Red Shirt Kids

by Bryce Clark

  “Well, looks like whatever she draws comes to life,” Mike replied.

  “That’s awesome! How does it work?” asked Sam.

  “I was practicing this morning, trying to see if everything I draw comes to life. From what I can tell, when I’m wearing my shirt, every single thing I draw just … appears. It’s going to be tough in art class.”

  “Just take the red shirt off then,” said Mike.

  “Wow, Mike, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re a real mastermind.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, Amy, can it work for food?” Sam wondered aloud.

  “Yeah, I drew myself a donut this morning.”

  “Hey!” said Mike. “That’s breaking the rules.”

  Amy shrugged. “Oh, like you haven’t gone invisible without us knowing?”

  Mike didn’t reply, as he was guilty as charged.

  “Awesome, Amy. That’s so cool,” Sam grinned.

  Amy laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about your grandma, Sam. She must know about the red shirts.”

  Sam’s smile faded. “I don’t know.” He looked away uncomfortably.

  “Sam, she gave you that key. She has to know about them,” Mike insisted.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated? What the heck does that mean?” Mike laughed as he said this.

  “It’s ‘cause my dad died when I was little.”

  Mike’s smile quickly left his face. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know about that.”

  “No, it’s okay. But my mom? She doesn’t really like me to talk about my grandma. I’ve only met her twice. Well, twice and then the time she gave me this.” Sam touched the medallion resting under his shirt.

  “When did that happen?” Amy asked.

  “It was this summer. Just before you guys moved here. It was night, and I was sleeping. My mom left my window open, and when I woke up my grandma was standing there. I was kind of scared. I thought she came through the window, but my room is on the second floor, so she couldn’t have. She was wearing this white nightgown, and she didn’t have any shoes on. It was weird.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Well, she handed this chain and medallion to me. She said that I should wear it at all times. She said I reminded her of my dad.”

  “That’s it?” asked Mike.

  “Yeah. She left. But I don’t know how she did. I was looking down at the chain, and when I looked up she was gone,” said Sam.

  “We need to talk to her,” said Amy. “Where does she live?”

  “She lives in a hospital.”

  “That’s right. Didn’t they think she was, um, crazy?” Amy grimaced but couldn’t think of a better word. “A girl at school said your grandma used to talk about magic and—Hey, she was probably talking about the shirts. I mean, if we told people what we could do, they’d think we were nuts!”

  “I guess they did. She’s in there. My mom doesn’t let me see her.”

  Amy’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea. I’m supposed to do this seventh-grade service project for school. What if I told my mom that visiting your grandma was the service project?”

  “That could work,” said Mike.

  “I don’t know,” Sam mumbled. The tennis ball from the game of suicide bounced over and hit him in the leg. Sam bent down and picked up the ball.

  Ben stormed over to Sam, and Sam tossed the ball lightly to him.

  “It touched you. The ball hit your leg,” said Ben.

  Sam just stared back, not wanting to provoke Ben.

  “You gotta line up,” Ben jeered at Sam.

  “No.”

  “What? What did you say, fatty? You know the rules. Line up.”

  “He wasn’t even playing,” said Mike.

  “Yeah? Who says?” Ben glared at Mike. “This isn’t some Boston wussy hopscotch game. This is suicide. Line up, tub-o-lard. Now!”

  Sam shook his head slowly.

  Ben turned to the other boys playing. “You saw it. Line him up.”

  The other boys crowded around Sam, Mike, and Amy. Two boys grabbed Sam. When Mike tried to help, two others held him back.

  “Leave him alone!” Amy pleaded.

  “Shut up,” said one of the boys.

  The boys dragged Sam over to the brick wall and shoved him against it. By this time, all of the kids at recess had gathered around, creating a makeshift theater. Sam cowered against the wall. He slowly turned sideways.

  “Hey, fatty, I don’t think turning sideways is going to help.” Ben mimicked having a large gut, and more than a few kids laughed.

  Sam closed his eyes.

  Ben gripped the tennis ball tight. “Two shots.” He reared back and let the ball fly. It sailed through the air and nailed Sam in the fleshy part of his upper arm. The ball made a dense thwacking sound, and Sam fought back tears.

  Ben grabbed the tennis ball as it bounced back toward him, laughing at Sam’s pain.

  Amy looked around and saw that Shauna was nearby. She walked over to her. “Who is that boy?” Amy asked.

  “Oh, the bully? Ben Daniels. He stayed back like three times,” said Shauna.

  Sam gritted his teeth in anger as he watched Ben laughing at him. In that moment, he hated Ben. Gathering newfound courage, Sam turned to face Ben head-on.

  Ben laughed at Sam’s defiance, wound up, and threw the ball as hard as he could. The ball rifled toward Sam. But Sam had other plans. He lifted his right hand up and flicked the ball as it blazed toward him. Suddenly, it reversed course, as if struck by a tennis racket, and picked up speed.

  The ball ricocheted back toward Ben so fast that most kids didn’t see it. It slammed into Ben’s forehead with such force that it knocked him off of his feet—and left a bright red welt.

  The crowd stared, dumbfounded. For as long as anyone could remember, no one had ever stood up to Ben Daniels—and what they had just seen didn’t seem physically possible. How did that happen?

  The boys holding Mike let go and looked from Ben to Sam. “What did you do?” one of them asked Sam.

  Sam didn’t respond—he just glared down at Ben as Mike and Amy ran over. “Sam! What are you doing?” Amy was nearly hysterical.

  “Didn’t you see what was happening?” Mike glared at Amy. Didn’t she understand that Sam was being attacked?

  “Yes, of course I saw it. But we can’t use our powers like this out in the open. Look,” said Amy.

  Sam and Mike looked out across the group of kids. They were all staring at Sam, dumbfounded.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to block it,” said Sam.

  “That kid deserved it. What a jerk,” said Mike.

  The other boys looked at Ben moaning on the ground. They hesitantly knelt down to help him up.

  Kids were heading home for the day. Parents lined up in their vehicles to pick up their children. Sam stood by the bike rack scratching his head. He looked over the rack, then all around, searching for a bike that obviously was not there. Frustrated, he kicked the bike rack as Mike and Amy made their way over from the school’s front door.

  “Hey! Sam, what’s wrong?” Mike asked.

  Sam looked over and saw Mike and Amy. He tried to remain calm. “Someone stole my bike!”

  “Did you lock it?” asked Amy.

  “Yeah, I lock it every day. But nobody’s bike ever gets stolen here.”

  “I bet it was that kid you hit with the ball,” Mike said.

  Sam thought for a minute. “Ben? Yeah. He would do something like that.”

  “You can’t just say it was him because you don’t like him,” said Amy.

  “Yeah, well, who else would do it?” Sam wondered.

  “Could be anybody,” said Amy.

  “You don’t get it. This just doesn’t happen. I mean, you couldn’t ride it around or anything. Everybody knows everybody else’s bike. Okay?” Sam was getting worked up. “I know it was him.”

  “You can’t know that.
I mean, how can you prove it?” asked Amy.

  “If you saw it at his house, or saw him with it, that’d prove it,” said Mike.

  “Duh,” was Amy’s response to Mike’s logic.

  “I mean, if someone could get into his house undetected, look around in his garage or something,” said Mike.

  “What? You want to break into his house? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” said Amy.

  “Not if no one could see you.” A slow smile crept across Mike’s face. Sam stared, stupefied, and Amy gulped. It was going to be an interesting evening.

  12

  MIKE AND AMY sat at the kitchen table as they looked through a yellow phonebook. Amy ran her finger down the page of names.

  “Daniels. That’s his last name, right?” asked Amy.

  “Yeah,” said Mike.

  “Okay, here it is,” she said, finding the entry in the phonebook. “Only one in town. Twelve Shayler Lane.”

  “I know where that is,” said Mike.

  “Hold on,” said Amy. “Shayler Lane … isn’t that the street that Diane and Darren Miller lived on?”

  “Who?” Mike asked.

  “Those kids that are missing,” said Amy. “Wait a second.” She flipped through the phonebook, looking for “Miller.” “Here it is. Yeah, they lived on Shayler Lane. Hey, maybe you shouldn’t go.”

  “Why not? I mean, they didn’t get taken from there.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Amy.

  “Besides, nobody’s gonna see me.”

  Laura walked over to them from the stove, where she had been cooking. “I’m on to you.”

  Amy quickly shut the phonebook and looked up, surprised. “What?”

  “The cake? The candy?” asked Laura.

  Amy sighed, relieved. “What cake, Mom?”

  “I don’t mind giving you kids sweets, but you need to keep it within reason.”

  “What? What happened?” asked Amy.

  “Well, someone’s been sneaking treats.”

  “Okay, Mom, we’ll do better,” said Amy, her eyes shooting daggers at Mike.

  Laura went back to preparing dinner, and Amy whacked Mike on the back of his head.

  “Hey! What’s that for?”

  “You used your shirt to sneak snacks, didn’t you?”

  “What’s the big deal?” Mike asked.

  “The big deal is that if you keep it up, they might wonder how you’re doing it—and they might start asking questions. Just knock it off, okay?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” said Mike. He hated being told what to do, but Amy did have a point. After what happened to Sam, Mike was starting to understand the value of protecting their secret powers.

  Mike and Amy stood by the front door. In the kitchen, Laura and David were cleaning up after dinner.

  “You have forty-five minutes,” said Amy.

  “Okay,” Mike replied as he lifted his flannel shirt off over his head and disappeared.

  Amy stood still, waiting for Mike to leave. “Okay, are you going?”

  “Just think it’s so cool you can’t see me,” said Mike’s voice.

  “Well get over it, genius. Just be back in forty-five minutes. And be careful.”

  13

  SHAYLER LANE WAS in a more modest section of Falton. Duplexes and apartment homes lined the street. Located off of Main Street, it was about half a mile from the town park where the carnival had taken place and Darren and Diane Miller had been kidnapped.

  A long row of bushes rustled as Mike sprinted past them. He felt powerful, invincible. On Main Street, he had passed a few people out for evening walks. He had even walked with a group of teenagers for a few blocks, just to see if anyone could feel his presence. But no one noticed. You could take his wallet, a dark thought raced through his mind. He shuddered and pushed the thought aside.

  Mike crossed the street and came to a single-floor, ramshackle house. The front door was dented, and the paint was peeling all over the house and garage. There were weeds growing out of cracks in the sidewalk and driveway; and, where there may have once been a green lawn, there was only dirt.

  In the driveway was a green tow truck. Mike noticed that the overhead lightbulb on the garage was busted. He made his way to the front of the home. He could hear the sounds of a television. He moved over to the garage and lifted himself up to look inside a grimy window.

  Inside the garage, Mike saw a lot of trash, old tools, and dying lawn equipment. In the corner, by the side door, Mike saw Sam’s red bike. Mike dropped down from the window and shuffled over to the door at the side of the garage. It was locked. He again hoisted himself up to look in the window and peered inside the garage. At the back of the garage, Mike could see that there was a door that led to the inside of the house.

  Mike eased back to the front of the house, being careful not to make a sound. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on his pants as he crept over to the front window that looked into the living room.

  A man was sitting in a recliner, beer bottle in hand. He had on a greasy T-shirt and dark blue mechanic’s overalls. The man was watching a sitcom on TV, laughing halfheartedly as he dropped the bottle into a pile on the floor and cracked open another one. His face was unshaven and dirty, and his hands were coated with grease. The man may have been forty, but Mike couldn’t be sure.

  Mike leaned back away from the window and thought.

  Amy sat on her bed as she sketched. Her door creaked open, and Laura peeked in.

  “Have you seen Mike?” asked Laura.

  “No. Have you checked his room?” Amy asked.

  “Just did. He’s not there.”

  “Well, a minute ago he was wandering around and checking for cool hiding places. I bet he’s doing that.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Laura turned and headed out of the room, yelling Mike’s name.

  Amy felt a small pang of guilt, but she didn’t see a way around lying to her mom. She turned back to her sketch—a lifelike portrait of a doll that looked strikingly like Mike.

  Mike moved to the front door of the house. He put his hand on the doorknob and was relieved that it turned easily. He eased the door open slowly and slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.

  Mike stood in the front entryway—a small space with a crooked coatrack and a straw welcome mat. He could see the man in the living room devouring a sandwich in front of the TV. Chunks of mayonnaise and pieces of lettuce hung onto his beard in globs.

  Mike turned as he heard a toilet flush from the hallway to his left. Ben opened the door to the bathroom and walked toward Mike. Mike held his breath as Ben moved past him and into the living room. Ben had a pretty bad black eye from the tennis ball that Sam had flicked back at him.

  Ben slinked down onto a ratty couch. Mike watched closely, frozen. He knew they couldn’t see him, but waves of terror cascaded over his body.

  Ben’s father turned to Ben. “Get the kitchen done.”

  “Can’t I watch TV with you, Dad?” asked Ben.

  “Get the damn kitchen done. Now,” said Ben’s father.

  Ben sighed and slowly rose off of the couch.

  “Dishes dried and put away. Don’t be stacking wet dishes in my cupboards,” said Ben’s father.

  Ben hung his head and slunk into the kitchen.

  Mike tiptoed into the living room and held his breath as he glided past Ben’s father and into the kitchen, where Ben was getting started on the dishes. Ben wiped his eyes. Mike stared as he watched Ben crying at the sink. Mike was still angry that Ben had stolen Sam’s bike, but mixed with anger was a new emotion—pity.

  Mike leaned into the wall as Ben’s father stormed into the kitchen, coming within inches of crashing into Mike. Mike gasped and then put a hand over his own mouth.

  Ben’s father hovered over Ben at the sink. “You crying? You crying? Get rid of those sniffles. What are you, a girl?” taunted Ben’s father.

  “I just wanted to watch TV with you,” said Ben through tears.
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  “I just wanted to watch TV with you,” Ben’s father mocked. “Grow up. You think I watched TV when I was your age? Huh? No! I learned how to be a man. Now get the dishes done!” Ben’s father grabbed another beer from the fridge and headed past Mike and back to the living room.

  Mike remained frozen against the wall, watching Ben continue with the dishes, intermittently wiping his eyes. When Mike finally got the courage to move, he opened the door in the kitchen that led to the garage and slid inside.

  In the garage, Mike quickly located Sam’s bike and maneuvered to the side door. He paused at the door, listening to Ben’s father yell at Ben once again. Mike unlocked the side door and quietly slid the bike outside. He frowned all the way home.

  14

  LAURA POPPED HER head inside Amy’s bedroom.

  “Any sign of Mike?” asked Laura.

  “He’s in his room. I think he’s sleeping,” said Amy, pretending to work on homework.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I think he was really tired.”

  Laura scrunched her brow and headed out of Amy’s room, down the hall, and into Mike’s room.

  The inside of Mike’s room was dark. The curtains were closed, and she could see the outline of Mike sleeping under the covers on the top bunk. She shook her head, feeling foolish for doubting her children. “Goodnight, sweetie,” she said. She backed out of the room and closed the door to a crack.

  On top of Mike’s bed there was indeed a lump and a face that looked remarkably like Mike’s. Of course, this lump wasn’t breathing, and the proportions weren’t exactly correct. But Amy’s “Mike doll” had done the trick.

  Sam stood at the kitchen sink. The warm, sudsy dishwater felt relaxing on Sam’s forearms. Sam’s mother, Kathy, strolled into the kitchen and held up a saucer for inspection.

  “Let’s see. Great job, Sammy. Thanks so much for doing this for me. It means a lot to me,” said Kathy.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” said Sam. “Mom?”

  “What is it?”

  “I left my bike over at Mike and Amy’s house.”

  “Okay, well, we’ll just get it tomorrow.”

  “No. I really need to get it tonight.”