Rick won’t look me in the eye. “It doesn’t sound good.”
Suddenly, I’m cold all over. “What happened?”
“I better let your sister tell you.” Rick turns and starts walking.
“My sister?”
He points toward the camp administration building. “She’s waiting for you. Okay, well, sorry. Good luck.” With that, he veers off and leaves me to trek the rest of the way alone, my brain buzzing with confusion.
I open the door, heart pounding, to be met with the sympathetic gaze of a middle-aged guy I’ve never seen before. He must be one of the camp administrators.
“Are you Jack?”
I nod.
“I’m Mr. Wilhite.” He points across the room to an office door. “Your sister’s inside waiting.”
I walk toward the door and Mr. Wilhite follows. If Caitlin is here, it could only mean that something has happened to our parents. But who’s with her and how did she get here?
Lauren stands waiting inside the office, dressed in tan slacks and a green blouse, her hair—no longer streaked with color—tied back into a ponytail. She wears lipstick and light makeup. She looks like somebody’s administrative assistant. Before I have a chance to speak, she says, “Jack, it’s Mom. She had an accident.”
I stand there blinking, trying to process.
“She fell down the stairs and hit her head. She’s in the hospital.”
“Do you mean—”
“Right. Mom. Who else would I mean? Do you need to sit down?”
“Maybe you should sit down, Jack,” Mr. Wilhite says. “You look rather pale.”
I always look “rather pale” but, of course, Mr. Wilhite can’t know that. All the same, I sit in one of the chairs. Mr. Wilhite takes his seat behind the desk while Lauren remains standing off to the side.
“Can I get you anything?” Mr. Wilhite says. “Do you need a glass of water?”
I hear him but don’t respond. I keep staring at Lauren, trying to figure out what she’s doing here.
Lauren’s eyes actually glisten as she says, “Dad can’t get a flight until at least tomorrow. You know how it is with Dubai. The whole Middle East, for that matter. Anyway, he called me so I could come get you. I left school early this morning. Maybe I can catch up on the summer classes after we get through this but it doesn’t matter right now. Maybe I’ll just drop them. What matters is that we get home to be with Mom in case she comes out of the coma.”
“Coma?”
“I know it sounds bad but we need to say calm,” Lauren says. “How soon can you get packed?”
Finally, I put it together. Holy shit, she’s amazing. It takes superhuman effort not to grin. “Just a few minutes. We need to go.”
Mr. Whilhite clears his throat and directs his attention to me. “I already explained to your sister that we don’t normally let campers leave with anyone but their parents. But under the circumstances, and since your sister’s eighteen, it looks like we have little choice but to make an exception.” He turns to Lauren. “I’ll still need to see your identification. And you’ll have to sign the release form.”
“Of course.” Lauren opens her purse, produces an ID and passes it to Mr. Wilhite.
Mr. Wilhite studies the ID. “This says your last name is Hornsby.”
Here’s where we’re going down. Nice job, Lauren. What was she thinking?
I feel blood rushing to my face but Lauren doesn’t flinch. She keeps her eyes on Mr. Wilhite’s. “That’s correct. Our mother was married before. In fact, our new father can’t actually have children. As you can imagine, we don’t exactly talk about it. Kind of a sensitive topic. Anyway, I decided to keep my last name. Jack felt differently.”
Mr. Wilhite thinks for a moment. He blushes and I wonder if Lauren hit a nerve. “This says you live in Charlottesville. Jack’s file says your family lives in Edmonds.”
“That’s right. I go to school there. UVA. Did you go there too?” Lauren points to the desk. “I noticed your mug.”
Sure enough, a black coffee mug with a University of Virginia logo sits on Mr. Wilhite’s desk. Damn, she’s really good.
“That was a gift from my nephew,” Mr. Wilhite says. “He goes there.”
“Really?” Lauren says. “Wilhite…that name sounds kind of familiar. Is he in the engineering program?”
Mr. Wilhite’s expression brightens. “He is. His name’s Tim. Do you know him?”
Lauren’s face lights up. “He’s a friend of my roommate’s boyfriend. Did Tim ever mention Paul Parsons?”
Mr. Wilhite shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You should ask him sometime. Those two are almost inseparable. Which, frankly, annoys the heck out of my roommate.”
Mr. Wilhite chuckles. “Talk about a small world.”
“Next time I see Tim, I’ll be sure to tell him we met.” Lauren turns to me. “Jack, are you okay? Can you manage to pack your things now? I just need to sign you out and then we can get going.”
Mr. Wilhite passes Lauren her ID and a clipboard but addresses both of us. “I hope your mother is going to be okay. I’m sure she will be.”
We both thank him and Lauren signs the form.
~~~
“Just walk fast,” Lauren says, once we’re outside and hustling toward the cabins.
“What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I think this is more of a ‘we’ situation. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“But what was with the whole mom-fell-down-the-stairs thing. The Middle East? Really, a coma?”
“I’d say it worked nicely,” Lauren says. “Although, I feel bad about lying to Mr. Whilhite. He seems really nice. You can tell he’s proud of his nephew.”
“And what was up with that? How did you know his nephew was in the engineering program?”
“I didn’t, not for sure. But I kind of got a feeling about it. See why you should trust your instincts? Besides, it’s a huge engineering program so my odds were pretty good either way. Anyway, it worked. And, obviously, you wanted to run with it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like you called me out for being a liar. That gave me the distinct impression you were on board.” Lauren stops walking and stares at me. “Should we turn back?”
I consider this option for about one second. “Okay, I’m on board.”
“Glad to hear it. We can talk more later.” She starts walking again.
We enter the cabin and Lauren fans her nose. “God, it stinks in here. I can’t believe you live like this.”
I start shoving clothes into my duffle bag. It seems pointless explaining that, at best, I contribute to one-tenth of the cabin’s rancidness. A few minutes later, I zip my bag closed. “Let’s get moving.”
Lauren raises an eyebrow. “Forget anything?”
I slip my arm through the strap and lift my duffel bag. At that moment, all I want to do is get the hell out of there. “I think I’m good.”
“You forgot something. Trust me on this.”
Lauren looks to the floor where my guitar case pokes out from beneath the bed. “Try to stay focused,” she says.
~~~
Within minutes, we’re walking across the parking lot. Everything happened so fast that it only occurs to me now to ask the most obvious questions. “So, what’s the deal? And how did you get here?”
“The deal is it felt like we had unfinished business,” Lauren says. “And, by helicopter, of course.”
I shoot her a sidelong, starting-to-hate-you glance.
She smiles. “I drove, silly.”
I struggle to keep up with her, huffing from the combined weight of my duffel bag and guitar. “Do you have your own car?”
“Not exactly. You sound kind of winded. Do you smoke? It’s really bad for you.”
“No, I don’t smoke. You do have a license, right? Not just a fake ID?”
“Try not to worry, Pajama Boy. I’ve got us covered. Did a
nyone ever tell you that you frown a lot? Don’t get me wrong—that’s not necessarily a bad sign. It means you’re thinking. We’re almost there.”
Almost where? I wonder. The parking lot seems endless.
“There it is,” Lauren finally says. “Sorry I parked so far away but it seemed like a good idea to be close to the exit. Now that I think about it, we probably would have gotten to the exit sooner if we’d been driving. Right, well, next time.”
I look up from the asphalt to see an old Volkswagen bus—turquoise with a white roof, ancient, from like the 1960s or something. Still, it appears to be in nearly perfect condition.
“Cool, isn’t it?” Lauren says.
It really is a beautiful thing. “Where did it come from?”
“My father restored it, years ago. He did a nice job, don’t you think?” She gets out her keys and opens the back. “Put your stuff in and let’s hit it.”
I’ve never been in one of these old vans before, but it looks like someone removed the back bench and installed carpeting. They’ve done a nice job of it, though. Almost seamless. Either way, there’s a ton of room back there. I drop my duffle bag into the back, then slide the guitar in next to it. I climb into the passenger seat. Lauren puts on sunglasses and starts the engine.
“I can’t believe your father let you take this van,” I say.
“He didn’t,” Lauren says. “Last time I saw him, I was three feet tall. Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt.”
8
A New Use for an Old Lighter
I keep thinking someone will come after us but soon we clear the gate and it feels amazing to drive out of that parking lot. By a miracle named Lauren, I’ve regained my freedom. For how long, I can’t say but it still feels like a dream come true. I can’t wait to see sidewalks, strip malls, gas stations and fast-food restaurants. In a word, civilization. Above us there’s the sunny blue sky. I gaze out my window, grinning.
It isn’t long, though, before reality rears its ugly little head. I try to fight off the feeling but how will I explain this to my parents? Should I go back and tell Mr. Wilhite it was all a misunderstanding? Like maybe the whole coma thing had really been just a concussion or something? Shit.
“I just felt the mood shift,” Lauren says.
“Right, you’re kind of psychic. I forgot.”
“Hate to tell you this, but the dramatic sigh kind of tipped me off.”
I stare out at the road trying not to sigh again. I sigh. “Is it safe to assume the plan isn’t going back to Edmonds?”
Lauren turns onto the main road and the van picks up speed. “Yep, it’s safe to say that isn’t the plan. Do you want to go back to Edmonds?”
It really is a loaded question, since it means so much more than going back home. Do I want to go back to my life? Do I even want to be in that life to begin with? I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how Lauren means it even though she barely knows me.
“Not exactly,” I say.
Lauren glances at me. “That was the feeling I got. Call me psychic, if you’d like. Or observant. Up to you.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“Your turn to be psychic. What’s the plan?”
“I’m guessing maybe North Carolina.”
“We could,” Lauren says. “Time to trust your instincts. In your gut, do you still think we should?”
I don’t have to think about it. Even if it means getting my ass handed to me later, somehow I know we should still try to find out more. “Yes.”
“Same here,” Lauren says. “I’ve just had the strongest feeling we should do this. Apparently, you share the same feeling so I guess you’re psychic too. Welcome to the club.”
I’m not sure if she’s kidding. You just trust your instincts? Obviously, there has to be way more to being psychic. Probably, Lauren is just messing with me again. Obviously, she enjoys doing that, which reminds me she didn’t answer my question before. “You do actually have a license, right?”
“Of course,” Lauren says. “Don’t you?”
“Just a permit,” I admit.
It seemed important to know but now I regret opening this door. Partly because I’m embarrassed but mostly because of why I haven’t gotten my license. After getting my permit, those sessions spent in the car with my father hadn’t exactly been bonding moments. It wasn’t that learning to drive had been the issue. If it had been, at least we would have had something to talk about. Instead, it was the prolonged awkward silences that made me keep putting it off. He must have felt the same way since he didn’t push it either. We both just put it on the back burner to avoid being around each other.
“You’re frowning again,” Lauren says.
I’m not going to tell her. It’s too depressing. “I’m just thinking about how my parents are going to react.”
It’s Lauren’s turn to sigh. “So, you bailed out of a smelly place in the woods. It’s not like you broke the law. You just broke some rules. Feel better?”
She does have a point. What’s the worst that could happen—I disappoint my parents? Nothing new there. I get sent back? Okay, then at least I’ll have been gone for a while. “I’m good,” I say.
“Great, now try to relax. All we have to do is zip down to North Carolina, check things out, then head back. The Outer Banks is only like three hours from here.”
Suddenly, things seem good again. Maybe I really can make up some excuse and check myself back into the Teen Extreme! lockdown by early evening. Then something else occurs to me. “How did you know where I was?”
Lauren keeps her eyes on the road. “Are you kidding? You complain about coming here all the time. I sat near you in math for an entire year, remember?”
“But we never really talked.”
“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening.” Before I foster the illusion that she’d had any interest at the time, she adds. “I mean, you kept going on about it. Anyway, where is Kill Devil Hills, do you know? It’s down here somewhere, right?”
I turn to stare at her.
Lauren glances at me and bursts out laughing. “You should see your face right now. Don’t worry, there’s a GPS in the glove compartment. Do you mind getting it?”
I find the GPS and plug it into the cigarette lighter.
“I already set the route,” Lauren says. “I did a search for Victor Delvechio yesterday. He came right up so we’re all set. There is some bad news, though.”
“What’s that?”
“No CD player in this thing. We’re stuck with the radio. And all I’ve been getting down here is country.”
“Actually, you’re stuck with the radio. Let me know when we get to the Outer Banks.” I take my iPod out of my pocket and insert my earbuds.
“You are such a—” is the last thing I hear before cranking up my music and closing my eyes. But I figure a nap is justified. After all, it really was a shock hearing about my mother’s accident.
~~~
In the dream, she stands facing a huge audience, one hand muting her guitar, the other resting on her microphone. Sweat drips off her hair and she gazes out, her chest rising and falling like she’s just stopped running. She parts her lips as if about to sing. Instead, she says, “Goodbye.” The word reverberates through the auditorium, ten times louder than the band playing behind her. Suddenly, she unstraps her guitar and hurls it into the air. The audience stares up, following the path of the guitar that somehow remains suspended beneath the stage lights in a slow motion arc. Only I notice as she walks off the stage toward the darkness of the wings. I call out to her, “Wait, come back! You’re not done!” She doesn’t hear me. No one hears me. In that place, I might as well be a ghost. A moment later, she’s gone and that guitar continues to sail through the air.
Something hits my arm. “Was it her?”
I open my eyes and blink against sunlight.
“What did you see?”
I look around, disoriented, then remember I’m in Lauren’s van. The dream was so vivid
.
“Wake up,” Lauren says. “You were talking in your sleep. You saw her again, didn’t you?”
Her voice sounds muted and it takes me a second to realize I still have my earbuds in. At some point, my music stopped. I take out the earbuds. “It was just a dream,” I mumble.
“Sure, but sometimes a dream is more than just a dream. You know that.”
Why does Lauren assume I know these things? Maybe because she’s accepted this part of herself while I’ve kept hoping it will go away. Even now, I don’t know that I’m ready to face it full-on like she does. Part of me still just wants to be normal.
I sit up straight, still groggy, the road and cars ahead of us blurry. “Sorry, but I don’t know that. I thought it was just a dream.”
“Well, think about that first time when you saw her on stage like you were right there watching her, that moment when she looked directly at you. You knew something was going on with that, right?”
I shake my head to wake up. “Technically, that was more a hallucination,” I say. Still, it seems Lauren does have a point. “So, you’re saying what? That somehow she knew I found her guitar? That she was trying to get through to me?”
“Maybe not at that exact moment. She might not know anything about it other than a vague feeling. Maybe not even that. Like we talked about, she might be dead. But that doesn’t mean she can’t talk to you in her own way. Spirits contact the living through dreams all the time. Not too many of us can actually see or hear them when we’re awake.”
I’m still at least partly in denial when it comes to the glowing guy, but it seems easier to just go with it. “Why’s that?”
“Because we refuse to see them. It’s that simple. They can’t exist, so they don’t. Denial is a powerful thing. For example, how many people tell themselves there’s no such thing as climate change even as the ice caps melt and freak storms keep happening?”
“Good example,” I say, thinking of my parents and FOX News.
“If people refuse to accept that the polar ice caps are melting—even when they know both that the ice caps exist and they’re melting—imagine how tough it is to be a ghost. They’re not supposed to exist in the first place. So, naturally, most people never see them.” Lauren signals and merges into a different lane, checking the mirrors. “Anyway, you saw your ghost. So, that’s a good sign.”
Streetlights Like Fireworks Page 5