Ghost Ride

by Marina Cohen

  A woman and a guy about the same age as Sam stood on the porch. The woman was short and thin with frizzy black hair. She wore a black wool shawl around her shoulders. In her hands she clutched a casserole dish. The guy had the same frizzy hair. He stared at his feet as if he didn’t want to be there.

  “Can I help you?” Sam’s mother asked, joining Miranda.

  “Oh … yes … uh, hello. I’m your neighbour. Number five. I just wanted to welcome you to Sleepy Hollow. I thought you … well, I wondered if … perhaps you might not have eaten … yet.” She held out the casserole dish.

  In the hall light Sam could see it contained lasagna. He frowned. What kind of idiot brings someone lasagna at ten o’ clock at night?

  Sam’s mother smiled warmly. “Thank you. How thoughtful.” She accepted the dish. “It looks delicious. Why don’t you come in?” She motioned for the pair to enter.

  The woman shook her head. “No, it’s late. I’m sure you’re busy getting settled. We just wanted to … welcome you.”

  Sam’s mother gave the dish to Miranda and held out her hand. “You must have some sort of sixth sense because we haven’t eaten.” The two women shook hands. “I’m Elizabeth McLean. And this is my daughter, Miranda.” She stepped back and pointed at Sam. “That’s my son, Sam.”

  “My name’s Maeve Moon. And this is Walter.”

  Wally Moon? Sam covered his mouth to conceal his grin.

  The guy glanced up briefly and locked eyes with Sam. He pushed his huge black-framed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, forced a smile, then looked at his feet again. His pants were two inches too short and twenty years out of style. His sweater had to be homemade.

  “Walter’s starting the ninth grade,” Maeve said. “The real-estate agent mentioned something about your son being around the same age.”

  Sam’s stomach lurched. It was suddenly clear where this was headed. It was a setup. They had let a Trojan horse into their house. Sam cleared his throat to get his mother’s attention, but it was too late.

  “Sam starts Ringwood District High School on Tuesday, too. He’ll be on the same bus as Walter. They can ride together, right, Sam?”

  Un-freakin’-believable!

  Sam had a vision of himself heading into the halls of his new high school with good ol’ Wally stuck to him like gum on his shoe. He might as well be wearing a huge neon sign around his neck that screamed: I’m a geek!

  He heard a click in his brain. The vault he kept there was opening. He willed it shut. He wasn’t going back there. Not now. Not ever.

  Although Sam mumbled, “Uh, sure,” his expression said, No way!

  “Good,” Maeve said, completely oblivious to the look of horror plastered across Sam’s face. She took a deep breath, then added another “Good.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No. We’ll be going now. But I’m sure we’ll see a great deal of each other. Small neighbourhood, isn’t it?”

  Maeve nudged her son. He forced another smile, then they both turned to leave.

  As soon as the deadbolt clicked, Sam turned to his mother. “I don’t believe you! How could you do that to me? Why’d you go and promise I’d hang with that guy? Are you trying to ruin any chance I have of making real friends around here?”

  “You watch your tone with me,” his mother said, “or I can think of a few privileges that’ll disappear quickly — starting with your computer, your iPod, and your phone.”

  Sam gritted his teeth and glared at his mother.

  “What’s all this about?” Sam’s father asked, joining the group. He was wearing a heavy sweatshirt. His arms were crossed around his chest. “Who was that? What did they want?”

  To ambush me, thought Sam, but he knew better than to say anything out loud in front of his father. He kept his mouth shut and continued to scowl.

  “Our new neighbours,” Elizabeth said. “Our nice new neighbours.” She met Sam’s gaze head-on. “They dropped by to give us a dish of lasagna.”

  Robert grinned. “Lasagna? That’s great. I’m starving.” He took the casserole from Miranda. “Who are they?”

  “Number five,” Miranda said. “Maeve and Walter.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Last name is Moon,” Elizabeth said.

  “Did you say Moon?” Robert’s voice had faded to a whisper.

  “As in lunar body,” Elizabeth said. “Sound familiar?”

  Robert’s brow furled as though he were thinking really hard about something. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Sam’s father blinked several times and then began to sway. His arms drooped, and the lasagna dish nearly fell from his grasp. He steadied himself against the wall with his shoulder and shivered.

  “Are you okay, Daddy?” Miranda asked.

  “You don’t look well,” Elizabeth said.

  “I think I’m coming down with the flu. Turn on the heat. This house is freezing.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miranda flew through the hall. “Hurry up! Or we’ll miss the bus!”

  Pulling on his grey hoodie, Sam slung his backpack over one shoulder, grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table, and trailed after her.

  “Enjoy your first day!” his mom called.

  “Make good choices,” he heard his dad say as he pulled the door shut behind him.

  “Riiiight ...” he muttered to himself. They already made my first choice for me — my new best friend, Wally. He winced at the thought.

  Light forced its way through the thick and intertwining branches, speckling the ground so that even in the morning light, Sleepy Hollow appeared sleepy. Sam stood on the porch and checked the neighbourhood, then exhaled.

  Walter was nowhere to be seen.

  Sam had spent most of the Labour Day long weekend unpacking, arranging things in his room, and worrying about how he’d get out of hanging with Walter.

  Maybe the guy would get sick and miss the first day of school. Maybe really sick and miss the whole first week. The first semester? Nah. That was too much to hope for. Besides, Sam didn’t wish any real harm on the guy. He just didn’t want to be stuck with him. Maybe Walter could miss the bus. That would be enough to buy Sam some time.

  He sucked in a lungful of crisp autumn air. Although it was technically still summer, he could taste fall at the back of his throat.

  Sam studied the semi-circle of houses. The blue Mustang was parked on the street in front of number seven. An old lady was sitting in a rocking chair on the verandah at number two. No sign of life at number five. He hustled toward the main road.

  Miranda was already in the straightaway. “Come on, Sam! You’re gonna be late!”

  “Coming, Moronda!”

  Miranda glared at him, shook her head disdainfully, and pulled her pink school case behind her, strutting like a miniature flight attendant.

  Sam grinned. He loved teasing his sister. She was an easy target — just as uptight and anal as his father.

  When he broke through the shelter of trees, the bright sunlight forced him to squint. Through half-closed eyes he spied two figures standing by the side of the road and stopped short. Beside Miranda was Walter — frizzy hair, geeky pants, ugly cardigan, and all.

  Sam only had a few seconds to think. He dug into his pocket, yanked out his iPod, and jammed the plugs into his ears. Strolling to the edge of the road, he stood there, calm and cool, in his own little world. After he took a huge bite of his apple, he hit the play button on the iPod and was assaulted by a cascade of violins. Nearly choking on his apple, he coughed, swallowed, coughed again, then hit the skip button.

  Mr. Perfect strikes again!

  When Sam got the iPod for his fourteenth birthday, it came with two conditions. One: his father had to approve every single song he downloaded. No foul language. No violence, et cetera, et cetera. Two, and far worse: every second song had to be classical! Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Chopin, Vivaldi
, for crying out loud! It was a stupid idea. As if he, Sam, was going to listen to classical music. He just hit the skip button, and that was that. Ba-bye, Bach. S’long, Stravinsky. Adiós, Amadeus.

  Much better, he thought as gut-thudding bass shook the fillings in his teeth. While he bobbed his chin to the relentless beat, he noticed Walter glance at him, then look away.

  Come on, bus. Hurry up! Sam leaned into the road. No sign of the rolling yellow deathtrap. Not yet.

  He took another bite of the apple and risked a sideways peek. Walter was shifting nervously. Was he getting ready to make a move? Sam closed his eyes and willed the bus, wherever it was, to hit the gas. When Sam opened his eyes, he nearly fell over. Miranda was right in his face.

  “What are you listening to?” she demanded.

  Sam saw Walter’s eyes drift toward the conversation. “Whaaat?” He pretended he couldn’t hear his sister.

  She tried again. “What … are … you … listening … to?”

  “Huhhh?” He tapped his ears in an exaggerated gesture as though he couldn’t hear a thing.

  Walter was on the move. It was a chilly autumn morning, but Sam still felt ice-cold. His fingertips prickled. He wanted to shove his sister away. She was ruining everything.

  “I know you can hear me, Sam. What’s your problem?”

  “Stop bugging me!” he snapped, pushing her shoulder and nearly knocking her down.

  Walter was only a few feet away. Sam swung around and started to walk off, pitching the rest of his apple into the sky. It sailed up, arched downward, and smashed into bits in the middle of the road. Just then he saw a yellow-orange blur appear on the horizon.

  Perfect timing. Now I just need to let Walter get on the bus first.

  “I’m telling on you, Sam!” Miranda cried. “You’re gonna be in big trouble. Mom’s gonna take your iPod away for sure.”

  Probably, he thought, but it won’t matter then, will it?

  The bus screeched to a halt, and the door opened. Miranda stomped toward the vehicle and got on.

  That left Walter.

  He’s got to get on first, otherwise he might follow me. Sam dropped to one knee and began retying an already-fastened shoelace.

  The bus driver honked. When Sam looked up, he was alone on the side of the road. A cold wind tousled his sandy brown hair, yet he felt warmer than he had a moment earlier.

  When Sam got on the bus, it was a hive of activity. Miranda sat in the front seat beside a girl with red hair and freckles. His sister scowled at him as he walked by. Walter was sitting alone midway, watching Sam through thick-rimmed glasses. Sam passed his new neighbour without comment. Although he felt a twinge of guilt, he shook it off as he shuffled to the back of the bus and plunked himself into a free seat in the last row.

  Sam turned up the volume on his iPod. One of his favourite rap songs boomed in his ears. The bus bounced south along the Tenth Line toward town, passing the spot where the riderless bike had come to its final stop in the middle of the road. He scanned the brush. No sign of anything bright red bobbing there now.

  The bus halted twice in the new housing development, and several kids of various ages, each dressed in the latest trends, cellphones, and MP3 players, boarded. Everyone went by Walter as though he wasn’t there.

  Man, that guy’s like people repellent, Sam thought.

  At the crossroads the bus turned onto Main Street and headed into town. For the first time Sam got a glimpse of Ringwood — and apparently that was all he needed. A gas station, a grocery store, a post office, and a library slid past his window. He turned in time to see a shabby restaurant called the Lion and the Lamb, some kind of municipal building, and a police station fly by on the other side of the road. Back out his own window, he saw a variety store, a dance studio, and a used-clothing boutique flash by. Ringwood. That was it. Good thing he hadn’t blinked or he would have missed everything.

  Sam had just settled back, hitting the skip button to avoid the hauntingly repetitive music of Ravel’s Boléro, when the bus squealed to a crawl, took a hard right, and swung into a side street. Rows of tiny bungalows with sagging roofs and junk-filled yards lined the street. A metal shopping cart and a busted trash can littered the sidewalk. This was where his father had grown up.

  The bus door opened, and another crowd of kids got on. These definitely seemed tougher than those living in the new housing development. Two guys pushed their way to the rear. One threw himself into the empty seats in front of Sam, while the other hopped into the row beside him. The guy beside Sam wore a black hoodie and baggy pants; the guy in front sported a bright red Buffalo Bills toque. That shade of red was hard to forget — Sam recognized it immediately as the bobbing red blur that had been hiding in the trees when the riderless bike had come at them.

  A girl was making her way down the aisle, as well. She was tall and thin with stringy blond hair. She had been contemplating the floor, but before she sat in the empty row beside the guy in the red toque, she caught Sam staring at her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The bus came to a grinding stop in front of Ringwood Middle School. The younger kids left the vehicle in a frenzy. Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. You’d think the school’s handing out free candy.

  Miranda was one of the first to exit. Sam peered out the window and watched her drag her school case along the sidewalk, heading toward the yard. He could tell she was still angry at him. Under normal circumstances she probably would have glanced back and smiled. Maybe even waved. Today he was lucky she didn’t throw a rock at him.

  “Whatcha listening to?” asked the guy slumped in the row in front of Sam. Beneath the bright red toque his eyes were hooded. He took up the entire row, his long legs splayed into the aisle. Somehow he didn’t strike Sam as the type to ride a Kronan bike.

  Before Sam could prevent him, the guy reached over. He snatched Sam’s iPod and plugged it into his ears.

  “Hey!” Sam protested, but the guy smacked his hand away.

  Red Toque burst out laughing. “Yo, J-Man! Check this out!” He threw the iPod to his friend in the row beside Sam. The guy had a quick listen and began cackling.

  Sam’s stomach bottomed out. The song must have changed. The girl, who had been chatting with Red Toque and Black Hoodie, now gazed directly at Sam. Their eyes locked a second time. Could she see the panic in them? Sam blinked and looked away.

  “Classical music?” Black Hoodie wailed. “What a wonk!” His laughter sounded like a wounded hyena’s. “What a scrub!”

  Other kids turned to stare at Sam. Suddenly, he felt as if he were on display in a zoo.

  This can’t be happening. Sam’s eyes found the back of Walter’s head. In the same instant Walter glanced back. His face was pale, expressionless.

  “Come on, guys, give it back to him,” the blond girl said.

  Red Toque’s smile faded. “Come on, guys, give it back to him,” he mocked. “What’s he to you, AJ? Your new best friend?”

  Sam’s cheeks burned. He realized that Red Toque and AJ were together and that Red Toque wasn’t impressed with her sticking up for Sam. Besides, he couldn’t let himself be defended by a girl. He lunged over and yanked back his iPod from a still-laughing J-Man, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

  Red Toque chuckled again and shook his head. “Yo, dude, whatcha listening to that junk for?”

  “I don’t listen to it.” Sam stuffed his iPod into his pocket.

  “Yeah, right. Someone must have snatched your Pod and swapped tunes. Some ghost, maybe?” He snapped his fingers at J-Man, and they both exploded in laughter as if it were the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

  This was bad. Sam remembered what Mike had taught him. Mike had said you could cruise through high school on nothing but reputation. Now Sam’s reputation had sprung a leak, and he was sinking fast. He had to do something and quick. Before he knew what was happening, he squared his shoulders to Red Toque and fixed him with hard eyes. “Quit baggin’ on me, man.” T
hat was exactly what Mike would have said.

  Red Toque’s spine straightened. Obviously, he wasn’t used to people standing up to him. His eyes grew wide. He studied Sam, looking him up and down with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Then he settled back into his seat and grinned. “What’s your name?”

  “What’s yours?” The cool-guy act was working. Sam had to keep it up. These were the guys he had to win over. He had to gain their respect.

  “Don’t be all salty with me,” Red Toque said. “Maniac’s the name. Thrill-seeking’s the game.”

  AJ rolled her eyes.

  Sam frowned. “Thrill-seeking?”

  Maniac snorted. “This kid belongs in kindergarten. Needs to learn his ABCs.”

  J-Man reached over and gave Maniac some exploding knuckles, and the two began laughing all over again. “Send him to your blog, Maniac. It’ll teach him what thrill-seeking is pretty quick.”

  Great, thought Sam, rolling his eyes, back to square one. He sank hopelessly into his seat while the two continued their taunts.

  Maniac smirked. “Awww! He’s lost without his Beethoven. I think he’s gonna cry!”

  More laughter.

  “What’d he say his name was?” J-Man asked.

  “He didn’t,” Maniac said.

  “How about we give him a name then? How about we call him Maestro!”

  “Yeah, I like that. Hey, Maestro, my grandma says she wants to borrow your Pod. Says you two got the same taste in music.”

  Perfect, thought Sam, just what I’ve always wanted — a nickname.

  He decided to ignore them. Someone who called themselves Maniac was either an idiot or a psycho — and there was no telling what either was capable of. Sam was pretty sure he’d already witnessed some of Maniac’s so-called thrill-seeking — the stunt with the red bike that could have easily cost him and his father their lives if another vehicle had been approaching.

  Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. At least these guys, unlike Walter, were cool. Given the choice he’d take psycho over geek any day.

  The bus pulled into the loop of Ringwood Secondary. The older kids exited, dragging their feet as though they were dead men walking. Part of Sam was thinking he should get up and push his way through the crowd, try to get away from the two guys as quickly as possible. The other part of him said he should stay put.