Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange)

by Nathan Kotecki

  “I don’t have any control—I didn’t do anything!” Bruno’s head hit the wall behind him when Van shoved him.

  “Bruno?” It was a girl’s voice—Celia, looking down at them from the landing.

  Van swore under his breath. “You’re gonna get saved by a girl?” he taunted Bruno.

  Celia came down the stairs and brushed past Van. “What’s going on here?” She glared up at him.

  “None of your business.” But Van’s voice had lost its menace. He stared strangely at Celia. “What are you doing with him, anyway? Don’t you think you could do better?”

  “You have no idea who you’re threatening,” Celia said. “If you’re going to start trouble, you’ll find that out very quickly. Let’s go.” Celia put her hand on Bruno’s shoulder and guided him around Van.

  “I’m not done with you!” Van followed them out of the stairwell.

  Celia said to Bruno loudly, “You teach someone to use his words, and then he just won’t shut up, will he?”

  They left Van and went to the cafeteria, Bruno’s adrenaline draining away. “So how did this start, again?” she asked him when they had settled in at a table.

  “It’s nothing. We have gym together, and he was picking on the first years, so I tackled him. Since then he’s been a jerk, but he doesn’t want to get in trouble and get kicked off the football team, so he’s only hit me once.”

  “Ugh. Not all football players are like that,” Celia said.

  “But he has to be Unkind, right? He must know I’m Kind, but he didn’t want to say it out loud, in case he’s wrong and then he’s revealed something he shouldn’t have.”

  “We just don’t know for sure,” Celia said.

  “He must be pretty new himself,” Bruno said. “I don’t think he understands half as much as we do.”

  “Sounds that way. And we barely understand anything!”

  “But that’s just another reason for him to come after me. If he does have any power, he’s going to try to use it against me.”

  “I feel like I should be able to do something,” Celia said. “I’m your Ambassador. I’m supposed to be helping you.”

  “I appreciate that, but how could you help? What is an Ambassador supposed to do in a situation like this?” Celia pulled out her sketchbook. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not sure. Every powerful thing I’ve done as an Ambassador has been with a drawing, so maybe I should try it. My drawing of Tomasi gave him his power to travel through books, and my drawing of the chemistry teacher stripped him of his Unkind powers. My drawing of Mariette would have given her powers, but she died before the eclipse, so she never received them.”

  “You’re going to draw me?”

  “Well, there’s nothing in your admonition that makes it sound like I should draw you. I was thinking of drawing Van.” Celia looked around the cafeteria and found Van, who sat on the far side of the room, scowling at them.

  Celia’s pencil flew around the page, and Bruno marveled at her skill. “What’s it going to do?”

  “I don’t know. It might not do anything. I’m just guessing,” Celia said, roughing in the students around Van, and adding tables, chairs, and the lights overhead. “When I drew Mr. Sumeletso, it froze him in the position I’d drawn him. And then when I threw the page out the window, he was sucked after it.”

  “Really?” Bruno looked across the room at the real Van. “It doesn’t seem to be having any effect on him.”

  Celia paused to study her drawing and said, “That’s funny. That kind of looks like you, doesn’t it?”

  Bruno leaned in to see the crowd of students surrounding Van in the sketch. One of the faces definitely looked like Bruno. He looked up but couldn’t find anyone in that position in real life. “You didn’t do that on purpose?”

  “No, I was just doing a background; I wasn’t really looking at anyone else. But that one—it is you!” Celia was amazed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s kind of creepy,” Bruno said.

  Celia turned her pencil over and erased the figure that resembled Bruno. Van remained, his face sketched rigid and mean-eyed. “Does he look any different?” They looked over where Van had been, but he was gone.

  BRUNO WAS LATE GETTING to the parking lot after school, and the lobby was emptying out when he passed through. The girl with the blond ponytail stood by herself near the big front windows, looking even more lost than usual. She clutched her books and looked around as though someone had dropped her off ten miles outside of town.

  “Are you okay?”

  She jumped. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

  Bruno noticed a folded piece of paper in her hand. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She tucked it into her purse. “Why do you ask?”

  “I thought it might be one of those kiss notes from the ghost.”

  “No, just a grocery list.”

  “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked her.

  “Um, no, well, yes. I missed my bus,” she told him.

  “So is someone coming to pick you up?”

  “Yeah, my mom. But . . . she’s not done with work until five. I’ll probably just walk home.”

  “C’mon, I’ll get my brother to give you a ride.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I might live in the opposite direction from you.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Over on Mount Rose,” she said reluctantly.

  Bruno unrolled the map in his head. Mount Rose passed within a couple miles of their house. “It’s barely out of the way,” he told her. “C’mon.”

  “Are you sure? Do you want to ask your brother first?”

  “He won’t say no. What’s your name? I’m Bruno.”

  “I’m Gwendolyn. You helped me find my way around,” she said, as if convincing herself to trust him.

  “It’s a confusing place.”

  “You look different,” Gwendolyn said as they went outside. “From the beginning of school. You’ve changed your style.”

  “I have. I didn’t really have much of a style before.”

  “I like it.”

  “Thank you,” he said, thinking he should return the compliment but unsure what to say. He wondered what her hair would look like if she ever took it out of the ponytail.

  Out in the parking lot most of the cars were gone, and Bruno’s group stood by the black cars, watching him cross the parking lot with Gwendolyn.

  “Do you ride with them?” she asked, slowing down.

  “The one on the right is my brother, Sylvio,” Bruno said. “Why?”

  “They scare me, a little.”

  “Do I scare you?”

  “If you hadn’t helped me before, yes.”

  “They’re harmless. And the other three will be in the other car. Really, I promise.”

  Sylvio spoke first. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn, this is Sylvio, and Regine, Celia, and Marco.”

  “Hi, Gwendolyn,” Celia said, looking at Bruno longer than she did at Gwendolyn.

  “Hi.” Gwendolyn stared at them.

  “She missed her bus, and she lives on Mount Rose, so I told her we’d give her a ride home,” Bruno said to Sylvio.

  “Well, let’s get going. It’s late,” Sylvio said indifferently. Bruno opened the back door of the car for Gwendolyn, and when she got in, a book fell from her backpack to the pavement. Bruno picked it up and handed it to her.

  “What book is that?”

  “The Stranger by Albert Camus. You know it?”

  “No. What’s it about?”

  “Get in!” Sylvio shouted from the driver’s seat.

  As they drove off, Gwendolyn said, “It’s kind of hard to explain. There’s a man, and a bunch of things happen, but he never seems to know why he does anything, or if anything has a reason. I’m not sure if I like it. I’m only halfway through.”

  “Is it for school?” />
  “No. I like to read. I always have a book with me.”

  Bruno could tell Gwendolyn was confused by the slow pace at which they drove, and she watched curiously as they followed the other car, dropping off passengers one at a time. Eventually they headed in the direction of Gwendolyn’s house, and she called out a few final turns to get them there.

  They stopped in front of a sturdy two-story brick house with a big front porch and peeling paint. “Thank you so much,” Gwendolyn said, opening the car door and sliding out. “See you at school!” She ran up the walk.

  “Wait,” Bruno said, opening his door, too.

  “What are you doing?” Sylvio asked, irritated.

  Bruno pointed to the front of the house. “Why is one of your windows open when it’s this cold? Is something wrong?”

  “My mother must have opened it. I’m sure it’s okay.”

  “Isn’t she at work, though? Until five?” Something definitely was not right. It had less to do with the open window and more to do with Gwendolyn’s agitated state. And there was also the small fact that she was carrying The Stranger. “I think I should come in and make sure everything’s all right.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” she said quickly.

  “What’s going on?” They stared at each other. Bruno walked past her up her front steps to the door. She followed him.

  She put her key in the lock. “The window is stuck. I haven’t been able to get it down. We haven’t been able to get it down.”

  “That’s dangerous. Anyone could get in.” Bruno followed her into the dark house. She switched on a lamp and he went into the living room to look at the window. It was jammed at a slight angle. He banged on one side of the sash as hard as he could until it slid down and closed.

  “Thank you.” She was watching him from the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” he asked her again. “You can tell me.”

  “I can’t,” she said. But she came into the room and sat on a chair.

  “Your mom isn’t going to be home at five, is she?”

  “No,” Gwendolyn said in a small voice.

  “How about your dad?”

  “No.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “They’re getting a divorce.” She looked up at him. “And I hate them both. They hate each other, and I hate them. He went off with the woman he was cheating on Mom with. Every time he called, she wouldn’t talk to him, so I was stuck in the middle of all their conversations. And then Grandma needed help, and Mom went to go take care of her. She told me to tell Dad he had to come back because she was leaving, but I didn’t want him to come back. So I told her he was coming, and she left. He doesn’t ask to speak to her when he calls.” Anger flashed in Gwendolyn’s eyes. “He deposits money in the bank account each month, and I pay all the bills. The grocery store is two blocks away.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Two and a half months.”

  “And your mom hasn’t come back? What if someone had come through that window in the middle of the night?”

  “I lock my bedroom door every night. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “But you need help! Your parents—”

  “You can’t tell anyone!” she repeated. “I don’t want them to come back, either of them! I’m happier without them.”

  “But you’re what, fourteen? Sooner or later someone else is going to find out.”

  “I’ve been okay so far. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  Sylvio’s horn sounded, and Bruno looked out the window. “I can’t promise that.”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  “It is now.”

  “Please.” She began to cry.

  “Okay! I’m not going to promise. But I will keep your secret for a while, if you promise me you’ll figure out what you’re going to do to fix this. You can’t keep on this way.”

  She nodded, wiping her eyes.

  “I have to go.” Bruno noticed a pad of paper on the hall table by the phone. “I’ll write down my phone number, and if you need anything, call me, okay? Anytime.” He went to the table and saw two numbers written on the pad, one labeled Mom, the other Dad. He turned to the next page and wrote Bruno and his number.

  “Are you going to tell your brother?” She followed him to the front door.

  “I won’t tell him. I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nodded, and he went out the door. On the stairs he heard the click of the lock behind him.

  “What the hell were you doing?” Sylvio asked him in the car.

  “Just drive home,” Bruno said.

  “Do you like her?” Sylvio said half seriously.

  “No.” Bruno didn’t even care if Sylvio was going to try to have fun at his expense. He was thinking of only one thing. He remembered Cassandra’s words specifically now: The one he sought would be carrying the stranger. Finally he had found her. Sure enough, she sadly lived in a house where no one was home—Bruno was struck by the way the words of the admonition were gradually becoming clear. Just the day before, that line had been poetic nonsense. The realization of a single new line of his admonition gave Bruno a powerful rush. Something incredible was happening, and it was happening to him. Now, how was he supposed to replant Gwendolyn’s family tree?

  MR. WILLIAMS WAS SITTING at his desk in his empty classroom, eating plums. “Come in,” he called to Bruno, who had stopped in the doorway. “They’re much better when they’re cold, straight out of the refrigerator,” he said, throwing the pits into the trash and wiping his hands. “I appreciate you paying attention in class today. Was there anything you didn’t already know?”

  “You do talk about things that aren’t on maps sometimes,” Bruno said helpfully. “Like climate and some of the history of the people who live in the area. So yes.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Mr. Williams said drily. “I was thinking about how to structure what we’re going to do. We have geographical maps”—he pointed at the classroom walls—“and there are city maps, and then there are architectural plans. All of these are representations of the world we inhabit, and it seems to me you have a, well, talent for understanding them and remembering them. Am I right?”

  “I guess so,” Bruno said.

  “And instead of just reading them, you’d like to be able to draw them. Correct?”

  “Yes,” Bruno said.

  “Have you ever tried?”

  “I’ve been drawing the school.” Bruno pulled out his notebook and opened it to the inside back cover. Mr. Williams studied the drawing of Suburban High School with interest. “It’s kind of messy,” Bruno said.

  “Don’t be self-deprecating. You’ve done a great job, considering you’ve never taken a drafting class or anything.”

  “I looked at a lot of plans to see how to do windows and doors.”

  “You must be using a scale,” Mr. Williams observed.

  “Yeah, my dad had one. My grandfather was an engineer.”

  “Most people do this type of thing on a computer these days. But it’s great to learn to do it by hand. I think you internalize a place better when you draw it by hand.” Bruno nodded, not sure what he meant. He had never had any trouble internalizing places, once he had seen the map or the plan. Mr. Williams put his finger down on the drawing. “What’s going on in the library?”

  Bruno had left the back wall of the library open because while he didn’t know exactly where it was, he knew for sure it wasn’t where the official plan of Suburban High School showed it to be. “I . . . I haven’t finished that part.”

  “And what is this X?” Mr. Williams pointed to the mark in the stairwell of the Chancellor Wing.

  “I don’t remember why I put that there,” Bruno lied.

  “There’s one over in this stairwell, too,” Mr. Williams said, noticing the one by the cafeteria.

  “I’ve been working on this since the beginning of school. I must have . . .” Bruno squinted at the drawing as though it would provide
the lie he needed.

  “No worries; I was just curious.” Mr. Williams gave the notebook back to Bruno. “So tell me, are you more interested in drawing cities or buildings?”

  “Buildings, probably,” Bruno answered.

  “Okay, this is your first assignment, then. I know you help out in the library. Go find a book of architectural drawings of great buildings. And then go to the art store and buy a roll of trace paper. I want you to spend some time tracing the floor plans of buildings. It’s a great way to learn how the designer put the building together. How does that sound?”

  “Sure,” Bruno said.

  “Next week you can show me what you’ve done.”

  BRUNO HADN’T SEEN VAN since Celia had drawn him in the cafeteria, and he’d wondered whether Celia’s drawing had somehow made him disappear. But there he was in the locker room at their next gym class. The senior gave him a blank look. When they lined up for attendance in the gym, Bruno heard Van say to one of his friends, “Who? I’ve never seen that guy before. Is he new?”

  They played flag football again, and the seniors kept the contact light under the teacher’s watchful eye. But Van had no glares for Bruno, no threats delivered under his breath when he passed. He was more concerned about his friends, who now were calling him both a coward and an amnesiac. Bruno just concentrated on the game. She really did something to him. It’s like she erased me from his memory.

  10

  shouldn’t have done that

  CELIA HAD BEEN ALARMED when Bruno told her about Van’s apparent loss of memory. “I’m freaked out about it because last year Mariette fiddled with people’s memories and made a colossal mess. I wouldn’t have erased you if I’d known it would have that effect. Is he at least nicer to you?”

  “When he looks at me now, it’s almost like he’s afraid.”

  “I’ll call that an improvement, then.” Celia smiled. She noticed Gwendolyn, who had seen the two of them and abruptly headed in the opposite direction. “Is she mad at you?”