Charlie knew the way to the library, the next stop in Imogen’s perfect day. A left on Markbreit and a right on Gilmore and then they were there. He remembered it being a fifteen-minute trip, but as the minutes ticked by on his wristwatch, it seemed like much longer.
Without the wagon, Ruby ran beside him, keeping pace with his front wheel, though he could hear a little whistle every time she breathed in and exhaled, like a car that was about to stall out. She had a little more gray in her fur than before. If this was hard for him, he couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for her. Charlie’s legs felt like the wobbly Jell-O mold that his aunt put on the table every Easter. But still, he and Elliott pedaled faster and Ruby ran harder. With every turn of the wheel, he hoped that Imogen would still be at the library.
The air was electric, like the moments right before a thunderstorm when the clouds grew dark and you just knew that any minute the sky was going to break open with rain. But the sky here was clear, no clouds in sight. It was another reminder to Charlie that this place was different. Dangerous.
They pedaled past the diner and past Edna’s bakery, right up to the bowling alley, where Charlie turned his front wheel so sharply that it left a black smudge on the sidewalk. Behind him, Elliott and Ruby came to a stop, nearly colliding with each other.
“Why are we stopping?” Elliott asked. “We’re still ten minutes away.”
Her voice barely registered with Charlie. Instead, his eyes were trained on the bowling alley. The front door of the bowling alley that sat under the fading awning that needed to be replaced a year or so ago. The front door that Frank (or someone who really, really looked like Frank) had just disappeared into.
Charlie’s brain started working the odds. He had seen Frank down here once before. He was sure of it, even though Not-Mom tried to convince him he hadn’t. He had seen him walking with Grandma, but more likely Not-Grandma, as the only people who seemed to exist in this world were sad, grieving people and Echoes who pretended to be the people they missed.
They had planned to save Imogen first, and then somehow find Frank for real this time. But if this was Frank now, Charlie couldn’t leave him behind.
“Frank!” Charlie screamed. He hopped off the bike, letting it fall to the ground with a crash. He ran with Ruby right on his heels. And he determined that if he got out of this place (no, when he got out of this place), he’d go out for track or maybe cross-country with Elliott, because man, he had done a lot of running.
As he ran, he tried to put together a plan in his head. Okay, he’d find Frank really fast so he could go find Imogen and bring her home.
Good. He had a plan.
He swung open the door to the bowling alley, not really sure what he was going to find. Usually, there’d be half-eaten popcorn pieces dotting the ground, crunching under his sneakers. And the place would kind of smell like the aerosol foot deodorizer that they sprayed in the shoes after you wore them. And you’d hear the electronic beeps and whirs of the Pac-Man and pinball games in their two-game arcade, not counting the claw machine, where one time Charlie won a stuffed purple armadillo, mixed in with the crash of the ball hitting the pins. Or the ball rolling down the gutter, in the case of Frank’s grandma.
The only thing Charlie heard, though, when he walked in was a lone ball hitting the pins, followed by a pause as the pins reset, and then the ball hitting the pins again. Using the half wall in the entryway to conceal himself, he put both hands on the edge and peered around.
Slowly. Slowly, so that only his eyes and a little bit of his face were showing if someone were to glance over.
At the far end of the bowling alley, at their lucky bowling lane, was Frank sitting in the chair in front of the scoring screen. Not-Grandma rolled the ball down the lane with what seemed like superhuman strength. In real life, she could barely even pick it up.
“A strike again, Grandma.” Frank’s voice sounded mechanical, as if he were a robot and not a boy who used to build tall newspaper towers using scientific principles and follow the stock market, where he had invested fake money in a math project with Mr. Spencer.
Charlie felt a whoosh of air as the front door opened again. He motioned to Elliott to crouch down next to him and Ruby. He wished that he would have come up with a better plan. Get Frank out quickly sounded good four minutes ago, but he was missing all the steps in between. Like, how to distract Not-Grandma—no matter who she was, Charlie couldn’t knock over an old lady. And maybe how to convince Frank to come with them. Frank, like Imogen, might not want to leave. Would he even remember them?
He whispered to Elliott, “What are we going to do?”
Elliott stuck her head over the half wall for a second or two and then popped back down. “Okay, I’ll run over to the arcade and create a distraction, like I really want to play one of the games. Or like maybe someone’s stuck in the claw machine. You go grab Frank.”
Ruby looked at Elliott, her head cocked to the side. The white spots on her fur looked even more like stars than before. Like constellations almost. “And Ruby, you chase Frank’s grandma if needed.” Elliott scratched her behind the ears.
If there was a merit badge for making plans or for bowling alley recon, Elliott would certainly get it. Charlie nodded and gave a thumbs-up.
“On my count,” Elliott whispered. “One, two, THREE!”
THE ROLE OF INVERSE OPERATIONS
Elliott jumped up and ran, flailing her arms. “I want to play some games. Yay, games! I call dibs on Pac-Man.”
The bright red and yellow and blue flashing lights from the arcade painted a rainbow on Elliott’s ponytail as it bobbed up and down. Charlie watched from his hiding spot as both Frank and Not-Grandma turned to look.
He then braced himself and popped up. Not-Grandma had taken steps toward Elliott, who was dancing around the arcade, hitting the buttons as she went. Not-Grandma turned when she heard running and seemed to freeze in time—looking one way and then the other, seemingly unsure of which direction to turn. Then she darted into the arcade.
But Charlie couldn’t worry about that now. He had to worry about Frank—Frank who seemed frozen, too, like his sneakers were bolted to the floor. Charlie’s shoes echoed off the squeaky wood as he walked toward Frank. He kept watching for the look in Frank’s eyes to change. For them to show some little flash that he remembered Charlie and Elliott and Ruby.
His eyes remained blank.
When Charlie reached him, he took him by the shoulders and shook him a little bit. “Frank, it’s me. Charlie.”
Frank just stared right through him as if Charlie wasn’t there.
Charlie wanted to scream. He had to think. Then something Elliott had said earlier struck him. When she gave up her memory to Not-Jack, she whispered to Charlie that he’d have to help her remember.
He’d have to make Frank remember.
“Remember how we’d go to the Leaning Tower of Pizza and you’d always eat your crust first and I said it was weird? But then I did it and it was delicious—the perfect bread-to-sauce ratio. And when we were in fourth grade, we’d play Around the World in math class and you’d always beat me at multiplication facts. Especially the twelves.”
Frank’s eyes grew just a bit brighter—barely noticeable. But Charlie noticed.
“You and me and Rohan—we did that thing with the Mentos and Diet Coke outside your house and it spurted all over your grandma when she came out to watch. We were worried she’d be mad, but she only laughed and helped us load up the next bottle.”
Frank’s eyes took on even more color now.
This was the most important Mathletes problem Charlie had ever solved. He had buzzed in.
Question: How do you save Frank?
Answer: Inverse operations. The inverse of multiplication was division. The inverse of subtraction was addition. As Charlie gave Frank memories, they seemed to counteract the ones Not-Grandma had taken away.
“Remember, we’d play this thing, Frank, where we’d ask each other ques
tions and then say the answer and then say it was—”
Frank’s eyes shifted, and he looked at Charlie like he was finally coming into focus. “For the game show,” he said.
“Yes! For the game show!” Charlie said, pulling Frank in for a hug. And it wasn’t even like a boy hug where you clasp your hands together and pound your chest and slap each other on the back. This was a real hug with real Frank.
His best friend.
Hugging Frank and thinking back to all the great things they had done together helped fill a bit of Charlie’s emptiness.
“So I’ve got a question, Frank. For the game show—will you come with us?”
Frank looked around—at the lane where he had just bowled with Not-Grandma and at the beeping Pac-Man game in the arcade. Charlie held his breath. Maybe he was looking for Not-Grandma. Maybe he wanted to stay.
Finally, Frank whispered, “I’ll go.”
Charlie wanted to cheer as Mom had. Hypotenuse! Pythagorean theorem! Parabola! Charlie grabbed Frank’s arm and started running for the exit when he realized that not only was Not-Grandma nowhere to be seen, but he had also lost track of Ruby and Elliott.
Charlie slowed. “Elliott,” he called out. He paused another three seconds, and then said in a quieter voice, “Ruby.”
No one. Charlie didn’t want to let Frank out of his sight. He was worried that if he left his friend for one small second, Frank would disappear again. Poof. Charlie wasn’t sure his heart could handle that.
So instead, they walked around the bowling alley together—canvassing the lanes and the arcade and the food bar.
Finally, a bark sounded and Ruby appeared outside the entrance to the bowling alley. Charlie opened the door. Ruby had a ponytail holder in his mouth. In Lincoln Middle School colors. The kind that Elliott liked to wear. The kind she was wearing today.
“Elliott.” Charlie finally exhaled. “Someone’s got Elliott.” At this point, Charlie could barely hold himself up, much less Frank. The entire world was crumbling beneath his feet.
Ruby grabbed onto Charlie’s pant leg and pulled him out of the bowling alley into the empty parking lot. The sun was almost hidden away behind the horizon, but Charlie still blinked as his eyes adjusted.
Charlie saw Elliott just before she disappeared around the corner. She was hand in hand with a little boy, who turned and looked at Charlie for just a second. He had a large one-toothed smile.
“Jack,” Charlie said. “Her brother came back to get her.”
CROSSING THE STREET
Charlie wished that someone would just tell him what to do. Frank. Imogen. Elliott. The names cycled through his mind at a rapid pace—a motor he couldn’t turn off.
Slow down, Charlie, slow down, he told himself. And he wiggled his fingers, then clenched them in a fist and relaxed them. He took in a deep breath and let it out. His mind slowed and the tingly feeling that had built up in his hands faded until it was barely noticeable.
He pulled the picture out of his pocket. Imogen was a little more faded.
Charlie felt that way, too. Even though Not-Mom wasn’t taking his memories away at this moment, he didn’t have Imogen or Dad or Mathletes or Elliott. The Echoes were still stealing away the things he loved.
“Do you think you could take a bike?” Charlie asked. He didn’t think he could handle both on his own. They’d only slow him down, and they might need them later.
Frank, still dazed and quiet, nodded. Charlie wished that he had time to ask Frank how he was and where he’d been all this time down here. He just had so many questions and so many things he wanted to say.
Like that he was sorry. Sorry for everything—for being a bad friend, for not finding him sooner, for not understanding more. Charlie was brimming with apologies.
But he couldn’t say them now. There wasn’t time.
“Elliott,” Charlie called out, hoping that she might still be close enough to hear him. “Elliott!” They set off, pedaling in the direction in which she’d disappeared. Ruby kept her eyes and nose to the ground, sniffing out her path, leading the way.
He tried to think back to the things Elliott talked about in group. It was strange that memories now served as clues. He remembered how she told them about making fake stew with Jack in their backyard using leaves and twigs. How they’d eat Popsicles in the summer on the giant hill in their yard, looking up at the clouds. And how Elliott wasn’t holding Jack’s hand when the car hit him and if she had just been holding his hand—
When Ruby veered right onto Isabella Avenue, Charlie knew where they were going.
No.
No.
He couldn’t stand to see Elliott in pain again. Charlie didn’t want to go. There was still a little plaque there with Jack’s face and a ribbon on one of the tall electricity poles—Charlie passed it on the days when he’d take the back way home from school. And when he did, he’d try to remember to walk on the other side of the pole so he wouldn’t see the plaque straight on, because remembering was hard.
Familiar shops and trees and roads blurred together into something that a three-year-old might create for a spot on the refrigerator. Charlie’s moves became automatic. A turn here, sailing over the curb there. His legs became automatic, too. Then he saw Elliott in the distance. Ruby barked, but Elliott didn’t look up. She was crouched down, her hand on Jack’s shoulder—Jack, with his floppy brown hair and scraped knees. Jack, who couldn’t stop laughing on the Ferris wheel. Charlie watched her stand and then take Jack’s hand.
Time slowed and Charlie couldn’t move fast enough. He couldn’t move fast enough. He was off his bike and could see his arms outstretched in front of him, and he was pretty sure he was saying something because his mouth was moving, but he wasn’t sure what.
But Elliott and Jack looked up, and it bought Charlie a second. Or two.
Elliott grinned and waved. Jack just stood there, his eyes narrowed at Charlie, his mouth drawn into a thin line almost like a cartoon character. This wasn’t the Jack from the Ferris wheel.
“What are you doing?” Elliott said, as Charlie reached her. She looked confused and took a step back. Charlie bent over, hands on his knees, trying to force his breath back inside his lungs. “Look who found me again.” She grinned. He could see parts of Jack in her smile, in her freckles. “Jack’s sorry about before, Charlie. He didn’t mean it. We’re going to go to the zoo, like I promised him. Only it’s very important that we cross the street together, making sure that we look both ways for cars. That’s right, isn’t it, Jack? That’s what Mom taught us.”
Jack smiled, but not a Real Jack smile—not a smile like in the pictures Elliott had on her desk.
Frank stepped next to Charlie. He didn’t say anything, but him just being there made Charlie feel stronger. “This isn’t Jack.”
Something flashed across Elliott’s face, but then it was gone. “We were wrong, Charlie. Jack’s not like the others. It’s really him, and he wants me to stay.” The hand that wasn’t holding Jack’s reached out to Charlie. Her fingers circled his arm, and all he could think about was how her fingernails looked like brightly colored jelly beans and they were on his arm. Then he looked up. Her eyes were pleading—trying to make Charlie understand. “He missed me.”
This was bad. Pain thrummed through Charlie’s insides—ten times worse than one of his headaches had ever been. It was one thing to have all this happen to you. But it was another entirely to have it happen to Elliott. To watch her hope be taken away.
“And he tells me that if I cross the street with him, I’ll forget all the other times I crossed the street with him. And I need that to happen.” Her eyes went to the plaque on the pole and then to the sidewalk. “I want that to happen.” Her voice grew desperate. “I need to forget because this moment plays in my head again and again and I can’t turn it off.”
The light above them turned from green to red and the walk sign illuminated.
He had to keep Elliott talking. “How many times did you cr
oss the street with Jack, or hold his hand?”
Jack was now yanking on Elliott’s arm. Ruby growled and jumped at him, but Jack only pushed her back. “Bad dog,” he snarled. Then he turned to Elliott, his voice sweet again. “The walk sign is up, Elly. Let’s go! I want to see the rhinos.”
But still, Elliott remained. “I don’t know. Hundreds. Thousands maybe.”
“And you’re willing to give all of those up for this? For one walk across the street?” Charlie didn’t tell her that he had sometimes lain in bed after he had come back from the other world, thinking about what bad memories he could relive and then give up. Bad memories that seemed to crowd out the good ones and play over and over again in his head, like a song Imogen had set on repeat.
But Elliott and her memories were worth saving. “This isn’t Jack, Elliott.”
Elliott’s face drooped like melting ice cream in the sun, losing its shape.
She whispered. Her hand was still on Charlie’s arm, and he concentrated on the heat on his skin. He stepped closer.
She whispered again. “It was my fault.”
“It was my fault,” Charlie whispered. Brightly colored pills were strewn over the tile—ovals and circles. He sank to his knees and began scooping them up in one hand. “I’m so sorry.” But his words were muffled and his shoulders shook.
He half glanced up at Mom, who still sat at the breakfast table. She wasn’t looking at him or even at the pills on the floor. Instead she stared at the turned-over brown and white bottles on the table. The ones Charlie had just turned over.
Mom had asked him to help open one—she had seven—and he couldn’t get it. The cap was stuck. Childproof? Try Charlie proof. He couldn’t do the one thing that would help her. And without thinking, he threw the bottle at the table, knocking over the others, spilling them onto the floor.
The Remarkable Journey of Charlie Price Page 14