entire weeks. Despite my insecurities, I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited in my entire life.
For the next hour, we signed up for a bunch of classes. I signed up for Intro to Journalism and two Virtual Reality classes: the Ghost Whispering one and the Traveling the World one.
Two weeks later, Kai and I hopped on a bus that took us to a branch campus of Ocean View College for summer school.
Of course, before that, I had to deal with my mother. She’d neglected me most of my life. She’d been into drugs and alcohol and a series of failed relationships with men, all of which she’d put way before me. Now that she was sober, she wanted to make up for lost time. She’d been crying about me going away to college and made a scene about me going away to summer school. I explained, as patiently as I could, that it would be good for me to get to know some of the other students and it would be bad for me to not prepare for my freshman year by taking classes that were being offered to me for free. She didn’t care. She only ever thought about herself. Two days before I left, she purchased a bottle of wine and a bottle of rum and placed them prominently on the kitchen counter. She said they were for cooking. I knew better. They were a threat: Leave me and I’ll go back to drinking. I felt incredibly guilty, but I knew I needed to move forward and get ready for college. I needed to grow up, and so did my mom.
The Summer School bus drove right into our trailer park for Kai and me. I kissed my mom and gave her a big hug and said, “I’ll be back in just seven weeks. We’ll do something special when I get back.” That was the best I could do.
The location of Magic School’s summer camp was kind of funny. Ocean View had summer schools in various locations around the world. Ours was not far from where we lived in the outskirts of Roswell, New Mexico, smack dab in the middle of the desert. The closest “beach” was the red and sandy colored soil surrounding the Bottomless Lakes, deep bodies of water that had formed when caves filled with water and the roofs collapsed.
The camp was a collection of white stucco buildings with Spanish-tiled roofs spread out on a parched piece of land dotted with scrubby brush. Man, I couldn’t wait to get to their main campus with the castle buildings. I was so tired of endless desert.
We signed in at the front desk of the Admissions building. The woman at the front desk was Navajo, like Kai. She had on a white cotton dress, turquoise earrings, and a silver necklace with turquoise stones. She smiled at us with perfect white teeth.
“Welcome! We’re so happy to have you here!” Then she told us to be seated while she called an upperclassman to show us to our dorms.
We sat on a leather couch and looked around. The place looked like a hotel. High ceiling with fans, a huge fireplace, lots of leather furniture and wooden coffee tables. A far cry from our lives in the trailer park. I felt like an impostor.
Five minutes later, an Asian girl with glossy black hair that fell perfectly in an even line on her shoulders walked up to us. She introduced herself as Lin. Then she walked us to the dormitory where we’d be staying. There was an aura of seriousness about her. We walked mostly in silence.
The dorm was amazing. Two people to a room and Kai and I were roommates! The beds were comfortable and already made up: pale blue sheets, purple blankets and a comforter with purple-and-blue geometric patterns. We each had a huge desk. The room had a bathroom. Our own bathroom! And we had a mini-fridge. Life was going to be good for nearly two months.
I slept well that night, better than I remembered sleeping in a long time. We left our window open to let in the cool breeze. Snuggled under our blankets and comforters, the desert night felt wonderful. I woke once to the howl of coyotes, then fell right back to sleep.
The next day, my first class was Ghost Whispering within a Virtual Reality Context. Kai’s was Developing Empathy through Virtual Reality. Awesome!
The building where the Virtual Reality courses were held stood out from the others. It was made of stucco with a red-tiled roof just like the other buildings, but it had stained glass windows featuring a variety of science fiction and fantasy type characters. Ghosts. Faeries. Dragons. Outer space aliens. I wondered exactly how many of those were real. I certainly knew ghosts were.
The lobby had white walls, wooden beams overhead, and mesmerizing black tiles with shimmering stars on the floor. Digital screens on both sides of the lobby listed the courses and classrooms where they were being held. Turned out Kai and I would be next door to each other!
After walking through a labyrinth of hallways, our
shoes echoing against the twinkling black tiles, we found our classrooms. At the door to her assigned room, Kai gave me a tentative wave and a smile. She looked both elated and nervous. She said, “Good luck with your ghosts.”
A bolt of panic went right through me. I’d had a fair amount of experience with ghosts. Some good, some rather upsetting. I tried to stay calm. “Have fun, Kai! Show them what you got.” Leaning over, I added in a quieter voice, “Think of this as shaman training.”
Kai gave me a nervous smile. “Thanks. See you after class. You want to meet out here?”
I said, “Sure,” and walked next door to the classroom for Ghost Whispering.
Entering the room, my mind was blown. I wondered if Kai had the same setup. I’d stepped into a room that looked like all the pictures I’d ever seen of soundstages for making movies except there was no great effort to soundproof it. The walls were concrete and painted white, which made the room feel bright and cheery. The floor was made of the same kind of material in the lobby and hallways: a solid black surface with the appearance of twinkling stars embedded inside. There were also very thin rectangular lines, each one about twelve inches long and only quarter-inch wide, cut into the floor. They were scattered everywhere.
When the students had finished filing into the room, it looked like there were about thirty of us. I wondered if everyone was a ghost whisperer. Not ever having known anyone else like me and feeling like a freak because of my strange abilities, it was a bit frightening to suddenly realize that I might be expected to talk about my experiences with strangers.
We all just kind of milled around, surveying our surroundings. Conversation filled the space, mostly along the lines of, “Hi! What’s your name?” and “What classes are you taking?” I figured those were the extroverts. Being an introvert myself, I avoided them. I spent my time looking around, checking out the high ceiling. There were all kinds of things up there: ropes and pulleys and stuff like that. Reminded me of a theater.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged guy with silver hair, a potbelly and a scar that ran down the entire length of his right cheek entered the room and closed the door. Speaking loudly and with enthusiasm, like an actor on a stage, he raised his arms above his head and clapped his hands. “OK, class! Quiet now! We don’t want to waste another minute in the real world.” The class laughed. Seriously? Was that really so funny?
Walking over to the far wall, he pressed a button. A large screen, the size of those in movie theaters, dropped down slowly from the ceiling, suspended by metal rods. Grabbing a remote from his pocket, he pressed a button. A name appeared on the screen, black letters against a pale blue background: Dr. Aiden Webb.
He pointed to the screen. “That’s my name. Easy to pronounce. Easy to remember.”
I thought the whole screen business was a bit overly dramatic. Seriously, he could have just told us his name. But then the lights in the room dimmed and a short film started on how the virtual reality equipment worked. That was really cool. I felt excited that I’d actually get to use it.
When the film ended, the lights returned to normal and the screen rose back up into the ceiling.
Pacing back and forth and repeatedly clapping his hands together, Dr. Webb explained how our first class would work. His skin was rough and had lines through it that reminded me of windswept rocks. The blistering heat, dry air and desert winds did that—to both people and landscapes. His dark blue eyes looked tired, although his body language suggested a lot of nervous energy.
Finally, after describing what we’d get to do, he said, “Now, everyone, I want you to stand on one of the areas that will light up on the floor—the one with your name on it. Find the one with your name.”
Glowing blue lines outlined individual rectangular-shaped areas, each with a name etched on one side in glowing blue script. Thankfully, my spot was at the back of the class.
Dr. Webb pointed toward the ceiling. “Look up, so that you don’t get hit on the head. Your VR equipment is descending. After you put it on, place any of your regular clothes that you don’t plan to wear during the game—your shoes or boots, any sweaters or jackets, things like that—inside the bag.”
That was an awesome moment. Four wires dropped down from the ceiling—eight different colors: red, yellow, orange, blue, green, turquoise, purple and pink. They dangled around me as an iridescent bag was lowered into my area.
Dr. Webb said, “Put on your VR equipment. It should all fit. It’s been made according to the sizes you filled in on your registration forms.” He laughed. “If you filled in a smaller size than you actually are, I guess you’ll have to suck in your gut and deal with it. In the virtual world, you can alter your appearance however you like. In the real world, things aren’t so easy.”
I wondered if his VR character had a scar or not. Scars were popular in games and movies. In the real world, not so much.
I put on my vest, gloves, kneepads and boots, all made of black leather. They were awesome and fit amazingly well. I took off the sneakers I’d been wearing—my favorites: pink with blue and lilac flowers all over them—and placed them in the bag.
Dr. Webb said, “After you’ve put on your equipment, take the wires hanging down around you and attach them to the tab on your suit with the matching color. There are two tabs on each of your vests and on your sets of kneepads, gloves and boots. There’s a different color for the right and left sides of each. Don’t mix them up, or you’ll have quite the nauseating experience inside the game.”
After everyone was dressed, Dr. Webb said, “OK, look up once again. Your VR helmets are coming down now. Make sure that everything you don’t want is in the bag because those will be pulled up in a moment to get them out of your way.”
The helmets were awesome: slick, shiny black pieces of equipment with glowing blue designs on the back and a black faceplate that could be pushed up in order to take a break from the virtual world and return to the real world. As soon as we were told to put them on, I did. I couldn’t wait to escape the real world.
Dr. Webb’s voice sounded inside my helmet: “As soon as you’re ready, push the button on your left shoulder. That starts the game. If you need to exit immediately at any time, just push that button again or lift up your faceplate. Game directions will appear directly in front of you as soon as you push the button to start.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I pushed the button.
I felt a little bit freaked out at the first words to appear: Welcome, Shade. How did it know my name? I had to laugh at myself. Duh. The same reason my equipment fit so well: the computer program had grabbed the information from my registration form. Still, it gave me a creepy feeling. It reminded me of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey. HAL went from Good Morning, Dave to…well, things didn’t exactly end up so well.
I feared, once again, that I didn’t belong in this summer camp or anywhere else at Ocean View College. I was only there on scholarship money. The regular students had to be mostly rich kids who could pay the tuition. Rich kids who understood how computer and video games worked and already had a lot of experience with them. I had very limited experience, mostly with free and cheap games on my laptop and cell phone. The graphics inside this virtual world suddenly became intimidating. If Welcome, Shade made my heart skip a few beats, what would being inside a world of ghosts do to me?
My hands started to shake. Sweat formed on my forehead and inside my gloves. No! No! No! My PTSD was returning from all the horrible things that had happened to me in the past.
A soothing female voice asked, Are you OK, Shade?
Feeling annoyed that another student was somehow able to talk to me without my permission, I whipped up my faceplate to see who it was. Being thrown out of the insulating environment of the enclosed helmet to the wide-open space and glaring light of the VR room was jarring.
No one was talking to me. Everyone seemed to be waving their arms or running in place. I noticed that they were running on strips of rubber. My rectangular piece of
flooring didn’t have that!
Dr. Webb looked right at me and started making his way through the group to reach me. So much for trying to keep a low profile in the back of the class.
When he reached me, he had a look of concern on his face. “Is anything wrong, Shade?”
I felt so incredibly out of place, I wished my rectangular piece of flooring could just open up and swallow me whole. “I thought someone was talking to me. A voice in my helmet asked if I was OK.”
Dr. Webb cleared his throat and gave a slight smile. “That’s the game’s AI. In addition to letting you play games, your equipment monitors your biological responses—heart and breathing rates, eye dilation, sweat, stuff like that—and interprets them the best it can to determine if you’re scared or ill or OK. Sometimes the AI talks to you about it. For example, during a scary part of the game, your AI might remind you to breathe or stay calm. Did you hit a scary part already?”
I felt like a jerk. “Um, no. I just wondered where the voice was coming from.”
Dr. Webb placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Sure. No problem. Go ahead and put your helmet back on.”
Placing my head back inside, I saw the words still hanging there in mid-air: Welcome, Shade.
I tried to figure out what to do next. I tried talking out loud. “Hello…” I didn’t want to bother the other students or call attention to myself.
Immediately, the AI answered: My name is Elizabeth. I’ll be your guide inside this game. It’s called Ghost Encounters. You may speak to me whenever you like. No one outside the game will hear you. When you’re playing solo, your microphone only connects with me and in-game characters. When you play with other people, you can also talk to them, but not to anyone else. If you prefer to type, just say the word Keyboard and tap on the virtual keyboard that appears in front of you. Is that clear, Shade?
I answered, “Yes.”
Elizabeth said: Great. You’re doing well, Shade. Your tutorial will begin now.
Information about the equipment appeared in text format. When it got to the part about walking and running, the tutorial explained that although it would seem like I was moving greater distances in-game, I’d actually be moving on a kind of treadmill given the patented name Treadtiles. It involved the strips of rubber I’d seen the other students running on. The instructions said: Right before the game begins, the treadtiles will appear under your feet.